EMPEEZ BEARD WAS FUTURISTIC AND HUGE.

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Hanging half-houses, split down the middle, resting in the air among the twigs and
tops of tree.
Blue skies. Blue Buildings. Black Ice.
But its summer or spring or some sort of in between. More steps to the beach.
A proposal of sorts. Nostalgic Barbs. Shared Pasts.

Micheal Bay-Mean Beep-Small Print Paranoia.

The Saint. Spoke two us. Faces in the text.

Q: What are we trying to say?

Q: Where do these things exist?

These and numerous others were postulated by men long dead and decomposed.
Brainful Zombies. Sellers of Hoplessness. Full of Mind Fuckery.
The paper said "leave these questions be" and mother said "come home to me"
The old dying man marked it on his calendar.
He was no Kurdt Loader.