Weak Wrath

Posted: November 17, 2013 in Sliding For New Air

– In order to write to pro-nounce these days I need a title a reason I have no impetus to either move or not move without this from somewhere unknown yet bidden this pull towards the future. Fuck the present!

– Away towards some other anger we find ourselves railing out of sugar-boredom againstagainst and there are platforms galore to base on and aim for. Fuck the non-Poets!

– Choiceless yet not unnervingly nor deathless nor entropaphobic we treacle swim the mind and the body as its cracks no longer crack delineatedly but meld fucking meld into one long day of nearly full breaths interspersed with very few moments of new new new beauty – the old beauty being what now, rusted? Fuck the narrative!

– A lack of dialogue of intra-action of interest even in changing this torper lower lower case torpor this collapse of shining edge form into a not rust this time but into an apprentice tempered tempered suit of armor – we know the rules. Fuck the rules!

– A wish for rust is just a plea for away from design. A wish for rest is just a plea for away meta-mediation. A wish for currency is just a plea for away from an alien sanctuary. Fuck the safe alien sanctuary!

– I will take my coffee black.


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