RATTAPALLAX

Is this computer broken or what?

Too weak to wash.

Must love Missy Love.

The office of insane tassels is decorated with obese individuals who never rise early to scream.

It's hopes like these that degrade your self with empty hopes like these.

Copper Bowl. Soccer rope.

Fa of obstrufa.

'Yep, he's still dead'

A flag loses contact with reality and flies off.

Come build an empty house of the sarcasm.

We cannot die. Well, I have and in fact I'm going - boing! - going bebe.

Here's one part of the larger market: Greed.

Uh oh. Uh oh. Uh oh.

It's the University of California at Berkeley and White all over.

My first reaction on September 11th was, of course, shock and dismay. And then I had eyebrights.

Straight up.

When two irate-piloted comets wire pipelining, the NAK aperatures guide our hand.

We are never selfish. We are not bad people. We are happy monsters.

Look at the sky. Our shoes are making a sandwich.

I am the gentle autumn rain, lights of something, a force field of something else.

Where is the new class without hope?

Canopy of the swollen sky with sunspots -- there's nothing else to do.

You drank wine. We are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich.

I won’t have time to explain this to the world.

The valley sleeps, crushed in a universe cordoned off with ropes.

That bloccante of the salt rule, doomed to become mere words.

It would flatten my flat.

Christ turned his singular cheek, yet Dad waits for a psychopathic god.

A girl stepped onto the lawn to throw me the bird.

I am the diamond glint flying on shrapnel and bird's wings, having slept in wet meadows.

End of the world.