do we want publicity? the tattered to pieces perfume of lust and love from
a viscerally viscous, vicious, valiantly distant bunch. A community of crowds
statistically aligned. Do you wish they knew you? In your paroxysms of screams
not the way you made in a indulgent sex tape? What if you broke your voice on-stage
and then could only lyrically give a quack with they pelt you with missiles of yuck?

what if you deviated from a norm and decided to support things that are socially
unsupportable and say “mentalists are quite cute” or say “that psychiatrists are cheats;
because my therapist don’t care about me” and you get an angry pitchfork mob in your
door saying you suck and you don’t know what to do…and your good deeds all suck yet
they let silent pedophiles and rapists stay and you are not accustomed to the rift and the
shift of these social cocktails of misdemeanors that are quite criminally legal?

so what if I am a loser now?! I scream big and you scream big and we might get an interview
or two or something out of this consumed fairy dust of a world. I would love to walk a surreal
landscape with you or a 3D  ocean of real and we can lap with the waves and see the brown and white
sand and remember that we are in a desert of salt and sand and a bestiary of water and foam. Let us
make castles that signify eroded empires but know our own empire state of mind? Let us kiss the moon and sun and slip into a watery-warm broth of slipped consciousness and semi-conscious tug of wars. Conscious that we are always living in a non-edited oeuvre of our bodies at our body of work is not only an erotic kiss but a sampling of dust into a grain not lying of DNA variations  but we duct tape it in a plastic bondage and slap it around until it moans to our liking. That is such a gross revision, a reduction, we atomize ourselves into thin curvy lines. Hate math? But we are happily inebriated in
a loss of words, brain damage, sensation deprivation and symbols (a+b) squared in rudimentary economics and fast paced water boarded drugs.

and my nudeness becomes boring to all theses mashed up eyes trying to tame my sex by putting me
in a fostered wild and I am beginning to feel numb as the flesh is skinned alive. Trying to utter a word, a truth in a capital of half -baked resilient virile trapped mirths and nuclear wastes.▬

Speak yer mind

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