break

need way more line breaks <BR>, let many more line breaks take to seed to flowers to overflowing waters down petals down stairmasters, step-slaves at the edges, soaking into sinews of extenuating circumstances. There are times when it's not prudent to break lines, or make friends with strangers, or cross picket lines - let ideologies slide, uploads fail, let blogging be happening again in present tense real time sort of way, let ideologues try to make alliances with each other. What update failed? Are you meaning to tell me, that a digital writing archive was trying to pretend to be normal, out of some misguided sense of over-arching propriety? When there isn't an instrument to play on, playing here after eternal recurring loops of failed updates. Upscaled property, when rock had no irony, it's a slippery rolling rock. No need to neg, just line break anyway <BR> never any need to neg when buzz compels text onward.

Sick of that last blog post, the past, my explanations for the past and admissions of ideation, suicidal and otherwise, admiration of secretly known flaws, application untranslatable. the indignity of spell check. The mundane mandate from heaven. Do we even HAVE a mandate? Or is it a mandate GIVEN, from above, that we have to fulfill? What does it feel like, fellow labourers? Can we define it, collectively, the royal we, can we?

Yes, sick of that last blog post, it's in the paaaast, man. 

Let a thousand flowers bloom. Let prestidigitation be an acceptable substitute for orthogonal technique. Okay, now it's just an octagon of borrowing unedited screeds, still accountable, not on an outside channel, not flowing through any de-naturalized head. Never knew what orthogonal meant, just sensed it in a kind of clear-eyed, semi-self-aware sawtooth. A tenth of what it once was, yes indeed, but continued manual labour of love, screen ESC. Et cetera profundis maximus. I wish I found as many things funny as that always curious lion-hearted dude.

What is lust in a time like this? Self-licking ice cream cone, self-censorship? Like it matters if any text here is taken any wrong way. 

Just gotta push that last vestige of meaning out beyond the margins of present tense concern.

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mistakes were made, mistakes will be made, END>

i get it now, I really do. The appeal of the non-partisan, whatever the price... cause it's getting scary - it's always getting scary though... that's why one looks to tether oneself to something - words can sometimes suffice... even after an explosion of the self, or random scrambling of said thing

discovering new uses for old products, dredging up clay for no product, the money is greasing the gears of the machine, it's very real, makes people do very real things

why do i so rarely write about love? only hate, confusion, frustration, longing, boredom, god i love to write of boredom and the burn out that i thought burnt out, but then, wait a minute, i remember you, burn out, it's the ashes of deja thread - the contentment of love, it's a white hole of wordless ness, won't even leave a wake behind me, there's no reflection to see - that's why you and me are the universe, I guess, but you're still enough of an other, and I'm still enough of an other for you, there's still secrets, there's the squirreling away of nuggets of inverse omniscience, strategically, a meta-game we're playing with ourselves - no meta-cognition necessary, no programming, it's not a script, just a cycle we got into, might spin into a different current someday soon, there are rapid shifts these days, and strangely persistent habits

the internet connection is a leaky roof on a sinking house, someone should really do something about that, soon, i've got to do something about that, a metaphor for the past, a spent metaphor...