fig.zer0-dope) tic-tac emt vomit ace bandage limitation "This is that slow fishing song I know. Floating backwards, I can hear it in my ears while a line squiggles its very long path of many adjacent rays that reach all the way out to the sun. Where the ocean can be heard like a slip of of fabric being ushered to the floor. I know this song like it's a bell inside of my hollow head, a miracle shouting for recognition or content that's for the sake of more content. Carrying on like this, in a row like they're hollow bones or the satellites of tiny teeth making up a circlet upon your brow by imitating all the damp glitter I've just swept from under our rug. My eyes are very alive when they see you. They're not just organs, they're goosed up on fear. They're cowboys looking to dance with the danger of their own angels under the gnarlish tree that's beside a four sided mule who's benaying or beneaping seems askew." I find myself singing this sl