It's kind of sad to say, I think, but everything you have ever done has become allergic. Becoming your own reflection. It's called, for example, "having to take down the mirror on the vanity you are using as a desk," or whatever. What I'm saying is that I'm into symbolism. Yesterday I met this guy at the cinema. Somebody is looking at somebody else. What I'm reading might as well be Latin. My mind is a soupcon of coy meaning. There we go again. Somebody goofing. Somebody Googling the goofster next door. You know I really hate this new internet thing. Everybody has to fucking go on there every day. So many sites. So little time. So many pilgrims. Too much wine.
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[inscribed prose] ::::that space driveway
:::::the most kooked out uncanniness
;;;;;uncanned bliss like pumpernickle
sandwiches, Jews and glances;;;;;
:::::give way::::::
to the ethnic spellathon
over here over here we can't
even use these words anymore we
are assumed to be weird here we
are just so cautious (rear)
we just came so close (spear)
it just came, this snow!
it just came, this year!
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