Gramiscus

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I am the Lord of the Dance. Behold my nimble legs. When I type it echoes in my house because my house is made of hollow rocks and stones and concrete walls. My metaphorical prison is the third rabbit that unbundles my laundry. With the third coming of the noon the flesh of fallen angels and then I said I wouldn't takeout but it's too high in calories.

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Dreadful Spat Club #10

by Gramiscus
11-22-02

There's only one other person I know, or have ever known, that has suffered the same as me.


	And woe the silence of the night foretells - as my skin creeps from the midnight bells. As the spiders grow larger and larger, pulling me farther and farther. Soon I will be them. Their food.

And she's a dirty hippy.


	Groovy, man. Groovy.


	Thank you.

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