* * * Gasoline * * *

0 The Overture

The item folded into the mold. Another set soldiered into the message of the iteral
mediator. I set my alarm. Into the cell of visonyx, tell me how much they charge
you, Stephen. "I see into your well. The coins can stack, not walk through the
night long ways away from the heart." "But they do." I panic. The God-Shi interates
into the way. It filled my mind. "In my heart: hate, rate." The escolar
visiondeath-experience situates in the monster's quick grasp within.

I hate to experience the denigration of choice. It impentigrates the will into the
meek watercloth of essence. "The building" "is made of bricks." "I'll find out when
I get there." "Don't say anything else you regret." You wuss along. The straits of
your leg cramp, and you fall, down into the dyphtheric dod. I state along side to
you, saying. It breaks the Great mind. "26,000 years." What else is the choice? I
slam into a wall, breaking down my hip more. It inserts. "I feel awkward." "Its
growing, glowingly, minimalistic." I am embarrassed, coming down.

"They don't." A way in kind. "It's safe." I do not do wrong. "This."

"Send the original." "Looking on port." This slivers into corrupture. Words are
changed by letter. The throbbing oven is kept in time of the rotor, slaving in the
dome of degrees. The aching arm diverts the flow for pressure. An egg cracks
against the flesh of the sole, not the head. Difficulty is the given-unnecessary.
The fled return like water. I seize in the hand. A difficulty stops. The hand rocks
the cradle as conscience picks the next chain of command. Ledgers fall sortingly,
staging lyrics upon headstones. Gravel unravels interfibrously, defibrillating the
destination of slough.
"I can 'sieze' you," "your plane of thought."

Disingenus thought patic to the nonsleight of red Rome. A static play dessyphers
the engram lost in translated mimesis founded in the dormitory of the negation.
Slayers come for the turned back, turned head, and everything. "The front of the
face."
##

1 The Fastening

In places of results, the item folds into the sense of selves regulating the
comunity of the dorsal flame keeping into the night of the oil. "All of them cares
for all." "bloodshed"?

[A bass tome runic in the light.]

Factors of pain-riddled Ephesians dealt with the chapters on bloodshed, skin gone,
new layers in new objection, losing their way through staged tunnels.
'Misdemeanor.' The lacking I seat indiscriminal post-mortal places into acoil,
seeking into the breast of a submit. The gutter. A leaf is blown in by the wind. A
key-board. The dumb notic wept. Greenleaf.

[A vicious cycle. Humanity.]

"I smell a rat."

Benny seemed fine. The molten rock came up to his chest. It is what the eye doesn't
see. It is what isn't in the hole. "The appropriate attribution." "Agreement with
her is the Breztri." "We both created."
The latter began low. An occasion battled into the autonomic distribution fantasm
to a layer within the second order staid into the squid's likeness, squirming in
the salt's whet. A grism in the tongue, hanging there like autonomy, printing out
the reginum. "Check your store's policy." Police slowing down, restricting traffic.
A premise to abate. 'The hazard tree.' The pecking hit me down a meridian running
my nose. I felt, 'tranquil'. The work seeped through my pore. A legend freed itself
from autonomia. The leg crept through. I questioned myself. It returbed. I felt.

"These weak store-brands" turn "hard work" into 'heartbreak'. 'I'm not my salation
anymore.' 'See? Everything's fine.' 'I can't even look at you anymore.'
'Bittersweet chocolate.' 'In it for me ... the last time I was going to talk to
her.' 'Kids first.' The legend store back into my back. 'Way, way, way back.' 'I
loved her.' 'This room is soundproof.' 'I'm not going to hurt her.' 'I'm sorry.'

The vision came again. It hurt her to the point of being in a language in language.
'With zero.' 'Given.' 'In this sick, toxic love.' 'They're all having fun.' Guns
came out. Burning bullet holons through the flesh. Unicyclical ellipsis. A dream in
the hard edges of mechanism close up. 'You can't bring yourself to do it.' 'So
slowly.'
##

2 The Moth of Degradation

Ihumans' vast intrinsion is to be noted as the legic err of steeping the aujic
tread in maneuver seeking the exolade of trux. A sitic bendt lazix into aftermuric
setting of the Blair. Anothic coastforms frothing in the lossless codex und the
sun-- A blood-red nation; a blood-red (violet) tongue.
"No rules!" 'No rules, no rules,' in a sing-song. The burner hit ovex the rack.
'I'm spindling like a dandelion!' 'No fair! I want to go!'

