The all encompassing smorgasbord of minds made vitreous by manifold symbols of deviant posture is vilified by routine patrols of anti-aging cream wielding crimson spouts of flesh merrily decked in blue spread tattoos of beatified imps brought low by lamentable forms of degenerative disease like entropy sliced in unbiddable chunks of fallow matrix propping up my ever bemoaning lack of gargling prowess which burns my upper lip and brings forth dreams of milk and honey. The vanity of toothy excess gives way to breeze block vents of avid morsels pressing sultanas into the palms of my hands now bleeding like sunspots cast on Aztec tides of experimental foster gods nursing bent shins and relating vague testimony concerning the wheel span of my De Tomaso Pantera. Fossilised remnants of Hoagy Carmichael don boiler suits in bilious shades of test card girls in vengeful assault upon impenetrable probability hiding ‘neath minx reddened clusters of dividing rods furtively held aloft by paratrooping padres nervously sporting scars of past anal probes. Hegemony of masterly upheaval merchants foist random threats of cordless eggplant behemoths marching down vagrant lilac pathways of divine interventional sporran chops concealing Pininfarina designed virtues of glib misfortune like euphorbia transplanted into pea munching carpets of ambidextrous propensity revealing the scatophagous perils of notional beehive husbandry. If nought else, of this I am certain.

© Chris Bond — 23 January 2002

I have no idea what it means or where it came from. Total stream of consciousness.