I Am Not Sure How Much I

As I Enter The Small Intestine I Get Squeezed By Muscles. Its Dark And The Walls Look Like Slimey Crushed Velvet Theres Pancreas Juice On Me Help Me I Am Disintigrating.

No Matter What, Expect The Unexpected. And Whenever Possible Be The Unexpected.

The Thing I Call ‘my Mind’ Seems To Be Kind Of Like A Landlord That Doesn’t Really Know Its Tenants.

I Do Dumb Stuff, Like Playing My Favorite Dumb Barry White Song And Lip-synching Into The Mirror So It Looks Like His Voice Is Coming Out Of My Mouth.

What Is An Idea Made Of? Of Future, Past And Also Meanwhile.