the gay texture of mcdonalds. rejected a whole mcdonalds breakfast meal, there’s no real next partition to the familiar extension of wasting away and even though i’m a wizard that’s still getting worse because i’m not reluctant to it. it’s really huge to be afraid to exist while in fact existing as this, as an uncontrollable reaction to other brothers roping on stream (in a brocel’s thread tears just simply formed when i’d realized what i had watched), the grave hollow find is an ambient mimetic birth and tool of the former spawn owing it to arbitrary delight when i crash toward an otherwise merely contained vegetable image of flashing powerless suspension; no power for a bending expedient due to the premise not being critical and no permeable notion synopticface due to no such label in movement specialized to undynamically retrogress whatsoever. no secure ejection in an escapingly minimized order by the semi faculties of utter hollowness as a clouded warp frame to provoke the lent snips of a thoroughly lost caught sequence upon
