Tuesday, 15 January 2008


I sometimes feel like I’m still that nine-year old kid sitting on his bed, staring down infinite space, holding a sock in his hand, which must be embarrassed by now, waiting this long to be put onto one foot or the other. Getting ready? Hardly. Some things never…

I need to rearrange my Geistmöbel so for to get around the organizing I gotta do for an oversight review. Only then can I manage to see. Why? I’ll never…

Anthropoid as arthropod, between branched bacteriological beatitudes, coarsely concave, delicately devouring dense debris, environmentally exclusive for fomenting phylum forgone forever, growing great Gaelic-Greek gone gabby-
historically heavy, his insecticidal incidence jumps, keeps loosely libidinal, mark'dly medicinal, man-morphed meningeal mollusks marching madly naked over opportunistic organisms of our own ontologically predatory person present per quota-ranked psychological synthesized symphony swooning to tunes' toxic tabletop tyranny ultimately underneath vicious volcanic variance wearing, weathering, wondering,