A Posporo Pause

The Future Blow

2009-11-11T03:42:00.000-08:00

"They don't care too much for arsonists in theatres, " do they?
Why can't you even consider your theory as simple as beans of mung.
Theatricals consider forms negligent of real seeing. Besides the low-life are real.

Never are fingers benign and unwilling to touch you.
They say it is going to throw you nothing more than a future scab.

Preparations for scabs do not mean they are necessary; they cannot withstand the free.
You are assured they do not bite. They didn't mind they didn't go there directly as planned.

I have my eyes for your own staring.
I have your hands set upon my lap ready for the punch.
Your carrying me does some guilt a favor not sad enough for anyone not to notice.
How come neither of us seems to be doing something about reading Balzac.

Resurgence

2009-11-01T06:43:00.000-08:00

Hey, hey, 'tis the day we can't be used to words like flummoxed,
A coding at which no denying you will strike.

It seems to itself its history's never quite undone enough to find settlements.
It feels it needs something from us it can't quite possibly guide us to place.

Hey, hey, airplanes on your way. Not to be at your safety, but on you beat.
Hey, hey, this song, for your birthday. We'd be no more sorrier than you.

I begin to manage why it's going itself in a direction he can't guide.
I flashback my way to a syntax they cannot but loathe. Unbearably banal, our looking!
Hey, hey, there will be no more, no more for us left to say!

The Music of A Mouth Harp

2009-10-04T12:58:00.000-07:00

On this side it says, Take down all the flagships and let them all burn down.
It says, Mother of God! How creepiness lies straight down your hand; nerves fail.

You do not think it your right to maneuver us the subjects.
Do you not think we have the right to have a break.

It says, Take it all down with you, these metal sheets, these fell people.
There is nothing pretentious about a deluge, dear.

It says, Do things considerably manageable. Take morality as a gift!
Oh a gift it is! The wrong is ecumenical, you see. Better hypocrites telling us to go

Than flag ships worn out asking for our nets we haven't been used to giving
The mosquitoes you woke are not used to this, anyway. There will be sheets for them.

It says, Dare not say anything prosaic. Dare not say I am your son.
The lies are not able to show themselves the slightest bit close to being

Put aside the name of your all unforgiving gods.

Sometimes A Pie Looks Like Just

2009-08-22T10:46:00.000-07:00

You are not a fuckin' orpheus. This piano has an attenuate. Together it is no different
I appeal to regions. I recall conditionals. Together it is a piece of film.

You do not standardize. It is no longer defunct. Retrieve pieces of these
From the din. Flashbirds, flexing. My god knows you're sometimes social.

It is never reverse, no. It is never trying itself fit for you lookers of back,
Nothing about this isn't less innocuous as making an afternoon tea with you.
There, it is un-falling. Because sometimes pie can be just as its simplest piece.

The Connection

2009-07-30T13:23:00.001-07:00

"Spectacle of people, knowing how to group. The moment you think you need it is the time you know you don't." -Anonymous

Going Nuts Over The Slow: Adventureland Reviewed

2009-07-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

From A. O. SCOTT, The NYTIMES:

“Adventureland” sometimes seems to lose track of just which movie it is, and its sprawling narrative encompasses some soft spots and patches of inconsistency. The worst of these comes near the end, with a failure of compassion on James’s part that seems to owe more to the demands of the plot than the logic of the character. And at times Mr. Mottola lays on the suburban adolescent malaise with too heavy a hand."

It reminds me of the line of Jesse Eisenberg's role in The Squid and The Whale:
"I felt I could have written it. So the fact that it's already written is just kind of a technicality."

Plagiarize.

Rizal Postmodern: Once Reviewed

2009-07-10T01:39:00.000-07:00

A.O Scott, The New York Times:

"It seems silly and grandiose to lavish praise on a movie whose dramatic crux is the recording of a demo tape, and there is some danger that the critical love showered on “Once” will come to seem a bit disproportionate. It is not a film with any great ambitions to declare, or any knotty themes to articulate. It celebrates doggedness, good-humored discipline and desire — the desire not only to write a song or make a recording, but the deeper longing for communication that underlies any worthwhile artistic effort.

The special poignancy of the movie, the happy-sad feeling it leaves in its wake, comes from its acknowledgment that the satisfaction of these aspirations is usually transient, even as it can sometimes be transcendent."

-------------------------
"there is a group of kids scrambling upon a heap of filth, washing laundry of two weeks old, a battering."

"People eat men. Women strangle what we call a light through whose shadow i, in behalf of men, flow and stride with ease. Easily i think of eating carcass and just when i thought it's wrong and rude i decided what the hell it's not the eating that makes its act a fault but only the wrong act of eating and the manner u eat these kinds of act. Feel, then, why people feed and smoke blood."

