the wastelands
teeth and hair and bits of flesh, small cold stones with diagonal striations, little tufts of overgrown grass bent under it's own blade, dust is everywhere and nothing is moving, it is recursively imploding, the entire fucking thing, it is like the ouroboros but without a re-sizeable scale, it reverberates amongst it's old reverberations, dilly dallying and setting new records for apathetic excess. it aims to prove itself among it's dynamic components it aims to prove them lesser than the whole but without another layer deeper it is pale and lacking.
dear mother i've wept so many tears another story to smooth in between the chinks between the chinks between the gaps and holes a terrible stretch that kills both point a and point b
a summer rhyme written from behind a torrential window lapped over
and a child gaining silent tense pleasure from the act of carefully pulling one leg at a time off a grasshopper.
i wish my story could start like that.
in the end wasn't it so much less than what you expected it to be?
wet dreams of a summertime sunset castrated by the ease of writing off a thing for an idea
easy misanthropy, easy confidence, ease of believing in the 'natural' things
and the only way to win is to be omniscient
through words mistaken geriatric compounding smashy grindy teeth and bits of hair
smelly adult diapers a hell on earth let me tell you
in a cyclical fashion we lose our progress and it feels so right
i once wrote about brains with tumors like fruits in fruitcake
suffering sam i can relate right now some people are just born fucked born fucked
ah crazy catharsis munchkin blues shiver me timbers coat me with lamb fat
rub me down with heating salve ill spread apart layed out with a blow up diagram and all the
connecting bits will have letters till they have roman numerals
break the circle down to a line down to a dot a black dot and when you find yourself a cold chisel and a monstrous hammer suitable to split that dot apart will the dreams of rainbows make themselves undeniable to you once again?
dear mother i've wept so many tears another story to smooth in between the chinks between the chinks between the gaps and holes a terrible stretch that kills both point a and point b
a summer rhyme written from behind a torrential window lapped over
and a child gaining silent tense pleasure from the act of carefully pulling one leg at a time off a grasshopper.
i wish my story could start like that.
in the end wasn't it so much less than what you expected it to be?
wet dreams of a summertime sunset castrated by the ease of writing off a thing for an idea
easy misanthropy, easy confidence, ease of believing in the 'natural' things
and the only way to win is to be omniscient
through words mistaken geriatric compounding smashy grindy teeth and bits of hair
smelly adult diapers a hell on earth let me tell you
in a cyclical fashion we lose our progress and it feels so right
i once wrote about brains with tumors like fruits in fruitcake
suffering sam i can relate right now some people are just born fucked born fucked
ah crazy catharsis munchkin blues shiver me timbers coat me with lamb fat
rub me down with heating salve ill spread apart layed out with a blow up diagram and all the
connecting bits will have letters till they have roman numerals
break the circle down to a line down to a dot a black dot and when you find yourself a cold chisel and a monstrous hammer suitable to split that dot apart will the dreams of rainbows make themselves undeniable to you once again?