Examining the char tar in the rep landia — for keep it simple stupid, listen listen, steal from its wavy funny scathing runny sweet fill pill skill for the nill, riddling with my hummingbird, touché.
Then fry brain under flaps into Night Bussiness with Camille and Zizek and set that frought caught naught out on skin of teeth. The bee hi Homer, bee hi Bloom. It makes pretty. Not one day. This. Bow before pear a mitts. Full sweep. Meet me for mints.
Writing involves my body. Sub rub. Hub. Bubbles up in the mystery misery fly of panting. Slant thing in porn registries shifts, shifts up — as an escape into survival — teaming with bodies in void and time. And presence turns under restless banal kite blight skull with mud thugs Becketts holy hats and Russian bed bugs.
I dont want to resist the cartoon fervors.
GO tell — Dos toy heff ski.
Greed, need — reads off top of skull — digs in against the bone under skin like an ice picker, how to unravel the mud packets into a repetition — versiforming maneuvers as jiggly for the What.
Bow. Ow ow ow. Ho off of pie sighing high and nigh.
Encourage ment is thankfull. I am an idiot full of prayer. Even if saying that causes Ibsen to rub deaths against violets soul beware beware.
Yea’s. With much ado, still managing to keep furries purring against legs. Nose first. Even biting now is — that. Is play. Near where theatre meets against immediacy of music.
And the crime against mercy — hacked (to death) back in sacred jettison, where rhyme engulfed the druids —
For em’s merge agency, pry vatic dicks. For a more gender fluid ness? Or because it means love that’s all.
Love can seduce to any point — on mob eye us flow be us, and still claim meaning. One of the Wally’s in the wall yells yes that’s “breadth.”
Breathes meaning into being and gives chance for continuity. Full admission how I stole permission, for grim Gretta, hat in hand and bike riding for jokes, against waves of horror, devoured in ditch of little nell, liza dodo bird — Girl LDL.
Liz do little mad pies — still festers on eyelids.
Gretta peddles off, singing “I love you, take me to your to circus collar.” Yes all are at peace (against your dick).
Night lighting with french dictionaries and usage. Because it associates, repeaters lists of words where shared — etymology is over fifty percent shared am finding in 501 of those basics thar.
Which, at night, after book is closed, try to pry into memory alphabetically, through what am now calling: the hole in skull —
Creatives are convinced hole in skull was a benefit from angels — that indeed things got so bad, hi needed a drill.
When hard hats buried heart in wretched ditch with foot and gun. Lost to efforts mining pining lining rioting after — la lang bang, monkey crunching on animal bone. Turning it to powder!
By the neck many hungry ghosts swung. Intimately.
And now further bred, from intimacy, into multiple frameworks.
Present tensers sacred jolts of meaning that purge merge beauty with annex dotes — rotating through love death, and all those sweet violent folds “the gods gave me” — scattered, battered (they always thinks it flattery but here one thinks it’s not, it’s light and shine on beauty part –) being taken into absurds’ lengths for words —
Creates the vigilant map it sure.
Urgency then, and is now. Clarice goes after intimacy of now. Pound drops through now — to history that is an always present now. Says Flaubert’s parrot. Without writing, I’d not find a way to capture these delicacies.
Camille Steal – Girls on Film
Bravery? From gut level approaching topics that are wildly taboo.
Why I always hang nearby zizek too. Just to think about them two — gives it the leisure to ho/e there. Rather than chiding or ignoring porn forlorn references I cake off of them.
See pornthink as icing between layers. Occurrence as transitioning of time into bodies from now into other — where bodies saddle battle rattle with visitations bodies sensations relating to Goya, Bosch, Dante’s dilemmas — bodies floating at ceiling and getting swallowed by hell as thresholds to escape from present — into the transcendent.
Becomes like fissures, that, like thermal stuffing in walls, bodiless bastions of hunger beauty and the sacrificial dead, pop pop feed the head. As an active seam, time as an element of space beyond place, a ransack of angels and the sacred — that also bursts at edges of logic into uproarious, notorious, mythic, taboo, and the absurd etc.
Love for shimmering aspects lakeside game boat class called “measurements and mutations ” and all that car talk.
Mental objects are borne soaring into head space, se souvenir — remem ver firs moment cognition popped into my head a burst of recog (not cog — REcog, its secondary), occurs as a dimensional in a way — I was not quite “walking yet” but laying in sun on couch thrilled by a sudden knowledge of presence, of sun and me!
And it being the present tense and that there was a present tense — as o posed to the roam mantic tense — which immediately competed — and very often presence lost.
