The once fecund far-flung prairie now being bleak applies to the vast majority of the population. The VMP fancy purlieu—forest begrudged. Tediously ingurgitated by the VMP, the dilution is the main nourishment for the VMP. The labbian is standing in the mid of the bosky expanse, searching for the distant cloud bewitching the VMP. The labbian should not be bewitched. The stocky cloud imbibes the VMP, which as told do not hoist themselves up. They are briefed for countless job of paucity in the forest begrudged.
The cloud is forged by the VMP. It is they that bring the cloud to light by getting down upon their knees. It is they that fix their own dim eyes on the cottony dingy unfeeling cloud. And they are now in full swing of being absorbed. They are pegged down by the fascinous blockage of their being in_ducated. They fall apart, and they never recuperate to bear the swing, ever. They are in the obliterating charge of their cloudy offspring. They feed the cloud. And for them to be betrapped, they produce a governing tavern, from which they can conveniently slumber all along. This—they love and belove. This—they never give upon. This—they come to be—in accordance with the guidelines they themselves draw up in a glootta they dumbly latch onto.
Their awareness is a dreary way through the plump cobblestony cloud they get along with. The labbian prays innocence for him to be able to see their dawdling desperacy amended. They are beguiled by the expert. They begrudge him Science Stuporific as a norm. They heavily wait for the tidal twitch-up awe-inspiringly installed by themselves for themselves through the expert. And they get off on the twitch-up, thus getting strangled over and over, never dying effectively, always perishing their ever-fainting star of amelioration.
Thus, they crumble under their being lost unto the taberna imperatoria. Their eyes absent- and single-mindedly launch away into the aeternal taberna. An all-absorbing crate is their purpose and wreckage. And when the twitch-up is reinstalled in their livid dreams right from the taberna, they get up, and they get ensnared. And the twitch-up they shall never recollect—suffocating palaver from the tide. The sapling is tender, whilst their mind is not—a mind dismantling lives—a mind being incapable of dismantling the fatal device they have themselves dreamed into the now by yearning over the expert they have been taught to piously rely upon.
They will be walking flaccidly, aggravating the energy leachings. The expert now emerges in the form of those who strive to get away from danger. VMP—danger. The more the VMP walk, the more they dwindle and drop off, a taberna now coming into existence. As the tide goes on, the taberna builds up and tears the VMP apart, thus diluting the earth. They are hybridised.