SUCCUMB

The daily world verbals far.

Believe in my heat — how their art divides on you.

Dance of the greeting draws to the bottom at an end like the crane of music.

Behind the smiling veil their frontage dissimulates.

It overloads us all with the tension and in it one is astonished, which is subjacent.

A fear that luminosity is to surmount us.

She discovers that which is dissimulated.

Et elle fit que tous, petits et grands, riches et pauvres, libres et esclaves, reçussent une marque sur leur main droite ou sur leur front,

et que personne ne pût acheter ni vendre, sans avoir la marque, le nom de la bête ou le nombre de son nom.

C’est ici la sagesse. Que celui qui a de l’intelligence calcule le nombre de la bête. Car c’est un nombre d’homme, et son nombre est six cent soixante-six (666).

Some experimental remarks: macaw adjusts the prickly clay.

It is a separate thing but it binds the music to this world.

In a balance it advises the alarm clock of the body.

Bursting with nimble pride, the love water dances among toenails.

The water and solar molarsplendor dappled me, the such deep ocean, in which your vague NAKED coralreef lips nestled on brown sand words.

Your clay melodic waves.

A night clock starred up my puddle pool of corn.

A woman links amorous worms with the dance of the loves.

Their hands opalescent, music in their odorous silver-plated bones.

The joke in the verbalistic colors of fresh bagels, their elbows postpone supple in the air.

Your curves of belly equal in direction to the clouds.

Your long hands hold the ground. Your pupils turn over now.

I have basins on my fingers and money on my hips, and I would like to dance.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I believe in Wesley Clark. He makes the right sounds but him being an ex general is very cautionary. If he fumbles I will probably switch back to Dean, but I dont expect either of them to be any more of the righteous than any other politician. We talking nuance and degree here.

I am however desperate to get Bush out of there and unless he does something I just cannot stand, I believe Wesley Clark is the tool for the job.

Lets do it.

Even in tears it is a photocopy. It slips by in the worlds, the impact bright burning coal of comets, with the extreme forging mill in the heart of the mass.

However, it is as narrow as a candle.

Memory of the old secrecy, a verdant hot brown river in which he sky is an elbow lapis lazuli lazuli.

Dissimulated, rolled up in the foam rubber and the fog.

Open up like lotteries, as a queue, like a falcon.

My dance is a gift and a victim and an honor and a load.

It increases brilliantly.

The fear usually begins to build itself up around lunch time, and by the time I have to go to bed I am but a shell of a man. It’s just that distracting. When my friends come over in the evenings, I can bearly talk… I take my pulse every few minutes to make sure I am not going into a panic. Sometimes my hands are so shaky by the end of the day I can’t steady them enough to take my pulse… this really does scare me, because then I have no idea if my heart is well or not… It would be missing beats, and I might be well into a heart attack because of my shaky hands.

It’s most embarrasing at school, because I take evening classes, and some assignments require the written word… well by this time I can bearly even write my own name… people sitting next to me ask what’s wrong but I can’t give them an answer. No one can…

Three cornered green and yellow succulent rises up, glistening with hexes, hexed vexation.

The legs glow green in the universe.

I don’t know much about intercessory prayer.

Angelidiocy: the bunny is the object of study, then the victim, then the leader, then the drugged baby.

The doll: she is the guardian of the brain in despair. The science men put their spatulas to it.

The woman whose job it is to guard the brain wants to stop the ‘ineluctable’ march of progress.”

Took pics of a red tent spider which was in full view, surprisingly, for they are usually hidden and well-concealed in one of the many dried leaves that are suspended in the middle of the web. It may have just spun the web, and had not went around collecting leaves yet. It was a pain to photograph – near it was a suspected black ants’ nest, and so I kept having the irritating black ants crawling around my legs and back, biting their little bites… the spider was also right smack in the centre of the web structure, so it was difficult getting the camera close enough for a good macro without destroying its web.

Discovered these clusters of small pinkish round balls that were stuck onto the freshwater plant stalks, by the Eco-lake. They look like eggs, but of what type of animal, I am not sure.

I don’t know much about intercessory prayer.

Heaven is not a gypsy tearoom.

Heaven is not a gypsy tearoom.

Heaven is not a gypsy tearoom.

Life is not a succession of moonlight and music, and every night is not a fiesta.

Feathered rumps mooning the good is an idiot. And wonderful

So boring, that golden cloud called the hand

Sure beats the question of whether there are two skulls of me.

Barbarians are mostly women: distant ululators in the metro.

His heart ticks like he spells my goal… to be an octopus

Aubergine fishnet stockings… Gargoyles

Kiss the pixies goodbye, they’re never coming back. They’re going back to the fiery pits of hell they came from. Their sweet smiles mask sharp teeth and black hearts and their innocent sparsely-clad bodies are an invitation for people who follow Christianism to ravage them. They are sirens whose only allegiance lies with the murderous little beasts humans like to call children. So say farewell and watch their backsides disappear into smoke while you stand and reminisce on the good times you had.

The past is to rather pleasantly bury lines in sand dunes.

An understanding is to form a terrible thing.

The linen of the bed of the enemy is a suitable adaptation and sometimes it smells so good.

If clothing of the revolution obtains to us, taste the nakedness of the monuments.

My fluctuations of step of skirt, by the veils increase and take me on a magic voyage.

“Us” trembles those windripples remaining in the shower of the paddle.

Sand tears small marks, grinding in the wind.

Comprehension is overrated.