Thursday, February 16, 2006


TV sp---

You can gosit in the shower room, relax fall legs disappearing and too whole into pills waiting
to be eaten, chewed (as you now eat, it was called an overdose, pills haunting trangressions in the spill of a corner mapping minds round, but too life and begin to move hand to down, inner compass and maps in flying) specifically a word unsure a wastage of BIG money
droppers from where they drop there...their money as they forget my I.Q is all spit out and
they clog clogclog but are wise enough to be miserable of how also their legs drop...
You can think about a broken conversation inthe garage,as you wonder you are dropping
in confusion, and cheap paint brush hairs, stuck in a lack of concentration on you WHITER
WHITER?? you're feeling of lacking I.Q magic live lives afraid that this voice was run over
bowls of flakes, flaky discussions around four cubicles, a relief the one below is empty, as
you speak love or joke? angry angry...//...worried worried...worried worried=//=angryangry,
mess everywhere like minds with no legs can care of the mess, and should my peace offering be
to TALK and question in this arrival of a mind-envelope of something I could call love or
misery, envelope of love would have mixed dialect, if you would 'spend' me eme (earth to moon to earth) eme, your
'time'? with me...or spend me like i shouldn't want heard

And gradually you are losing out but winning by making your own eme me, and the
you which as you you you knew is all yous, but not ax,

In this experiment the value of a in the function f(x)=ax sits inbetween 0 and 1, including 1

not exactly the One we are (so they
can eSP- somewhere else...kind words)...and think how no rent oror no money can run
pushchairs through the streets come are losing those drops of alms,
charms...throwing SP-embracing arms, or a wicked charm, or foolishness me eme excuse

when names are not names and illness pervades in grades, a shade of clearness would be
appreciated, but I try to sleep early...

Time is I would have been a with wifel and studio by now and tomorrow and never was I a good
painter, when I wandered with cans rather than canvas, all the thrown strangers (as I
remember one, a gush of fountain, hilarious overintake of tequila from the mouth of a like a
giant cupid, in one square in one city, tell you that some time, everwhether...) I was too
indebted and afraid to make ugly and seemer less; of lack of skill...

Of lack of skill, I will

Be arrested in March for burying seas of sunflowers and marigolds and feather debt (for
Father's collection of an Ostrich egg, brought all the way back from I never knew,
what climbing trees would do)...planting them on the motorway...

Lone Or in my soon to be new, little garden by the windows I will blow smoke out of in the
summer, and watch just one or two cars instead of the hungry rush...

Do not waste paper, throwing my sketches for the Bin...(the Art of 'peaceful' Warfare)

Do not be angry
lack of

And every other that's going on...

Monday, February 06, 2006

Last Tide Of The Roaring Stampede

-I can't see many flowers...

-Throw these...

Forget Revenge, that's what he said, everything goes if you read me in regret, Understand,

If Tao's spin on a map of the world, know in your heart you find white, learn that your body cannot always follow your soul, make it one,

If you need to guard yourself, throw this continuation of Love,

The Army is defunct...

The Army, the Army,

When all things join, this war will end in your mind,

Three, free, free things,

As you say 'things' are words,

Words are ever flowing, you would stand for days in the street unmoving but flowing,

Begin, your letter, your parts are scattered,

Army, please, find forgiveness.

-Inspired, I remember the stampede, Inspired I remember the stampede. History is on my back.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Mirrors and Envelopes

When A Story comes to mind, I believe it has to be written in the fastest time possible...I apologise for this whole selection of first drafts, bad sketching, you'll read on and find out why it's hard to be alone and hard not to be, this whole blog here, being:

A First Draft...

(I would appreciate no 'copying' as I have the originals...and wouldn't it make you feel sick?)

Mirrors And Envelopes Drawn On The Floor