Att vakna ur sitt sammanhang

Före/innan sömnuppvaknande finns inget jag, blott ett drömlandskap färglagt av influenser från sinnesintryck upplevda av dejet. Att vakna är att ödeläggas en smula.

2010-03-09 continued: Haremvakt == Parallaxsekund

Singing with the winging swing, wishing to be king in the ring, plinging with the bling, singing down corners in a circle, overhearing lasting wishes from Askerton University, intriguing blasting bruises tantalizing the starry-eyed simpleton sitting in vain, not standing strong in busses going down the weakest alleys, peeping through mud deeper than most earplugs bought without insurance fleshed out all over the swirling teabags plumbing pies with monkey wrenches.

Pies eaten before baking with baking powder became the prevaling hierarchy southwest of the alley of the lingering dark-blue sky of Anaheim's fear of the mark in the inside extra-barked snark pit of doomy foggy goggles courtesy of the house of wax and the swinging sax made to max out the tax from all of those hanging lax in the anthrax.

Subdued and easy to play, though harder to stay in the hay and pay the mayday told out of clay.