The whistling pool pump gets parked when the new neuropath is created. What a joy hearing that my dirt path one-track mind is not a buzzkill for her. Incremental variances sometimes are the result of new day offerings, like today for instance. All the cornucopian bounty here provides the key to smoothing the abrasions if you use the stillness correctly.

Conflating semen and today's purple velour feeling is the difference from yesterday. The absence of tolerance stabilized the 25 tad huntered perspective here which, thanks to memory loss, seems so maiden voyage-like. More mattered is it doesn't get designated as just another day. Subliminaly, the voice urging congruency with the '95 version of This We Are is breathing casually a la post office walk.

O bury me needs rejuving towards got my spurs spinnin' and now I'm grinnin'.