Stained, threadbare, his calico brown habit smells of sleep and dried sperm, a smell dispersed in the nightwind lost in a matter of darkness. Praying for light, de profundis, in the meditation of his heart, your body, my body.
Corpus barren, desert dry: damp fluids, sliding wet. Seeds on stony ground crave rain.
Seeds of faith sprout into a vast golden field blossoming with scents redolent of hope and vigour. The harvest will come, but in the interim, tiny faces soak up both Sun & rain... LIFE multiplies.
In the interim,
I cannot keep the life out of my voice
Although my exodus is real,
Cricling Sinai once more.
The curse of a sea flown apart,
My ship sails and ploughs through breaking sands.
Life still in this voice.
silence is an art perfected by the lame
and disenchanted
their weapon against the shrill noises of life
that threaten to overwhelm
fold yourself
meditate
expand within
as you shrink away
touch the keystone of death itself
then lift it
discard it
and set the arch of life
to tumbling
into chaos
despair
and confusion
the shriek of the cosmos is calling
seek its silence
for there is peace
in the empty waste
follow me into the unknown if you dare
for tomorrow i tred its dominion
Silence but for a single prolonged hummmmm
Which grows and grows
But not in Brooklyn
In the BOO-TAY
The sounds of BOO-TAY
Hello won't you tell me your name my old friend
Silence
errrr
Bang.
The sounds of Boo-tay?
You mean the indian maiden who didn't know the difference between prostrate and prostate? It made for an intersting wedding night. Gawd, I love that story. Tulip is a genius.
"Blistering bat bums!" Batgirl boomed like a baying Basset hound.
"No Boo-tay for Batman today."
Boo-tay rocks the world and oil the wheels of locomotion.
May boo-tay always be about the feeling and rhythm like the beating of the waves on a rocky shore. Sand stretching for miles, teasing into the pants of lovers. Trickling through time lovers do the boo-tay thing. Wherever forever it's all about the boo-tay.
While mankind remains mere baggage in the world
It will be swept along, as in a boat, asleep.
What can they see in sleep?
What real merit or punishment can there be?
What real punishment can there be when the party being punished looks forward to the agony? Is it really agony, or just sublime pain? Pain is something we inflict upon ourselfes in much more detail than any apple ever felt in its core. I have however heard that the banana relishes the pain of being peeled.
Peeling bananas of their skins, hearing their appealing screams and tossing their yellowed skins in front of blushing brides whilst in the throes of boo-tay in the local church can cause one to pause and endulge in said banana; food for thought and a slippery slope for the bride to ride on her walk up the aisle.
First it was the silent BOO-TAY shakin' and bakin' its groove thang.
Now it is the tittylicious ta ta boobadelic breastadoric nipple laden mammarific marvels that obsess me. And the BOO-TAY too. Someday I will have to tell you about the "packing principle" - its no wonder the jean industry is so profitable.
denim is less expansive than the member in my mind.
Five fingers, Fatima.
Apparitions, symbols.
fitting, tight-fitting.
Check out the range
First for new technology.
maximum choice.
And in the end love needs none of this.
The love you give is equal to the love you get. At least that's what they say. Honestly there's some lovin' I don't mind givin' but not sure I want to be a gettin' - my ass is virgin and staying that way, thank you. However, I do like naked jello wrasslin'
Love love love all we need is love love love in an elevator oooh I love having love in an elevator someone should write about a gangbang in an elevator that would be cool through being cool as ice capades in the glow in the dark city of rock in roll high school!
Sweet dreams are made of this
Who am I to disagree?
I travel the world
And the seven seas--
Everybody's looking for something.
The thirteenth reality slipstream style, naked virginity notwithstanding and forever symbolic of tight fitting word-riffs, is packed with people. Not just 1’s and 0’s, the plaything puzzle-pieces of disenchanted boys, but people. Bleeding, loving, living and dying a thousand small deaths on the sharp edge of your unkindness, they finally have to shrug. And leave. In 2D, there’s no place, no one, worth the scalding reality, day after week after month, of 3D tears.
Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused.
Organic evolution is a thing of ponderous amounts of time. However, the decisions of a human heart--ah!--they are matters of only a moment sometimes. Self-protective instincts overtake us at even faster intervals. I shall miss you and this place. You've been a part of my heart, a part of my life, and a part of my daily thoughts for a very long time. But there's a certain peace and lightness of being in knowing when it's time to go, don't you think?
Hold your head up
…..Keep your head up
……….MOVIN' ON