invisible impenetrable transparent nonextant wall


The future is enveloped in a mist. This much is clear.  That much is breathed on fogged over passed by prone to blindness and rage. Turn the page.  Hilary is quitting politics next year. You would too if you were her. I we they it would quit, if i they it we could see. A vision. You were worn torn battered just watching her. Admit it. She works so hard she makes it look effortless. You we they wanna believe its effortless, they i me wanna believe its so. Cause the concept of so much work fades us silent. The concept of such just feels violent.

I wonder if she feels fairly credited for her vast impact on the domestic stage? Whatever the case, it is what it was what it is and will be. Still a vision. Still devoted to the cause of a certain freedom. She herself knows. She we they i you? They it you me, too…. are free.

the self

K self




Whom does intimacy port? How does intimacy travel? is it firewire fast? scanned thoroughly or just one-passed? When intimacy gets all awkward for us and scares us like we are losing the ability to connect man to man, woman to woman, cross, duck under, stretch, stare, flare, and circle in courtship with such fanfare? The movement is fascinating, but what about the other plains? Do we not still need prehistoric umbrellas, every time it rains? Relics of nylon stretched over the wiry long hovering fingers to the tips. Do we even touch the rain? Does it touch us? What does it mean to dodge all this feeling being suffering seeing?

How will our your species keep up unless we me port ourselves soon? We know how to run. To hide. We are intimate with rather than the ever more impractical ancient art of NASA space shuttling away away away.  Gasoline is so flammable and smells bad. But its energy, so take it, tangible smelly burning solitude of petrol, never to upload. simply bleed out and soak in, absorption into the earth, dissolving into the air. Breaks your my our collective heart. From about where to where? Away away away  So much easier to gravitate away along the shipment channels standard,  the paths prepioneered, the snow carved out like ribs like rivers like thanks, giving, turkey… less work, more sedentary tryptophan inspired ennui. And thus you me? you me we? you me we are free. aren’t we? 4th of July is no joke, HBO specials on dead presidents who stare back at us with iron spirits carried on currency, have currency have freedom? have nots have none? I you we get confused mixed feelings that throw off our equilibrium sometimes. — fresh liberation we feel so true! next year enslaved in another addictive groove. Low and weary we they obey the Countenance command: level up from source – level up now…. sad.

stored back with the medicine balls the deflation. In the darkreprioritized, c-cleaned, put on the desktop and in the  taskbar so you cannot miss it, humanity, but its like an antiquated major looking uncomfortable as Latin between Chinese and Spanish…uncomfortable horribly so inside the cardboard strung together placed over the shoulders of our teenagers needing currency  so bad, so bad they would advertise something other than themselves, direct produce and starring in your next product placement plan you put to action. Doing things like we know nothing. This much about nothing.

This much about something. Something about suffering. Something about not able to get quite warm enough in the cold, cool enough in the heat. Not quite able to get exactly the comfort required to prevent a progression toward madness. The garden grows out and over, the vines are together cut back to the knees for having passed the invisible impenetrable transparent nonextant wall divides you me us. What was to protect us in our idea of safety and personal refuge? what was. what is. what will be. solitary kind of confinement. solitary refinement is how you work that angle of free, solitary introverted workaholic genius. empirical proof for us all to be in relief. relieved.