The Plato songs
Now, the past of nope, uh uh, a nasal noun n all, a the castrati, blinks a lot an like seen a spade a spade, a (petulant) sílicitor on a name (crime demonstrates the self sufficiency of law (a vertigo)), a money talk-talk sin that sign the same, a and: rhyme the that that facts ain but traj ícept that (the algorithm of On) when theys is, a picture of (style so charms itself it fails to exist) the bland. Subtle. Dumb. A consonant on tongue, a pattern suicide with vowel, fiction thus the graceful word for grace, a ímatic ígain, a one step yeah what imítate the drugs ain there, the indifferent pretty self of pain, strategic (provo) mediocre. Again, the pet for later, the fuckin born gain context of inertias, words needs firsts to looks like words, the capital of being something else, or less (they amplify the pause tween nother words) (which part anything is mouthpiece, its me of course (the buck ain but no smug nless it mine)), the double syndrome an the cross. Takes one to know one. The catharsis of exchange. A noun it turns out is no a letter in english, but a friend of the idea (less so of course when it gets int words (I mean it shits things, for starters, the negative of at)) (a predicate-cum-metaphor (a consciousness, in waltz time) tourette). But neither is a noun the vowel (existence the E form of patience) (knowledge the powder agency (the vote (nless you nickd))), if the rEference be the verb, one those paper bags preferred (to know but the negative of thought) by to. Like fuck. Think is wrong for pink which ever way you cut it: to confuse the problem with response is then poetry, an impersonate of conjugate and crack: time as you (number) know is not innocent its translation. And though logic rhymes a lot, it got no (penny split) íchoes (or (shrug) mind) for Oh. I mean, ifn you spoke the first, you wouldn crawl to then at all, a plum (jones) full of sayings and sore lips. The vanity the empty cup is thus its sound (the blush becomes) and not a bit. The ease with which its mapped then on the bod s a little sus, but. It does though get around: only a sneeze is not no paradox, facts being uncannily forget (the charm of the other than a self) by the plateful, a false note qua qua gum, a conjugate-the-it-of-profit sum. Or some (the means is plastic ends with incompetence the job, a shudder in the stroke of getting off), a (too bit sick) tyranny of toy, an Indulge of the known, what resents the representAtions of its pun, the consonance of sense Absence (facts being just a (boost) lottery of box and bigger string) as circumstAnce: ignorance is of course illegal for the dog. íTicularly when it includes its measure own of separating (label (lurk)) soup from bone, the irrational of Pause (since the period of before) which makes of listening the impossible and speech a (meditítively) neat experience. Indeed. The test of then is thus. An my granís grammar neíer got hit by bus cept maybe once or more an that only coz it hum. Must be the where the cash, a splash of better odds (fifteen cross, four letters (deuce), bet (its anyway all greek to me)): Sod off! where off is the (arch) rhetorical of coz. Watch: Soap. See. The plot is of. (Its second thoughts that make a spot (price is proof:)) Soliloquies. In heat. A compost act that once put on, is put (remember, mind, the two foot slack we cut for logic, the charity of chance (a Coz with Was tied on it back as though it were the one to (Bingo) wear the pants), a fake fate dildo what consists entirely of blame), and so explains. Oops. I vindicate, you vindicate. And count. The threat of doubt. Privatised in any number of other ways: a language that forgets: incest. A cousin cause. A virtual news. Thatís only likEly. But though the rational is the censor of experience, its not near efficient as is cash. And the price of narrative accounts is too much like, a (Iíll-be-back-when-you-got-a-minute)- prophecY, a list (everything like that) (to mute the ad is theft (thereís no irony in theft
Change, the pretty form of learning, is most resident policing context, the tourist cop (logic just a poor parasite of taste (the poor but moody yours truly aesthEtes of violEnce)), the market a protected vironment (which part of farming (the mirror-as-hit) Is the bottom line?) Debt, the polite word for which is címmunication, uses guilt (a machine to maximise the self) as bait, the rest is in the quaint, those habits of (crave) character that compare (those bits that diff (ëIí is the duration between repetitions, a disappointed speriment (surveillance but augmented space, uSe prodUct)). (The difference tween identity theft, reincarnation, credit (being allergic to the disappeared, the now retarded subject) rEmains moot (immanence ain no word in english): that Gutenberg couldn turn nough moneys lining mirrors ísplains then how we learned to shave. (How? (the pee for prides of suicide) is just the (maudlin) business end the stick, the siddownshuddup bit before the plause, the one-to-one tupperware giveup where the subject but the (entertainment) prOof (the ëifí of ënegativeí (if nouns group more negative they making then more sense? I mean theyís all allergic, no?)), a symptOm with chocolAte on top.) ëAndí is no diagnosis less you call the cops. I mean like