Perfumed lady idiot

Instinctual passions are stronger than reasonable interests.

The love of fame is the ruling passion of the noblest mind.

The smog of transit

Hotly waiting Couch Surfers

Waiting and tickets.
Thankyou come again. 

Mister, mister where are you?

Underhanded, waves.

“Ess” because you don’t

Know. 

-maybe a reference to ‘yes’

I before e 

Rules. Laws. Tricks. Plays. Jogging. Memory. Spelling. Trying. Failing. Shyness.

“Live, to define a word” – 

Time.

Apple (company, success, religion, sustenance) 

“To experience shit is to relearn it” 

Anything: toilet.love.. Food. Emotions. confusion. Idea. Invention. Tastes. 

“Willyoubemymeltingmoment” I’m running and running. Sit down, slouch, sit up, work fidget, fight, lack want, chew chew swallow. Wonder, worry check. Stretch. Dehydration bearing.

David

Writing the story of Dave. Saying I’m no good for you. Mood not now. Progression and our future. Friends family change and simple pleasures. The breakdown of balanced between psychophysicality. Company, play, thoughts and sex. Physical attractiveness as some sort of shamanistic talent. Nobody would think twice if my face was ugly and my hands were broken. Nobody will remember these limited trajectories. No stopping, naked staring. Fear and shock. Dwarf any humble thoughts of the future. A cheek of back and forth. Flat grimaces of unhiding eyes. Want more? 

Raver Dave story. The drum. Toast, bread, Apple picking and the broken hand.

Freud talked freely from his own perspective. He liked women I think and he justified their dreams with his own logic. Learning fro others he tried to safely and rhythmically peruse a truth that nobody was willing to tackle which was the savage in-education of people. We’ll look for answers in things that we don’t understand. (Such as Wallace and Grommit) – and we do not understand out individual/collective dreams. Which is to say the plans of others rarely correspond to our own dreams in process or actualisations.

This means that when we dream. There is no drama it’s strictly a departure from the things we know as we engage with Play. 

Dear pure blonde

My heart for you- 

Like a pissed on fire

Questionably poison.

Boys on vacation

Change station- vacation

Masturbation, annihilation fixation destination. 

Demonstrating my crap mind. 

The wanting was not stable. Horse bled.

Ironically. Tooth brushes his return. Music to

My ears and the lights. A safe change. The prince of water and layers excess. Double that- time and size next to eachother. Zoo-bandicoot. Pay me back later. Brother. Ailment. Ali. Do the shit for real. Weird and white. Albino black. And and and..,

Glass in my middle finger. Left hand. Having done the washing up. Where can we find the time to fix the house? Warm and loved- not books, not rooms, not sink nor cupboard have I the time.

Relax. Polymath.

Time priv’

Privy spelling. Priv prob priv 

So luck good. So much food. The sukkah- dunks dukka and the lost language of lost was. 

Hey good whys what’s up. I’ll be here. Mitigation, questions. What do you reckon. Silken and fabric- 

Our own, could be. Cast away language. Do you want to play a game? Latent. Lost lips lasting fear. And froth. Do we need music? No dog no dog … You’ve said good eight times. 

Semi oversight. I know. No.

Very delightful. People to entertain- crazy I feel like it’s a bad idea. Lungs and smoking. Smoking, active. Who cares neither neither. Nigger. Nigger. Famous fragile. 

“Do you want to play a game”

“No I would rather do any other thing” 

“Who is this” ” it’s very easy to” 

Proud proud.

Do you want to play a game? I would rather do anything else.

