Feminime Jouissance

Exchange of extensions. So valuable. I am sad. I am glad. I am bad. New char called Leatherette, my lovely leatherette, stubborn, defiant, but chummy too yummy gummy often stumped — but not (and this is important) frantic. Char Lotta is now proclaiming wants to do a whole bend-etta on Sad Girls. (Kiss kiss.) Miss piss. Comes from notions about art as a fervor, frisky bumptious enigmatic excremental. I always miss because of piss. Due to sacrificial subsidence the vortex of virtues, got stuck with tons of them. The Ones who work in Sorrow. Sorrow has shine, like a vendetta?…

read more

Vampire Logic

Best thing about vampire logic — That they share needles? drink blood? that they come alive at night — Forever and ever lurks for blood, that mad desire of the eternal, to bite into neck of life and yet: never die — no, once bit bit for good. Cant help but love other vampires for the articulation and beautification of human weaknesses. Vampire is a treasury of our most harrowing love for something — with a side of death — Violets vampire rages forced me off into affliger cachette — affected regions — taste of blood in mouth of dragon…

read more

Dribs & Dabs

3.8.20 Vampire Verity Vampire Logic started out as a closet with drawers that began to fill up with char — Cinder magic built, to have somewhere safety from blood on the walls — Then it turns into a lodge of sorts — The Vampire Lodge? Velvet papered walls, of course, plush carpeted corridors. And off of wing after wing labeled with names, like for hospital bed, draped open sesame beautiful coffins, each pitched in own way, under window treatment. Cinder char dances down the hallway, in drapey and crepey — grey black green till strikes it red. Blood for radical…

read more

Is It Hell?

1.6.20 V2 Something keeps on reaching out anyway. Reading signs — in the emptying sand, weaves shadows into meaning, and comes alive, at stunning visual distances. Lives for it, loves for it. Something irreparable keeps me there. Searching for surface of love. But what, what am I reaching for — what what?? For reach. Reach itself is after reach. Evil go weevil, loves after making me reach, to have cause to reach for it? It’s not madness nor even pretense. It’s some sort of shared resolve that has to be acknowledged for it to exist. Silence rings with frantic revelation,…

read more

Body of Hate

Small defiant ludicrous. Nobody seems to like that. But there is something here we love. The worst it gets the worst we love it.  Keep on cooking for the holy books.  There’s a foot there caught in trap, in jaw of trap, turns into a well, and the well descends, and we pull on chain as swim around it, drown (multiplied times) and pop back up.  Has trouble finding what — permissions. Always the horror starts with permissions. The gape the gap and all falls in again, knows its paradoxical, knows its married to the moon, revels in beloved repetitions. That…

read more

Bobbing Blue

1.1.19 Last Catch Sickly Bit? The heart was corrupted again with delicious goods, goods that bob in the blue. But everything is a haze now, snug in a silence, a sweet meltdown of the beautiful travesty. Reading L’Innommable (in french) is heavenly corruption too, the thing is balanced on a nose, shiny chatty taciturn pithy sardonic blithe stoic — echo scopic and blueshift too. A racing collation of seminal goods, lunatic chars, sweet restless unshuttupables — multiloquent knobs.  A wispy vegetative patch of the avowal vehicular, that exhibits transmembrane visions, visions who seek voice. Never the less, néanmoins. Rapt, corrupt,…

read more

“word-storming in the name of beauty”

processes of compiling