THE
STRING10
SYNDICATE

Circumstances of inquietude surface from the plasm of my heart, yet the berry doldrums of your presence mirror the banal rhythm that acquiescently flows from those oscillating mandibles. Oh those perches of peaches. Gyrating. Congregating. Misspoken amasses of syllables and vowels paint my temple with the pressure of Newton as if predicting my fingers' retention for such thoughts...blah blah blah blah blah

The purple monsters of Aquavit descend upon the softened mountains of the sea to find the pickled pears of today.

THE MARIONETTE APPEARS TO BE MISSING FROM THE LOAF