from where are you heathen?
in my ivory tower the reel of paper rolls through and out of several typewriters. we start with the twelve point imperial on a rag of a ribbon and work toward the olivetti portable special nine point with a fresh black only ribbon. the animal streaming the screams of a consciousness under constant bombardment of phenomena is the desired bifurcation. the sun offers its last as the clatter of pots and the smell of fats waft upstairs.