All This Stuff Gratefully Will Carry Us to Our Deathbed Days

Miss Mr ... Miss Mr ... lonely butterfly alone come down ... Miss Mr alone ... royal butterfly ... come down from up there ...

Boys and girls ... silvery boys and girls ... invest in your own special coming around again and again ...

Bowel movement grin ... body fluids journey ...

Sorbet to deep bodied colors ... and whole nakedness that goes with it ...

Tender glossy young eyes ... broken ...

Elder smiles along with many folds for compositions of lines ... not broken typography of wrinkles ... incredible real natural work of art itself ...

Creases lines folds furrows in amazing complex composed arrangement ... naturally flowing around features of the face ... most people call them wrinkles ...

God ... God ... God ... to get out of this zone ...

We keep tripping on red bricks and broken gray bricks ... keenly perceptive hard workers ... too often give up on spirituality ... leave their books behind entirely ...

Bad things happen ... and they start to doubt good higher spirits exist ...

We will never give up on our faith ...

It was when we became the biggest fans of ourselves that everything took off ... and then crashed ... and took off and crashed again ...

Living living art ...

Scratch scribble ... our not exactly knowing what great mortal conceived and produced work is ... is part of what makes us who we are ...

This particular spirit ... lucky ... has a head like an exotic Husky colored dog ... and feet like a fuzzy rabbit ...

Day old PS can smell like salty salty chicken noodle soup ...

Gorgeous variations of subdued colors glisten under brighter sun ...

Sing the praises of pirates ... sing the praises of angels ...

The stuff in our storage spaces ... universal healing codes ... directly connected to recollections ... memories ...

Select the best parts and shed a few ... still to moving ... of your under being spirit ... loose thin layers of flesh ... not the rest but this bit