Mounting thoughts today was impeccably annoying my brain. I was pretty stuck. Just stuck. Unmoved. But it wasn't that avoidable. But I avoided it. I thought of it could help me. I believed it could help me. But they were insanely happened and I just stuck. All filters just made filthy.
It didn't have underlying bloody meanings of me being stuck, it was just literal. There were no puns, but there was just literal recognition. For the last 30 seconds, I thought of not saying, yet doing, or ignoring, but I did write.
Augury August could be a name, but it was the undeniable sloshed mortati. It was the best Zen to channel to and the best way to bury in it. I go into it, deeply, hell yes hell no; I sutured every line but I would cut every node.
And, eventually, another set of mountain of thoughts canoeing the canal of corpus, I would speak future....Where are they?