HA presence itself immures as an other??
Oh beckett frills tendentious and ladled with obstacles “of the heart” that reals from the fiction, science or otherwise like a painting befit with adorning hell. Hell elevates. High hell is a tumblina. Falling water, impossible desire, fish in a pool ocean undersea tank.
Burns with greedy adventure and harrowing sorrows through postures, plussage and postulates, enshrined in sacrificial dilemma, performing magical escapes, into skull, and plesiosaur, extinct floating bodies, ultra vulgarian placebo pastiche? such a thing? electric eclectic pornthink.
Hell has, central to its vastness, a gummy, nidorous amatory core as meat in the playground for devil knockers, vacillations, ignominy, (dis)embodied heart break cast in turmoil, mortification of sacred deeds, tyranny versus contempt, beauty and the mischievous, death by greed — or bravery.
Every moment the sink was thirsty.
A building of the (mis)fortunes of ten thousand dead pie. Enamored with boneheadedness? and contingency, prankish and flout in middle of street going both ways and a heart that adores it.
For reasons beyond my understanding it could not be eliminated. On any lake side or hill side or city, no matter how I “ran.” Any rev went back to the event that turned it (try as might) — and got murdered again. Which has a wilderness aspect to the damned — always anxious would be killed, king in Diana’s SACRED forest. What a flip! trip tip RIP.
Take me to the mythic mount. And dick force the prisoner to drink.
Girls on film.
Six Tween Tons
I dont think of guns as guns. I dont seem to dream in gun powder. All the girls huddle over this. Wow you guys gave me my girls back.
How many now 15.
Guns. But I do however think in relish, of guns. As many things. Symbolic frolic with death being one of them. Very similar how think of blood. Vampire logic, stubborness, distance, wood and fire. Smoking cigs as swallowing a gun on tip of tongue on a stoop littered up and circling circling.
Guns are dicks and hoses. I think of that about explosions. Ejaculatory pre conscious ness. And Extension. I think of all those things in conjunction with boys, bugs, bombs, beating off.
I dont think of “getting/coming into” money as bait? Except in the drawing.
But being in love with luck, and fate. Thats how I think about it with my cousins.
And also as a deterrent ! to a certain kind of freedom!!! As if it gets in the way of my marm farm. But marm farm is black market minerals. And I know that now.
I am not sure if I think of friendship as the difference event — yes I guess I do. But its rogue and variable. Captain crunches. They bake me make me rake me over, so bold and foreign and bilks up against the blasphemous and yet, its nothing of that too, its splendor in the grass, its marm seeding with farm, glorious and brings out my goons so Sherry can bathe them.
Events. Mutated. Abyssal. Flying. Camp ramp damp —
Lingers here so ferocious and beautiful and yet its horrors slink with the absurd and a power access to bourroughs magic beans that powerful naked circus think of banal more than as ordinary — beauty rages around it, exempt, and often but not always, in contempt.
Theo Dora Cam Mu-Mu gives it wings but look what it brings. He did quite well. There’s a responsibility there, in it. I am just now trying again to look at. Virginia yells think of it as interlooking — All the girls bubble up to think. And then —
Events, thats lightening, thats frightening, comes with kisses of death because it is horror trying to escape from its bottle and cant, brushes sometimes riotously against a mystic insurrection. That is pure and porn and righteous and demure.
Friendship MUST mean the shared part. Based on whatever and where ever it indefinitely occurs. And in my her merging set theories with the sun belt, comes composed at will, belongs to : endless love. Which is very french and can take on noodles poodles, many different forms, fig rig and frack.
And means it.
Love can be based on time you spend being near to. Being there loving and listening. My family with my brothers kids it is that way. Its all about being there. Staying with them on things. Their da is gone so that changes things for me with them.
Marm. Is for me a kind of instant coffee. Or more like little fuses that go off and I try to be in its present with it and capture them. Its not weak, it smelly, runny, imperfect, it insinuates — misdirections, and presses up against machinations that corny as it seems “feel” presence of others processes. Which makes me feel alive with it as a sharing en balance between vandalizing the absurd and finding its apogogic.
The Wayward Wind
Brother as Raven is not entirely untrue. Sherry is meeting up with Eliza Do Little over issues corny porny and in other ways taboo. Says its ok to get paid for it.
Good Winn Food Hall
Food. Glorious. That last year is over. OH man the end was kicker. Can mis match money still be even as friends umm beckett could? I dont know? bard yard is different. its vital mix in a diff way that borders film and sells out theatres so makes money. but the poetry is right there right in it and on it.