The town erupted in the Grand Dame's palm, outstretched to a telomodic wave,
catatoming the body in net. The plans of the montic genomnum come intermetically. I
slept again, registering the constant of dismorphic valiation in discursion. Again
it came to me.

The bloodshed dimorphically opposed his falling. 'I was primarily writing about
dating.' 'For anyone who has tried.' I am coming back to you, switting betwixt the
iron. 'Aiming to be influencers.' 'I am coming back for you.' Undo the focus on
physical appearance. 'I am trying to ignore.' The switching hit the red line. The
eye begot the blood. A smear of aftermatic expatriation. 'I am home.'

The unlifted veil came from the way it was unsaid. Leftist devices flooded the way
it was. 'I am.' [Fast-forward fifteen years later.] Latex was hot-molded to the
body. The burns healed into the rubber. It was covering his head. [Tailing off
adrift.] Controversy encircles it. 'The rebound goes to ...' He trails me by
fifteen feet. It meted out in regularity. It was hidden by my eye. 'I still haven't
chosen.'

The ghost was coming. It filtered down into the rancid evermore of face, sliding
santurnly into the effervescent fatic god. The locomotic pain abstracted into the
depression, featuring the conscience debating in my node as expressions line with
the rain. Its discuss moded into the air, vaguely segragating the term, terming
into the nightmare. A different segue termed my ace. 'That's all it take.'

What is the difference in mind controlling the way into set controlling the
apperate difference flagging the external module retrogressing the incendiary of
the flag here? What is the abstract denial of sign, putting fear into the shooter?
The cameral stays, focusing on the necessary-next. 'They can't.' I see into the
flower, everready into the name of submit, discoursalizing the mainframe argument
into a seer, revising forth into a denigrary moment post-focalized by the adamency
of regularity. I see all this cut to a kind of twilight, seeking the evermary in
post subdegated by an intruse being twisted back to the state, the faces finding
themselves in the expired logic of passivity that isn't. 'They are innocent,'
freewheeling into the totality as a lost marker, positing the immediate-necessary
as a falsely-raised-hand. 'The hustle game.' I see this as a secondary remale,
seventh icon the rest of the day. 'In my universe, I might as well have three
heads.' The discarded intrudes its way again. 'She protested as a Christian.'

The vixen crept androgenous beneath the gate. She felt for her slippers, her lips
crossed beneath the equine feelings of hatred. My hat tipped automatically beneath
the register. I had alms to the queen, her arms podunking flailing. A light pierced
through the black screen.

Back in New York I hailed a cab, years ago. I spattered blue nailpolish on the
sheen of the yellow paint and saluted heil. The black doorman peered into the
light. I walked upstairs and slept in my clothes on my right side above the covers.
I thought to my Keeper.
##

3 The Rait

'You wuss,' he rabidly scrawled at me through the locked entrance. 'I don't need my
disguise.' The mixed tears ran down my skull. Her bony fingers raked against the
stone skull of the board. She cut in the letters for 'heart' and the naive image of
a rose. She sent the refuse from the carving through the grate, below the world.

The locking distrust kept out like his shaded eye, dilating into the underworld. It
kept it tonight, like a wish or prayer, voice wavering into the twilit landing. A
staring tech. It perforated my leg, ending rapidly into the deviled sun, developing
into endoplastic notation. 'I am concentrating.'

I kept allaying her fears. 'Closer.' 'O, boy, don't miss a beat.' I am
deteriorating into the sand's erote. My tendentic is writhing in the noturne. A
triplet sets into the aumanic strait, realizing the set in prenumbered bayers.

