29 October 2004

Squiggly Squiggly Trochlear Foramen

We can share the popcorn
And go to the pub at night
We can get right tanked up
And go home and have a fight

The mind is a funny place, not funny ha-ha, or even funy ha-HA, more funny you need to shut your face you daft little bastard you. Ok, maybe not even that. It's just funny, peculiar even, maybe even funny-peculiar, like your mom (speaking of which I've brought and introduced that phrase here in Glasgow, so far that land seems infertile much like your little sister). I think partly I'm intrigud because I have overall a great deal of control that is exercised over my thinking process, conscious imagination. There was 20 minutes of clear unconscious silence, no thought, just a sort of ruminant drifting nonsense. Patrick. Or was it Partick. Movies infusing with brain and cephalic vein with the lymh shuttling in. This is stream in winter, solid but mobile and completely fertile to the ideas of wine-o's and rum. Fucking incense and cigarette veins like coffee ice cream it's not the same as clove smell smooth and a bathroom mirror underlying the infraspinatus muscle. Fucking. I can remember a twelve second interval of coracoid process definition where the beginning was fuzzy but all resolved. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, each prayer offered off cue and against a god's will just for the sake of Alexander Pope. Stealing panties would have been a riot during the whole chinese experience no? No. Just couch diving and a Christmas card that seemed all too better than the last thing I could remember with tears attached. Panties itself is just a funny word, a bit inbetween forgetful misuse, a word for men but never a woman I've known, but have I known anyone or myself. All signs say yes in other people, acquaintance passive acceptance with scribbly scribbly scribbly squiggly words.
Yes it's true that the dining dead themselves see the plageristic misnomers in the cigarette burns and the obvious lack of humour in this entry. The last I admit was an inspired email, and it was a quick fix between my toes for heroin addicts and a snuff or two just for good measure. Am I ugly ot tangerine, or just an off chartreuse? Damn cinematic gaps filling with wedges. Aaaaaanyeay. Perhaps the best way for all of you to handle the situation is to just ignore me. Or have some fun and dream like I do.
It's pitch black at 6 o'clock now. Seduction is a bitch when it pulls on the left string, just a bit of a peal and a tintinabulatory Poe poem.

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