Z called instant coffee. actually thats my joke. he said expectations for me bordered against a time thing that I would probably never master.
And yet — I do recognize it now and have learned off it — I go immediately in morning for instant coffee. Love morning spills. Nomen cabin of raising bar with wires haven given wads, and the hexchange is heavenly.
But I am not just slow but get overtaken by the madness at moments that are stupid, its not about being afraid or confounded any more, HERE yall freed the vanishing, that crazy fear. All need to do is stir the instant and I am Betty.
Its a “voice” — from the lake, its very old monster in love stories arising just for a moment to release its poison then dips again. Sherry baby says its an Isolde but blames it on the rabbit, not as interloper, but as instigator, its grand to be able to blame it on the mad hatter and that vulnerability and really mean it, that it was an auto pilot breaking in — revealing its sin, and over long haul — just another one of many fiendish char tar, that got found, and “named.”
Thanks to support from other writers. Writing now is my freedom. I love to write.
Just put on instagram pam about Vincent “I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.” Bunch of J heads came on board to say the J can save you from that.
I pingd back “Jesus fills void, art lets it out.”
Drip Pan and Skylight
Hard times are transformational, so hard times are always excruciating. But peaks are not just about climbing up and up and around and around Dante’s circles for great refrains of beauty — but also its about The Eye, and venturing out to see across distances — Because I visit the hunchback in notre dame, and flame to fly. And dont pity them their allures. And do think of writing as excremental —
But saying its excremental is also a joke about the fragility of the absolute. About calling earth our garbage can, about the death of god as anything but mythic substance, and The Wasteland poem as discovery of abject truth, excremental mocks the futility of my existence — as everyday there is death. But its ALSO about NOT being able to give up on its utility despite whatever the horror paradigms of futility, because you gotta do it anyway, excrement is a daily occurrence.
I loved finding Scheherazade. Who every night has to tell a new story to stay alive. Others are always looking for ways to kill the fish. Because writing is, to some extent, taking a stick and poking at it. Till the matter is supposedly finished.
Slaying or being slayed, it turns out, is about playing up against notions of death, and forcing extenuations, but to say that its for hogweed, is just to mock its futility once again. To call it gold gives it possibility of illumination. Gold is about getting over yourself, its about pushing through the excessive nature of limitations. And also — as it were — being crushed by them. Gold is always in part fools gold.
There is nothing quite like that delicious feeling upon first discovery of the morbid — as equivalent with the religious, to some extent it is representative of the slaughter of god — and making an escape from the stranglehold of purity, from the elevation of innocence, and the beheading of knowledge.
Which is to say, calling the other the enemy.
And delirium is for me about the nature of the work and not being forced to dilute or curtail. When I think of delirium I think of Beckett who lets himself go there. Get jet for brains. From armpit purse heroes? I just see each other as existence being what existence is. And dont think of others as heroes but as participatory. Of being able to be participatory. Something I have found especially hard at times. Why the begging erupted, as it came straight out of hell, from the horror I was stuck in and couldnt seem to find a way out of “on my own.”
And do, to some extent, remain stuck in “it” — because thats what desire is. And death too, as it attaches to it. The evil and the dreadful and the devil and the laughter and the hideous. Old gold ways of unraveling mythical cues, as related to horror and death and love and beauty.
Stretching christ, thats funny, like procrustes bed. I dont think of others as christ, I think of christ as a mythic juggernaut. That can be interpreted in a lot of ways. And is very powerful because of it.
No, reaching out didnt strangle me, it gave me room to think. And to keep at it, and keep at it, and keep at it. To push through the wavefronts stuck behind despite whatever judgement came flushing down on me. And using those viewpoints as poles to stick through my fish with. Bring the dead body of it up for air. But the body wasnt dead when I brought it up for air. Thats not what happened. Nothing died. It only became allowed to find itself to be what it is. And death, as event, as the transfigurational ecliptic, as a metaphysical noose at edges of oblivion, became freed from its unutterableness —
Cease chase lips. Why? Unspeakable and the unnamable are the same thing. Poem killer? Me!! REALLY. How, by being no more than what I am. And yet that is what was “forever” being requested of me. Understand that double edge, for sure.
Hinges, I love hinges. As a thought device. I think of hinges as being part of the fold/switches/hinges thing. I used to be ashamed of falling into the usage of devices. Now I see them as partial to loving la lang bang.
Violent women hold weight of shrubs. Violence is not about being a women. Its about hate. Others hate when you love them to some extent unconditionally, I know its due to the wax that erupts in poetry. Before everything had become subsumed to the sacred. And immersed in death. Death stains gesture fist advancing trash disease and the caves are vivid. Love that.