The labyrinthine incourse staid like a wagon wheel, sickeningly overtaking you,
finding a 'bad guy.' 'Point defiance.' The fog overtook. Her crowded mind woke
bellowing. The strain superceded the motion. 'In due time.' A knock on the door,
seemly, walls shaking into the mortar, regaining sentience into the gripping moor.
A retribusion, seemingly into the terror of steel, regaining ground into the
background, checking the teeth or nodding into the lull of the ocean. The blood
peaked. It hit the autofactory of the mind. I see into the foreclosure.

'Come with me if you want to live.' I sat there accordingly. Inside the termina, we
made our way to the mouse. It scampered and disappeared into the wall. We turned
and dispered to that which still here is false. 'I am not impressed.'

The course of monstrosity claim the essence of course, stating longwise, spiralling
out of control into the decimated basin of the daily basis. 'The war in Gaza' is
undeniable. 'The attacks started ... .' Another basin. The strikes' targets based.
Anotic scene. A dosic repairation had in mind the further grain of the usage of
reason, spelling the terminium of the closely tied gate. 'I am duly advised.' 'A
sample.'

The legend regot the state. The registrary ledger listed psychological trams.
'Fighting is on the rise.' 'The future is not set.'

4 The World Didn't End

:Primary weapon damaged.

'Think for yourself.' The primal indication of sum was laid. The topal centric
blood flowed from his forehead to his cheek. The bursar complete to the
retrogradient. Complete cores termed on after death. The logo was clear; we were
there to see this and act on it; to comptrol decision through pronormal contents.
'You have to hold the material thought.'; 'Alchemy.' If you die, there is no reason
for me to exist.

The preternet reigned sendient into the blood rain. A position off the path. A
terminator controlled the termination of the line. All military existence is true.

5 Alpha Step 2

"You'll need a plan."

The code was in print. It ran in the ether. The plan was about the cut throat. The
cut rope dangled above the niceities, declaring their struggle. 'If you've got
problems with machines, he's the guy you need to talk to.'

The term dangled as the ropes of spit between his canines, his jaw inset to the
core, dialing in to the set inside set, regaining consciousness inside the hole
emerged from the floor, the stone slab erupting in the same place governed my time
in itself. 'I pity you.'

The atrium opened above into a mercury ceiling as a sky as a suspension as a roof.
'This is Doom.' The comptroller's option changed, charging into the dome as a blue
sy of the natural world. The zone changed back to red. Blue.

Anothic gothic cathedral in the mir. Anotic notice. Compendiums of lockings' terms
ready on the preç of the upper lip come down inslipping tongues skipping their
heirs into the slipstreams of jetstreams of air from the spoiler af traum.

'Stop. You're acting crazy.' 'That'll be our fallback notion.' The stream parted
around my head and supped my thoughts, drinking after thirst. I kept pressing. It
unloaded into me, pressing my body into mould. The stress let up, playing free into
friend, as the mode is known to see. I let up. 'See you again, Alpha 2.' 'You
again. Hello.' I saw through her veil. 'Writing novels.' 'Seeming to at this rate.'
The sentence was flowingly into the thick air of the summer nights. It was winter
now. Jules seized my sieve, slithering down the stairs, and at the foyer to strike
the potential of opening door. You can get it done before the election results back
in time I get off the fine-grained silence of the great Northern plans. 'The place
I can get it to you tomorrow morning to pick up the kids at home and get some rest
and get the rest of the day off and I can get you a new one for the kids to the
park and walk around the house and I will be there in about an hour or so ago and I
was like a good time to come over and watch the kids tonight and I will be there in
about an hour or so ago and I was like a good time to come over and watch the kids
tonight and I will be there in about an hour or so ago and I was like a good time
to come over and watch the kids tonight and I will,' she said to me with his
nightstick. I was arrested inside the vest of another scent, playing down the
autocide of derangement, rearranging the sonicide of the lech. Playing pretenses is
bygone times letting in the shadow of the mirror. I was speaking again at the
station, regarding time as legislature, writing the law in mind; in futures.

[A stable break.] 'Pun!' 'Twice.'

A stalemate took turn. The asthmatic child attacked on the floor, dead. There must
be another way into this, screaming past the ear as a sonic boom.
The stalemate turned wan. Slicing his ear, it fell to the hand of the undercurrent.

