Of restraining axioms for the desiring. I have too much. Either too much restraint towards paralysis or desire towards vomiting on myself and word salad. I cannot quite render perversities universal or even as longed for as beautiful. This just is, my strength to make more elusive and profound, the folly of representation, that there can be more beyond this thin sheet, this battered flesh and slowed mind, I am doubtful. Some say speaking of something makes another something atop it, making it more profound, I only can create an imperfect copy, the act itself is that of a shmuck, and I build another shmuck for the laughter of the cubicles and pockets, a pathetic image, a face composed of disparate patterns only a bludgeoned mother can love.
Posted on: Mon, 24 Jun 2013 17:19:53 +0000
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