Woke Up Sunday Morning..

Posted: November 10, 2013 in Sliding For New Air

– waiting for inspiration, caffeine, pigskin – is this a contradiction
– the noise flies tapping letters wanting something a little more spine straightening.

Accented bumblebees cauter ambient flow, a thinking connected to nothing in particular looks or something in particular – a disconnect always from this aging process but god GOD it feels so fucking real.

What brings us to this point? FORTY NINE – I do not even know what that means, what loss,
what gain that signifies, what is supposed to kind of indicate towards what is happening next,
happing now.

– the boy stays in the picture – I cannot find any ANY way to evaluate the reality of this!

Restorative is the word that seeps through, although if you nailed me could I even ask, broken up
in this endgame of pure joy that occassionally does seep through, restorative or not!

Habit crying out for succour for continuance while the world spins and does what it wills anyways.
What is new but knights in dust jousting, disaffected audience away, no pixies.

– somewhere half formed words phrases broken away along historic culturally captured lines shine i-lliterally –

A view outlying even self so far that it recursively ends up whacking SMASHING up against your head back and front and from the inside crying CRYING dampeningly maddengly out OUT OUT – never needed ax-work before but something of its ilk 21st C. must be approaching – if it doesn’t break open then tht is the real problem with breaking open if it doesn’t if it doesn’t then again poetically then FUCKING WHAT!

– somedays these posts all begin and end the same way
– somedays these recursive posts all begin and end the same way
– somedays rhythm is skin breakingly afraid of the tangential.

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