makalani bandele

unit_69 can’t believe it’s not butter

every which way but loose. how you experience the back of the eye in the curve of sleep. bullet-riddled is the apartment. don’t play me, play the powerball if you wanna play something. the most harmful secrets are the ones we keep from ourselves. didn’t make the rules, so why should lil’ daddy follow them?
room full of paradoxical furniture and nothing comfy to lounge on. don’t start me to lyin’. not a big fan of 1:1 aspect ratio, and then wander off. can i get a soul clap? such an illuminative and fruitful conversation i got going on with myself. loose rules sink ships, so follow the sentence-makers to the go-go on the ocean floor.
the only reasonable cat in a convention of fire ants—the scorpion relentlessly stings itself to avoid being eaten alive. dead presidents talk a gang of annuities. every woman to her tent, every child of a mother to her mountain, the king is mad. guess who’s coming to dinner in drag.