Never quite sunk into oblivion, and around which all the fantasies of my sleep had labored in anguish, “red the notes in the song sung in Letters from the Underworld. We will now be part of history our senators tell the media, talking about increasing and decreasing this or that as the power washed their hands of their own cover.”

If you have trouble in what I say, just think of the time spent spreading by bits of information on the highway to and from. Glances of my story fall in upon themselves, trying to be those particles, which seem to linger on the event horizons of spaces black holes. The armies have surrounded the palace while bombs fall from the sky. The battle rages on as is; I sit with you, never achieving an overwhelming victory. With out the passion for victory we will fight to the death. But our enemies say they are ready for a long fight. Once again the cease-fire is broke, moving faster than light.

Do not look, but you can listen? Tonight our hero winter ride in rabbit drawn sled returns from the scene of our story’s secret. See since our being Of has been on the bin desire. To face the glut of chains…

“What is the sixth scene of Dogs?” she asked.

“I believe it to be the Future, “ was the response.

And I’m not just making snowmen…pardon crises crossed wire, please except our apologies for this interruption, now back to our story…

In the moment the bayonet sliced into Luckys pineapple drink hanging on the kitchen door, they asked, “what are you doing? Could it be that they delay the future, is part of the dogs? The puppy who bits your hand forever, never giving up, this is the demon who carried the pack of smokes to me in passing. Quick is the video screen. Sometimes its faster than summer in this deathly land.”

“Out to dinner, the boy wonder asked last night,” says I. “No wonder the snow has falling clouding our visions, taking freedom to unknown lands. This is our vision, our souls. Never mind the bullshit; have you got a quarter,” he asks.

Fill my glass once more and stories will fly, out of wonderment should you and I discuss our relationship out to see. The Mother ship Over Paris read the label. 2:24 am read the clock, “what of it,” he sneered. “That was Fuck, you poll.”

“It was not I.” You come towards an understanding in which we talk. This is getting sleepy and sleepier. Why would he steal from us? Why would he not come in understanding of, his I can only understand nothing?

Marry has the letter E, but, I have the letter K, Kellogg’s of course with milk and sugar.