Hello was born out of fear that I wouldnt, reckless becomes desire to force the feeble in me to ignite, besides fire is love, and it occurs from inside the body. Its frightening. And serrated. And huge. Love and beauty are legion. And not always based just on physical desire or necessities. But because the brain wants it. The brain turns into hunger. For itself. Much like the body does.
That was “disquieting.”
Shopping with Halloween Dead
War over existence coming up from the religious living me through hell is not a preference – :/ but ya snow — miracle glue stealing from the impossible —
Screams moans aye — what about he bad boy bitterness i dont see it that way but entry headinmaze thru poetic insurrection/suck a bus/ kid napp papp flap sap ok yes trancez incense foot in face struggle with hell and redemption dantes soy sauce sharp as billy bully wooly beautys full cruelty emerges from dis appoint ment with lak of good use when giben hopenings and in ability live up to word – considering lengths go with hunger bunnies_ demands specialist treayment and sill em pens me in — covid over will come knocking for a cig — twas screwy that uncertainty — old os koldy sure and wring out of every rotten beauty the bat eue and the teligious fight with the sungilar and plsying over wnd over in bicketts vehicular kiss with piss soahh — train of souls coals in fir place high fashion mourning the enderby endame ufliness dresses me up so shall the bunny knock knock joke uria heap door as just another blick but thats woody -/ dunk and craven batty woo foo banging heart against the falls — promiscuous with death — but under skin breaking apart its the body suck and ducked into floods of gloating fire — waking up morning with titles miss then gone by time ay sink doing dishes — fuck get kb for ipad set up up stairs — night frights throw miss ex kiss voyeur ways henny way fools gold thus u see this cones thru the connectivity — because the because —
accidents existed in my skin where madness festered as own glory aa and argued with my frandmothers whose cross section birth — drew horror from the ghetto escaped back of beyond — a cynicism of mono the iz god — afall into battling with magic of singular robbery — why blame ithers just cause if dunkin with punkin — retains beauty of its own — wont let tuer /- but wave 👋 upon gwave where whirled ppolly wild pile of matador in bull ring and the “tender” arts of a wind up bird windy sindy — girlonabike — ponder ous thick wick tick tock pearls for a pet clam ( hell in the shell ) -/ because love rises la lang bang 2 un furl — with battle wattle and saddle woe at sircumference bait — hooked on the impossible — and the ridiculous — an errancy of my own ponderous mismaking — then after trying like hell and getting the opening frcking up beyond beluef — the absurd itself became consummated — as virtues substandard bunny on the gall way ocean front — virgil with vigil is a magic sacred hornery — where lode itself rapes lamb lame deaths ig noble divine vein— of truth and contrary — and yet — the poetry was 8
Bad sympa fanny — aburr rations -/ persecution perversion inside out makes battles with hell savred h act — ad mirror ration fantast the stick — middle riddle — mostly based on others goods — their work — and golden showers which followed my observance — finnnn sins — hex change excre mental flueids -/ bitteted up tjru bataille hi 👋 know — and human “failings” such as the pining where mine — be they ox writing odd hex — ceaselessly loop of the fwraithfully departed — blow thrue fingers as magic of their half share across the rhyme hear his foot -/ opetic stimp — inthis at bottom stoloff that stubbornness thats all — cunt foo hear it — -////but it imprisond and searching for a way out that festooned bitterness — much came thru to me finding wizzdom lost cauzes — in neg spaces for shocking traces fervors with fire on foot in mouth — rounding hounding the sixth —
Mining for Cold
Early rounds with runaways — my naked eye pie — never bore crown, always the illegitimate sister. Forgot about that. It was about escaping the box.
Rocks in box — Used to dream about children in boxes being forced into fucking for dads obscene treasure. Around about age 7 or 8.
Mmmmm air edge. This lovingly worried brush. Lurking in sight of darkness, listening. Wandering the slopes of prodigy.
Is it safe?
No, of course not. Is it harmless. No probably not. What god depends on. Hunger beauty and death. Elegance? Roofs spoons strangers.
A place where there is no place. For?
Curly Hair, Jokes, the Insecure Fetch. Arrogance. Sleep. Half dreams.
Blank blank blank. Starts with a blank.
Sweetness is emptiness? The result is disappearance. Blue wait nights.
Curious that usage. Mmmm air edge. How rent boy thing and debtor scatter and payment. Lose track. Blows apart the kidneys. Everywhere.