any It is too tautologous, a pathology on legs (to cure the metaphor of schizophrenes do you wait for punch lines or souvenir it all back into french?) Or, how otherwise do redundancy prove restraints, by truth? When surveillance is the self consciousness of a system, it requires something else be patterned íbitual: the economy of grace. So how do you prove that its systemic? By proof? But if the patient just some mock amplifier of pain (a word is that ticular conjugation of ëyeahí to which we quire), does that mean squat? Like the Defense Language Institute went on high alert that september ten (defense it seems is no distributed thisoplex of mind), the rational violence employed in the building of a noun persuades with quite peculiar charm that any ëyesí be thus the negative of time (for the address t be othí than software, the voyeur would needs be unemployed (on the threat of being something else: Unless (to hack party ice as sacrifice is fine)). (On the piety of price (and other silence): five!)) (Art, the íbility recruit luck for any system, is thus the euphemism most preferred for prose (being in the market for memory, fiction had to choose between its manners (on a need-to-know) and most.)) As an agent of translation, the thing exploits its gift: duress (criterion being only guilt, to evidence). (A contract remains a citizen Until, eIther constitutes a crime.) (Truth, where the unit of input is indifference, is strategically impossible because, and hereís the rub, science admits no lack of diffErence as cause. It but just a gun of use. And I just like the blue bit there contExt. Its superstitious. So can afford the blame. The shrug. Ha. A refugee then from redemption allows the facts to breathe (and to eXplain at the odds Equivalent to steal:)) A number, the illusion of a cure, rhymes here with some, too pretty please to scuse the hypocrite (ifn the law less private, it be more Too (the market sells asymmetry of information to cops and the polIce then buy it back)) from (ain this surplus value?) tease.
Did. Dead. The location of a measure, the past buys in violence (data but the (acne) strategy for norms), for now the corpse is no more causal than any the othí switch. And if breathing outnumber stiffs, saywhat? become the very possibility of just, something to the right of only. The plural then of ess is singular for doubt. Too fuckin much, its only shit that counts. íTential, the unit of independence lards thinking with the thought: it sort of limmericks about, the pause, of whatever else. Memrised rights (coz the brand producer-product of itself) thus a matter then of cash: clock the only argument that sticks. To the tagged animal of stuff. A latent frame seems so to be the bug the paradox let out. The sugar object contrast wank. Coz though facts may ídapt themsel to fiction, thatís not to say they learn. Redundant. Like abberation. Rote. As the thickness is of time. That definition is a loophole is just a game in maths, like suds that prove therefore the very (better) mind of soap (there being of course no unconscious (indeed no ínalogy) for Not (No being the only punctuate allowed in decíration (though if the past werenít pathological reward for context, a Rorschach test, I just dunno (exactly what)))) (it takes the psycho to forget (existence by default is all a citizen can claim) it takes tautology to lie:) ëTo beí for lack of other offers (sure, repetition is self validating, but also is the pox) exaggerates the same, the collateral of buy. (Swappin wads of tick (dust capital) thus defines whatís up for grabs, a sloppy bunch of second nows with nouns on top: the bitch for bang is box.) A prob, the art of end, steps out once more with whatserface, weans me off the self-same means and leaves me suckin on her place, a name without no spots. And coz only the sUbject can Object (a subject a chakra number (a retention) Of the object) without no fear of loss, we call this bit a verse, a please that ípeats until its known the (gull) pause before the theft (having no word for language, Aristotle invents predicates (prose that pretends to flirt with logic but always stays at home) and so communes there only with the deaf:) I say, the sume of you with profit on the fence, a dependent private imitant of sense, the said takes up all the dictionary of space and leaves no view to guage the fact (the Of of Of is such) too true. Music, the miming words as words, the echo then of some (where oneís too fuckin much), informs itself on grammar by talkin full of Was, though gram we know the sames as dream, and haves only on the vish, because. (Intention, the measure of stupidity, describes the awkward as the same. This its trick. To bait the interruption with nough twee negatives that fail to translate. They irritate, but. And so add up. A graceful useless up like parts of speech, a these of those we donít quite know, a charm on legs. Though said a ticularly lousy bet, the (bot) word is on the street (as cop), a two beat take on whats gone down. And like material, it shows (Existence it is beautiful. Coz its yours). (ëAs lost as cozí, cAme At the phrAse without no Apropos. Then stick it in. And wait. Like laws. Sate the subject, the the, watch the doors, the frothy, confessional sequence Of a name.))
