brant and i usually wake and watch vh1 presents 'the most awful shit that still can pass as music, somehow'. i said it all sounds the same as i first started listening to it, and now i've attuned my ear to the differences in each song, but still think it all sounds the same. no, i KNOW it does. the joys of cable. in a similar sense, i've again brought to the forefront of my mind the joys of stupid faux-emotional writing. accordingly, i give you:
'the delicacies of human emotion'
muscles quaff as tails betwixt legs,
and we all remember, again
member,
that parts of speech do not have to belong.
we're not all english teachers.
we're all english, though.
blinders on eyes,
racism exists through white lines,
the staring of clouds creates density of minds.
even tires get tired, sometimes.
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