Sunday in french stall selling table cloth and charms. A quantity for cakes. Opens floor with a death trap undress the egg the worry braid yellow and pious with fear. Flo blows it out the rear.
Rhymes takes over and pushes back.
Can’t see outside where am not. So it tumbles into the onion and waits. I dont know.
Put these floors in between. Hey you eighth house it.
Afternoon undress cue da death trap egg. Told him other rows worry about this braid. One will do dame gru great i only.
Nodded at the request.
It was a kindness looking over heart in a dear grave. And that carries. Can see beyond the robbery.
As the bad evening, pious fear of the evening. Something about an appointment. Get dense with flo blo.
Dont see colleagues as landlords. Dont even think about acquiring land. Have no land. Or marriage. Never think about any of that with “the girls.” Odd.
Remember as teenager girls started going on about it. I looked at them blank. And examined colors in sky for escape. Kate and fate says dada stuff that waivers from its terror. Fathers who are terrified of their daughters.
So as a daughter. Yellow pad screamed thunder. But bow de lair is shocked by it.
Talk is always about murder and ways to kill parasite off.
Not the murderer says Agnes. The burglar. There is no murderer. Except everywhere.
Pour core into ragey balm balm find out what praying preying are saying? They release the tomb from its holy gloom as smelly air of for in bloom. There is a they. Others do exist. Despite year of aquarium.
Earliest fascinations still bite me. Prisoner stuff. Why egg begs. For straight line magic. Steals it if can. Inter act sounds death hunter listened market place tidy good wind the picture book wraps around neck snakes and stumbles. The Moody. Pollutey flutey.
Rheum cavorts with disappearance? this isnt invisible. Disappearance before was mining went cold. Its landlord wouldnt move too. So went on hold. And blew gaskets of milk and honey. This became its forlorn rim pressionistic. Caught by the “fig.”
Pick flick wick tick the rhyme is cow and plow for me now. I like that. Thank you for the sweep. And for badges. Ewe thin asia. Thats darling. I mean Genets darling. Mixes genders. Strange ruthlessness rains cutters the fasces and I adore it without losing candor? Simple crimes are plenary feast of oblivion. Set up again and then the madness announces itself. Again oh how I hate that.
But its the cutter. Cutter is one of the greek goddesess that infested with Alice and chalice and get out of the palace. Hmm. Later started decorating it. Fly.
Its all walk there. And swims out here. I wanted him out more than me in. But when craziness hit immediately started writing BIG B. Knew I was whipped and needed a “blessing.” He tried and the tin took over me again. Tin stole every acquaintance. In writing. Like a fish hook. Brought it gin a gain.
But a belief in otherness always skips back in. With the outer gallery. Where I am no place for.
And Joyce starts giggling. Innie spin tin fin STOP.
Studied multiples of relations. Sparrows, moodies clock days. Barbarics spies the greek. God depended on me to be strong.
But pie kept on exploding with ding dongs my head was terror of thirst. I couldnt stop the bursts of joy/antijoy. It was so fucking frightening. And they took over one after another the whole thing split into this that then the tho thuds of dynamite hitting Sartres wall of bricks.
And yet wildly distracting ghoulish even amusing. I saw went looking for ghosts of serial mystery yes masturbation is a swamp. Crackled with disturbance and frames that missed it, just got lost in swamp of terror. Whose beauty on some corrupt curious level began to scavenger for love.
This is scavanger. The raven flies here.
The body screams to be relieved of its thirds. Pheonix and raven chance dance the picture enters the flame. Bit brings ease to. Being used to having the flu.
The last to come out of the rain
Unjustice. No naughty rama. Its “outside” scope. Part of falling in love with. Is that ventures outside my scope. In a way that “knocks me up” and terrorizes me. Thats love.
What is the tidy market? Is this writing despite all the marmalade tidy. Or is tidy about peaches? and violet. and buddah foodies.
Death traps are also referred to as being childish afternoon plot “in between.”
High up the gang plank with Nash’s “hall pass.” Looping the gymnasium. Strange penchant for disaster. Weighs the art of grief.
Its a chimney sweep, part of the incendiary. Penchant for snorkling with a box of “raison d’etre” in coal of smoke. Meet me below the clock.
Eternal call for all co hall.
Valley limits plead cough cook louder. Its a pulley. Rains whistles growls, even when asleep. Asleep is daring curious gym where water rains in. Property is not friendship. Friendship here is ignorant. There is ignorance not friendship.
Courage lapses fractures suddenly, cuts in with madness, sheers one of the presenters. Its systemic, a brutal “pop out.” Call it what you will its brutality is indefensible.