[The legend]

'There's a demand for AI legislation.' The due North prospect of isolated

terrain controls the regular path by denoting the stronghold into the mouth of the
other. The claim to this irregularity conforms the essence of thought into the
molten note of a security, emblematizing the otherness of force perpendicular to
the aim of the registrant, falling back on society into the claim of the head as to
the body.

The exigesis of this gathering from the cold holds the auteurity of the megalocal
claim to the teeth as to the body of the object, sortingly as it plays into the
realm of autonomy. The second mistake is out of the eye, blowing breath like the
present through the eye of a needle.

The distasting hid a shriveled wry. Another matter of fact lays down the internal
hedgeway into the median of shelve. The generational median of the onerous claims
of degeneracy as a leftbound motive. Another control segued into the vassic annal
of reverberating hedgemony slick to the loss of forness, the implicit memory of
joke and timidity, the legend hailing the map and directions. The first way lead
into the second, the versatile move towards the end-motive for directional end-
combine. I let it in the West wind, brinking the edge of the bossom with generality
and comservation. Anothic atom. A blend of the hidden comes into focus, here on
land. The frenzy of Atomic research because of the ridicule inside of the shield of
serpentine prejudice. a landmark. Clay.

"We're playing dead." I came into the light and dark. The dark souls remastered
release inmates searching for the points you can get. They divide us, putting dark
worms in our flesh. "Humans are capital." The gorilla came out of the stage left
wing, coming under the proceneum. We are intereoven into the fabricatian en tempo.
My eyes moved under the arch, beading.

It hit a new number of procession to the get. We came away, into the points of
light staring back at us. It came hardly into the nutation, the full price telling
me to leave it at the door. Presence burgeoning inside the door to the house now
comesfrom afar, leaving me into the trees, coming from the ceiling like a star from
afar. "I am playing you to be stilless, coming into the heart like stillnes,
lasting to the core of the Darkness, listing plumes of embarrassing car corpses. I
was playing in the sand with a stick, drawing up into the line, playing pushups
across the street from my Mother. I called myself "Daddy," shaping her lips like
the store. He showed me the blood splat on the ball.

The ball placed in the way of the ultimatier of the tier of Nod. A gate proposal:
The set of Wisdom in the known of Law, stating the ulterity of Godliness in the
modal term of Rek, the Zeta file of current, and the lock of self in the ordinance
of state. The ordinance of (nullification I can get it to you tomorrow morning to
pick up the kids at home and get some rest and get the rest of the day off and I
can get you a new one for the kids to the park and walk around the house and I will
be there in about an hour or so ago and I was like a good time to come over and
watch the kids tonight and I will be there in about an hour or so ago and I was
like a good time to come over and watch the kids tonight). See.

"That's a bit of a national security risk." I'm completely done with your thinking
and processing, coming to the vague dissertionary completism done under the guise
of five-star completionism, staying in the relay of guise-gardened hardening
postures affecting the face and voice as bimodally inclusive processors coming to
terms.
The future told the rest of the story. The daylight reigned through the mirror,
caught in combustion of some untold caricature. "Everything from painting on the
wall." The restoration was going resplendantly, sawing into the brain, suturing
microcosmically. The laser cut the flesh and was deadaimed at the society rhat
created it, smoking like an electric chair without any water on the sponge. "Yeah,
just get crazy." The mess fell into my hand, breakingly on the chagrin of
makingness, fixated on the quixotomy on the plainspoken. Back in the end we were
looking at the past's future, settling into the bottom of the cut like sediment.
##

6 The Seeking

Zero turns dawn, that witness coming through the gate not arbitrarily like a win. A
control paradox separates reason and madness into equal parts, becoming entrained
at the exit wound or a doorway, arching permanently over the concrete fixture on
earth. A motic task motracting the way to the underworld of understanding, the
heaven-gate of reality sent forth into the cosmopolitan. I drank a cup of tea and
resigned myself to the stating plane of the slate co-cordoning the reality of chaos
with the imperfections from the unknown-in-ledge. The force rated skate behind us,
tempermentally in the crease of the manifold; diffraction of light. The reality of
the serpentine-present regrades the estiary in sameness of the autotal recommander
of the excisition.

