AAA Angry At Acronyms The fake syrup June 8, 2019 Leave a Comment Cancel Comment Name* Email* Website
Pat a pet plant on the pistil and put it in a pot on a pedestal, polish it with pastel pride, and pepper it with potassium prizes. Preach it profound parables of perennial patience from a phosphate podium and a passionate pew of puzzled peaches. Paint it a potent, palpable and precious planet poised with peaceful powers and plastic perks. Plaster it with prurient pocket payphones and precociously playful porn. Paper over the poverties and paralyses. Package up the pleasantries and perfidities. Pad the plushest pillows and pierce the prestigious pikes. Pray to the puritan prairies and patch the pumpkin pies. Perfect the pivotal punctuations and pinch the pungent pines. Pedal the *pom-pom* pink prom petals and panache the pastiche pavement plights. Perish the Paramount pixel parents and preen the Poppy's pinwheel plumes. Park it in Pleiades' plum-packed presence, and paste it in Pagans' prism perfumes π―π―
Stand in front of it. As if it were Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. And ask yourself Which everlasting gobstopper will i give back
The ego as a metaphysical ailment, or as a topic worthy of ten thousand self help books, is misguided. It creates a sense of spiritually sparring with something that exists in nature and that is somehow βbelow the dignityβ of spiritual engagement. True self sees right past the illusions of ego, yet understands the physical nature and necessity of its individuating faculty. But to a nascent seeker of psychological vitamins, putting them into the idealistic trap of a war of their ego against their self, or their spirit against their ego, only compounds confusion. And yet to say that there is even a distinction here only serves to create more divisions, or more ideas of division: this insight against that insight. The ego exists as naturally and as interconnectedly as your hand is distinguished from and interrelated (by a whole) to your foot. To isolate one and use it to try to eradicate the other, breaks the whole game. You know how and for what purposes to use each, without any training or admonitions. And in truth there is only the floating moon
It will be called 2483, but it will still just be, now. With all the energy, respun endlessly. iPhone infinities. TV in real-D. Your eyes beaming brilliantly. Your feelings forever glistening
What's the recrudescent sapience of palaverily expatiating supernal desideratum if it's just louchely rebarbative to the diaphanous exegete? I mean it's downright vertiginously jejune, not to mention invidious
Blind, backward, dancing up, and around, beyond birth, the gargantuan, echelon. Ever, into love's womb, rest, the fortunes of the calliope, empress. Now sweep, silent, the nebulous, the incestuous, the lores, and looms, those bereaved, and caressed, by sunflakes, motionless
If you let the ills anger you into anything other than opposite action π¦ππ’βπ£π πππ π‘
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