Girls say it is about falling in love.
Try endlessly to improve. And have months where do.
But no less strike powder flowing into slides. Colors take on meaning. Of life and death? No? — that of individual effort. Where signs share the intercession of meaning. Colors become a reference to their property. A way to divine define consign align as inheritance properties — figures of speech.
Suffering is always unexpected. But Instrumental. Often called fanatical. And revolutionary. Occurs as maneuvers, beaten, feared, unfolding, ignorant, herd like. A breadth of death air, skillful are often reckless? At times.
When furthers the forbidden. Winds through as if embracing torture. Is in some ways what gives it its strength. Symbols jet, prance with fire, dazzling — turns consent into a parade of flashy unexpected beggars, a massacre of party favors to bereave in.
Its immorality piques theater?
Guns bonnet, leather rushes in, marshals sound, something grows impatient, miserable.
Are thoughts alone immoral? Is sharing thoughts — immoral? Are glowing envelopes immoral? Sound of snow? Everything nothing bright and miserable.
Negation melts the hairless, bridges heartbroken, absorbs shock.
And hideousness turns theatre into rocks. Triggers dizziness that this bad babble in nightmare consumes in its abundance. Executors deliver victory. Unspeakable. Charge for mystical mud pie? Miners’ parrots ought be burned, alive?
Eye feed acres, the fatal mix up, by mountains where engineers more favorable make proximity for gas.
Colonies of modesty, can modesty be bigoted? Act now visit the necessary. Love that.
Nothing is something if it serves an interest. Superstition is talked about a lot. That taboo tattoo process of animal love smitten bitten or kitten, beguiles imagination, wispy creature like depths, three inches free.
Expands as sifts. Love that too.
Tentative — always a mistake. Hi knows. Deer and river and mines and hen juice, expensive debris. Something seemly deliriously unfavorable pending endlessly renews itself underneath. Has to do with reaching, taking time and effort to reach.
Troubles in trees makes anti freeze.
What settles to bottom? When ground has fallen. Weight of rocks.
End fend bend spend rend send. And pool in the river of the liver makes for new parts. A quarter thick known as Devils Breadth. Where hits every meter of measure. Steam pump, equilibrium. Elephant graveyard. Handles beautiful. Never rolls over.
Playing dead. Oh, on the railways. Juice and tobacco. Where’s the productive combination. Gloomy flights, slight near indiscernible movements. Can add up. To scaffolding.
Mining continues to prosper
Kilos and purchase. Far away quakes.
Every recognizable point of fatality. Strikes a lucky vein.
Fertile veins. Harvested monkeys. Fury Gold Mine, the Dublin Raven. Every basin pays.
A curl in any direction mixes fuses snaps back. George town declares: Can’t kill a road map.
Mountain switches have come into view. Ad income is onerous. But comes out thick. A rich poison, a delicious way even to watch it melt into a “sentence.” Dividends are greedy.
Distrust on tinnish expedient is navigable — ah but how the holy con disintegrates. At sound of her voice. Buildings, telephones, temperate environments, turn against the middle. Click click. Click.
Like stepping into an occupied zone. Failure is skeletons warehouses out on loan.
In practice — most favorable search afterwards.
Allowances for the “melt with you” foundation claim on tigers. Prosperity is laterite, finances magic miles economically. And poignancy qualifies, makes great hair spray.
Own your own bird business
Built to hold. All in. Fruitful. Removal of modesty. Generates reimbursement.
Overcoming pings of modesty and finding immunity are interrelated.
The immunity thing here is big big big new shiny vein —
I love when yall overwhelm me. I know its not pretty. And seems that it arrives from a sudden urgency to leave.
Well thats been true since sayonara!
When stock gets mixed it enriches the feces to species. And barriers are what the onion is all about. For me you are your barriers. Know it allows dark and beautiful product to be poured out. Diligence presses flowers into llamas. Everything is on the off.
Sea and pine, yall yields are divine.
Thick growth, dirt that crumbles with smell of Bordeaux. And run back a lot. Repetition– arises on back of the golden mean.
Parasites left me unrecognizable.
Until mining turned up as a witness. And dug through lots in eye. And beat off every curse across the midline. Raised chickens. Transported fuel. Persian firewood.
Made peace with fishermen?
La Lang Bang
Bad advance? Marry the order?
A Walking Nun — of the pun sun run guns of rim bad the sailr.
Wanna Donna: Meet me at rim bads pad called pat teaz Place,
And Ziv to Liv at Cathy U.
Prayer to Meteor Bloom, sayt you will.
