evil twin realizes he never had a brother

in a state of delirium.
want desperately to blog something poetic.
but just cant do it now.
all thats gonna come out is some tidal wave of hellos and goodbys.

every green hillside might enjoy their own angle. rocks slide and roll. they also might enjoy the green hillside and its upside down upness.

when going down for such a stretch, we inanimate objects close our eyes and forget the direction we were. lost in mind, waking to remembering wrong in our travel. expecting to crest and fall faster, the bottom of the hill suprises our sense of which ever way we thought we were going.

black cats spill white milk.
something dons the boombox from under its lapel. what a large something. what a magnificent tailor. what do you expect from the end of the sea. which is land, cant you see.

and driving off of cliffs as the new olympic sport...not the driving and flying and screaming and burning. but, the spectators laughing and slapping of their knees and every other body part that rhymes with knees. and the judges knowing the diaphramatic utterances and slappable body parts like the tit of their mothers. and the medals are made of gold, gold, and gold. but, everybody does not win. just the top three giggly.

willow when will you wear to work fine silk from the noodle lands. the finest of things that escaped the grubby nails of the pirate ship, lusting not for things you have. but, for the things you will never have. load the ship with the look on your face. x marks the spot where your dissapointment is bury'd...har har har.

speaking of stealing booty...






soon i'll write of the cary show and what it meant to me.

but now, fear creeps in slowly thru tiny winding valleys made by too many tears. if only the tears would harden and stack and resonate resistance along its towering wall.

3 birds joining another 3 birds. they meld with 2 other bird blobs of its kind. while fire tornados do what they will and i leap over the world dissasembling, outer shell of burnt bird becomes a protective cocoon for the inner survivors. all the animal species are doin this pattern. while the people around shout 666 as they fall into the chasm or whisk around the convention of the hot funnel. maybe the number of the beast is a good thing. whats wrong with our perception. whats the difference between every thing is one thing/one moment and all of our walls that are "supposed to" protect us.

are we going towards the light or is it coming to us.
squint your eyes to the thinnest of a light sliver.
travel yourself to one end of the light sliver.
look into the tube that was the light sliver.
you'll see yourself looking at your other eye with the universe between you.

oh, i'm tired.
i sound down.
opera is finished
i go home and sleep now.