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August 3, 2015
It's off. It's on. Puddled mind on a cruise of dimmed eyes scanning the fire lake. It's in the middle, stuck on high, stuck on low, stuck for the keeping of the gilded ages that have no reason, keeping reasons like pebbles for the end times and absolute stoning. High rise angels of bad repute level their ragged hems on a dirty shoreline for the raw connivances granted the downtripping forces only they may grasp, allowing secure connections in their sandbox, happily kept clean of cleanliness to ward off the dull and intrepid tourist in vivid naivete with bad credit.