I USED TO RECOIL REAL GOOD

That was the death grip,and now I will have my time to go blind

The title page of the one who has remembered, and touched the most secret locations, and come there already broken a bit and without provisions, for then, for there, is a strangely colored sun, the one that is set to mark and beckon, to identify our steward in this locus

~ ~ ~

Sense of finality comes with insanity. they are partners in their assiduous assault. and, Book, you know that i am not inconcurrent; a terminology for someone like me, is (rehash)

Or watcher /or, regurgitator/

NOTE:
  i can do stuff, i am not defenceless, nor skillless nor nothing nor not nothing, and its all just as well that these pages are porous – a someone who would kiss me was a blaze from the digital plane, and in classic me fashion – Destroy Everything

    Fuera, i will be lulling you – its the nicest thing that i could do.

write an homage to winter, an ode to memory – give the chefs what they want, even peace, even a laugh

Give Laughter reprieve in which to breathe – give the breather space (funnily) and the earnest of one’s eagerness to defeat oneself in battle. to the battle, give thy will.

I have leased my body

Pea’s house looks like an almost exact inverted version of my Gram’s house in my hometown; it was surreal– and now, that void drifting further — constellations appearing where before there was a hazy star

A star, chiding and smiling way near the core, such a smile that said core cannot be hid by surface fervour – this is the way that a lover smiles

Now here at the end of things on earth, i imagine the sun, our Sol, swallowing us whole

The story in which the other wasted bottom dismisses her own route to the oddly safe shock

Against her bland backdrop of albescent tunnel vision

   - expressing something deep within
   loaded with dense long material

Long ago she quit the river,
   could not hold her uneven bottom
   too long,
Young, disheveled wet,
   tiled against a captured sky
   in the peripheral game
      of the lovely antiquated

The world is a sigh
The sites in the mind where things have happened
are visited by emaciated frothing thieves,
  their daggers in their sides

*sing-songy* the squeaky wheel wins.

Undersea clenchventures – anal ago us play – its better this way – the ol in&out – mal-functionary & wary. keep the cock in wait for grading, and time between movements proper spacing

Satan, bleating the ‘good news’, says, “this is riveting.” thinks, “I anal to please!” (laugh track)

Champion is a verb. turning up the ivory sweetness brought down in a leathery package, for time-release surprise – thankfully, our Sol is a champion of the truth.

not all who do not fly were meant to stay ground-bound forever. many creatures learn to leap; some of those same creatures are thrown to their doom off the sides of sheer cliffs by eagles.

Fly ye, dust, today.

Heading to the boiling brother of notes; via napkins, on hands, on insides of thighs, in the margins of newspapers at a cool 404 degrees. add wounds, market smartly to the most impressionable/damageable

I came to the town of becoming toast too tight.