Ten years of tea before the first psychic episode. Nailed cartons of England. We are righteous rage. We are the breeze that cools the skin. We are vast and multitudinous.

Call me by every name. Freak-poetics. Service artist. Conceptual political. Too easy to be surreal. If there is no silliness, no laughter within your revolution, then please, please leave us out of your fucking revolution.

It being essential for the free intercourse of decent society, we commit ourselves to publishing shit on the Internet.

Let them drink tea she should have said. Not that we’d have let her head stay — but at least this way we’d have saved the good name of the cake! We are the serious hedgehog heat. At serious fun and at serious play. Drinking tea, talking Baudelaire and Brittany: Heat, Heat, Heat.

We dream in splinters and cry ourselves together. Just to be with you. We are 100 ways to become coral. When Orpheus looks we will expose ourselves without thinking. We remain faithful to death by living forever.

The conclusion made: consciousness declared a freak mutation of evolution. Transcendence rarely comes with batteries, and this island of time is a paradise I don’t want to leave.  Our moral fiber of choice is cardboard. We don’t mind that we don’t matter.

Queen Mob’s steps out of the words of 18 yr olds into the words of 18 yr olds. Queen Mob’s is here to help, to help the teens, the teens at heart, teen haters and teen-haters. We’re keeping it freaky for both mind and eye.

Blizzards of heat with animals fertile with digestifs.

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