for a few minutes it felt like being a jedi mesmerizing this man. now it's even worse. i don't have to justify. i take part to no negociation. i don't stand a chance. i'm not a citizen. a few hours later i'm now in the mood and condition i suggested when doing the trick. i feel bad. i've played this South song, Torriano like twenty times, a few at different speeds and then a dozen at the right speed, a precise 33 rpm a drift with no voice, no drums, no machines, just despaired sadness.

got my eyes caught for a few minutes by that article. you know, you read the subject, find it interesting and start drifting from that point to what you expect theses words should/would take you and if it's strong it just occurs that you drift and fly, have a major internal voyage (usually without words, expressions) and that time was spaceless motionless, anyless but happy personal memories that don't belong to me and may have never occur, but me, mouth open staring at the emptiness of a 17inch screen, just these words i didn't really read all blurred before that red horizon. you know my position on that and you hate it, find me scynical that i'm not, it's all part of my interior childhood (the one that remains), wall or frontier to protect us from what is closed and insane, beyond first impressions and mediatic simplifications, wall against the pope, kennedy, reagan, bill gates, helmut khol, the dalai lama, the return of the jesus menace, the cheese on your salad, a wall to leave us walking allong large avenues. freedom is not happyness but don't give a damm and both are not targets to us. this time hire a citizen from the other side to come up with good marketing.

they don't give a damm, the sleep thieves. my head feels like brainwash echo in white noise scales powder dust. i'll give dope a try. sleep thieves, taking it away from me, no dreams and no surprises. wake up at 2 pm, food, bits and wait for sleep until 3, 4, 5 or 6, the fucking contemplation of numbers. leave me alone, give me a break, sand dunes, the desert until the end of your sight, ages of silicon, no alarms, no cures, final stance. i'm wasted global that never came. intelligence is power crunch numbers unit tables hertz reaction thrust. i'm a self titled DJ Shadow of the pixels, more about that later, when i'll wake up, dune's sleeper, please don't care about me.

Copper streets surround me, dignity no more, forth in asphalt to tolerate myself, to refuse the oxygen in pathetic patherns of sexual content not suitable for the behind me. the computer is the cylinder you smoked and cease of size divolving an array of salt guard the other tide, wounded legions of un-survivors cutting age over the smart area of chains of models of decline, where the gateway is later ever none the obvious options instrumental to the pulse invading chunks of leadership over the dumb dummies former class action heroes

i often cried, sick tired and of sun, to leave child process. it all turns to grey fading away awash to a decimal shade casted by remorse strong enough to blend the edge of society. been to this coktail at the Gabon ambassy for Olivier, the George Michael syndrom again. no lisa or was i blind. but you can do a thing to stop me by now. feels like being dirty without a cause, no affection to communicate without talking, by hand, code bots leading the assault, where is the wall that used to protect us ? money destroys.

nice bikini, step in stance, to find a stategy for my cut-up processor. week-end wasted trying to fix both my computers who have had very though problems. i felt desperate at the point none of the machines was working, so emotional, first time in months. was helplessly staring at my world collapsing. now you know i sort of overcome this mess as i write but to get my main machine to work, i had to retrograde to my former 30mhz processor and it feels like i can't handle my environment in real time. the network is the computer the weaker.

my kicks, on channel six, teen, fudge. new school shoping from the other site cites clouds for remorse hence the duty colision in a foreign spirit. stucks and gone memory she never recalls ever dump the packets stuffed to the core, the nutshell don't be afraid, they dive to try away, pain can be a friend, later, division rules and chemical maths.