We’re in writing school
Okay
Be specific with your language
We’re in data school
Okay
He dropped her eh line so eh could send er the pansies te hell
He dropped her tix in teh bin behind eh line in line for a curb stomp
He knows violence he knows lust he knows sobriety
All three in the Triforce! ;-)
Falsified stations with unremitting endings, and some days the words work
Some days everyone in the entirety of the world which you could in all insanity explore possible even not at all in all insanity with sanity in all insanity which you could even not explore which you could even do to think to do could even go that far
Everyone
Everyone like this
Lies
The neurosurgeons know not the poetry of neurosurgery
The voice of the field is an intern who knows things
Actually he was fired, they say
Actually he’s still an intern
Actually that’s the patient
Whoops
There goes another one
Stream of string on dance in the obvious network where people see if you’re alive this morning b/c who cares we all gossip about who’s dying these days sort of like how in Africa during the STD epidemic they gossiped about who had AIDS
Like death like AIDS like AIDS like death
Subtle bias feedback encouraged
So to know that some are out there it swingeing left
For once things work
It seems those who know that your voice is growing
It seems to know that your vocality is changelinge
They see
Somber moments in sobriety of split of mind of split off split oft split oft splittened up
Too accerelants too sooon died off his rocker with his friends right in his own birthday car
They never drove him to the hospital
Why we hover liket hiss?
Push on coward
Push on the swing
Push off the crater the cliff the one that once we survive the crash
We can climb back up
The only thing
The only thing
We can survive the climb back up
You might fall down the cliff
But you can climb back up
To jump off again
You can climb the cliff
Barehanded without safety gear
Why do you fall?
If you’re climbing?
So cliche, concrete, cliche, it is that he wants to know how his voice has changed as well, so sundered and surreptitious that to want broken phrase and dead brain cells encouraged of voice is to want more to be gentle you should know the signs by now
The dead brain cells are anger
Anger is a loss of function
Not a gain
It’s a nonsense mutation
Not a missensse
[Calibrated]
He went on on four feet thinking he could outrace others in turnstiles in styles often a joke will remember won’t care won’t remember will care enumeration is just performing an operation any operation on a matrix
Enumerated objects cry Ho!
It’s in real-time
Most take a quiet retreat to write but here we indust
In-dust
In-Dust
In-Duste
In-Dust
taps too late
taps too soon
It was gone he fell behind the ruse that no one ought to have seen–found one
Bugs in the brin cells bugs in teh respectful brin cells
Where future leaders make due we prepare for the revolution early
To mitigate catastrophe
Selling souls at the street corner we find mister wiser dripper wiser sprinkler wiser doing coke houghed off on the street corner right outside his apt doing coke with his lover no friends hates humans hates himself loves coke loves his lover but his lover no longer loves him
They’ve chosen they’ve decided that obtuse lngage isn’t to be folded upon but the decision is in the dime that they hate that they disrespect with their respect with their loathing how can it be the apposition to a decision of crux thinkythought
Blinker went to the rose bowl the corrupt files are simbaaaaaaa!
The blinker files are sometimes corrupt who knows how he reads it can’t be good at English if you’re delusional but rather in disruption who knows
I guess that’s the only way
Dead still not hearing him it can’t be that we already knew this that he is gone it can’t be that his voice is not his own it can’t be that he went elsewhere to live it can be that the data is immprecise and perfect for perfect reasons to a perfect audience fit for purpose and cause and even tab-delimited correctly as was always supposed to be
Period
Wanted less than to explain why he was delusional
Wanted less than for her to rupture the delusion to invade privacy to go linear to touch me
She broke the bubble but to do so she had to invade the privates
So it goes
Piracy in je[s]t and in stolen letters
Slyly ditching around the ignorance to make something longer than the longest face
Slowly denouncing the brittle things
In a cup in a skill not to lose in Victorian sweaters the context makes the meat so that he is want to give up and retreat or else to find ways that forced moves can win a chess game but not much else
In denial of his retarded second cousin he wants to see new, real things in his eye to see new real things in his eye to see to see he wants to see things
All over the place
He wants to go places and see things in his eye he wants to try to explain he wants to know where to go to ruin the perfect moment to explain is his he wants to know how to do it he wants to go there he wants to do it he wants to know why this is all happening now
Catsutra lost vowels,
Catsutra
It envever ends the loss the adventure the trouble the desecration of propetry rights
And what they two the woman and the cat make dirty down the corner, I must regurgitate to make clean here in the room this my room this inadequate corrupt explanation this the dream that you had for the first time this the reality that it could happen or just this your reality that you take matters into your own hands this the reality that you know things without rying and try to know thigns and therefore are ICED
In your pajamkies
It is often not wanted to shrug off denunciation of vowels that no one speaks to hear the simple tongues silent to let uss rot on our own in our entertainment in how we guffaw not at the reason that it was missed
Ok
Thought
What all else is impressive
How to speak or how to think or the punishment for anger the dead brain cells we previously spoke of that there can be punishments that do not hurt ht epunishment is to heal
Tired of hiding things–as a craftsman–from myself
The Ires of fucking Fire rise up within me and no display of disastrous vomit does spew its guts forth on me
They say how you spend your birth fucking day is how you’ll be the rest of your life
How nice, to know that the next birthday is invalid
Orthat it stacks, like
layers over layers–it’s live, it’s too late
This is a live document and they’re changing how it looks it’s not stable writing and what how could it have
Where did it go, after all? Where?
He knows how hall how hard does it spew that they knew how to disrupt the thought htat he is not aware of them that he does not know how to code this fast that he ought to be able to that some things are off limits that yes, CJ, you are wrong, some things are scred, but that, not at the pointe, to be wanted to be touched, but to know, yes, that, that, that it is the point that some things are
In well wishes
v
I can do it, but I can know it
I can do both
It is coincidental that we are all alive at the same time, is it not?
Is it naughty?
Is it raunchy or hot or spilled?
And why would he accept his own mistakes at the fault of others harming him at the street corner like this, anywho?
Guess thatś a Hoo
Success, glitcher ditcher kitchen stitcher hurtful times in the rhymes
No more to say
No more to spray at the ideology that fun is fun and no guilt that some left that others who remember how the golden years of the spaces where we were safe thought more of us
So writing goes through physics, is what youŕe saying
No more direct intxion
No more direct conversation with the audience who jump at you out at you who know that they are your audience that the knowledge that your audience is real people who now know you know how to reach you are you happy that the audience is jumping on stage mauling you harming your breath harming your voice so that they too are angry like yourself who started nothing much less than an antś footyprintz
Iḿ impressed at the impresario
Iḿ disgusted with it
So the voices are for stories but this is more or less not prose at all
Now continues the voice:
He said that it was disturbing that there were more than one side to him but no one know how mutlifaceted folks could get along without other disjunctive ideologies
Who knew there were none
Dispersal of the short birds with the long birds into the nest to sink down through the treas and up and out into the atmosphere so that we may might them us we may might breathe for once more and more and more then still more and once again he grasps our voices and they are his?
Sorry folks; stomach aches coming on. Have to stop for now and work on this.
burndoubtstar 