"wasted melted cream, in the corner an unoccupied jail room a man screming he's innocent and needs help had once lodged in, a ballroom, scene downstairs, the house help dancing, the kids watch the old dance, a sway of hair from the running girl, a jailed collector runs from himself, his niece ask him why he's lonely and he tells her he just is..."

"when u talk all the thoughts out while making clear the thing u think first isnt the right thing to talk about tonight but yet decided in the end to just share and tell it with us regardless oof us being the judge, being your mirror u never want in the first place to face, no better than self-hating infidels dragging you at all times without consent down here in hell, i, though, subtle, almost without a sound, just croon."

"tendons are like a dream. Hazy purple, mushed, stretchy, and when heated expands"

what is it about your avoidance that seeks refuge like a fawn?Who am i is not who i am asking for an answer to.

"She isnt off about knowing the diggers of her chin and can't justify an avalanche after this. A castration is its only galvanized release. A beauty of oaks denies. Denials of an oval-shaped onion, sarcastic con-descend, divulsions of a pig, a shallow swallow, the testings of the masrk, which color would you want ur wish to be?It has determinants, too, you know, That by now, an arrangement is there. She doesnt have to be there on a noose. Her whole five foot six of gleaming and regal stance should."

"waiting for sum1 2 hand d fare over to the driver, a lecturer unaware of the time or the amount of waste it's taken from your dreaming, his direct admonish, his contribution to the forgotten laugh, his release, her catch, a woman missed, the man missing, the unmatched. The urge to write back, the wait, it's you, its yours..."

"There is a weeping that is basal that is endless that is dry. There is this talk that is one with that which is made which is good which is human. That which is marked which is forgetfgul which is useful is this marking that is forgetting that is using the used...."

"and all.."

"Creaks, You. Pain's an accumulation. And the release is in its continuance."

"Drafted, lying on the left side edge of a bed. Sweat-soked skin finely finally dry with the wind's unflawed lull, we lurk and wreak in havoc through lies laced and dream of dressed non-metal canyons inside women's bellies in order to recover, smell and if possible at all, drink the fine pleasure of a draft recall....."

"the backing from the sentiment. THe return of the old. The cliche. The renewed unearthed. DOgs bark. Are you my sister?Is that a dog?Are we dead?Do you think he's cute?A cake is made of flour, sugar and cream. Mother bakes a cake. My name is jonathan is cinco. My wallet is lost. Help! Ouch!"

"I am a drowned word. That fleeting fleet of armed fatigue-stained sapiens for the last three days inside is watered away tonight. I am drowning rhapsody. THe fishnets, oh, the fishentes your dad untangles in going about the dark rivulets inside are a way to the darkened ocenas. I am a fringe of the silhouette of your giving, your givings tolerate my dance into the fringes of drowned escapes. I am an inch away to your measurement. Come now, take me and be my pilgrim..."

"The feeling"

"To spare it a pause lighter than shadow, bright as this blink, red, harrowing within with a nose the every intensity of twnty breaking glass: forbidding muffling, open as an opened, uncured scab, rending, too, the laying about of the cruel, is good"

"what to make of cottons if i flow out in air without sound remains vague. What you want me not to do makes me, sends them, and gives up into another form of no. Strangle india, thank not the way yopu give way to muslims but on how and not on why you made all the riot sound like home-0spun cloth."

"Gandhi.."

"Like smoke my feet read a lost trail."

The Vulgars Who Knew The Truth and Lived: Kinatay Reviewed

2009-07-10T01:26:00.000-07:00

Jessica Zafra/Newsweek/Brillante Mendoza's "Kinatay":

"Brillante Mendoza's film Kinatay(Slaughtered) is so grim and gruesome that it didn't even divide audiences and critics when it screened at Cannes last month; it united them in hatred and disgust. Shot on film and video, the Philippine director's latest offering is about a young police cadet who finds himself participating in the grisly murder of a prostitute. Stark and unrelenting, it presents torture, rape and mutilation in a manner reminiscent of snuff movies. Viewers booed it and reviewers described it as "horrible"; the American critic Roger Ebert pronounced it the worst film ever to screen at the festival."

------------
In a market:

"How long shall dis ax last? The blowing decor, its crash attacks, a hugging rig, stomaching in pains, Full of faces in near-death patterns mode has it seen lizards?Broken down into pieces shells of corns? Has it burnt seeds flakes?Flaked up,wouldnt it be as one with bigs, devouring lashes, laced up from bolts decor? A decorum. Will pangs break it?As a bite sits or sets afloat in dark dust river, shall it commence, a wavering daring dash of consistencies?Patterns paternal. Whoever makes it can it not eat itself?Shattering shines of lucid, honest flickers..."

