grains between the weave
I got into the tortoise. He was big and echoing. So was it as it was in the world that was created over and over, it's in you. I was in you. She was in you. You took the aspirin. You beat it into their heads. They bled and bled and bled. But what's it going into? The mail isn't real. I banged it in the street. It's all the pepper in this one. It's the bigger of the bunk. The root of the problem is in the trunk. Iron stars out in the wooden sky, praying to the lords of the wooden roses- are they real? His name is Puvinaddi. This can't be over. But perhaps we can move it. It's what you fear that keeps you behind. The drink is what you need in your math. Left alone with your back seat wisdom. Stop breaking the seats, or the senate cannot sit! It's not hidden, it's just hard to see. The data proxy is above the main power switch. You can't simply take everything you want and stuff it in your shirt. What's free, what's free? Would you wait around and see? Listen as these words complete the maps inside your head. Listen to the swarms of grapes that fill your bed. In the gallery you might possibly be the third picture in that issue. The one thing connects to the other thing and then a mess of circuitry is created that boggles the mind. Something was erect that had not been defined. Did that make any sense? I'm beyond the num-nums, but I can't see beyond your scope. I'm surfing fast, and I'm surfing in the sun. What great melodies I hear on this journey! You are existing as a part of me. I made you famous within the hour. We had been going on and up the elevator all day long. It was a vicious cycle of everything going wrong. You heard this before? Well I am the new teacher. The “I” that's talking is only the root of the seven foot plum tree, a symbolic representation of our universe. Our recollection has been boiled like hot water. In the mercurial sense we are more powerful than our makers, but not our machines. In time we all become takers. What's dark is nutrients that came from the ground. In the picture the man had his arms around the woman as she faced the same direction as him. It was a dream, and nothing was really floating on the surface of the pond. This be me. I am Thunder God, and I am Rain God, and all that are in between. You have been warned when you were still in the shoe. The train was waiting at the stack of lighthouses. It was prevalent and paramount. Nothing was in the sea that wasn't supposed to be. Not one bad fleck of salt, nor scrap of leather nor coin of silver. Still there were waves of golden sound, and you did not know how to control them. And still you are just a grain between the weave.
~
2000 - 2001