BEGIN march 25th critical amass

This is not over yet.

I think that the blueprint is written in that novel about the cars. i think the blueprint is written underneath the sunshine on the smoggy day. I think the blueprint is there to build up the house underneath the last tree of the decade.

Decadance-ence-pendance:

I will not go through with it.

We had a critical mass ride and the wind is now blowing fast shaking the streetlights hard. It was a good ride and we had lots of fun riding and the cars were angry and happy blah blah blah. We will be having a bicycle wedding july 16th and we will pull the old people with a bicycle rickshaw. My god isn't the god.

History is subjective there are all these little fish swimming around and underneath the leaves is the truth but there is nothing under them because the ground you are walking on is an illusion the leaves make the soil green and happy.

Rocking on the sea change of the last 500 years. We rowed up the hill to the North Korean War Camp. I don't think we will make it after all she said to me under her breath. "Oh come on you can do it baby..."

The general was standing on the edge of that snowy cliff and we approached he slowly came into view. As we got closer we realised that underneath his feet was not a small step ladder but 5 men in pyramid formation and the general was standing on the sholders of the top two with three at the base. The mean immediately under his feet were oriental looking with black hair and flat noses. The three men at the bottom had dark brown skin with dark curly hair. The general himself was purple coloured, a sort of UV phosphlouresence. He was unbuckling his pants at the belt. Mary watched as the lofty man used his left hand to unzip his fly and pull out his throbbing limp cockadoodledoo. I woke up and ate cornflakes.

She was vomiting blood. Again. I told her that she should not have gone to that restaurant and that you could tell that they didn't like her by the cut of their jib. She said she thought sailing was a pompous irrelevant sport and would I please hold her hair back so as she would not soil the strands with flecks of upchunk. I walked up behind her and noticed how her voluptuous ass quiverred as she leaned forward and her body retched violently. I saw the pant creases folded neat and suggestively at the apex of her thighs as her pelvis rocked forward and back. Quietly I slipped my penis out of the sock supending it out straight in front of my stomach and then I tucked my penis down into her pantyhose. Can't have it getting in the way. No room for error here in this tricky operation. I am going to have to leave my penis there bound in place so that I am not tempted to use it otherwise: I can't really trust myself these days.

So I said: "There there, it will be all right now." as I rubbed the small of her back in minute circles and lifted the hair dangling precariously in front of her face back around her head behind her neck. There was bloodvomit on the strands and smeared over my clean fingers. I could smell the shampoo of her newly washed hair overwhelmed by the acid ferric smell of the excretions. She heaved just one more time which caught me off guard and I flinched slightly. I had become transfixed on the syrupy dripping of the syrup in the syrup store window up over yonder when the retch sound startled my revelry. I looked to see if I had pulled her hari to hard when I flinched but my hand was lifting up high as the weight at the other end was gone. Dust everwhere and she had become ash blowing away in the windstorm and all I was left with were dry hair strands and the colour of her hair. Her clothes were crumpled at my feet in the cremated dust remains. I sad down and made a sand castle out of the dust which stuck together much better than beach sand - as would loamy fine soil - but it refused to mould.

I consulted an archiatect in the Concord Pacific devolment corporation on how I ought to be beuilding my condominium sand castle so that the building materials would remain affixed to one another and that [crucially for the building permit] I could create an earthquake proof building on a tight budget.

"First you mahst build a scale model." He uttered in his delicious Swedish accent. "I will use little plastic people walking their dogs in the model. This is sure to please the planning department. Plus of course we will put in a theoretical bicycle parking room and 35% social housing [5% more than manditory]. Of course once the permit is approved we need not even build any social housing mixed units, and of course not the silly bike room, but until then let me do all the drawings and model making. My secretary will take your umbrealla."

I gave the swedish woman secretary my umbrella and she shook the rain off of it before placing it in a rubbish bin especially designed for the purpose. She took me by the left hand and softly led me into a dark room with sultry mood music coming from unseen speakers. She asked me to remove my shoes and sit down and lay back in the comfortable chair in the centre of the room. She flicked two switches and one after the other a spotlight focused on my face then my chair began to recline extremely until I was lying almost straight with my feet raised slightly above my head. She asked me to open wide as she sat on a stool and attached a medical bib to the front of my breast.

A smalle buzzer rang out and this sultry vixen left quickly excused herself from the room with "I'll be back in a moment Mr.Adams."

