Brinesanity – an abide jar, filled with all the fuqs given.


An Overture apo Gus

A small reflection, a sent.


Orange, off-grid.

Cents not of the copper odour.
Alas, seven of the sins covered the merger.
Cognitive gavels, and as ominous as the Francophone moose.

The moose was a trip.
Ghetz, is not.

If you are asking what colour it has to be, maybe you can’t walk in it.

For shame, it is kind of like a runway, but with one fucking hell of a bunch of interesting pilots.

That smoke, or fog?