c̳̻͚̻̩̻͉̯̄̏͑̋͆̎͐ͬ͑͌́͢h̵͔͈͍͇̪̯͇̞͖͇̜͉̪̪̤̙ͧͣ̓̐̓ͤ͋͒ͥ͑̆͒̓͋̑́͞ǎ̡̮̤̤̬͚̝͙̞͎̇ͧ͆͊ͅo̴̲̺͓̖͖͉̜̟̗̮̳͉̻͉̫̯̫̍̋̿̒͌̃̂͊̏̈̏̿ͧ́ͬ̌ͥ̇̓̀͢͜s̵̵̘̹̜̝̘̺̙̻̠̱͚̤͓͚̠͙̝͕͆̿̽ͥ̃͠͡
it wasnt what i thought ohfeelya it was what something else thought a something else that may have been in my thoughts but if it was was as much wasnt as was and this as much im beginning to suspect might actually be the something else or if it isnt be something so nefariously analogous as to make us think it is and so what you heard or what you may have heard or what i said or what i might have said or what i might have heard i said i wouldnt say is anything even like my thinking
youve gone insane lathem youve lost all touch with irreality
losing touch i feel ohfeelya often in hypnopompia at least might be the very tea and teacup irreality slurps and swills within as when you an utter fabrication of my inveterate nonbeing falter like an unmade mermaid before a reformado as theyre waylaid by an airraid at a hacienda in eldorado
thank you lathem for saying this it was only in that moment precisely i needed more than ever a reminder of something i can never remember
ohfeelya how in the chthonic fictive heights of our textuality weve swapped ourselves like naughty syntaxes each becoming the nothing the other wasnt while equally the something the other wasnt even more
this is my lathem purest darkest fantasy that in our fickling disappearings we phoneme one another like wanton funerary disorders of antimorphonomenclatures in our random pseudoimprobabilities
even when we were never sitting under the prunus serrulata not besotten by something only called love by those excelling at ineptitude in all things but ineptitude and i didnt whisper in my absent caresses to you ohfeelya of my pleasure in not giving to you i used to enjoy watching words careen like bumper boats in a wavepool in a thunderstorm and now that ive become just another bumper boat who when ones moved like this can watch?
well you know as colonel saunters says lathem à la sainte terre for every watch is a sort of crusade preached by some emily the esotatic in us to not go forth and reconquer these holy maps from the gonads of the infidels and so we too are sainteterreer kernels
c̳̻͚̻̩̻͉̯̄̏͑̋͆̎͐ͬ͑͌́͢h̵͔͈͍͇̪̯͇̞͖͇̜͉̪̪̤̙ͧͣ̓̐̓ͤ͋͒ͥ͑̆͒̓͋̑́͞ǎ̡̮̤̤̬͚̝͙̞͎̇ͧ͆͊ͅo̴̲̺͓̖͖͉̜̟̗̮̳͉̻͉̫̯̫̍̋̿̒͌̃̂͊̏̈̏̿ͧ́ͬ̌ͥ̇̓̀͢͜s̵̵̘̹̜̝̘̺̙̻̠̱͚̤
i feel your saunter ohfeelya but i wouldnt go so far as to make presumptions about your perceptions about my suspicions about what im incapable of thinking none of which after all have anything to do with either you or me for isnt it these stories that arent stories that undo us toward that greater undoing whereby we dont any longer do?
this is what we share in our glorious and wretched incomprehensibilities and why we never like each other but keep on pretending to communicate even though neither of us exist so i can only conclude lathem like the ancient grungoyians didnt what could be finer in life than to converse not with oneself or another or ones other or one of ones others not one at all but a kind of myriad of swirled absences thatre neither other nor not or even missing
how long weve not been together its not one of those things i dont treasure about us like our incapacity of speaking anything remotely useful ohfeelya and our words falling into deeyed abysses like ashen constitutions
lathem i wholeheartedly couldnt agree less in my circumscribed concurrings and as all evidence suggests humans are nothing but a critically endangered subspecies of words spiralling toward an extinction we already inhabit in our erased lexiconography let us both then in our nonexistence you in your inscrutable indecipherability and i in my recondite incoherence in the lunatic bulges that dont define the voiding spaces between us of which you are the evasive substance and i the wildering sign speak in the eternal gyres of our nonspeakings love in the infinite circuits of our exterminating love