Printing

And the stories, the threshold. Thrashing the manifold experiences.
Tourniquet, bruised, battered beat and broken.
Bastard closeness. Legitimate. Fleeing it all.
Escape and pendants. Penance.
Drifting dragons of ghastly breath hold height to their advantage.
She shifts like love’s storm. Strong-
holding herself over me. Us all.
Men bereft of qualms.
Fleeting, feet fight for survival.
fumes and sex invite ancient hollow haunts.
We are interesting creatures absorbed in the strangeness.
She has a power over me.
The power over all-
Ignited flame. Framed in a coffin.
Caffeine’s promise of a fire inside.
Spewing ghastly wrongness.
A ghost of thoughts and feelings.
fuck. fuckkkkkk.
Spilling out of me.
My wants, and the conflict and organisation of it all.
Pulled into the fore. Out into the cold.
Drifting wanting more.
and needling need. Less-
desire whelming. flowing drifting.
Draining, bailing falling. Frowning.
Mismatch feelings flit across your face,
as your perfect lips and the self centered shyness becomes us.
Anything I say becomes a sore.
and the sunlight that shone, errodes. Blinding.
senseless. Frail and sick skin slithers from underneath the rocks.
My sin, being washed in the shower. The pipes shudder as my calves do.
The stomach of my legs, weak as vomit and the promise of more befalls us.
Unable to carry anyone or anything more.
My sister, bumped head and the mirror of my war. Worries
unwelcome and seething out of my bleeding lips and I run.
Run nothing like some mafia lord.
the joy and mistakes found in the opening lines of someone elses song.
Primal frivolities. the importance of being ernest hemingway sends me to the dictionary while the rest of us search for something more complicated.
perhaps you don’t think the best of me.
Maybe there is no best and we’re both hollow. lost and shallow.
“Love just leaves you bruised” – Someone elses lines.
A drug, pies and pile. Play ploy
place, plow, blow.
blow me down.
Blow me up.
Blow it all
Blow
blow
low
lowly
lousy
drowsy
clown.
around.
frowned
words that end in E.
Not Ax.
plain
Plane
no plan.
and the box, pandora unplanned.
Baby baby baby.
Let me suck, I am terrible.
worthless. And the surreal, unrelatable to all else.
Goldilocks and the three bears.
while your honest imaginations flaunts and rebels.
The reasonabe worthwhile shared common feeling is gone.
Extended version of my lostness.
Seemingly beatless. Beating your own mind.
tum tum tum tum
This third eye- the shuddering acknowledgement of feet falling on pavements scattered scar. Broken glass and flasks of fireball. Cinder in cancerous snow.
The carousel of my understanable loneliness.
Blink.
blink blink blink blink blink blink blink blink
blink blink
Form meets function.
music to my eyes and ears and nose and imbalance. feel my spectrum slung down.
Hung up on nonsenesesnessless.
HESS. HERMAN.
German.
cold cold hot.
hot hot cold.
cold hot cold.
Hot cold Hot.
Cold Cold Cold.
HOT HOT HOT.

A poe-
pose.
prose.
mmmmmmmmmmmm
frozen prosem.
nosing between your legs.
lost found alone and together.
Weather we like it or not.
the thought remains. eyes blue
pop culture reality.
Down and that makes you larger than life.
Clouds looking like the sway of more.
Hope helps us with our love in another way.
Keep keep all you bitches in fragmented framed wonderlands.
Larger than the life we didn’t and don’t lead.
Stray thoughts ruffle at feathers we never had.
Evolved senses of jargoned rudimentary skills.
Waffle holes that we fall into.
Like the trappings of scattered droppings.
attention spans falling like the loss of mountains.
time’s like:
lines of sight struggling.
Bumping up and along for no reason but to cancel.
Clients let me down. lower, below the waist and the knees.
Your bent, me on the floor, like a begging rock.
Alpha omega. Ancient reminders and memories paddle though us.
The language of the lost.
Lasting image of the soils.
grey lead of moments we’ve watershed.
Moments aloft. Lost- lasting fasting minimalistic.
Virluent, poison toxic reading, relished prism prism
continuity jargon. work word floss arse jason birthday jack of spades, bush mighty jauntily prism prison cordially invitaiton to the spectrum of monkeys writing skates born of shakespear and lousy fingers typing and massaging cunts flack born of pathogens that know knowingly nothing but riddance and dance and poise to strike jackson pollock bristling with abundant nonsense loitering behind every corner convention and marriage and cooking dinner as a man with no wants and needs but simple satisfaction, drug deals and pills and pretty woment and wam cclothes and uggly boots and free sprit and goose flesh dumplings and china town avid wants fly over heat and head and heart and hart and bull and ram and rapists wishing for books and a show from the kissing mother they never had but the hype is lost in the forrest and we forrage for gems amongst the standing sandpaper threashold that we use to wash our closed bodies. Bleeding as if a period of marketing didn’t influence, burn and waste our lives.
This visual energy. burn burn burn. Car’s fossilezed fuels no hearts for animals to lift and live and thrive and survive oin gloin biffer boffer bombour fitting like Winnie the Pooh. The split personality of Christopher Robbin. Calling and crawling from the 7:18, the song that re-writes history will be Dune. out to lunch without complimentary water. Rushing around visceral crayon lifestyle. Arts fragility is the failed science and effort of our childlike limiters limited passon. My math and matrix of home and hope and understanding like putty freezes and I dont run. No reply from gods or friends. All the strange shit i’ve said and done. Forgotten mostly. Pidgeons and hole and trees and thoughts and doves and loves. Hearts broken. mistaken and passed. Squashed and boiled. Cast to the side. ASIDE: I never wanted any of this I tell myself.
but who am I talking too> Two to. to to to two many times. Two. Many. Too. To.
as well. meaning shifts and shits on us. And we lay together, lovingly but not in love I suppose. Flummoxed.
Oh no. Motto. P- yeeah?

“Fuckin cutlery” -JH 

The placement of flowers. Mourning placement. Precious- poor people. Who wore/were more. Bouquet of flowers. Curious habit. A forgotten child’s grave achieves nothing. Personal satisfaction, is not Cod’s Wallop. 

I counted 12 dead bees as I walked to the city today. Scattered as striped litter. Wingless and harmless. End

Your welcome. You’re welcome.

Teya = precious Native American.

I’m at your beckoning quall.

And impossibility of pineapplesz

Nothing super exciting – I’m sorry. 

