even

Been recaptured now, yes?  Sin recaptured.  To die in sweetest sin.  Dying beneath her gaze.  Evil flowers, need to read more.  The truth is I need to read more.  Remembering now a summer ago or was it two summers ago and frantically running.  Glorious.  Yes, escalators escalators escalators.  Its all recaptured now, white and fuschia, different from the first time around, still can’t get a word in edge wise, and braille again, and I think I remember all this great ultraviolet light and I think I should go to the doctor soon because I can barely see.  But senses so recently fully alive, in the center of this storm. 

Invited to like the Candy.  Don’t know if it’s good idea.  But don’t know if its bad idea.  Actually, not true.  Of course I know.  We always know.  And we do it anyway because we want know.  We love to.  Read the books (in black and white).  I’m going to show you how weak you are.  it’s right there.  to die in sweetest sin. Kidnapped soon.  Symbol of the scorpion there on the skin.  And lotus.  And there were elephants everywhere.  And the Virgin.  Everyone present and accounted for?  Noticing the blue, right?  Bright blue, powerful wonderful blue, hugging blue.  And black on top.  Deep black.  And that a galactic color right there.  tips. 

Everything comes in the magic numbers.  This glorious return of corruption.  What we were begging for.  Twice now…white and…can’t think of the word.  But sun drenched.  White and black underneath.  I know the style but can’t speak to it.  Loveliest smiles everywhere.  Yes, I see now, three and one, three real and one not but really all not.  Real isn’t quite the right word, is it?  So much illusory these days.  Descending endlessly.  The beginning of the regression.  Desire regression.  Yes and then decked all in black.  Glorious patterns.  Denier.  Top, underneath and over everything.  Over everything.  Try to lock this away.  Unwrapping down below.  To die for.  Simply to die for.  Glorious subjugation.  Glorious mercy.  What could be greater?  Surrender myself to sweetest sin and to die right there.  there is nothing left inside of me but sin.  Scratched all away and center is just crazed and ugly and without a shred of good. 

This is different from the woman in the mirror.  Another change while we’re all suspende din gaffa.  Dolphins again and that insane connection, while we swim again.  No words between us.  Great symbols of fear become equally powerful symbols of desire and like that we’re off and I’m forgetting everything I hold dear and surrendering to the glories of corruption and my soul is deteriorating.  There is no true loneliness anymore, all messages unnecessary.  Can’t even say this again, gatubella. 

Silly me, I’d forgotten how we are all like astronauts.  Oh these endless longings.  How can my pleadings for forgiveness be real and disingenuous at the same time?  the invitation.  Of course for the words to flow I need…something.  What sorts of groups, numbers I mean, did these come in in the classical canonical texts?  That would likely explain everything.  And nothing.  Of course the floodgates will be open again, the miles available once more.  The jackal who is not the jackal.  Dare he hope.  And everything will be ruin again.  Glorious ruin.  And the rhapsody in blue?  Ever again.  I am so so awful. 

That beauty I was affording things was most certainly not real.  Or let me specify.  Nothing coming from me was pure or beautiful.  Everything coming from me was impure and awful and ugly and corrupt.  Tainted.  My insides are rotten.  My soul is appalling.  I see now though…about running like a river.  The feeling.  Stolen away.  Kidnapped away.  The invitation.  Second invitation.  Doing what you know is wrong.  The feelings of freedom and elation and remembering…something.  Going back over and over again.  To finally escape, desperate to know what that feels like.  Desperate to wipe everything out, making everything crumble down.  destroy there and lie vacant in your sweetest sin.  No, that’s not how it would be either.  It’d be so meaningful.  So lovely.  So kind and warm and lovely.  He can’t tell what is real anymore.  More accurate, he can’t tell what is the grand self deception.  What I have always searched for.  Wants to believe in something.  Nights of the merciful. 

The desire to feel crazy again.  Everything delirious and out of control.  Believing there is still a chance at something.  The desire makes you dizzy.  You are an addict of self destruction. 

Gotta leave something for the night.  Morning brings no clarity.  Revisiting the old instigators in different languages.  All the different ways I can scream.  Electricity.  I should have been a bug man and then drink from my own supply.  It’s all a matter of perspective.  Too much Sugar lately.  Not really accurate but you, that is, I, know what I mean.  And always upon wake the dreams of death.  I see now the awful manipulations.  May fault.  Of course the modesty has me now.  And the persistent invitation.  Just waiting on more and more.  All in the senses, taken out of a tiny box.  They should just see me lying stiff and cold.  Perspective again.  Like a mob.  What was revisited was thrashed around.  All sorts of different ways to command that opening.  Massive steel arm.  Half feline again.  And orange and black and a massive cable.  And then bent and bent and stabbed, teeth grinding.  Lose and lose and lose, never learn, do you?  Ripped off and choked and dropped and fallen and crashed and out and left behind.  And this replicates itself and replicates itself and appears timid at first but it’s all an act.  A glorious act.  And the eventual undoing.  From two and then four different sides.  Punished. 

In a glorious dream Ana Barbara smiled at me and kissed me.  she was wearing red I believe. 

Jennifer was the body double for Meg.  Love it.  And loved it.