I don't know what it is you think you have in that dusty coat of yours but don't tell me to nothing when you think I am the one who is holding all the cats.
Here you have a place where dig as deep as you can and there is something to be founds between those two. Row row your boat. Every town is on the make. Who writes I know what it is you think we are trying to do here but the major set piece that I have been attempting to think about is that there would never have been a man in the window in the first place if you didn't have to go screaming like a lunatic every time you thought you saw a killer in the road. You know how to stare a man down, and you give him what you have when there would be time for it to come to that, but instead of the mix there should have been a melange, for certain that is when you would have attempted a guess but there are sometimes civilized folks out there who would not be thinking that there should be called people but then again here would be your share on the top of the major part of this particular century because all I had to do in order for you to be waiting like the taller person would be when the foot stomps break through the ceiling a dream comes in through the magnificent place and heavy walkers destroy the peace of mind that could so easily be involved in tis kind of thing but seriously what am I trying, what is this that I am trying so hard for a man to find out in the making of the terraformer, I though you and I had an agreement, something about the riteous man just doesn't sit right with the kind of a guy that waits until your back is turned the other way before he clocks all your friends in the head but what is it that you are attempting here, other than the breaking of something that could just as easily be deleted because there is no high concept, just a problem that is trying to make use of something that would have been there but on the other hand it could not have been, and as much as I try to make some kind of a place, one way to get what you want from people is to throw them on the defensive, make them have to justify behavior that any idiot could see is logical but you never thought you would have to defend yourself because of that. YOu find out what race they are but tht doesn't narrow it down at all.

Lycrap

I'm beginning to suspect that there were murderers there, but the shift in perspective isn't all that profound, one person can find killing impossible to imagine and another person doesn't lose any sleep over it. Destroy a person's life that has nothing to do with you, and well if your life ever gets destroyed it wouldn't be them, it would be a random act that has nothing to do with your sadism. Even better, at least you did it in for somebody else if anything horrible ever happens to you, you got your hits in. Pretty easy, see, when you make justification. If the worst that can happen to you is to feel kind of bad, well that aint no kinda deterrent.
Are you writing from the heart, are you writing from the heart?
All the time you say what there would be to say but you are a chicken. You can heave what it is that you want to heave but until down came the suffrage nobody cared all that much.
the toilet there and the sink frozen the people are sitting against the walls because their chairs have been burned, I wasted the maximum degree of time in the arc of the sainthood, leaving all there was to leave behind like dust over th footprints that mean nothing to me. A measure of truth worth more than anything I ever dreamed of creating gave me a reason to continue to work, but when it lead to nothing the death was inevitable, I as impotent as the scholar waiting on the sun for light enough to write by. Given the sainthood and his following situation, the man minus his arms could hardly have been blamed for the sordid places he desired all people to take. And still the question was there, forward, inching toward the stalks of his eyes, does the character have a plausible motivation or are we sitting here waiting to find only that these are the places he wanted us to be taken to, not the places we needed to take him in order that the true sanity could be revealed, and maybe what I was doing was making a word more than it was supposed to be because the memory was not willing to allow me to get away with lying. You in the wavering cloud wait and watch the water come from under my soul until here we find the makings of a cool gelatin.
With wine you have there something that comes from deep within the base of your spine, something you wait for but there couldn't have been a way for you to understand the make and model of a body that pleases you, instead formulating strategems designed to prolong the relative creation of quiet distance between the conscious mind and the part that figures out how to spill, shut all else out, engages in a craft without pretention or awareness, only experience, flexibility, massaging a place that hides peace for you, for me. Who do we talk to when we say things that call for our own deaths, where do they come from when there was a mind once to break kout of and a mind to reconnect? What the hell do you want when you don't give in to the designs that spread out before you a way the determines the species you wish to be, or would have brought into being if it were your hand that swept over the blank page, giving impetus and energy to musccle and mind, creating context amidst a fear of senescence.
sword sway cowering away verbose. confident in the craft, death of a sales people.