Xchange of java iz all iz. Wither it goes. Kindness brings up quantum want phyzzicalls — HA! Loaf that.
Have reconciled — with rayol itty. Only deux crazies left to conk cur. Presssy Tense and Sendy Wendy. Thats all thats left to make movie?
Everyone bring Nap pole Leon who may and may not be simul pull married to colorful corridors at the borderers milking the tail the frail and the mayall. Knitting with French Revolution lady flowers on scarves.
Went to let time and place in as points of geo/chemical loco motors.
Let mad hatters run spin tin tons with “no” end in spit spot kite lit night.
Lovely day in neigh boar hood. Bee there and lit go.
Dye to make Pynchwear luff, puff away into heavy levy ran dum gum till preaches peaches comma summa you to order you horder —
Call it percy nail fetters, hover la langue bang tang.
Chips A Hoy
Fizz mortar and beam and balm and chemlemm half in half out the femm Demi Ben for daylights along the bite way, when pandem end, speak leaks about tang la langue bang. Rutter mutter cutters and flim flem flam.
With who that hang. Heavy in the partus. Hawk Talk with Brothers of Sam. Is a recurring “Name of Dams” (in movie the fugitive).
Hour by the chowder of Clem pen of Clam. Wanna wunder of get the grumbler mumbler tumbler to show up with tis kit das kit a bask kit. Not stray that cat (for fat) but decidedly to em ploy joy + alloy. And fill it tremble, disassemble.
Time — to be gentle wo– min, of a sherry kind, for “rigular” rhyme. Simple keel, nose to heel.
Odd self-conscious half-open spurt eye dew
But loves the feed. Limitless is a beauty spread for infinity, yearning.
Limited is finish finite death hanging by coffin door banging in ou in ou in ou makes no sense.
Yet let the ton Vally towns where trees weenied for Sweeney some pin core opened up but then crashed against banality its hardness, its chore, the goat with a bell in me got kidnapped and led around the boundaries of time basking in meta fizz delusional migrations
and it was hell, life and death set loose in muse from neck to neck moving like apples, but that is the Sweeney myth, sleeps outside instead in trees, cant come in. Horror deep inside Sweeneys soul flying off but moody has fallen fallen
Into “bills of absurd” with cacky Camus down down la chute raising in the acute.
And yes was by your hair and yet
Do lor es flipping out at everything — hated it tried so hard to resist the Druellas — they came out like a poison — I hated it. Sharks if not careful KILL themselves.
The swamp owns me in a way I cant get out of, to go in on la lang at least gives a way for it to bang out betweens. For “beauty’s” sake. And the ugly pigly mugly struggling runt of ham I yam.
Big reason back at all — is cause that was wrong — was hanging upside down like a hunter and its rabbit, caught inside slaughter of the precious — a strange rash incendiary net dragging me down into its mouth like I was its pin ball.
Its shocking endless horror finally pushed me out out, but its a mouth of whale, cunt curtail etc.
Who pin ball. Balls and pins make for spins sin fin din rin tin — skin? Dont make me egg. Just kidding. Sendy Wendy better ? half asleep bewitched garden of efill —
at Monsters Ball. Tho according to Glo-Blo, that show got cancelled.
Enemies at the Tate
Penetrate enemies yet no fire.
Character has a feeling on the border.
False bottom. Wall draped — the domes.
Military ground brave ca carre croix.
Forbidden fruitless repartit. Re portage. Cannon fodder is also canoe. Nature where precarious — seeks out, loops.
Without condition: is in red, not black, five times. Get that.
There is no black yet? No beautiful faith room? Betes motif decor in remit.
Beautiful faith room got charred. No longer exists for Moi Po.
Got dis truck ed by pluriplarty crashing — into singulars one after another, boom boom boom, never knew who was up next.
Since hadn’t met before. Lost all trust in remains of “day/self.”
Had to rebuild with “Nash” and chart up from ok:
If put foot down floor == will still be there, the floor that is.
Cant blame that on someone else.
Beautiful faith room — purple, green and red.
Superstrings, with wings, at bottom of things.
Roam the dome in dead of night, for way fare share of odes and wed: The Way Famished Head.
I pay for ghost of the dead — feels like — with everything. My life is their life.
It fathoms itself a sickness. Beauty nestles in it with hunger and death. It is a sickness. My battle with Burroughs on birth control.
Burroughs and Faulkner were escape with little red riding hood — a meteoric fork in Halo Road — their ecstatic longings succumbing to the visionary la langue banging. Gave visionary poodles my comets places to vomit. Hm — adored their dare bears. When tears in in oh cents soul would bare its hugly bugly muppet foal, scribble and howl to the Low Well, on dads yellow pads no less.
