"On 2012" An Email from Devon Green
Friday, December 28, 2007
this is another new feature that is sure to be done one or two times and then i will forget about it and you wont see it again, but for now it should be kinda fun! i get emails from time to time from Devon Green, real good stuff... i mean, Devon knows how to write an email for sure! so yeah, thought i would start sharing some of his emails with all of you out in the www...
"on 2012- i don't think much is going to really happen that day. maybe we will stand on African soil that is truly free for the first time in centuries. i think we will live outside of language for maybe a day but when we enter the spectral universe everything will be familiar and warm again. the sun will be unmasked and a girl with light pouring out of her face will be there. she will lead us there."
"on 2012- i don't think much is going to really happen that day. maybe we will stand on African soil that is truly free for the first time in centuries. i think we will live outside of language for maybe a day but when we enter the spectral universe everything will be familiar and warm again. the sun will be unmasked and a girl with light pouring out of her face will be there. she will lead us there."
posted by Todd (cant spell) at
8:38 AM
3 Comments:
the jewish pink salmons flesh was licked by the sheriffs daughter. His penis tasted like cold creek water his cum had the character of an old moon over a barn. she became very very sick for a day after this and was lying in bed looking at physchadelic posters in her room. She loved the sick feeling in her lower intestine, it was infecting her mind so she became enamored with the sight of an old woman licking the surface of the creeks rapids as she was suspended from cables hanging from the redwood trees ( the steel was cold ) she had squandered her families fortune on this endavour ( mercilees theft ) it was mathced equally in the enfolding of the young delirious girls wet pussy as the jewish pink salmon's legs straightened almost in slow motion entering the upstairs bedroom with a chandeleir in his left hand, cut and taken from a branch in the same forest, an age old sight.
he's just mad becuase his wifes pussy turned into a conch shell. Aren't you Fred?
Fred: This is stupid.
Be patient like a fountain. I am as patient as a fountain.
Who are these poems about?
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