Monthly Archives: May 2014

I eavesdrop on more abuse of power in this wild rotation upward to misconstrued nirvanas, and if I was free, then I would care, but I rip off these pretty signifiers, though I keep learning compassion, somewhat unwillingly, and I organize movement tendencies in her fingers, as they squeeze warm ceramic, while yelling for my bloody ventricles, from across this brick ladened example of a room, but I search out reasons to accessorize with fancy handled umbrellas, or excuses to confer addictions, though I miss becoming a wreck together, and I trim my beard on the 2nd to least setting, while I equip contextual designs with functional humility, and I want be close to her next production run of moistened anti-venom, but I look forward to transporting heavy weight nowhere except into gravity, and I picture a crucifix, yet I omit my ill representations.


I have crushes on lifeguards in empty pool rooms, as I try working through the intricate cross-directional assembly lines, that are my psyche, but I prohibit chemical warfare from the existential menu, and I revamp this acknowledged self, to become seated as a commodified lot of right angles, in the optimistic interpolating gesture aimed at our terrifyingly delightful bridges, yet I lose patience under the weight of elaborate media spies, and I hug shriveled latex balloons, a day after the music is eventually over, but I find that she resists absorption, and I merely hold envious regret for deactivated soul ignitions, and I wander more, as these microphone chords drag behind me, while bouncing irregularly along a graveled race track, and I question if their frayed bodies might enrich the plot, or why it must be a story at all, and I check her face to see if we have time, but I grade the performance harshly again, yet I stop for now, and I get paralyzed, while in awe of these wireless human exhibitions, independently moving and choosing, with shoes on their feet, in between concrete edifices, and owning unique strides along randomized godless paths, but I lust for the opportunity to be fucked up by them.

I publish arrogance, but I lock up too many fears in a xenophobic spell, and I notice myself yearning for the subtle angle in your elbow, while you browse a local newspaper, though I am shy, and I would definitely yield to a higher order, if it propagated immanence, but I love her, yet I cast off an immature drug to find other external machinery for aiding in expeditions via our psychotic genome, while I bet on crayon landscapes, and I rush towards barely perceptible data, that she forgot, as the winds picked up, and I barter for the antithetical headquarters, yet I know not how much, though I can numb doubt temporarily, and I split off into a divided imitation of myself, but I trust rear view mirrors, and I fall prey to consumerist fetishism during unannounced invasions, and I am nervous to touch her, but I stare into paisley blessed vinyl, while I categorize decor to avoid a meltdown, and the slogans are gradually approximating room temperature.