Bits and Bites
I am the marsala. Lilt tilt and built. Things not overtake able? Cheek in love? Farma a Suit a Call? Hear 0 ecology?
I dont think of other people as drugs, or even writing as a drug, I know drugs I did drugs. Experimented, a lot. Writing isnt anything like taking a drug I have ever done. Reading once or twice approached it on a hallucinatory level.
Think of writing as pulling la lang through presence that combines with distance alive in what language is.
Shakespeare has turned into a “usage” that shields MOI from fraud claims. I am a meth head. Once a meth is found to hang off a rhymer artist writer etc I litter rally slime sublime its vert you all dick ins. And row Japanese. And call it halloween. Candy. Get into my belly.
I wanted to make peace with past — not as a lie but as a loan. What was a wild fallaway into pluri party. Streams and screams of hourglass fiction/friction/contradiction. Discovering the hinge was a smart bomb, then an escalation, birth of beauty looting flute and binge, ring a round the rosey all fall down, then an unmitigettable blow out fell into hell — swamp and shell, and so on.
Legal ed helped under score love of argy bargy, nahh a little p haps — my writer hated it, KICKED IT TO THE CURB, proclaimed:::: eek (not for u).
Beauty creates enemies? Love is the sweetest enemy, in many a way, p’enemies who you dare to love? Love is an empathy for permutations of desire, its a vampire feed even, to stay alive even though you are dead, you are the undead.
Love that scorns by virtues of? strange alluring victimology, is cast as field of roses and thorns for what is lost and found by the torrent of sea sawing admissions? Hmm when did the admissions start… Get turned into a laundry line to redemption??
Byronic pen is that sacred choral shock of fiery adornments that wilderness in the wind and wtf gun for it. Thorns don’t feel like an adornment, but something stuck in skin ripping into a living death.
I love exchange because it is experimental?! And yes endlessly want to conjure present tense to make it “right side up” just a little. I am not afraid of it. Do I hate life? Of course.
How think of the Z wing kind of as a mentor. Since Seton. The word is a convenience. Thats all. Shine is now located IN THE WORK. Thanks in large part to exchange.
No reason to hate me for it?
Set square is what I am trying to do — with Holy Fern. If can calm down and let it have some reality, mutually agreed upon way. I think it will be great.
Not dull at all.
Pure, present — miss and take, press.
Beckett discussions of the mis place meant thing.
Beckett doesnt actually miss. But traces around it like with chalk on a body that is still moving, Beckett gives me a back and forthy internalized, better for me than Diderot, OK? SM gives me channels to airs that are unsparing. Vous Lou gives me math and academic and dog latin spaces to work in by ways of Ur own. Also, for instance: impassioned blunt and sometimes infuriating. (Which I sometimes have to apologize for. Tho YOU KNOW Haute loves it.) Red gives me immunity and can go raunchy and treats love as oxygen. I JUST TAKE IT, now. I guess. Treat as “red meat.” Or hugging the red line.
Dissoluble and density? Hmm.
I have no desire to curtail. Conquassate at anti podals chance of the rose romantic up a sleeve for a weave. I am a necessity to write. I am screams in the night.
Burns once wrote a poem on a window, it may still exist.
So YES I am grapefruit.
Up Wittgensteins ladder to yes, yes to weave yes to milligrams out of car tar yes to hair bears shares yes to whatever the snares yes.
So it would seem.
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