A once and heavy time for Flo

fig.23.9898) one metric ton

Institutions that STANK... It’s important to know a thing, first. If in time if it needs to fit inside than you’ll want to if in time if it needs to fit inside than you’ll want to - beth2BETH

Ho, so it is that when the raineth does so cometh like the wet that it is. Then the chorus will join in like it’s a hollow sunbleached shack, "Crisis, crisis, crisis of a meaningless future being spent navigating meandering networks in search of pleasure or finality." We'll all dine on warm crow soon enough, our small tables been set. The hog lagoons with their hyper-superslop will swell and sluice through the slow streets of the south. The car fuckers will roll over the tree fuckers and the blue eyed sons of Maine will grab all of the water like they're sinking turds late for the bottom.

We'll drank the warm booze and we'll watch our shows. Broken glass is like gritty champaign dust to the ears of the moderne. Our backs have slipped through the noose of this frame and our necks are just about to go too. Heave ho, here's a riveting poem. It's like a game.

She begins to explain that this is the beginning of the name for everything and then she starts to sing. "Chicago Museum Gallery Eye Handle Oddapt Oddcast Kernal Culture core UP Stray (might have to talk with TB) Gate ARTown Wavy Is/does When where WwWwhen Sweet mary and frankness Polaski Armature EnOh (early and so often blue) Gathering Urbis in horto (its latin)."

When she's finished, she tells me that this is for the bottom of the frame. "It's going to be like a pure little drama dancing underneath the exuberant bull of the picture. It's going to be like a little girl and her hand."

Comments

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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