let me grind my gear here for a moment.  someday someday I keep hammering on the surface trying to become but some what?  i don't know what is good of bad for me, i am not anything you know really.  Just again an indian summer for life, samurai sycophant lisping out half-answers.  begging bowl champion, me.  Just a starving madness would get me no further than dreaming, nor the stability and paralysis of headless satiety.  if i can hold the bliss there, what does any of it matter?  not one jot do I.  jungle drums, glitchy baptisms, neon nothings, stalwart somethings, all over this tired filmed orb in its restless is-ness forever.  not tired or wired.  just this thing.  like a something something.

today we surveyed the end of amoria where we found six pence shoreline craggy rock timber jutting jutefully o'er the plane des moine.  where have i put my notebook?  first, listen…. firstlisten.  too much ham in this iota I reckon.  me and my brother make three with thee and thee, gaining again on perfection you know, up down up down sliding class around the holy mounded temple of isis irish moss swimming in cold copper veins

woah!  yes lets lets slide on my dear wet back fingerlings and there were even cast back castanets singing clickingly about atom bombs amok time rhyme train momma's home.

I remember the honeysuckle sweet smell of our pillow whispering slumber melodies ever and on, languid dizzy nightdreaming tangled skin weaving, an ocean of upswelling pheremone fountains and peeling paint in new places at night.  Road trip car naps early morning frosted sunrise, red cotton dresses and lover's spit.  Fever wrapped and unfolding together, the taste of metal in my mouth biking home at dawn.  The first time, back in your parents' living room and hands held all of my feelings flow as a sweet confession; birthday dinner wine stains and I had to choose you and I was down on one knee, choosing; it was so long ago like yesterday I was taken into the ladies circle while your attendants made flowers in my hair and the world still smelled of your cotton curling heart shape.  How delicate and loving and waiting you were while I shed held tears and sprouted my worth under your leading hand and oh yes the staring contests I could always win because I had a secret and you wouldn't believe me when I told you but later we felt our hearts beating and it was not romantic but simply very real and wonderful.

God!  What beautiful dreams for a poor boy, mercifully wrapped in goddess' glorious manifest manifold.  May ever she sweep me up again, ashen and aching for a soft place to land.

oh, hello hello again

friend 

sit at my typewriter with a bit of ham to bandy about.  lol.  excuse this mess my deer. correct me if i'm wrong but weren't you here before with the others?  TOAST is my forte on thissaterday 

collectivist thou shalt be shivered skapeth mine atrocious pendant.  fortified goats milk on wednesdays.  salad days on fridays.  tun off spellcheck with all the other metronomic digitalations.  magnetic hamster wheel you, curses and spite oh friday night fright night. 

ugh, such a fill I've had so early this day.  dream another dream maybe, slide around another upstream.  cargo holds carry me a bit shallow,, let's have it up up up now, up up up!  

and believe you me i could go on all day like this one.