Stolen notes #1

Wednesday, 21 December 2005

Stolen notes #1


The good rains came one season too late. Oh, you know, so stop this charade. The references were made and now how to live them up? You tell me; I’m tired of telling you. Masking colors of rain and nonsense — We held hands and ran in the streets with the children of the land of mists and misses. We played their games and our games by their names and we loved so the plurality that everything went side by side w/ it; happy like the kingdom of of me — the land called we, the place I am still waiting for the plural of you.

lines drawn from languages gone into the long penny lidding. we were we once now there no sense in talking @ all about a union (so permanent) lasting long enough to warrant a pronoun…

All the symbols corrupt and all the art abrupt I dare science to return to the table so we can sup.

22.11.96 Iran cat priest greased the pan for a dish of a sundry Asian girl from her love of somethings English — she got a taxi from Heathrow & met her destiny @ where the the bridge burned down — her fate was something crushing the hate of her a saving sound.

— The Land of Perfect Scarecrows —

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