Not as Longe

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.

varjak

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s