Logorrhea

You trusted the woolly spirit; lived on a shoestring (which wasn’t very nourishing); all
for none you stumbled on. Whatever can a city state of artless loss ― minimalism more
majestic than lost soul-music masters slaving to save (only to spend a borrower be)-in
green as mescaline ― cause no one wins by whining why! Why? Why not claw
sideways, seaways to be silent where the bee sucks suckers born instants before minutes
that reverse. Imagine otherwisdoms otherwheres blankly on the spot ― Out! Says Jain
to prick: Out! Out dumbed Spot.

In other words: Lighten up! Grab a real!

Glow gaseous as airhead ruminants grinding lumpmeal; gnoshing Gnostic familiarities
holus bolus. Growl by gulps and farts to the heart of things; probe as deeply as the
nautilus would could it clearly recall all forty-thousand big league sweeps for the
starveling intelligent life near Uranus ― I know that butt. What is one man, facing such
sudden profound inanity?

A bit of advice: If the foe shits, kiss cranny goodbye.

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