My father reads the morning...My father reads the morning paper with disgust scrawled on his face. He recoils at the continual lapse of morality and the degradation of family values.My father reads the morning...
My mother avoids the paper but appends her nausea to my father’s outrage, like a Post-it of contempt – gaudy and reckless.
I listen patiently to their storm, and wonder if all our clamor at the sight of the Emperor’s wardrobe merely serves to hide our own nudity.
Some of us still cling to...Some of us still cling to words. They are a weakness, a liabilitySome of us still cling to...
which separates and segregates.
And so we scrawl: "We are the sick that fall behind and are consumed by wild beasts. We are the degenerates that reject the orgies and instead masturbate in solitude. We are the madman, stumbling through the streets, feverishly questioning our lantern, straining to remember if we were searching or hiding."
In this way, we spend eternity
You breathe like a TVYou breathe like a TV. Every word has to be a short commercial. So I speak internally; self-referencing my own awareness.You breathe like a TV
(Begin loop)
Can you feel, can you be what it’s like to be numb? Static clinging, like a newborn child, to your lungs. It’s a positive line of thinking, I swear. You need a positive line of thinking, I swear. Like a garden planted on a Battleship grid – A-9’s a miss and F-4’s a hit. Realigned, reassigned, in an orderly way And birthed in a mess of cables.
Placenta of digits; New rule
....btw this is Heather.
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HVH
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A colombes soûles..cerises sont amères...
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†×†×†×†×†×†×†×†×†×†×†×†×(•Go†hic•
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