A Human Movement
Friday, November 04, 2005
  good no good time

sweetness bitter undigestable insurmountable punch of gutted waste wrought nebulous hell of an unspecified separation or distinction worth $28,000 and 5 years or more, a celestial harbinger ignored graceful point of fornicated ignoble grasping entrail travailed distance peach skin entitled to no entitlement becuase of learned hate, resistance accrued from togetherness at an unavoidable collision of misappropriated logic and diseased skin membrane spaghetti spoiled work ethic conundrum pill abrasive misspent time and hidden jerking for complete idiotic focus.

indiscernable ability to communicate why whoever cannot see the ultimate and non ultimate as pair next to the here and there is a fallacious liar no money to those who need to be necessary so that the way of ignorance procedes, is all in all of us. reading stories fantastically to one another, especially those who appreaciate similar symmetries and proportionate face gestures, sailboat time. The mother is the father of the man. The family is the skull of the cupboard. The oak is the iron in the pleat of the sail. The water is the cannon forged for the battle. The sincerity is the liver of the wind. The machine is the pill of the daughter. The turnip is the condition of the foreigner. Open is the scent to the new. When the scent is made by the process of stewing up some future life, made in the wretched stink of the alley, or the finest sheets in the valley, the finest grass in the land, sheeps eat to let their wool grow for the farmer to sheer and sell, eat mutton once and some other greens some other time for the nutrients to get a move on. Sell a daughter or two.

the Marketplace made up of what that guy sells, oh it's nice, I want it. The marketplace sold me to slavery and I work because working feels good even when you are owned by another person who treats you like an animal. I would be so lucky to be sold like an animal and slaughtered in the name of processional weightiness,
the fat man's corpulescent breakfast always breaking. Greasy fat man breakfast plate succumbs, with me on it. The breakfast is the slave of the fat man. Work is inevitable because it feels too good to learn to shirk duties. Duties that never come to those who care. Dutyless naive. Broken back squalor creates true life experience in the direction of a some future congratulations, as if I want your rewards, awards or nominations

Insular concave energy inefficient purposeless lake of fear pounding sideways into the ears that are your legs. Legs hear too, ears said to me. So why focus on the ear. The part is the potential of the whole. Cut your legs off and see what you hear. It will change. So don't talk to me about my ears hearing, unless you speak it to my knees. And don't let my ears hear that they can't get me where I am going, unless you want to go with me to there. I hear. I walk. Someone else does the same, I conclude they cannot. Someone else walks. I walk. Someone else walks. Walking doesn't mean they walk the same. Why ask questions then if indeed the mother is the son of the tree? Because you want to know something about the progressive force which has compelled you to waste so much of your energy on eating, selling, and working for free like a rich, wealthy man who owns the globe like the dead man who died last night at 3:30AM whose job you took three weeks ago.

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