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fear behind the eyes and obedience in the fingertips
i am scratching up against the walls, but every time i break through i feel them again behind my nails.
and so it goes
the world will not come to a crashing end because of me. we can easily see that it is in fact the other way round. i will come to a crashing end because of the world. the further i pull myself away from the world the greater the world pulls me back in. no matter what one is worth in the end, we all go back to mother earth.
jeder stirbt für sich allein
i will die soon
excuse me, but i have heard you say that for some years now and i have often asked myself what it is you mean by the word 'soon'.
cucumber worth preserving
out of convenience and necessity are the best traditions born. syrian sweets and italian coffee followed by a german herb liquor.
pages of in-between
the machine bashes out table top masterpieces in-between the pasta and the sauce in-between the rice and the raja curry in-between the polenta and tomato in-between the couscous and pumpkin in-between the passata and chili in-between the pectin and sugar
data crushing intercore
then the machines came on to the scene and all our sins were fog on marshland we need not lift another finger we need not fight our own battles hook me in toto i am going home back to Eddison's platonic vagina
paid to say the things they know to be untrue
wild strawberries on disused train tracks are well established, but what is the use, when they come through here to refurbish the line and run fresh rail not a glance will be given to these gifts of god. so i transplant a few to higher ground. survivors shoot fresh roots.
ale iacta esst
take the time to peel the rhubarb as the first chicks break their shells and take their first gasps of air. the outrage is palpable on public transport. who on earth is responsible for this latest disruption to the suburban dream? i pinched my left shoulder whilst sleeping.
the new disenfranchised
the new untrendy the new not normal the new out of touch the new insensitive nothing funny so many new non believers the ritual is no longer even purely symbolic
malls
quickly disappear behind thoughts to avoid encounter. i become vegetable walking through meatspace. meat-sticks move through meatspace less than animal, carnivorous never the less. it is a pig eat pig world.
i want to see you as you were that first night
honestly it is complicated. and yes i am of the me!-me!-me!-generation. my wonderful life, my precious orgasm, my death-becoming. selfish jerk is what i am working with here. i am doing the best i can with what i have. but you are right. just know that i am waiting with open ears.
in the youth hesitation is mental decay; it's not their fault, but they have to deal with it
is it ever too early on a sunday to open the hatches and bang out on the machine? attenborough is an inspiration. or at least a model. the clouds rise out of the ocean depths in the chase of the sun. some still try to call me up to convince me to play play play bury the soul in a ditch to protect an investment none of us can hold onto. my duck my whale and my pretty shell to climb up into my shipwreck in my bells ringing in my ears my joy my joy my joy my death.
you know i don't know
assume a sitting position. have a good time. no margins. a few dollars in the pocket. next stop trappist and squeegee. lock myself up in the front room crying out for attention through double paned street side window. this is my disease. spread the contagion. set the lights low and the music high. type on the back of the complaints as they come in through the slit in the door.
edible cultured phoenices
she lies there amidst this abundance as a stray cat no thought as to what to plant simply watching what will grow out of the beds and what will fall into the mulch pit
Harriet kisses Gordon
thistles self seed don't worry about that.
i know i know. saw a huntsman grab a moth. sink its fangs in and drag it back into the lair.
look, most people are not going to know that extreme cleanliness is essential.
look at the biblical texts. all that malarky was a survival kit for surviving the persian cradle.
probably still works.
we got to do our dreaming.
take a bite of compressed sawdust board and ditch this taking it easy.
¿Qué onda?
super micro orgasms a cleavage through the food forrest be you woman diverse life cow watcher absolute beginner wild goat fast track twist and shout permeate and glow you know that whole vitalism biodynamic pure butter shoot from the hip loiter at the lake no litter no waste just accumulated nutrients contemplative nature earth balms healings folds in folds line of flight trace a hundred skins to one soul mate sign just gone up one side of the road ten meters south
lantana bedding
there are no rules on these sub divided paddocks without fences or roads or power or water mains. one puts a key line plough into the earth and another builds a roof into the sky. we could give up the struggles and learn from each other. we could bag thistle mulch, be big and loud together. i should never have left Philadelphia, but that bird has flown. lucid levels are critical. we can get by together in ignorance, but i don't want that. i want to be awake. no walls to tear down. no doors to slam. this is my story and it has already happened.
i quit being conversant
you are committed then?
well yes.
what did you feel about our first talk?
exhausting. really, i don't care about anything.
hence the half burnt roadside sacrifices.
hence everything.
and the commitment?
i could cry every morning in pleasure. simply waking up so close to a burning star.
so we are not talking about it.
i would be sick of me too if i had to listen to the daily drone of the decay inherit in entropy. even the sweet things, the incense, the chocolate, the alcohol, the sex- it wears me out.
what the heavens discard
we bought some land. however, try telling that to the cows that have been grazing upon and manuring it while we were still lounging beneath european bridges living off the droppings from above. now we sit within a milk thistle existence watching a dream unfold with a sleeping baby in a van across the compost heap and sprouting sunflowers.
gallus fenstrum
competing interests at the window are taking away the moments. i do not need a window. a brick wall would probably be enough. perhaps better. in a way. throw the kitchen scraps onto the pile out back where the chicken do scratch. there is probably an ancient saying in there somewhere. leave the shit behind. turmoil turns soil.
miss and ms. understood from brisbane - our neighbors
we are a class 3 noxious artistic tragic. an invasive rust fungus we release a refugee camp aesthetic. we do not want to behave and can take our roots with us. no thought to what was here before us. history begins with us and all else is pre-history. we spread our apologetic payload across the globe. i plant myself an office between the silkies and bunya bills. we arrive with straw bale cob lime render swivel pipe and complacency enough to look as though we know how. we belong to the no grass strangling your fruiting trees guild.
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