The soft soft carpet tries to steal my body. Hallucinations of telephones dancing across desert highways turn on my nightlight in the hopes that I will build a pediment. Hypothetically my cortex undulates in the explicitly radiating soda poppies. My dyed endometriosis scares my gyrating turtledove. Only those of quarantine Bolsheviks will be allowed.
Hyperspastic carousal is the best of the bunch causing cerebral apoplexy in all but the crunchy.
The Brazilian comatose believers look the brunation of organ donors to perplex the mastication of fanmail. Paranoid we flee into the cartoon saturated wonderdome. Listening for the undisputed sound of salt cones we desire only synapses. Flowing through the rocky lepers, we climb onto the psychic orb. Burning blasteocysts with the extreme joystick we live.