They gave syllables to my visionary ires fires choirs, its a sweetness to call them vampires, where death succumbs to beauty. Pour Moi.
Tremblers who fall — fell all the wayway back — through visionary vehicular master bate tons the rhyme to frame the coming of the —
Resurrection, as a holy death bed. Makes that “for sakeness” pretty one day? But who blew knew My Name is Sue — back then. The other whirl (in Maya) was just a wilding comes the desiderata who was seeking for and peaking on the fat — but burning wick kept on blowing up in my face, with powerful business.
Cutters are a way of responding with words donated from the wood — greatly helped think thru issues (in free writing) — not just thru own sparkies but actively in anothers very different “domain” — using yes, using it, every which way — to understand better.
Acts as virtue — the share care bear — of writers actively engaging in pouring thru solution — Certain aspects of the mighty mulch — is that it is dirty underwear washed too many times — in vermiculture the more cycles of dead worms in composte — enriches nitrogen?
Jokers defend against urge to kill off like in 1001 Arabian Nights — what was her name Scheherazade —
Undead pies wallow in their life-and-death markers — its baudel’air the fragile and the cruel and loveable something in heart sauntering with Dulcinea, whose body is angry and mischievous, blood of desire stuck cruelly in dance of time — her beauty marked by defiant sin — the unbridling sweetness of a defaulting apprehension? Baudelaire didnt default. My Dulcinea loves Don Quixote right back for his refusal to die without a fight.
There is a brutal twisting mobius dimension between nectar of delusion in every surface of art (including dada and Duchamps 1917 “fountain” of french urinal) with Teddy blowing “charge” —
Mamma calls them all pretty evils.
Sherry identifies it with the male priori — and her unescapable release from life as a pin cushion locked inside with box, innies primitive potents lively dance with love, escape, deadly sorrow — and the chips of hatred where insurrection resurrection lay ship in bottle skin migrating to distance in shores —
Negatives pulling at hair, ripples with darkness. And sun with wind — Sherry baby is a desert flora.
Poets walk in with them, chars — mentioned something that it was part of party of the defense for sharing tar, was to kill off Sherry baby.
Historical example shut in chars: Heloise, Emily, Sheherazade.
A head for wood. Death in desert of the real, is at tip of tongue, every moment king is absolute, Sherry battles with absolutes everyday to stay alive — revise reflections mutating resurrections caught out, the banal storms, against her deadlocked skin.
Ponder-rosa knows its ludicrous — but its not impotent — thats the argy bargy that swirls around like a “red scarf” —
The shadow at edge of entry/infamy —
Tree alphabet, comes early thinking — signs as equivalent to potions — for their seemingness potency — everyday a desert primitive girl locked in desire for thoughts of escape skim violently against skin of death and hunger, and desire to love at distance of fate.
Sherry babys skin — is crawling with its livlihood and tenderness, in mind skin crawls through trough for little explosions of thought. Thought as presence — in itself — a fissure of sense and tense —
Men Tor canned goods are divine !!
Door bangers at threshold get very shy —
Ying Yang and Yen
The male female thing is powerful. But I had no idea about secret writers board for metafiction — free form fiction — that such writing even existed.
Tho its inspiration did have to do with “ground zero,” with that crazy crack up, violently in love, the radical singular — and how was unable to let go of its singular beautiful evil. Still haven’t, never will.
Turns out I was completely wrong. It is MUCH better to see as oceanic reasoning. But it is and it isnt. Wrecking Crew is not everywhere, is it?
Makes no difference.
That it ends up multiplying into spectral visions whose largesse is (for me anyway) like a magical square on Alicez royal chess game for motion (move that piece, nobody moves) and “war” booty —
Even though other artists are unlike me. There’s is by their own admissions very different from me. The char I call My Emily waking up in middle of road with a bunch of beautiful revolutionaries of varying very different kinds — And yet each can do it upside down and backwards. Gives continuity to original enthrall. There can be no uncertainty that as a dodo bird one can sing, no problem, but flying not so much —
Point wanted to make
Daddy o drama stuff is pure honey bee and it just sits within me as cage and quandary —
Its sublineal (below the line), subingression (secret or hidden entrance), suppedaneous (above the foot but below the knee), subincuss (brain is shaken by it), and a subconstellation (tellers of the sky) etc. And its subcontrary to the negative.
Which lets love, for me, a concept of assiduous religious epiphany, stay live.