On the Spiritual letterhead,
Often, time- we find, aroused by chance- an energy inertia, as a transition- more accelerated in base, for an awaiting concerto. Most fruited through intention. Not quite ripened, let we that were confiding; better the inventor him/herself giving trained aesthetic. On her stratagem, we then elucidate.
It's- the more tumult, desire manifests an entirely new stage as a pairing in to equine-dissonance, ultimately prevailing, and beneath a thwarting of onset. In fullness, we find delight so blissful in competence. Merely a contending component. Also, a fore bearing you nearly just forget about. As we grow in light and love seeks her new surroundings, we embrace her then to the edge, faithfully more eloquent. We relax in thinking, because our trust grows so transcendent-- we can breathe.
Not just yet, ethos to our surroundings. There are incomplete transitions- and yours seems a bit whack. Might I add, the psyche is so finely noted as to allow even a soulful stock of subconscious play. Like someone took a tooth and edged your body with just the right dream.
Isn't it a time for great dreams- and whom is the keeper? *psst* Up and wandering- wherein the future. Angst is laden ahead- to needless chasms of million year hopes.
Plant another seed, bemuses the G's. The sweltering bliss as though the new star just provided her new budding example trillions of millions of nights in year-away, in space time 78 without dimension. No hint of notion.
*Answering a phone call from Antarctica*
"As a matter of theology, I've often pondered celestial unification- what that might bring, what it hopes for. Heck! How heaven might be, *nauisfiauhfiuh*
Anti-cataclysmic,
Anti-material
Inert with concept
Hidden in broad noses
Open to Lull and expending only the simplest torrid... BIG desert!
A landscape of some kind??
An escapism gone blind,
A livelihood arrived-
Contrived if only a belief had won.
Facts are no known matter, only when they perch on a higher platter and totem the latter.
Opening the plainly, lightened, albeit christened.
Education or a smoldering, to bring the degree of particulate--- surcharge to a libel of consciousness.
I might not choose to feel it.
Perhaps the neuritis has been burnt to a sundering molten.
Decrepit in emotion.
Folding the glossy turntable and harrowing the ample truth to a harked detail.
Wordy clerge, choices.
Who we'd have the grace in getting to know in our ever deep, spiritual illuminations; when we were placed, in delicate omniscience- sensual depth - to gain from our founding. To be when the earth was just getting started. When creation wrought with excitement and tangible invention!"
Sometimes we become frightened though... is it our environment that fails to put us at the helm of brighter and more pervasive moments, strictly of pleasure? What could she bring. What might the heathen know? Silly- this is no wage against humanity. This entirely is favor! Grab your weakest link now and learn how to produce love. Make the most delicate lands as powerful and majestic as the free-for-all Black Holidays, and the humidifier pointlessly, through you.
Only as our newly christened souls, now sustainably spiritless- and zamped from all hiding. Lest we now build in everlasting. Elucidate yes- the truth of character, that in our individuality. We create yet again our new Utopium as we confide in the imagination until it tires and remains charmed. Pat yourself on the elbow before you make room- and give the hate a chance, forgive it that it might find greater and more amplified musings in Potentiality.
Life is a networking to God's social life.
With not much to add... Sitting serenely at play.
As the immensity of our delight riles the lens and shakes the sun one more time...
Saving Wino- 'isn't it just free already- can't we just pique the new masterpiece.'
We've worked grin and smile to varnish anew this air we breathe, can't we just hop in, hobble and tumble where we travel through wormy holes?
Psch...
'We already Might.'
Often, time- we find, aroused by chance- an energy inertia, as a transition- more accelerated in base, for an awaiting concerto. Most fruited through intention. Not quite ripened, let we that were confiding; better the inventor him/herself giving trained aesthetic. On her stratagem, we then elucidate.
It's- the more tumult, desire manifests an entirely new stage as a pairing in to equine-dissonance, ultimately prevailing, and beneath a thwarting of onset. In fullness, we find delight so blissful in competence. Merely a contending component. Also, a fore bearing you nearly just forget about. As we grow in light and love seeks her new surroundings, we embrace her then to the edge, faithfully more eloquent. We relax in thinking, because our trust grows so transcendent-- we can breathe.
Not just yet, ethos to our surroundings. There are incomplete transitions- and yours seems a bit whack. Might I add, the psyche is so finely noted as to allow even a soulful stock of subconscious play. Like someone took a tooth and edged your body with just the right dream.
Isn't it a time for great dreams- and whom is the keeper? *psst* Up and wandering- wherein the future. Angst is laden ahead- to needless chasms of million year hopes.
Plant another seed, bemuses the G's. The sweltering bliss as though the new star just provided her new budding example trillions of millions of nights in year-away, in space time 78 without dimension. No hint of notion.
*Answering a phone call from Antarctica*
"As a matter of theology, I've often pondered celestial unification- what that might bring, what it hopes for. Heck! How heaven might be, *nauisfiauhfiuh*
Anti-cataclysmic,
Anti-material
Inert with concept
Hidden in broad noses
Open to Lull and expending only the simplest torrid... BIG desert!
A landscape of some kind??
An escapism gone blind,
A livelihood arrived-
Contrived if only a belief had won.
Facts are no known matter, only when they perch on a higher platter and totem the latter.
Opening the plainly, lightened, albeit christened.
Education or a smoldering, to bring the degree of particulate--- surcharge to a libel of consciousness.
I might not choose to feel it.
Perhaps the neuritis has been burnt to a sundering molten.
Decrepit in emotion.
Folding the glossy turntable and harrowing the ample truth to a harked detail.
Wordy clerge, choices.
Who we'd have the grace in getting to know in our ever deep, spiritual illuminations; when we were placed, in delicate omniscience- sensual depth - to gain from our founding. To be when the earth was just getting started. When creation wrought with excitement and tangible invention!"
Sometimes we become frightened though... is it our environment that fails to put us at the helm of brighter and more pervasive moments, strictly of pleasure? What could she bring. What might the heathen know? Silly- this is no wage against humanity. This entirely is favor! Grab your weakest link now and learn how to produce love. Make the most delicate lands as powerful and majestic as the free-for-all Black Holidays, and the humidifier pointlessly, through you.
Only as our newly christened souls, now sustainably spiritless- and zamped from all hiding. Lest we now build in everlasting. Elucidate yes- the truth of character, that in our individuality. We create yet again our new Utopium as we confide in the imagination until it tires and remains charmed. Pat yourself on the elbow before you make room- and give the hate a chance, forgive it that it might find greater and more amplified musings in Potentiality.
Life is a networking to God's social life.
With not much to add... Sitting serenely at play.
As the immensity of our delight riles the lens and shakes the sun one more time...
Saving Wino- 'isn't it just free already- can't we just pique the new masterpiece.'
We've worked grin and smile to varnish anew this air we breathe, can't we just hop in, hobble and tumble where we travel through wormy holes?
Psch...
'We already Might.'
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