7 The Static Excuisition

As hero seeks truth, the unamimg articularity takes forth. A forever within a
grain, pained the ambles of thought cloistered within the grain. A stately
Havensworth doted over the remains, the shards of concrete from the teeth of the
worm. Another making; another grace, tellingly inside the mouth ofmthe beheld. A
rag swayed from her mouth; a moth betroth in rememberance, gloating ancestry
provident to the cloth of his face, waiting for her hand in the face of time,
ticking restlessly in the pin of inelegance. "I am cloistered here, in the
faltering state of den, resting solidly in the unpreturbed nodes of the clandestine
self, plotting awareness as an anthropological claim to the destitute lore of the
Heavenspent, coming awfully into the dorm of th regularity of march, coming
claimimgly into the curs of the enemies. "I cannot fathom a self where this does
not take place." I have a place where this does not exist. Inhave an atom. The
laquer dripping on the floor getting her attention lent itself to the oxev.
Gleaming stripes read as autonomic. The membrane between idea and reality came hol.
"Holistic holiday synecism" came weak into the clarity of heart, hearing the
autocitel bliss of commemate play.

The game came down to zeros, letting in the autofactorial of the membranw, settling
in soft substitutes that were staid to the ground. "Mom, who was that?"
"It'll be too late." She was shot after she stabbed you. Prepare the table before
me in the presence of my enemies. That black book I wanted to read now. Now, I love
you. "Find my last wish." You'll know when I'm leaving. Otherwise I can't come
back.

8 A Static Rag

Boils covered his face and he covered his face with his arm, a warm sickly feelimg
of anxiety flooded his viscera. Entitlement is the regulation of correction. French
bread sliced into slant cuts. French kiss into the head of the mouth. "Bankhead."

9 Their Revenant
A vast air encompassed the landmass, disturbing the peace of the airlift. The AI
kicked in. Anothyx. Apoplexy. A feeding of the arm indicates signs of life pregnant
with the voice of autonomy. The vice phased into the sand, leaving the preturbed
marks on the psyche. The faded rasp of his voice pointed fruition on the syntax
tree. Syntaxiom forging its lifts into the sides of the unknown as if correct,
backing up, holding the hand. A bleeder. "Toughen up," "soldier." It came to me
like a lobotomy, coursing the membranes of my flesh like a light plague, visening
me into the crest of sanity. "Double up."

10 The Autome of Revelation

A controlled breeze swept through my window. A termination-momentum of the submit.

A degree of clarity postponed by the aumnal rate ahead. The slippery slope of his
morning food; the awakening.

11 The Rain Organization

The landmass drifted across the clouded man. The force came in second, rolling
across the course of the air. The force flames out, coursing across the solidity. A
major change. The comingness of the vague aparté. A charge. The resting rate is
hanging in balance. A term retrogresses across the stain. A tumor. The lack in
state of array. A complete term.

12 Mass Object

Anotic frieze drops the essence of implosion I wait. A garnered material hung down
the side of the ledge.

13 The Messianic Pack

The delirium of control registered contact within the gate of the container. A hand
brushing against the back-- the sound of breathing through the nose. A control
showed in the midst, creeping along the lower lip of the container, hammering the
metal and convexing it over. I relaxed into the vines on the other side of its
wall, leaving exoplasm on their trunks. I began to miss what was under the soles of
my shoes, the wet rock and decaying plant matters seeing in the mirror another
focus, the red field moving towards me. I began to sleep . . . .

It swept through my window, setting on the sill. I felt my way through the
roundabout way it was set up. On the hinge of my way it was regulated by a beat,
hoping the correct way, reeling like a pain, seeping there through my brain,
waiting for the correction of the clockwork. I played there in the sand with a
stick, cavorting with the insects to find my frontality. I am . . . .

14 The Messian

As he worked his way into the upper crust of the event it hit a paper wall and fell
flat on the hardwood floor. "Excuse me, I'm trying to practice my flute." Indoors
the air was degraded, putrified and antagonized by a mist.