The depressiveís grammar ride, the hollowed-out perspective of technique, the almost doubt, the syllogise, the martyr atom way too cool come back, the fucked up dose, the cult of luck, and If, the cynical of It, an ontological blush, stupidity enough, sighed and stole a glace, an infantile regress: romance. Price thus the category mistake par excellence. Ideal. It negotiates the subject of experience, leaves context looking little bit home made (and though the law of the excluded middle was just a gothic parking ticket issued admittedly on spec, it paid): my mom the tampon song. (If the law of identity put out to grass would it use vowels or yous to mark the case? And as nouns suffer localised semantic collapse (the only reasonable statement is a name), language is the last postcard home of yous (what we used to call the dead (I mean, any narrative look like zen when youíre far enough away)), words the concontInuous pres (necessity of course the only self that ímits to partial dentity)). Saying nowt, the listener hears neither this nor that and so thus learns (though only obvious vantages accrue when poorly said) the subtly bad is best (joke) of friends, with the mediocre. The speech act (the using words as mining rights to blame) shows the first obligation to agree is soundly based and so proves that mIstakes are mere the manners changing names (the same in the business of best effect). But is the verb the patient form of statement, or better agent, or quanta of a parrallel event in Yes? Why? Coz theyís relatives of less? Says who, me too, the do dour english and the deed? Is the attribute now any more possible than it once were (before (agreement, a technology the mute)) or is Once the definition dull of It and so too close a cliche call, abstracted as it is from more, the lone context (superstition is a pal) up On the hill? A hint of punctuation and itís off like lobotomies from till (sense, the small ess self of help) as guilt as any other off thatís on, an each way blanket bet on itíll-do type scenery in which the poor buck cunt was lost, the pimp (pat) capital the stop. Saywhat, the get in fucked ís wore out ís why one now is gettin shopped: my pants the circumstance pay rent and so need the job, the sceptical wet blind spOt bill of proof.
Nostalgic for the charm of contradiction (coz we got conundrum on a string, a sorta super pube of empty facts and phantom spasm wants that come your way like syllables and the laying on of hands), iSsues get pulled up like the past, some sort of low life liberal strategic cure, the negative-as-anecdote pill of which (passive-if-)knowledge extremely fond. So, go on, bring on that delinquent luxury tax the market and watch the object buy its turn again t secure the selfsame (rhyme, that what you might have said) panto blonding of the facts. And while knowledge a non-maudlin charity (it is more or less punctual (the name but a reasonable attempt to celebrate guilt)), the subject is therapeutically hostage to (agitated) tríangulation tranques: language, that which makes of you a logic (I is the (remorseful) limit thus (pitch) of you (on the despair of fOrm (repetition is the form of distrust most likely shown:))), a stupid good camp conjugate of unsayables then both-ands the also-ran as wrOng (the question is utopian), though the name would swear it true. As pious as any other greed (the ear the epiphany required by law, need more (left mess) too), the courtesy of. The informer is only the fetish part the plot (heirarchies only prove), the rest is on the blink, a net tech set of depth a debt let out. My hem the bet. Coz most of context is the same, and therefore (dear) algorithmically inclined: I is but the data medium, the argumEnt is you. Sure, laundering is more than most of every dollar bill, but the notes is issued by the custodian the debt. What part of which dos you not understand, the fuck, the get? (Gentrification of the police by syndicating law has been not without its side effects, for example usage of the phone (including usage of the (alibi) wrong number:)) Surveillance (tourism for the blind), tourism (surveillance for the deaf), the market Is an equal (flip flop) opportunity employer. With on a string, restrained by clues the It it is induced. Explanation calls this feedback. The reffo says its wide. And while the object just a smiley cop with some too many sides (we diagnose a fact by what it hears) itís only nEarly limited. Rights were never more surprised than by tautologies on heat: One, the unit of measurement is by definition redundant: collateral. Two, intention, the measure of redundancy, goes one-on-one with banks of pronouns: more. Collateral plus more, charm on legs, aesthetics, says yes. And while yes, I, might well be the em the system, the battery of use, yous but the sum total of its proof: to camouflage negation as a nouns too cute for words iambic as idea is long, a rhyme type blah blah on the loose. The awkward ritual of sense, the list (giíen half a chance) kibitzí all his (aphasiac) trophies (tick) as though thought some sort insurance gainst the past, the mimicing of ink. And coz knowledge more economic than the learning of the workings of a buck, things then breathe the way theys is, credit always looking best when the best is in the pink and the (dogs use dogs t teach irony) syntax in the (The is a (shy) valve) verse: That we mAke sense, is of course, quite nice. That we do it so compulsively is cute. That sense be bestowed like (excess) charity is though the one thing that distracts from understanding that its much more of an unconscious habit than we guess, so that the grace of sense (repression, cheap repetition) is that our making of it really be quite stupíd.
