by B.J. Delas Armas
on 1/26/2004 09:55:00 PM
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A chaotic redwood-tree natural force full of nitro, hydro, slash various other cool-millennium-cutthroat sounding chemicals et cetra shoots like lightning all over my anatomy from vein to neuron to thigh to ischial callosities. The feeling's tingly tingly tingly sparkly wiggly, yet ready to focrush like a beer can and melt the biggest indefatigable enemy it has seen. Gawd him/herself would have trouble slowing this fluid chaos down.
This force shoots out so strongly that it bends the word force, chucks and bawls it fluidly into 'FOWACE!' and scoops my whole anatomy as I mentioned earlier that I could break-run through a crowd of big, swinging slamming brave hammers and still be standing while carrying a baby.
The fowace can even be transcending and all-encompassing (which people can't relate to nor really understand which is why its described second) I could even do calculus without my fruggin' hippie frodo baggin head turning itself into a soggy Auntie Anne's almond pretzel dipped in caramel.
Frick, I could even grow my hair to an afro, wear a basketball headband on my head, pound the ground like I'm making an earthquake and yell and call myself raw as if I grew up blunt force trauma-ed on the streets !
While this fowace goes all ways, any way, it never goes all day. I think cause its finite created by something of might to remind you that no matter what height you temporarily reach you are just another living thing grounded and trudging in the human plight.
Labels: Waxing Floetric