ptm CONTUMELY

Separation of Spine from Hypothalamus

I have separated my spine from my hypothalamus. As I have no pineal gland to speak of, nor would I if I did, I am relatively free from Cartesian wellsprings and tallow. In turn, if I may, I have dislocated the non-lesion (ed) portion of my frontal lobe from the scup of my skullcap, resulting in a lessening, or cessation, of all psycho-locution activity. I tried pulling a rarebit from the rector of my ass, but sadly enough, was unsuccessful, more so, a complete and utter nonsuccess. I manipulated and rasped an xyster I found in a shoebox pushed beneath my bed, as would have it, against the manse of my glenoid and the cove of my scapula, resulting in an caulking of horrid pain and skirling. After which I leisurely smoked a haberdasher’s-made cigarette that refused to reach an ashen state of dereliction. Last night, was it? I slept in the clod of my bed linen, pillows fluffed and apportioned behind my neck, shoulders and head bereft of skullcap and scotching. Upon waking the following morning, was it? I hastily smoked a half-lit cigarette with lips chapped and russet with lice scales and nit skins. I drank several modest cups of coffee, smoked again, and evacuated the nostrum of my evacuee. This I will do ad nausea or until I recall how to spell Habramassif without laughing like a fucking Banshee. Thank you again, all one of you, for your continued support, hushed laughter, and purblind Oedipal I.