STARTED A TOTAL REDRAW
Worms at night are turning over dirt in magical graves of Sketch and Fetch fielding for goods, for crosses that they hang on, the espionage, and where again & again get lost at sea. So often having arisen again in that lost place, its become a grisly, kinky comfort zone.
Something am beginning to call for some reason Buddha Sickness.
Not sure Stinky and Pinky exist as separables. So far dont think so. Think of Pinky same as Stinky – only more suppressed, veiled in funky horny thorny meandering enormities, habit like a sudden robo call. As if childhood purges were a throne of mysterious inquiry, misery & migration, rattling with snowfall, dazzling intoxicating sorrow, violent with silence – inadmissible in time which is equivalent really to remorse. Still no less stinky. For sure.
Stinky and Pinky are clowns reap with magic making mischief, that when coming up against realities, standing in the light, like on a criminal lineup – suddenly turn treacherous, stubborn, obnoxious, hell bent at their own deadly game. Playing right-right up against “stated” interests, when like some shelterbelting snarkitechture, all goes pop pop pop
(like an automatic gun at an American school playground – Pinky hates guns. Though she won a shooting contest once – using a be bee rifle. Beer cans on roof. First time one discovers how the damn scope really works and falling into, two beers in. But caliber – never.).
Appears apparently out of fears that longings will never end, whatever the curse. Reoccurs as a lovely malodorous backwash-y really stubborn stupid high for Pinky, flying short tempered with destitute fears, and for Stinky like printed third finger up bum fodder – in your eye. Up yours with very ends of tenterhooked fur, tingling mutinous & defiant.
A kind of wild assed cover up for massive infusions of loosely struggling courage, whose wiggly irreconcilable randiness – very randy creatures – makes everything possible and impossible (for Stinky and Pinky) at the same time!