My name is Flo. And I am a cess, I am cessed with the work of angels and my life as an insect. Also drawing on gesture in a manipulation of thumbnails videotapes headshots. All articles of concession confession or prognosis — are stolen mind you, stolen. Flo’s mind is a mosh pit. Stolen: from seat of cars. A Chevy in Borno. Most stolen cars: Impalas, Tacomas, Caravans. Authority has it.
The sky is complicit. A beautiful disaster. Every culture performable consumable — makes us multiply. Gods show up as bodies fatiloquence fully ratcheted, risen and dropping. Flo loves appropriations. Bearing fruit or nuts. Shadows cross the land for quarry, guard guard. Stopppers poppers headly shoppers. Bags and bags of loot of the loom.
Bypassing The Swamp of the Dread?? Finally finally. Alls thanks to massing out with better red like a cherry — than mostly dead and wary, the repeat contrary.
While away was back in days of Middle Kingdom — a hunting we will go, every destination of the magic in tragic, worn by millions.
Get a job. Or go for broke. Broke went for broke and got broke. Crack — attacked. Symphony swallowed the crescent — as in Moon. Bait hovers were luminous. So luminous Red Lights Green Lights : ate the jacket.
But Flo, finally. Praise the William. After much ado, is arriving at K for Kafka’s Kastle. Reaching for D the door. But everyone insists on C for chairs, that they are a thing of the buyers wing. Flo looked it up. While sitting there.
Doctors insisted yes yes YES. It is contagious. By their aegis Flo sustains.
Its a crime, but so are angels.
The Fire and Ice heist.
Flo go slow. The Pearl of Ineffable Knowledge is anxious to grow. But from somewhere deep inside feather oyster, another suggests, perhaps not quite so fucking compressed?
Compression? Twain fans his neck. Points to points of pressure. Performs to pay for his marvelous house — Broad casters tv evangelists in beautiful urban war zones interrupt this appeal, from where sneakers are the new religion and bikes must be registered to save them from confiscation. Far away eyes is the new wealth. It is a situation to be compelled by. Built on knee breeches. The Knights of Compression. Nih nah and neh.
Hocus focuses the poke us. Poke a Hauntress. For reasons in body of ant dies first then cants, holy rants. Pheromones carry sorcery, a certain kind of compound eye, and sympa metrics to lang banging, at the berry bends, hard hard up, with cherry for a night of merry, a flying hedge into face of bluff, Dear Gov. Of sadness madness gladness badness, got any of?
Stuff that cant be fixed.
Carpets are repatterned for Flo and flown. Bottles are lined up and not for show.
Others who ride in front? File clerks, love goddesses, Same Day Bouquets, lush workers, biblioklepts. Also flowers of reason, merriment in the dark, misery of motion. Sex and gas.
Sex gives Flo gas gas gas. She is in love for it. But only those who are registered with the Department of Cruising for Zeus are allowed endowed into the Feast of Abandonment on principles of just is. The act, the very, of procreation is without option. Is option less. It occurs inside the devil’s armpit. All and nothing comes alive there. Better weight than hate. Action man shouts out “take a break.”
It rains with your thunder, hurts like hell sometimes explodes without mercy, the meta morph mosey gets reborn, gets transformed, alarum alarum. Romeo vigils in Rome. Transformed as does water for slaves, fairies and Abes — the fundamentals, perching searching urgent — songs of sirens, grapples with tire irons, all measures of hope rippling with ridicule — Sobeit. Flo went all the way to Mars! for bars. For just a few bars. Brought the whole neighborhood.
She was toast from insect to dessert duck. And is still mixing with Harrod’s D-Bait. Lazy, phasey, crazy, Barman on motorized skates, came by with a bottle, and together they built a shop for a ship.
Love is in the air.
South Africa. Pynchon. Cuffed to the Bed. Love is in the air. Residual trustee, also Agent for the Protection of Flo’s nest. Picks and spans for articles to build with, for nest. Flo builds nests, flutters for custody. Loves to pick off things — cushions of hair, bird feathers, bottle caps, green twigs. Finders keepers. Stuff stiff staffs for tidy abidey? at bowls on bottoms.
There is a risk in scaling the walls of tiger town, with Blakes book called “cashing in on the math” — copy out here. Says Mann for Man. Hung out to fly. A pride for the posthumous.
Nearly dead, one simply matteroffact glides —
Flo arrives at your miracle like a doorstep and you talk a walk. Bound to be bound to be bound to be hell swell, quell shell? Flo best friend Roger is a designer of costumes for clowns. An honored associate. Will assure you that IT will arrive with the look of Love. In a clown vigil costume, Roger calls: Robin Hood and the Restless. Every meta is open to suggestions. Capturing an equation for Feasibility Knots was outsourced to the Living.
Its open season. Its open season.
Cemetaries are angelic, empty and quiet or loaded with civil war veterans scratch in anywhere where its regional. Statuary upraised on sickness childbirth old age sanctuary and the violent. Travel papers. All across Wild West, and any other state you don’t like. Get your gunshots here. Call it god given to wanna new war what for the trumps a millions, and kill me gently or not at all. I am the ghost of my own abortion. Flo swims in their innocence and god doesn’t even need to forgive them. As a fog she is jealous of their fast escape.
We are on the ledge, we are waiting on the ledge, we are tinkering with the cosmetics of suicide, we are an enterprise devoted to progress. Even rabbits get bugs in their ears.
Darkness is statuary, shiny and ageless. Wings are fire. Dead cunts are morbid vacillating dumb stir divers.
All casualties taken.
No straight answers realized. Take to your sleeping gowns.
Dumb times one hundred squeals very. The surface all for an illusion stunning is just stunning. Buddha rides the French left banks. Count Dantean clerks bearing flying trapeze umbrellas. Singular radical desert gods form night of the watchman vigilante squads. Night blighters burden with worry scheme the beam for quadrants of mercy, for missions of ecstasy, severe as it hardens.
And so Flo goes love and woes to seek peeks, lookers and hookers, at outer skirts of beauty, religion, trauma, philosophical exponents and indiscretions, living in shade of oscilloscopes and entropy.
Sharing daring the cunt for a cunt ring.
Hike up the skirt and go. Have a miserable drink. Go Flo Go Flo.
Rake on it. Like it is a vision of beautiful hell. Lucy fell for it, hook line and pell mell.
All hope and lethargy, thats all she was good for. Fucking her was like waking up next to Goldilocks with a talking cunt box that shallows gallows values every freedom that swings like a rope.
Flo as she goes, all hope, hesitation, destiny, tragedy, a blanket of fire. A wire to a choir, a sock jock hopeless liar, poodles in the muck and miracles in the mire. Sucking on your toes. Girls with banners protesting down the street : signs signs signs — all about how hard on it is — sucking on a charity of dick.
Sweet fascinations \ torpor and lust. Joy and all her bullshit must confess must confess must confess. Yes yes YES its time for supper. Evaluations cannot be meaning fully trusted. Says the friar to the briar she is a pain in the ass a real royal drag.
I know, see what I mean.
Should be handcuffed to the basement.
Two chucks and its all over.
The truth is unknown. Existence is not mandatory. Appeals for laughter.
Set a date. Circulate circulate.