Bridge of Signs

Because to try and do so makes Pinky crazy. Even just to think about it. And she can’t control what that does, to herself or other people. Stinky is a death star.

And the hatred that erupts from Pinky’s not being able to overcome its hold over her – its glorious ring around her neck.

Oh how she begs for mercy but can’t create it – due to the intensity of its mocking shocking rocking nefarious terror. Much of it coming out of condemnation thirsts, which is backwards.

Excitonium. Is a new particle. Its a hole left behind from a missing electron – that is paired to it. Turns negative negative as to say it has pull, action-at-a-distance pull, at its missing electron. Quantum of want. The hole when reunited with paired electron creates something new. It changes it!

The truth about negatives. Stinky. Used to love negatives. Loved certain prevarications of violence even. Negative pulls are so unduly and stunning.

Pinky feels it as a gopher, all long toothed and paws, sprung of her childhood somehow, with pink hairy ears. Its nose deep in reams of sorrows mists. Languor and license.

Perhaps because its reassuring that the ghosts have always been. No matter what new beautiful ones since come along.

Or the sorrow forever grappled over its clandestine furor and fire, prison of lonely beautiful scars, riots of toying dreams, as real as gusts of anger oh the caroling dimensions of dementia, infatuations are scars smelling up the foul consumption of it in a room. Roses of corruption. Basing on horns thorns forlorn of beauty and terror and the zero hour. Sprung of doom –

And everything lets go, hands let go of the rope, shades of miracle tricksters poo and moo, suddenly letting go, just letting go being consumed by its silence giddy with freedom like an inflatable rescue boat, floating away in sea of lightness, like heaven – but it is a tricksters mass, it does not last.

Always searching on some level for forgiveness for it. Forgiveness always wants to break the jar its bottled up in. As being something more than squander. As greater than rebuke or loose running off at the mouth for specks of truth, as a shared mephitic relish – bridge to signs.

Oh look. Lightening.

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