The absence of things to say is remarkable. I'm wondering if I'm turning into a hollow person of little opinion or if its just the fucking manuscript.
My mind has turned its back on all but this one thing. Every step is pounding out syllables. I am casting paragraphs wide and high, netting light posts and telegraph poles pulling them firmly behind me into a single scripted idea. I've caught this narrow world and I'm pushing it stick by stick through my toothed lacerating funnel. I am giant and separate and other while things turn white behind me and my mad plastic machines. This writing. This writing thing is an ascending descent.
6 comments:
I really don't know what to say here Dale, I just don't know.
Rups
Oh, why?
Bad? Is it something bad?
Nothing bad, I was just remarking an absence of things to say too - I thought you'd like the company that's all :) Rups xo
I am a spaz. Thanks for the company.
xd
Can I have a toothed and lacerating funnel? I believe it would make for interesting discussion, having mounted it on a coffee table somewhere. You know how it is.
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