lørdag 27. august 2016

Enter title here.

The reason behind reason isn’t something you’re about to grasp any sooner than someone else. Reasons don’t need reasons. But you do. And whatever reason you pick, reasoning your way through them can be something of a complicated procedure. Have you turned on the lights? See, why would I ask that unless I knew that there would be no reason to go from talking about explaining any number of actions and then proceed to change the subject into something electricity based? I don’t know. Do I need a reason?

No reason was given.
Feel free to make up your own.

Yes. While I’m disputing the existence of other beings that our own race, this will of course come as no shock to anyone familiar with this sense of writing.
Despite the style, following logic is not one of the reasons to add raisins in the creative process of fantastic expansion that is this peculiar chosen strangeness of wooden delight. Ever had wooden delights? No? Neither have I, but I’m sure they’re quite tasty.

Best practice of handy craft, hoover craft and crafting river crafts. There is a droid, a robot and a metal being sharing the same consciousness that I’ve neglected to mention because it’s insignificant in the larger scale of dragon’s fierce fire breath. Also, arrows.

The ringing of a telephone from someone calling across the stars and starts to bring you chocolate cake in the morning while you’re sipping tea from India, wishing for a larger cup of biscuits and a trey of silverware that can hold heads of Z in the word bedridden with soars from a prolonged hospitalization visit, seemingly without end as the miles go on and on and the miles go on for miles and no wrecking ball crashes the living room trash past one hundred miles in the hour consisting of dots, dots, dots and more eclipse ellipsis from warlocks, other DPS classes and dreaming demon hunters with blades wielding blades soaring high up in the sky with wings, glaring at the glaciers for not eradiating enough radiant radiation of massive effects come dawn of blues that makes jamming jazz sound as an evening in downtown New York.

Do your head spin, too? If not, can you find a reason?
Twenty five and thirty. Sixty seven eight nine ten. Time’s up. Park the car. Land the craft from hovering above the roof. Grab the can, can the bag, bring the puppy to the adorable eyes along with the rest of the expedition. The lineup includes a monkey and a puppet master.

My puppet dances magnificently to the tunes of whistles blown by horns uphill in the wind.

Geese. Goose. Flying turkeys. Americans.

Ingen kommentarer: