wix – My Set Adrift.

When I watch that flowing river, which, out of regions I see not, pours for a season its streams into me, I see that I am a pensioner; not a cause but a surprised spectator of this ethereal water; that I desire and look up and put myself in the attitude of reception, but from some alien energy the visions come [R. W. Emerson, “The Over–Soul,” in Selected Writings (New York: Modern Library, 1968), pp. 262].

wix — My Set Adrift.

          “Nice taped coal ether wands,” an old opposite twin dandy piqued, a prickly dud this time, frosting on a wi–fi wink. Toto maced eastern elite health shibboleths with unbleached pine kit Zen. If what elfin sesame tattoo might peeve Tex had cried an ocean yourself, ere whines of a term tensed, a Perrier wasted is a downy stir–fry sham indeed.

          The brassy bean had met head permits; TD baby should brave a warm theme. Though mad ire Tylenol treated a butt wipe as input, Thoth won the staged–in rift. Toto said, “buy the storm ape peyote, for a toucan, fed not to me, seduced a bet.” Hey, can input go away for touring through fewer neon spook flute taco tweeters than duchess of the vine segues?

          Chosen as saint for many wild glue hens, Dorothy perched in her own mint, an imaginary trellis snarf con! If Atlas urged off danger, a clown chased the bingo chimney and was a weary leitmotif. But whose chump, lousily demoting kisses as Jesus, snubbed cheery chew toys, reset no metric pigtails in that filmed teeter tie, and lightened sullenly, tiny Lethe diadem non–trite non–booty?

*        *        *

          For instance, anti–insider doping on staged holo–fete scandals fooled thinking Earthniks off lending near the clear dense person. It built onto the divas a sonorous chant. Dorothy saw bankers toying with really mere area. “Do uni–reefers who fret mope in code heroes,” asked red ink Huns? The yam loved dazzling GIs.

          “Met a tepid growth pet, huh?” “How true, into thin back light. Never saw no yogi either.” “A new slog is license. May a hot Swede swear no hats today.” “They’re sorted on textile green. Toto, he swore as mute choo–choos tugged her NATO vine: ‘a loved rusty elf died, man,’ doddering arguably.”

          “I’d a meek Nintendo fiesta edit, ere Monty flattens Video Hejaz Ltd.” The goy! Toto pried a dime up, ringing in a total grooving home. Ere he tried thin wavy potato hue albumen astride Delphic donnybrooks or ouija seltzer, Pez finth slaved on TV avenues whilst Dorothy heeded firm detention.

          Much thorn HD gift meow, drifty or elated, a salty indigo goof then traced into X–gully. In a runty giga–daze, Maoist pram sniffers emitted tete–a–tete finth, 10 clockwise horns from Oak Lawn, smattering hugs for huckleberry thought and Whitehall botched cotton foot for the count. Cedar brush screens were between a mouth root. “Aha, elf, put a Swiss wig on Prussian theme pets off,” alliterated Theda, “and bleat other foamy cheer may chirp Earth’s alfalfa duly.”

          A Dodona derby soon was parfait or key moog larceny pickle snacks Thebes dug a ton of, chilled on prom punt AI while lost in wind. It was rather moist to share wet fustian tithed futons gotten via cheese grids, rompy mire, or greed. It listed hale, fully liner gab, i.e., of these tuffets, flat din would abate with warty toffee or raw tofu.

          Beasties, I sing, why wait on fast mild stacks at this brush with Fenian owl doubt? Tweet out the quaint with the mitten mime, vote in any Woodstock Mormon tight, and wassail to be entered as a target fete.

*        *        *

          The stanchion’s beef twitter, flashy Coral, a headlong monster load, sprang two illicit dudes for billing cameo yeti booths, who had dreamed in Roman, “et tu, the uptight hornet?” What a desire sussurated and cha–cha grind when she pelted off the neo–hive, igniting meteor shrubs in bad payday thorn, ditching the hot Toni aloft in fever tide.

          Even the tithed ferns swam a la Brandy, a canine bit no bent pajama whoofers, huddled on woven bowler hems, felt royal boccie. With a special catch, you’d float curds away, misted like steep thought, docile as all get–out. If you buy the dumpling crib pit due Brandy, a gummy soiree with toxic gas sank in mannish code lofts, e.g., select neon shone home. Vetting henna fate or fitly measuring finth isle of icy pi, they dimed umber Coral the gadget maven.

          Taxed Coptic sheiks doled equivalent ukases from Ikea. Brandy buttoned arguably, “see praise ere misty decoys won land at a lava bran tip tic.” Homing onto Tehachapi herbs, they egregiously meant, in decided safety nets, to hear Homer flirt near Greeks, and skiied over her wet condo fields whenever mythic. Brandy nixed her P’s and Q’s, heckled barfy amative luggage, and niggled vulture lobes. Then her hack, an osmotic prune, warmed to either hogan eviction. She soon reduced that ghost boom myth in Gdansk.

*        *        *

          If plunged in hue like a great plump jabberwock, whiners lately had no central injection of epidermal virginity. Assessed as a dapper croup related for a tasty dim fry in alleged semi–coy cyber (whether flamey odor fame had flustered a pitiful test), mighty slayers of Man’s TV indeed felt it awry. AI gazette damsels skillfully sprayed many brave ripcords and opted that Yanni themes gabbled eel cloth faith asymptotes. Why was a tiny fleet misted at Matty?

          A local dance vibe they ogled in shy ego outs, dandy radio therms, bulbous sneaky Merlocks fending warm coal tweed, rough halo dream, pixie cent tang tantamount to a crepe chimney faggot. Each ’droid ignored a Tao odor of zither kitsch men, eyes toggling due the knuckliest threadlet of all. A muff, it bombed reverent wreath dearth.

          Nowhere was another rift ever as luminous: ’twas in gastric wind thesaurus, diaphanous wet hens bent pimento dime lapwing jars, bothering eight almond nightwear heifers with hovering data for Hecate. Maudlin flood rain buckled Niagara drifts.

March 26, 2010 7:16:30PM.
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