Eleventy Trash (Tonkin bout Love)

pickets of trash and muck farmed from the absurdity of our abundance

Stiff bindle to handsome dreams as scaled with maybe With gout as broad as any field I'd lift to the heavens daily dear There's no absenting this lingered staph of need Only truth baled as it is Taut with every depth of string Ideal as bottom seed Below the grain of this dead field Not for any prim ejaculate we But trees endless and amazing trees Beyond this league of days

Here to alternate our lonely and our cordial apathy or any other alternate to wit wrung ears. Wake, work, sleep but never reinvigorating the state of our social understanding for one another, it should be greater than the sum that it now represents. It should be greater than just myself alone. My family and my neighbors are part of my organism as my organism is a part of this much bigger vessel. This vessel that includes garbage pickup and public transportation followed by a light entertainment and time for reflection. So it should be an understanding at least as large as all of this. This is not a complex explanation of a complex thing rather it's a simple description of a very important one.
Despite the ambitions of designers everywhere and the students of those designers everywhere too our truth is neither solid nor is it intentional. It's irrational inaccurate and never placed before us. Instead its where we find it half buried in the haze of banalities that we're fortunate enough to tumble through. This should serve as a reminder that our cannibal words tend to interpret only ourselves as we wish we were to be. The who that the other could perceive us is so many steps removed from the chaotic uncertainty of our actions and their echoes of inertia. To suspend this belief and have all of the time appropriate to indulging it, this is a characteristic contemporary fantasy. With its steady state of illusion imitation and repetition parading by us on floats of irony masquerading their bountiful sarcasm machines we can know and unknow all there is to hold simultaneously and then poof...

I count the falling tears They fall before my eyes Seems like a thousand years Since we broke the ties I call you on the phone But never get a rise So sit there all alone It's time we realize I'm not your fool Nobody's fool Nobody's fool I'm no fool Nobody's fool Nobody's fool Never again no no - Nobody's Fool, Cinderella

Totem

Tonight is old. It's wett but current and bored. I'm watching nothing but stars in the often sky that happen... do... tonight is lame like old, young like song, even as blue... Equal after the sun, noon or scripted yellow you are to me... A we (as sound)

Songlet is Best

fig.0231) FizzGraf MT. "Magical, like a chorus of like minded souls in a froth of cotton fumes." Over fake doors, under refurbished ladders, gypsum board and bent yellow pipes offering us an unmade bed and a stained window. Our one chance at tomorrow. Magnetic guts from at least a thousand cassettes are strewn across the room. Hee-Haw style, fancy dress shoes cling to the floor like it's '86 all over again. Hee-Haw, goes the sound. Hee-Haw, we're closer then we were. Hee-Haw, it's hilarious. Listening for trains, leaning out over the rails like two people with no time at all. Better maps, that's what we need. We could use a melody for singing with this chorus; in whose curious presence more patients wait to be found. With hands over our heads, someone passes by and asks, "gender?" There's stars in this sweet tooth of mine and some atoms left from the sky, Tonight the whole angle of heaven sleeps without light. Ordering its coffee darkest, t

Whiskers, chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for a tidy sum of walk and now our toes are wet and cool in the Lak, beside a cool stone that could drive a modernist to their flint. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anythin

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