Inscrutable pageantries of absurdity written in penis dribble.
Faux-profundity ate your penis.
Sorry you had to find out that way. A dress-rehearsal of glib detachment, with tragic results. It's not just the fuckass shit you say, it's also the nice things you never say. Ghosts of what they're supposed to be. I've taken to having the notion turned on its head.
Humorless curmudgeon. Dandy, vagabond, sexpot to the hilt. A carefully considered complexity creaking under the weight of cutesy heartsick coos and disfigured jelly dongs carousing the delicate swarms of dream-logic ganglia or whatever.
