Behold, the great kittens from space have blessed the milk cartons of yore. Off we go into feather-man, the couch and lamps dance to the song styling of pizza boxes. Eat the spoons, and the sprinklers smell like fish bowls. Banana juice doesn’t agree with company certified insanomatic hot sauce. Test the pastor for his guillotine hearing feet. The French had it right; don’t stick to the tops of peanut jars. Why does it smell like antelope urine in my brain? For I am the universe, and you are a peasant monkey. Worship the process of making sweet, sweet orangutan rings. Feel the conservative flow of my snow blowing bottled cursive writing. Do you hear that? That’s the wind sniffing the earth marbles. Feast my kings upon the northern binoculars.