Drib drab, an actuarial subroutine that bland, a coma jammed at some protocol where evidence is legally impossible, the nausea clause (the state, a fractal íttractor that infects its limits (my bitch the positivist) betrayed (knitting is applied hypocrisy) by sticks (oompah oompah shove it up your jumper) (two is just the complicity of three) the cash, and cash, the preferred technology for the farming of the past (memory is pure aesthetics), use More as a technique (the sugar sublimate) of me (jealous of desire, the piety of right, the state of mind, the client, knowledge is a convoluted avoiding ísponsibility (it is not a consolation and needs be without guarantee or residuals of hope for a self to even make At sense)). And the medium, that which determine the responsibilities to which it (dob) access (the poorís event) is that íspended tween its (mucus) being and its use, so your ísperience now Its unconscious (motive the frustrated souvenir), a pedantic style put about by common sense, I mean knowledge is the last event horizon on which to build a friend. Thinking, ersatz identity (itís a pleasUre to know you (instrumental reason, pillow talk)), barters end for end (justice is the limit of guilt), the mode of more, and for? InfinIte recursion for a design life of five is spensive, specially if plastic do just as fine, so, exasperated by the then, the ideal present, the event now the last known argument: and what is it bout survivors that you trust, their happy ends? Like a pain jockey is not yet totally absurd, the word learns lots from fiction: diction cured of what it may offend, the paradox is bust. I mean, if I want to be humiliated why confess to being you? Itís not that I legitimise the cop by such dull and lurid theft, but rather reIncarnate truth, the self-righteousnestís design crime (pic (flatter)) shoes. And while difficulty is indeed a form of resistance, language of course the popular of change (it takes an adverb to invent possibility): the beauty of logic (a content-free fashion plate (logic is what it thinks it is, glib)) is that itís burdened by no immune system with an Itch, and as an opportunist, requires no knower, sure, the ípiphany of more: I is the mistake (glottal, tautology on leg, ideal, exploit (the broke is too psychological by half) the too coy facts apart): it fix. Context, the early bluff: a fact can be an hypocrite, a dog can not. Coz was thus the idiom of choice, plot, a pot lot what embarrassed by the (criterion-what-bite) noise. (Using cash to distribute context (redundancy rhymes with off (a rhyme is a symptom with a box)), an itch is called an itch with its useage piled on top:) Never equal to itself, it left. (You be my placebo, its easier on the sheets, a short idea in irritants that repeat like neuro fluro irony in bits:) The present, that which turns the banal into a threat (neví not out of character, the democrAt refUses to resOlve conflIct (the masochist of course prefers the shape of conflict to its cause)) then says, two ones is two. But this time frím over there (informers outnumber teachers two-to-one, like gamers ísearching strategies for-them-more-than GIs on the ground (redundancy in the seer not the seen)), which means that the violence (appropriated by conjugation) of the object is deferred, as though maths was some a fact of english (no mere sales associate), a patent on the obsolEte. (Knowledge, avoidance therapy for the neurotically inclined, adds its two bits to claim the catatonics off his tits and couldn sign. Fine, the picture is the perfect crime. And tabooed.) Like use is reasonably unconscious. But when? When its transferred? When it pretends to (queue) metaphor as diff? (As if.) The vanity of doubt is easily stirred, it comes in the deluxe spelling of the word as stiff (spliff clit), a phantom limb, that (cutting edge epíleptic consumer) always tryin t kick. Symptoms (attempted self-cures) list by distance from the pants those sins for which the very switc