What’s In My Fanny Pack?
Funny you ask…this is a tale of mental beguiles and tried tribulations…so what’s in my fanny pack.
As a precursor; I desensitize all things and from there is a true desensitization. That is where associative and dissociative become clearly not one in the same. The associate and neuronal processes functioned, yet it was difficult. Making connections and maintaining “ status ” were like second nature. It was the nurture. False at that…The connection of a fanny pack was well based on future assignments. I entered and they often exited.
The exact contents of my fanny pack are to be revealed: it is all health based…I will go into depth on the side of health and me…why regiments of what I claim to be “ stabilizing ” is health related, more than artificial related.
To begin…I bring the essentials. Travel documents…multiple ways to get out of “ hell ”…it was hell getting outside and back inside the atmosphere of the own planet. That is jibber jabber and that was the essential essentials. In my fanny pack is meds…period; ask and I shall tell…just not on this day…two quintessential pictures and ways to go from hell to heaven…very queasily. An puffer…it is sometimes necessary and sometimes not…puff away…puff away float away….
I keep my dog in there as well…its lunar; I think…
I keep a stamp pad for the masses. To mark a name sake and address; in time and space…
This was the beginning.
The end is that it virtually it never leaves my side.
The Other Day
The premise of “ The Other Day ” is weeping and categorizes all genres of love as quintessential. The other day it was about history, benevolent history and smaller images than a thumb nail. The other day was a tale of strange espionage. Not in the sense of making espionage obsolete; but desolate. It was a harkened moment that the smaller images of extreme real estate were filled and filed. It was a game and it was a moment of smaller images versus larger images. The other day it was love versus history and history versus time. What was the difference? The difference always allowed one to see the benevolent history and all genres. The essence…oh the essence of being that spy…that lie…that inner lined gold buyer and seller…only gold was not the measure…
It was about an austere eye and the keen advantage of making gold into good deeds. Being kind and trying to go out of your way for the guy / girl next door.
The Other Day begins now:
Reaping over his soldier coat; Markef reached for his small umbrella. It was a special umbrella. It was tan and burgundy. It was the burgundy that was maroon, cranberry, and red altogether. Inside was a golden heel. It was a shoehorn and a little sharpened golden edge. There was espionage and there was happy espionage. This espionage was like creeping the reaping soldier coat. The essence and the most susceptibility came from the Burgundy, maroon, cranberry and red. Red was for the blood never shed. Cranberry for the off colors of reds’ definition. Maroon, as well…Markef and technology were synonymous and the umbrella purred. Markef reached for the small of his back.. “ tried by 12 than carried by six ” he rethought. Markef ignited the small of his back and produced the umbrella; red, cranberry and maroon…alike in symmetry and the espionage game was to be the same. Math, Blood and Destruction; there was never an end…it was the grandiose and the more grandiose that made Markef who he was: epitome, strength and the keen eye.
Markef knew that the other day; there was math and math overload…the espionage was about configurations and algorithms. The most susceptibility was the umbrella’s gas.
