Ninety-nine lives quantify consciousness to undermine the loss of this ability to transmogrify beliefs from lies. Ninety-nine hives buzz with information speed signs of discontent to new, new tribes of elemental fives and we head for azure-cerulean astral skies to theriomorphically heightened communion with my siblings and InI. Feline surprise will leave behind linear demise. Grab multidirectional megaphones and harvest freshly encrypted strains of mind. Thru depth in text or audio cutup skills we flex rest assured in your heart we've sigilized with the best. Don't even run your fuckin fingertips across the desk. There is no sense to make. There is no one to impress. Our fear leaves us without distress. Take every-fuckin-thing in jest.
There ain't no truth? D'fuck we fight, bleed, trip, and spit for all thru-out the trialsa youth? Was we asleep at the wheel when semi-aut spray hit Case cross his face between Morris ave. and 22? Right. Some skills've no need for successes as a tangible proof. I'm still standin' wit my feet on the concrete and thats an accomplishment where I been, dude.So many shades of green rule supreme, but shit I must admit I still ain't even sure who the fucks livin' who. Dead president double-penetration or phony rugged thugs without an ounce a nice or gram a smooth.
Mind blowing elctro-analog improv which sometimes consists of washes of sound on top of layers of bass that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end. This is horrorcore pure & simple Z(enseider)Z