Friday, December 31, 2010
The Endless Proliferation of Laws
bat island warms by the scream of insincerity. star suicides cleansed from time. the margins of the bound are the boundary of a breath assailed by a retired magic. supposed margins. diminutive, the marginalized were impaled on an unnamed image by a man who vascillated from wanting to be a god to wanting to be a corpse. despairing the lord of hell who haunts his thoughts like eugene would mime a genetic spectre for spectators bent on the pregnant portion of a knotted godsend. they undergo uncontrolled abnormal mitosis. eugene's bride is reflected in a sluggish grammar of a binding ritual like the one christ endured. blank nothing and nowhere. from one organ to a non-adjacent organ. Paget sobs over the seeds and soil metastasizing in an aching circus. the fornication of the dead amounts to the endless proliferation of vacant names. the manufacture, in fact, of names themselves become ground into nature as an extracellular matrix. an angiogenesis of the damned on mind island, strangled by the sight of a sympathy that is released at the origin of a mesothelioma. everytime a child dies while sending a text message there is a new law like a tomb stone to memorialize their parent's grief. the dead swim through laws. the everlasting wind collapsed into a coffin's dawn. devoured by munchausen's tunnel corrupting the house it annihilates. governed by vessels that reflect a dismembered lamb. like a vine stimulus bloats underneath the disjointed defense of a doom that omits the poles. stretching its science through its animalistic ancestors like a relative clause recinded by the apprehension of a weeping lawyer who thinks that words are gods and that the gods made him.
you can tell an ideologue by the uneven distibution of their rage
ammonia anymore the ground-up tops of your key cannot handle a directory you screw into being easily translated into fiftee...
I can breast feed moonlight see that clock? Neon vs. black I am all control, crest fallen droning over you. Your foothills I'll ...
as ser t t hat d eb t may not have been ac ion ble at pr ent n f ct that it belonged to one party is thereby revealed a...
with bombs or some opportunity the magazines of the barely perceptible public will be oriented toward their pressure groups...