1.3.10
Of Merdia II
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In the low is the high, in excrement are mansions. Every artist and homosexual knows this. Art swirls in the toilet. Sewers give birth to visions. Should I ignore Merdia, my life will be a suburb, smelling only of Mr. Clean and Lysol. Merdia is my fire for another world, a world I create to set against the power of my mother.
ı
- sa doo
- vırı nıcı, udder pata ash
- ın each word an ı and ın each ı trapwyrds to oublıettes to a sea of eyes and there construct a boat wıth yourself doo ıs word and ı and trap and sea and boat the quest and questıon and negatıon of each and here we are tıme over there lıke a neıghbours skatıng rınk pıtch your tent ın the forest of forgettıng and the clouds roll ın lıke angels whove never used a ladder and love and hate those anachronısms hıbernate lıke sıffleux and the cıty rıses ın the tessellatıons of nıght and were ın our boat eatıng dreamspatasadoo.blogspot.com
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