Porn thought

Odd, unseemly thought tonight from yoga. 

She took a lover every night. 

Short strands of loose curls, made up her hair. They fell about her, only the sides were long enough to touch her ears- oiled and dyed, black and yellow.

She took a lover every night. Most did not perform, these were executed. Some immediate others later, even after the act. It was known by most, I not all. And the competition lay like some strange thing over society. Insatiable. A ruling passion of reckless resolve. Throats were sometimes cut. Blood spilling over the maiden. She was demonstrative in her love- infinite in her conquests. The times reflected a time of peace, gossip and gluttony. 

Restraint was never shown, rumours stated that some deaths were pre-planned. Lovers, princes, women and men, sometimes boys as young as twelve were taken. Force sometimes but suspects were usually volunteered. A gold crown said to have been placed into the hand of each surviving conquest. 

Sheets of red silk, white ribbon. The centrality of the kingdom to trade made richness easy to come. By and by the nights rolled. Moans mingled in the night air. Brothels worked their magic in the lustre of each night. Red lights, fertility embraced and possessed. The coming of age of women made the mad queens lust no less frantic. Her garden was well tended in the days by the most qualified – hailing from worlds away. Seeking the hierarchical differentiation of status. A

Moment in time; blessed and blissfully simple. Embroiled in the possessive passions, the courts were numb from the over stimulation. A glory life of lewd evening gore.

Minted, minted men were strangled, whipped, asphyxiated and killed. No

More mentionable than at the hands of the city’s serpent queen. Her divinity, regal bones, gait and gaunt reductionisms made for direct deconstruction of politics. Life and death were here, yolked there in her vey halls. The brilliant chaos in her hungry eyes. Shrewdness to the utmost. Perception to the uncanny and desire of boundless

Limitations. All of this- until on night she took a man as mad as she.

Mindless or not they could not tell- not on of her guards. Personal degradation for both were taken into the limelight when he made her scream that night. Ringing out- a shrill beg. A bell of shrill bedlam erupted out. The double doors blew in, handles ringing on the stone walls. One two. Standing there; pikes in hand. She called for his death they could only assume, but no, not possible. He, he was behind her. In her. Hair held, blade in the same hand, wrapped tight. 

His left grasped onto her like a hinge. Blood from both points. The boggled eyes looked

On. Chain mail clinked occasionally. Stunned moments passed. His locks fell to her shoulders. Her ragged breath making her language unavailable. And he, he was apart of her. All the time. Destructive, mutilating confidence. Blood pooled at her right knee. Fine dropplets ran down her things. Spread eagled and upright, façade broken while he, he only Looked On. Eyeing a challenge for movement. Stiff, but still. Erect, he was mostly invisible. Plunged into her at all point. A perfect contact. One eye was visible over her shoulder.

His frame- still and tense. 

And he waited. 

They all did, his breath came slow and Warm on the back of her neck, trapped in the rise over her sloping shoulder. Her breath was sharp, no movement.

The guards held their breath and exhaled. 

The queen

Moaned into doorway. His steeled frame, his resilience and closeness made the room brilliant. Dark eyes, wishfully blue pierced into the room. A state of distance, eternally threatened any movement. The exhale of one guard prompted others. One guard lowered his spear and cleared his throat, only to sound like a squashed toad. A rasp sounded from either the queen or the assailant. His fingers dug deeper now, into her waist and the razor edge bit a fine line across her neck. He drew deeper and the crowd relented… Blood had doubled in

It’s pool. Now running between her legs and transferring intimately between their lower link. 

There was no love lost between parties, silence was dragging on, a blade over all nerves but the half concealed man. 

Another breath, this time cool. The queen shuddered and whimpered. From chill, passion or pain they didn’t know. Nothing came from the lips of the onlookers. Transfixed, brilliant silence. A chain of confused and dangerous envy. Compromise and caution were thicker than the blood that pulsed from the woman’s wounds. A moment. Then rife elation crossed the queers eyes.

Lips smiling she drew in a

Composed breath, she shuddered. Cascading her hips back softly she smiled and he smoother her belly with his left hand. An moment, any jerk of movement there could be death. Life though, however strange prevailed the moment. The mans meeting points still had a finality that threatened all, yet they could only look on. Hypnotised and loathsome in their strange position. 

The convergence of men tired and swayed, and so to did the queer relent her passion for a moment of desperate wonder. Then her eyes widened and wandered down. Down her scented, lithe frame. Hair gently falling. A lemon drizzled pain in her neck, hips arched and tense. He, he was completely drawn into her. Pulsing with patient heartbeats. The slowest rhythm, subtle and yet enormously stimulating.

Their breathing had synchronised. His was a whispering promise of closeness, riddling death with life’s

one passion. Her neck’s blood had traversed her lilting frame. Down her sleek abdominals to mix. Her uncomfort was silenced by pleasure. Her numbness made erotic in their joining. His solid, tireless grip. The shaft of the blade unrelenting. Death and decisions seemed eternally far off.