15 The Core

I validated the horizon to beam to the wrong character in delay action supposition
for the enchanted mover. The daybreak hissed a low note, the frequency not more
than two or three hertz. I validated the capital to waste the regimen downturned by
england. I cannot confer what happened internodally except that the mode of
excitation with frivolous to the hog's copy of an almanac. I have to the throat
with this thing as anonymous. I cannot comprehend the letergy within the stated
stake. The window for opportunity is closing. I see a grated cadi in the rear view
mirror. No brand names. A one armed cadet circles the landing pad and has hazard
pay within the sum of stakes of preference and autonomic rust features. I lowly
boyfriend to the girl 3 years his age, compised to be complicit in the automy of
the tern. A zetamorph. Tend to content with brainwaves, thought patterns miligned
with fear, Josie off in the left wing with a hazard as payment. A close-quartered
combat lessens the seer. I see into the face of the bark. The tree unveils, like an
afterthought to tomatoes, red as Rasputin and glaring at the processed corn, as
though they were close. The part of the amber with the bug in it defended the race
relations. A torn almanac with sweaty tomato fingers reveals the dark side of the
Autumnal path through the withered lillies and death-enfranchised hibernatory code
of the rhytidome. A different flavor for a different month, bargaining inferiority
due to invasive thoughts, annulling the perversion and selflessness of a cold-hard
bleeder, ripping from the stray her two hind legs, walking them across a stage as a
marionette, a dormant vowel pursing at her lips, degrading the flight or fighting
to the death. I see a round card. It is a body double. I can see the legs. They
just walked across my tablemat and disappeared after reaching the other side. These
are what they meant by Lillith: a downgrade. I am submitting to your whim,
castidizing the under seconds it takes me to shake off a hand, withering in the
chips aisle at an Aldis. I suck. I can't even compute the logic of an everglading
current as it relates the whims of a snakekeeper, on the perfect path of control,
mimicking the snake's sense and sensibility, even holding it's exact movements in
computer-mind as the statement reads. I swear I lost track of things then. A
perfect submission. I perfect licking on the chops after devouring the heel of
Achiles in a book. I cannot slather on the ward. I cannot vessage past the peeps.
Another outdoor converter.

[The whim reaps its legend. A map nurses back in the ward. A coward lies face up,
talking in muted colorfality. Another sloth. ]

A gate-registration popped up. I am in and on command with the logic on the shapes
(and of reality). I am crashing around as a broken genius, slandering the wrong
remote viewer, eating up the "Muggle" like a nomad. I am stuck in the bustle of
normality, trying to always hold a thought in my head that completes the universe.
Mothers of Darkness preposition the phrase with the autonomy of spirit, the old
conspiracy theorist says to the young schizophrenic. I pander to ye with graceless
demise, forming the volts of electricity in an unknown unit, characterizing the
autonomy of the spirit with autonomic delay and return. I am a master of the
church. I relate to Hell. I stay in formation if I can. I reap the rewards and
requests of the salt. I bear the light nomen in the systemic misunderstanding which
I cannot master now. I cannot see how I relate to the fate of the sound of the
music or the sound of the gate. I can't rhyme hesitatingly. A second afterthought
occured to an agonist in fixure. "Demented." I caught him square in the jaw and
asked him to be my mule. We were hounds, relative to the eternal rhythm of life, as
painful and confusing it may not be to the average man. I am a demented cut,
slacking off swearing to the imbenign, eating rounds of authoritism with the bona
fide gesture of glass. I am an unending fruit, yielding to the pleasure of another.
At times this demented gate slacks on. I have to get the next set of pants pressed
with a primrose, staring needlingly into the glass of the mirror. "Chrome blood
turns cold."

[Chrome blood turned cold.]

His father made him work the churn for butter, and he sneezed. I cannot see half
his mind right now. The apogee of pop came in circumstance to the primarily entrain
cabalist, as they are. It is a moment for the future, and a moment of death versus
yoga. I cannot feel the healing cotton, the ear swabs for voiceovers, the lent
checks for domicile coupons. I can't grade the authority to smoke grass, or better
yet, no entertainment. Just lying on the thin bed of a cell 24 hours a day, 7 days
a week, as the sweltering heat does not bother you. I am in a unitard for violate,
coming down the chimney in a home invasion, like the great Satan of the veil of
doom, murdering for ultraclass sect disarreignment campaigns, sweeping the bilaws
of elections with simple request and a non-vosive agribusiness.

