cherzando in any attempt the length has its duration in the attention span what one is running off the mouth with why is it easier to string the symbol together over the sound making sense in the speech as though talking to oneself was more sinful senseful meaningful a different play as though there was not an inner voice now creating an emphasis and dictating the punctuation as it flows on the page as though there was not a preconceived over ride of punctuation so as to have the reader searching grasping working through to put their own in and find a sense within the mess to encourage them to read out loud as if in roman times as though the endings themselves were counterpoints and punctuation enough but when one runs out of breath or has sense enough to churn over a thought to strike a remark or pause then so be it but to rattle on into the sound of a runaway train is in itself a thought provoking event a sound system opens up and perhaps the illiterate understand nevertheless perhaps the spoken form of communication has more than the formalised structures and patterns that one takes with vocabulary and grammar that inbetween and overlieing all the sophistication supposedly grant upon our grunts and groans that there is a semblance an invocation of the thing at hand the presence of the sensation of being in a world of sharing the perception and being able to feel with in the same instant undergoing not just similar events and states but the same as though occupying the same body the body is not restrained by a skin being held together but the skin is merely yet another sensual component not a border grenze a line between things to delineate a structure from another and is not evdn located on the outside of the body rather just at the a distance from the next component as the retina is held from the cones and rods  ¶ 1:09 pm 0 Comments

  touchy little relink to the dark endeavours of late night early morning soul searching ink spots crawling over canvas taking shapes shadow play mind tricks a film in the making on the back of the retinas i need large rooms filled with paper and squirt guns water and ink plenty of time a lazing about sleeping through the process just to wake once more intoxicated and set to the task once more brief sleeping interludes of vision i don't sleep i dream seldom working without the fleeting moment to know once more those wasted moments to feel the inconsequential existence crushing down on go on get to it engrave your name into the stone see how long one can last the digital memory is nothing like the oral one a good power shortage and everything is forgotten who are we remembering oh yeh the miracle workers the ones with the stories so big so as to be unbelievable they are the stories we keep telling ourselves because we want to believe them the others are just convincing easily acceptable into the daily walkabout lives of bread making and ice cream eating i left them all by the wayside did i want to fuck them maybe in the end when the opportunity was no longer there but at the time i was getting something else altogether the fringe of sexuality through conversation an excitement in play with words that could have bee leading anywhere simple propagation is not exciting enough for the body these days having given up on the mission putting aside lineage of storytelling passing through a blood generation no the world belongs to someone else now they will not be able to write or read so i will have to paint pictures and set a landscape to a tune that can be hummed beaten and whistled so little has changed between us but it is always the other that reinforces image having never been close but growing up and seeing the change of direction there will be something remaining an identifying mark no less that is the recognition they still see a little of themselves within the creation i have not wiped out completely my forefathers will to live beyond themselves in future generations in progeny here comes the end of that here comes the generations that will turn against their own dna they will turn against their own fleshy analogue existence in favour of something with definition a value or without value even without value is valuable signifying a lack simply with or without categories running through the ages and processed simultaneously without measurement or access to time little more than something operating in the background a sky upon which to remark the weather clouds or clear stars or sun  ¶ 12:55 pm 0 Comments