typing with my eyes closed: I wprl the coals into statuettes.

Home keys. Cats seem to have a lot to say today. Things I don’t like include public language, sludge, pimeiento anything. Rooted in work, the work that spends the day for me and then the rest of the day is what, a revoery habit, all aching in the fast crown iof its soul delivery system. Cats. Hve messages. I am thinking today of how the habits are like a swarm, to the extent I don’t even recofize them as a habit, just as a swarm. I want to move. I want to have a slow: hey did you read that thing? Not taking advantage of what New York has to offer because it is too hotL yesterday’s wet tong;ue. Afore mentioned wet tongue. It ype with my eyes closed and I ask myself what’s next? Life always keeps a surpruse in its cheek for emergencies. I suppose I should stop doing things to myself that hurt me. Clove cigarettes, for example, seem to decimate my singing voice. Typing int o computers hurts me terribly. I ahv been sacro iliac belt. I wonder if I ever go blind, and become mute, will I be able to commumicate by means of a keyboard, like this. The cats are bad, getting into things. I do
t npw how I feel about “the literary” I sometimes want it and other times I’m just thinking why bother, exist in some duller scrub state. Outside there’s a hot farden. That’s all I mean, precisely that. What’s the next change? There has got to be change and perhaps it will be a season. I don’t know how people van museter up the will to be acticists, don’t you just sort of want it to be over, the human adventure of plnder? Sometimes I think there’s something wring with me that I don’t think life is “sacred.” I understand that it is in the interests of our own survival and also of species survical to tell ourselfe that it is so, bit is it so? We are lthese bepedalian leeches with machines just sucing out the planet, it’s disgusting, all of our little legal systems and stupid pieces of legislation and ideas about right and wrong that include among some of us throwing rocks at women, I don’t know, it all seems so… beyond hope. Let’s take for example the fuys who went on a rampage in Connecticut, or the mother who slit the throats of her four children then set her house on fire. What kind of nerve fif it take for these people to do these things, what kind of final desperation? I won’t say I’ amoral that’s not strictly true. but in a system with only a very little bit of energy in it and a limited time, I mean I am thinking of mself as a system I’m not thinking about how to improve things really because it’s too late, Improviement is a fantasy. I wprl the coals into statuettes. Horses are mamas. Big zap tooth is pepperming, and the sudden frreesom odf typos riding me further into time that also mean humans sucking the planet. Don’t think I’m ever for a moment not thinking,. There you see someone has done it again, spoken to me in that way that makes me rebel. It’s when they offer a certain kind of advice, I mean it’s well meaning, but it’s condescending, like it has something to do with peaceful and well[meaning behavior, and I’m just thinking, no, that wasn’t ahy I voived my copmplaint or my sorrow, it was just to say it and maybe fo you to say I know what you mean but certainly not to offer me a solution or some more virtuous form of behavior. I want to change to happen down inte forest under the needles where the loam is. I want to be in that forest, too, by the way. Something’s off in this life. Stach, Gasping. Jwvteure.

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