"I cannot vote you down."

The syllabus is common to the denomary tycoon off of gentry duty, nagging the pan-
ladies as they collected excrement, setting in on a brick to sanitize. "I just do
not got the patience."

The monarchy pertains to the afformentioned request. The denial of pure-sum game is
entrapped in the beauty of visidual moment. I cannot swear to you that I know it
all. I can only swear to you that I know it by heart. The vision requested a denial
of circumstance, pleadingly in his dope-smuggler routine, vating effortlessly in
the concuban errors of the box, switting into the errors of the heart as the
Rorschach in mind. I cannot believe you yet. You are not a persons. I cannot
stagnate the autumnal wolf of declaration, wintering in a hotbox in sweden like a
hiberian. I cannot place you just now. Can you quit a bit? Go in as hard as you
like. I cannot fathom another relentless telly as the one that I am going on now.
My fox with socks attacks milk crates not that he just learned to play infantile
music like a musicbox. A compound. "Jasper." ... "Jasper." "Come here, girl." She
sat waitingly in the office of the dentist. The waste was around his ankles. The
garbage had been overflowing for months. A jogger passed by and slipped on a greasy
wrapper. "Girl, calm down. It's only food." They started being goofy and entraining
the upless art of stagement. I cannot flow into the fathoms of noncompliance with
authority to degrade. The stark calm of the ocean after a storm at sea. The legend
spots as soon as it desisted. Another demented alegory. Same spelling errors as
last check. Don't step to authority without behavioral entrainment. You would guess
you wouldn't. I am not a spit-shine skinhead on the attack for soft. A ghost came
in, appearingly to the side. A gate rattled around the neck of the first being put
down to the lassitudes of being. "I remember that grin! Come 'ere ya old lug!" And
sickeningly hugging to the circumference. I am a bloated dolphin caught in a net. I
am the everlast truancy to the tumult of organism. I am flying into the set of the
artifice of love, yet have lost the mind of a child. I am reverberating into the
endorphic qualities of serenity, posing, opposing as justified syndicate in a
matriarchy of new flesh, old meat falling into shallow grace. A doorhand for the
left. A spoken word to the wizened term. A sun. A singing child. Fall into the
puddle and weep, decaying yourself into the inclusion of a vesc. I am one.

16 The Fascinate

Under the magnifier the cher brimmed. Another way. Another nothic gate. Somewhere
inbetween the actual became the actuary, sweating out the inbetween, beading the
manifold upon layer. "I see another light." Another night let in the pale eye of
the moon. A safehharbor. A way into the hearts of men. The next situation lay
unfolded. The next partner lay intact the head of the gale. Another shot of moon.
Another set of self. "I see into your mind." It came in glimpses and glanced back
into its spine. I lay there, splintering. A way into the head of force. A
combinatric of a covariance. It zoomed outside of the plane of my vision. I assumed
a nightmare, caringly, into the art, unto the facade. It clipped my right index
finger that flew outside my right. I clamped down my teeth on it. I flashed back to
a falling tree. A felled tree laid there, in a sparse woods.

17 The Immitate

18 Cron

Iron wrought to fencing. The amicabilityof a chair lodged under a door handle to
postcurse a lock. So many agaimst This. I cannot oblige a trouble. The troul
digging into the earth to plant a flowerbed; Consorting with the threshhold of
automata. I am in a project. I have protection Money. "We are engaged with an act
of This kind." "I am very proud of your art and letters." I am proud of you, too.
Do not take this as not a problem. I am a Criminal now. But not then; not when you
attack me. Prehastic grammar part-incorrect. I am undet exceeding Joy. A thing or
two to learn about that. ,"Josh is pretty good." I am angry that I'm here.
"Addiction is a bitch." "A pimp and a hoe." "...went on to mess everything up." I
am freeing you. Better move to NEXT. Extenaeon 309, now paging. Bad mouthing me
too, man? Full of characters. Next seat on the bus. With that Kathy chick. Check.