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2004-03-18 - 12:35 a.m. Sense alien needs, serve it to the self disparate and organized. Little blocks split up to rip up old ID's. They (sand) lived where leaves fell in the spring of all fucking places! In some ways it seemed to bend the brain into new configurations. The brain building cancer cells that threatened complete dissolution and falling into non-meaning? The Alchohol became rewarding at several distant levels. Exploding content and sending it dry of meaning. On the move in spring, the leaves rain down now, confident that the brain will grow with every expose. We'll stop at a certain point, with such nasty juice, the mouth might choose to abort. Step outside, into blazing light, shades beat down, mother is all around. We made it up b/w the sheets again, teaching the hands to tease (our?) sand, in the rhythm of just no chords. Working on the song gradually, gainingly. To be gradual is to gain said the subway lady (yellow signs and carbohydrate haven not mass transit) who was 1st generation Tex-Mex. At Trinity University a blonde paused by the trash with a smile that lasted into awkwardness. Should I say "Hello Love" and admit that I am lonely and in need of a mentally stable pony? Later, without the long legged blonde I paused alone by falling water. I didn't care if the guards came and caught me trying to climb the Carolyn Calvert Bell tower cast at the Taylor Foundary in 1409 A.D. The bells had come from London and I had come to hear them from God knows where. There were no bugs, there was no sea but it was all the Godhead needs. Inside a ridid stone found truth of human bone, where was the source of the stream? I am not so sure that questions are the quickest way to set knowledge into free play but the only way (I?) can gain yet. The Exodus breeze came for the lovers, the lovers who must leave, if their life is to sing on and allow them to enter another lovers song. Each one came a drop, a drop I wanted lustfully to see, to hold, to touch, to watch, to die with gracefully. The clouds were buidling up, there was, a bout to be a storm. Then came the gracefullness of a Flemenco Goddess, nothing caused her aversion, relaxed in the face of death with her three nylon strings and responsive thin extra responsive and sensitive body wood, each note brought her to conclusion. The first time the Gods could sing, they were in a garden watching humans bring, softness that turned to glowing and at adjacent times the needs turned into knowing. What does the stream feed and whither does it go? Marked out the absence any given landscape could cause. The Ivy starting spreading out and growing up without any doubts. Cryptic--> Medium--> Safety. The sound of falling water in a sink or in a river becomes the same in the tympanic membrane and anonymous in the human brain with enough dust and enough light and all is getting rather quiet.
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