Delirium calls, reminds me what it was like to abandon everything. It's innocence and pre-dates the fear of puke. It's so old and true. By contrast, the new gnosis is full of holes, goes in so many directions. It's alpha and omega, knows everything and nothing. Karma's disconnection. Was touched by God a few times, I think, but maybe I just touched myself.
continued to blink on the wooden rafters of the ceiling flash
[arbitrary after the bracket, this new way of being blinked into the birth of a cranebular house pocket split in slivers of sillingtendenation that slid thither to a part of drenebular full in the ganting basequintezles of murg. Goused out of garfringling, this fringle sloothed straight statendentures for the plock of problematic wrintixiz.
Housed out of the skirts of shantytown, freezing hairs of brilliance from the before time, the "who knows what it could have been" time, freezing in this winter of what icicles claim is the real ridiculous wrungout rationalizations and raison d'etres, they regale me with this ring. I writhed into rooms of chat, proclaiming love for Sucrets, they called me Fluhead: Sitting, spasming, sticking out my tongue, action. Assinging significance, nevermind, niggling, narrating, never knowing, scratching the surface of deep politics, another failed slureof a bundle of breaths
Bong, bong, bong, bong, bullshit, bong, bong, bong, i love you, bong, nada, minstrels of unexamined assumptions, red herrings of fallacious current, eternal now bullshit, bonging past blackout, posted with brigades of flickering fantasy.
Ministers of the best of dated forlong fruiteranted scraps of recants bilge the slough-sauce out of blaring benders of blanked becoming belonging
too good, rhombus good, too good for the others, never allowed to know, but i would tell them if i could, but how real can divinity ever be? you'd be surprised, narrow, you'd be surprised...
i would give everything to her at some point, it couldn't be any other way, destiny and all that, that would be my cinematic narrative with a flakey crust of fake martyrdom, it would sound like a dog whistle, feel like i walked over my grave, subvert in sly ways like overripe cliches the reality in kansan cracks - like we should take it to hysterical levels of histrionic idiocy in the petroleum soaked filters of a doomed civilization
But you can't go far before the wave breaks, the untertow of stupidity seizes you, truth is less than worthless, death of some kind, delirium calls me
Ignored at the meeting by the monstrous chad because of the easily missed frequency of my voice, when I tried to be friendly and join the co...
I'm working out new ways to perform and record. They take the form of melodic fragments, half-assed renditions of half-remembered songs,...