taquineur
I am in my chair strumming out making a
few notes. I survive on work so long as I am still doing something
this body goes on, goes to sleep, wakes up, does something, and finds
a little food wherever it can. People without fear are put up on the
cross and made an example of here fear this. The slave does not have
to fear death any more. Jesus was a union man and so was Mohamet. I
am the cause of it all. If I stay alive for another few years I will
have another one of these ordered cycles of words together. An idea
is coming from a long way and all this scuttling; trying to pick up
from as many scattered points of the globe as is possible. The rock
is sitting within the plane of ideas. There is a lot of sweat
happening down there, precious bodily juices squeeze out the hormones
of desire. I just keep playing it over and over until finally it
comes together. Chorus chorus verse bridge; this is what we call
practice. Eventually one just does it. Les doigts sont dans le nez.
Like a finger in the nose it is second nature. You are teasing me.
Don't stop.