It took a very long time, in fact, before she did return. I could hear the man in the next room screaming in agony as the drill losed the bacteria from the cavity between his rotten teeth. There was that nauseating flouride flavoured toothpase smell and the drill whigned such a shrill deafening wail that I almost sat up and walked out of there. However, the Swedish assistane returned almost immediately before I had resolved myself to get up and go and stilled my anxiety with her soft manicured fingernails trailing lightly across my shirted navel. I stereched my mouth wider open and she reached in with the spinning tooth scrubbler and began to give me my 6 month cleaning and check up. I tried to hold still at the discomfort of the mouth cleaning combined with my saliva build up that I could not swallow. She noticed the glandular fluids presently and inserted a slight vacuum tube into the back of my food hole and ordered: "Spit!" A long mucussy strand of saliva was sucked from my mouth. It was a pleasant feeling if you did not think of the vulgarity.


I was prostrate beneath my orthodontic goddess and she pulled my wet dang out of her pantyhouse which had been uncomfortably stuck in there since mary faded into oblivious. After my teeth were satisfactorily cleaned and I had had enough of the sweet swedish busom gently glancing across my cheek the dental assistant pulled back and put away the cleaning tools. She stood up and walked across to the back of the room and bent over to retrieve a small plastic container from a low shelf. I noticed her voluptuous ass quiverring as she leaned forward. I saw the pant creases folded neat and suggestively at the apex of her thighs as her pelvis rocked forward and back. Quietly I slipped my penis out of the sock supending it out straight in front of my stomach and then I tucked my penis down into her pantyhose. Can't have it getting in the way. No room for error here in this tricky operation. I am going to have to stop doing that to women because I may one day get slapped. However so far I was more likely to attend a funeral than get my cheek bruised so I hazarded the manouvour. Opera was now playing on the PA.

She straightened and turned to face me then walked forward with her arms outstretched holing the small plastic cylinder. She sat on her stool and untwisted the cap. I did not see exactly what dark object she pulled out from the container but felt the cockroach legs wriggling and squiggling on my tongue soon enough. She swithed on a TV monitor and adjusted the suspended camera to focus in on my mouth and now i could see more clearly the two insects sparring within. They were kickboxing and I could hear the sports announcer yelling our the progress of the fight. Four long rounds and it looked like the fight was a fair match and neither bug was winning clearly. I was tired and felt that perhaps I ought to close my mough, spit out the foul invertibrates and end the whole business. However, i felt that the fat man sitting smoking a dark cigar between his two brawny bodyguards might not like that.

"See here chum feller" he said, "I think I know what you are thinking now and I reckon you best not be thinkin that there thought for much logner then. I've got a lot of MOOLAH riding on this here roach fight! Moo you, boo shoe."

The bodyguard on the left grinned menacingly and chuckled an agressive laugh in response to his employers pun. The right side body guard simply fingered the sidearm at his right side.

I made a show of staring straight at the TV monitor and nodding my head in appreciation whenever the announcer commented on a perticularly vicious blow. This was a good fight and I would stick it out to the end. Perhaps even this plump mafiadon might see it in his heart to share a small cut of his winnings with the man who had to hold his mouth open to have the bugs fight to the death on pay-per-view TeeVee. It was willful optimism on my part, roachcock gamblers aren't known for their charity, they are known for their hairy vaginas. And was a wet pussy it was!

Slices of hot sharp wax burst under my nipples and my body exploded into Ten Thousand peices all over the walls of the Swedish dentistry office and roach gambling telecast new centre. The sports announcer anchorman got into a fistfight with his beer thinking that my exploding corpse goo was some kind of fraternal prank send by the losing team. The gambler and his body guard each pulled out a different type of revolver but did not shoot the swedish nurse because she had a condom on and men don't like condoms up their vagina.

The soft flesh yeilded to my muted agony and I thrust up under those pretty red fingernails. No more need for nailpolish removed. Brass and steel do not mix well. "You cannot refrigerate our coleslaw, it will dampen the crisp flavours."

It's not that I don't love you reader. I think you are two of the most beautiful people in my world. Don't think that I don't know who you are saying is doing this because I know what she said to you last night and I want you to know that she told me today that it is as if we had never mentioned it.

Maple syrup in your gastank George Bush, sugar carbonised the pistons til the engine seized up to hell. Fuck you baby bear. We ain't in Florida no more baby. This is no african AIDS love child born into a world of western TeeVee loving name droppers. Your daipers are not going to be full on Tuesday so lets have a make up dental appointment for then, I'mm sorry that we were unable to complete aLL of the bridgework this afternoon. Don't eat or drink anything for at least two hours.