(no subject)
The unbereable, lugubrious and obscene plotting of rowdy, stumbling voices which pour image into memory. As an elective indecent geology. Will you suffer the grief of gushing into memory? Or will you have the angelic transfiguration into the consistency of an image? Memory imprisons images as a boast mantles a reprobate. We will fall. It is natural. But will we fall with a small gesture like a hat from a table? Or like a unique spot from the net of our hands?