Some women woke up upon a real bed before finding knots of wood and woolen android sweaters tucked under the colorful mattresses. They all heard healthy little bird-like animals. They were fist-sized and most evil. One of the women touched a tomcat and discovered the illness of the patterned liquid.
Fill up the nice vehicles and the brothers will be happy to ride in them. They will hide money, odd candy, bullets, and toy cows in the glove box. Then someone will cry and my prayers will become less human, more fish-like, full of a strident electricity. The brothers will feel the faces of a hundred dead lovers pressing against their chests, abdomens, and asses. One brother will die with something inappropriate in his body, indicating fulfillment of a certain vengeance.
I know that tomorrow I will meet someone. I think he keeps a crow tooth in his armpit. He has my Vertical Horizon compact disc. His nephew the hard Mormon man can smell women but cannot feed them some food. I made that up. But I want my compact disc tomorrow. I will get it from the guy who has the thing in his armpit. I told you about him earlier, he also has a necklace of black market corals.
Wait for the leaves. They explain a lot. They come from trees and taste like the voice of the sun. They can make memories that do not burn. They make thoughts like bad ice. They make imagined faces like birdhouses.
Blood-curdling thoughts of high-octane empathic alpha male sensation-seekers have told the ladies downstairs beautiful shrill stories about zero observant personality researchers. Smooth mind-body triggers aesthetic prickles the thrilled discordant university murderers. North Carolina is intense. Anything jarring or out of place ruffles humble thinkers' emotions.
