for it would be lost among the brilliance of the demented stars shining heavily from across the sea, this, this, this little legerdemain, as the bloody spot on the greasy dog who spends copious amounts of dedication to lick, lick, lick while time passes in great enormity to calmly snuff out the last vestige of beauty and grace, catchable in brief forms when juxtaposed with lurid pigs. i am happy. i have spoken and have reached an orifice of memory to sleep now the dreams of the dead. and i am happy.