tomorrow you can say tomorrow

thats not the way it works she says its not that the savagery that language hides in its hearts the inverse of the anger in affection though ones pressed to deny even this but that our desires break medias blend of fear monism force only by means of a subterfuge so unrecognizable and familiar it burns only as fuel in the transit of the uncanny

real sophistications letting go of sophistication without losing it he says and the curl boinging there in the boundary zones between the republic of his forehead and the terrorism of his ear would be a question mark in the semiotics of a race that had transcended lust if it hadnt sabotaged itself through misplaced faith in the very transcendence it claimed but was unable to know through a ruse that cloaked the thing in shadows of what it wasnt and could never be though whats meant by this might be found in a suggestion of a book of wisdom sayings asking to be written in worlds that ask in ways in which the asking more resembles something like a gnarled memory that mocks itself by thieving techniques from the practice of everyone looking for noise within the noise as if it might be some sort of lost and inarticulate harmony

you talk like a gutter full of spent pedigrees she says and a garter slips a centimetre down an undiscovered limb in her mind or at least one of her minds if we can and we can in part but hardly only this because we are speak of minds in what seems to be in certain modes a singular body not to any erotic effect if eros be defined and this is dubious as something that might morph the gonads but possibly to that effect if it venture into semantic fields it claims in closets that wouldnt be closets if our architectural training werent so confined by a fear of open spaces which is to say the night and this would turn me on at least in words if you hadnt  

i was forced to go into the underground yesterday due to an exigency that crept up to me like a question and there  where the only wars between facticity and dream  wraiths of rejection mumbling shuffling  shadows outshine flesh and the copy precedes the original   how life turns off itself after its looked in the mirror  a conglomerated gender seizes my alabastrine gonad and intones tears are better than anger and the wrath of instructions worse than hoarse tigers   alls lost

it all backfires she says   i affirm and degradation results   i assert my boundaries and am violated   i seek spirit and flesh invades   i deny myself and all that manifests is i   i

i cant breathe well under the lived values of a leadership that      in a postgendered world the old girls network is indistinguishable from the old boys      subjects ethics to the force of a dominant narrative and a technical necessity whose historical precedent looks like whitewashed abattoirs

if this pandemics anything its nature trying to encourage empathy in a species whose capacity for it looks like

the real dangers from within not without though the danger from withouts very real buts only the within manifest for those whose sagacitys honed by cloned twitterings and a

to be poor increases the levels of government  its qualities and reach  ones subject to   the further from poverty the more ones government and subjections enfold into the void of powers proximity or to put it in wuther words

dunno she says this day isnt like the others  its gone past itself  the suns a worm and the moon a phone   we all are poor   we

and the two or whatever friends  who can count these days anyway  reach inexplicably for each others hand  though the reachings like the conversation between a tree and a usb   to usb or not to tree   and an intimacy of sorts might be detected for one given without bequest to futilitymancy  that woebegone and woebegotten lump of sputter  in the reachings

the city shoves its morbidly obese and reekingly scatological ass on natures face   but natures unimpressed   its seen and smelt it all before   for the whonym though who might remain  who wishes to hear language  embarking on an odyssey through the citys shit  theres no other way   seeking the unimpressedness of nature   there it may find fragments of the only viable language remaining      for the city  though it says everything  has nothing to say   nothing left to say   having exhausted itself through excess  destructively accelerates its addiction to babbling but its logorrhea splatters out and the voices of nature hide far on the other side of an uncomfortable long smelly immense passage  which the whonym may have been distinctly formed for   this passage indistinct and shadowy and without name