We, the desperate floating head, the undead sun at the dawn, krasue ghosts that have lost their way back to bodies.

The sexless heads that deserve to be face-sit and humped on to death for the pleasure of the lower parts.

And this text, too, deserves to be condemned in the abyss of the hundreds down thumb, or be sent off in the graveyard of youtube spam (it did),

for producing the incoherence language of waste that communicates no meaning.

how many words is required to produce one meaning, in the abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction of abstraction?

click click click click click click click click click click click click click

since when that we have arrived the time when an index finger can lift a mountain

what time is it now, or how much?

we, the null language of madness, the incapable heads who will keep shouting meaningless voices on street, until our throats (our only body part) explode, we the drunken fists who know no art of kung fu, the pop star of a one person karaoke box, and we sing aaaa ee ggrr hhhhh ggrrrmmmmhhh rrr like a dog in it's best orgasm, for the fate of never being able to fall again down to our own tomb. How to regain sense of gravity?