Your Blood (Honey)

And so, under this net I crept on line
New animal, a cannibal, new wild
Glass helmet avatar, on unmet island

Soul out, coated in volumes of bit brine
Enveloped in sync, where am I now: dialed
And so, under this net I crept on line

Blinking L.E.D., so dim and divine
From darkness pin lights, all coded in guile
Shadowed seer, still just an unmet island

On type: we are taught, we take thought, note time
Our fresh face, the new content, to replace style
And so, under this net we crept on line

Despite a lack of “counscious” thought, I’m fine
Augmented senses, like Kubricks’ Star Child
Behold icy icon, an unmet island

Inside this, what was special now futile
Some old self dissolved in some kinda bile
And so, under this net I crept on line
Reverse zoo, could be you, this unmet island

The over-arching fact:
Your blood aint’ yours.

The cold stew inside:
A gift from above.

The footnote truth:
Your flesh is doors.

The real structure:
Dots made of strings.

The hope to be seen:
Threads rearranged.

The un-plastic path:
Just sex and move on.

The human excellence:
Their blood aint’ theirs.

The help of this future:
A science untook down.

The quick-came end:
Cheat and get your dream.

The hope done gained:
Alone, great views, and no oxygen at all.

On a Wednesday I pronounced real accurate the middle and it’s qualms for some unheard tune, in all quotes, and with three characters.

On Thursday I heart the street for about an hour, where I saw this guy who looked like my best friends dad, and something went Click.

On Friday, I went to bed early and failed at that, living death for at least 6 hours and the otherwise negative feedback loop of a brain on itself.

On Saturday, the fog roll nicely, and the drive up a lonely wonder. The avatar of the soul and other small realizations, and all at cost bad sales.

On Sunday, come home, something happened and come home. Blocks unfall, in other words, in other words. Come home, come home.

On Monday, three weeks gone fast not thought to gone at all at one point, if you know what I mean, and now the aware of aware comes next.

On Tuesday, a long week last, at long lost grind, surprise!

On Wednesday, “I Hate Wednesdays”, and other unshared dialogs.

The “No-Gilled Cat” spoke in General Trend
“Cloud Catcher” collapsed in “The Colors”.
Such is the nature of “The Every Curse”

“You Step”, List after list in a forgetful haze.
After “Yourself Presence”, no-less aware.
Words gel up to wonder, in “Nature”, theirs.

All this, gone fast, thanks to “Relative Subtle”.
Then “Meta-Score” passes, next sec. acrewed.
Into the “Now Piece” calm down is in store.

On wednesday, you do the hustle and write about your favorite color.
You had seen a man who looked like your old friends dad: a prophecy.
And the long dialog thus writ about the nature of the family curse.

And so, two weeks and no score later, you’re 200 pounds richer,
When the generalization after generalization made in the “General Trend”.
A realization outside of time and it’s lovely constraints, no less calm(ing)–

Or should be, and the meaning of “Male”, with “No Own” finance to blame.
Aaahhh yes, the inevitable “No Own,” see here to stay. Yes, see hear to stay.
And before one year pills pass to play, the change in long underway.

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Ooooooooohhhhh, (censored word here). This be the untime, all black in eyes, Seeing stars, and looking untethered. It is most frightening right before the fall, if it happens to be. A mental note: things forgot: all but one plan, the 10 left euros, any state of the other, the rules and their point, and of course our brane of brains. Yes, (yes [yes]) there is no good here, at the unreason. Train gone by times: the wake up, the stand up too fast, the not ate state, the long gone mate, and the unexpected scenario. Some real proofs here, some real goofy prude growing from here. ‘Know thy self…’ and other possible solutions aside, the prescription is description, and if that’s not absurd, I don’t know gut bizz.

It’s peaking starburst suns
Mellow yellow eyeflap glow
Is all this from gowing slow?
Sure, I want you here, but

That small sop is mine, one
little plop on English grass;
I’m not home, it’s Holy Sat
66 and Bromst, was it

Something I ate?

I’ve got Something inside me

Hello spring, wake up

Sun, smile, nothing is yours now

“There are two sides to the knowing mind, the objective and subjective. There are two traditions the mystical and the scientific. These are insperable because of the two sides of the mind…This means that religion is not supplanted by philosophy (or science), both are our attempts to understand the world.”
John Grierson

Dead.