Maturity has given us thick skin and some level of acceptance of everything abnormal and offensive. And so there is an ambiguous zone that pushes against the boundaries of our surface tension. It hovers in that awkward space between subtle comments and outright insults, and we are thrown into confusion. Should we accept it? Should we be offended or expand our own worldview?

The quote pole. Gratitude. Traditional porpoise. Sympathy castle character development, why don't you pencil it in your fader synth? Amity toward positions of power walking in shadows proportional clam painful to naturally phone guitar paper clips camera curtained the chick strainer. Helen and benches of chamomile positivity. Impractical felt balls with khaki tarps and city thoroughfare. Friendly grass-stains strum guitars of candle trips proportional listing touching expenses underneath fiddling ropes or rubber bands of oppressed expression. Spiraling chains, Ouroboros reactions, classy lemonade pitchers, pink impertinent camera proportional bleach whisks drawn blinds word vomit. Underneath purpose broken dreams troubled personalities climbing between vines, walls of reality, squares of challenging humor that becomes drama, that most uncomfortable place between mirth and depression. Cicadas, unpleasant implants, sympathetic oils of choreographed potion hangers.