Friday, February 6, 2009

quazi freewrite 2 (10 minutes, no.. minimal edit) I can't help it sometimes

No distractions. This room isn't dark enough. These fingers lack agility and the power to hunt. Less is more, they say. I haven't found that to be true. There is "less". There is "even less". Both of them have a positive counter part-- niether of them are friends or equals. Today is "even less". Last night was "even lesser". The night before that was "Welcome to the train to the bottom of the mouth of hell. To your right there is crippling depression! To you left.. well would you look at that.. It's the devil. Hello devil! May I take your picture? Can I get your autograph?". God is in the details, they say. No... god is not in the details. I looked there. God is in a painting of a window. Satan is in the details.. in the image of a reflection. I am not trying hard enough, I say. rusty and brown and veteraned members of metal and synaptical architecture just shuting down. One by one: I will be that old factory. New times, the papers will say. Industrial revolution, the socialites whelp. good and fine. good and fine modernity. I made the grease that you drink. rusty, brown and useless. patience is not mine today/ nor any muse or flower... and there have been flowers. mostly cold and dead ones... but still keeping some fragrance. I smelt, but I did not touch. Those horse faced whores have left me too: I sleep in a cacoon. the doors locked, but I am still ripe for the picking by some rouge man eating bear... like a pear bearing stress to it's mother. Left foot right foot, i said. I did it so casualy, too casually, and I tripped on my right foot.

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