In the preacher's home:
"turn me inisde out, buddy. Is it my body ur trying to get some innards from?Was strucute-based spit noe enough for you? Hasn't it been to your liking?Then turn me inside out now. Let's see
whose blood flows out of the skin first. Jaging, jaging...Bring me there and make my body the edge of its sinking, a random hoover, it's better than me, dont u think..."

On the skin inside the head of a surgeon's patient:
"trade in the bionics for flesh quids/fish traps devour souls by the minute/exhausts. Fortunate dwellers in a couple of days/escape? Get things fout of the cabin/trade in the basics. Deceased are the dogs.One hundred dark dry chicken skins become fresh squids, painless, worn/out, rotten, in the dark..."

On the walls of a baby's crib
"the lack of rhymes, get by, get by,"

In a rapist's home:
"He was given a bag of goods he was supposed to consume by tuesday night. It contains paste, stale gourd and half a pund canned buffalo meat. It will be eaten raw, raw, raw, raw tonight.s"

On a memo:
"You take a fragment by fragment slack. Deny the overturn and cast. Slay everyone's pets. Lay down some sort of second kick. You take a fragment by fragment defragmentation. A nation is less than two."

The Superintendent.................................................................

2009-06-21T07:12:00.000-07:00

"It should be thin, but thick enough not to break"
- A secret to a perfect dumpling

I am doing away of all your Neo-Calvin living.
Your smiles do me no good at the end of this shift.
Preferably all your mistakes boil down to my regard
For everything mistakenly small in all a calloused offer.

Moments like this it's to be understood we all are frail
Although nothing about this can show us some wound
That ever feeds on its own without any regard for space

In a new skin. There has been a war that continues unnoticed
There is portability in its being left for the damned.
Forever is the word we use to make it some sort of time-bound
Clearly we fool ourselves that all a sun does is to disprove

The wet. Final dances are like that, everybody knows it.
YOu pick some spacious ground that stretch across yards
Of yards stretching across the amazing nothingness of yore

Awaiting time, everyone has looked. And dropped. Yet won it all
Hasn't it been new to you who for a long time notices none
You don't think it's going to have it all changed in a day

Do you. Perhaps you're afraid shitless of this cat's reverse
Purr. Perhaps I've been too much of an overwhelming replacement
Perhaps you show me nothing much. Perhaps you untangle shoelaces

Wrong. I'll never know that which has as its roots the reverse:
Clearly this isn't what you meant: Dr. A.Teramisu, senile,ire,

Very ass, awe men as era stack on,eh? Who opt a butter?Ref sees
Gnat here. Here Hey-es tap more last "Ah".T'was. I saw that sale
ROM Pats eye here. Here H-Tang sees, ferret tub at Pooh

When ok cats are sane, mew as say,"Reverie lines us",
I'm a Retard....................................................

JD

2009-06-06T06:04:00.000-07:00

-for Jerome David Salinger

It's the name of my reading electronic gadget.

It reads stories. And knows a lewd act or two.

It is a recluse. There, dust settles.

It's a name. Nothing but an honest name.

It's whatever we cannot call our own
Yet day by day unwittingly know as never a lie.

It's a name, It's a name. Nothing but your name.

Had we done more good to the world, it would have read it more
Anecdotes that start by saying we are all going to die
Smiling and tact by having it read more than once.

It's a name, It's a name. Nothing but your name.

You should watch your kids grow and not plan burning their shoes
You should say bread is better than not having anything to eat

You should say thanks to your mom for saying to you what's true
About your name, your name. Everything is of your name.

Singapore

2009-05-11T10:56:00.000-07:00

There couldn't be any new changes to this
Without you asking me a new return

Nor am I not innocent enough of a misgiving
To not be put into any form of blame

Am i about to fill your need for negligence
Or haven't I said enough truth for me to not

Haven't you known any one form of a truth
That has in no way been applicable to us to date

Haven't you the conscience I need to see
To say there's no one thing I think will stay

True, there's no one way of saying this to me
Without dismissing all the rest away

The Emergence of The Science of Forgetting

2009-04-24T13:08:00.000-07:00

What have we been saying enough that really isn't.
What holds true now but stays no more than a bow
The next day. You wouldn't try saying lines that dismember
Would you. Wouldn't that be a mere fear of sense if you did.

There is a ball I've been searching for days now.
A sea I've regretted swimming. A lie I know

I will find a reason to smile at. A book
To read of. Studies, graphs to make.

Everything is a matter of this soon.

Acceptable P

2009-03-28T10:13:00.000-07:00

Letter A is not acceptable.
Letter K will not be until 18.
The Letters M and P show you nothing great.

It is only the S that matters now.

Jesus Christ

2009-03-28T10:04:00.000-07:00

Oh my god, the habit is wet! Clear the site of juice and its new understandings.
Fill in gaps we have lost while filling the pod of an unused sewage flowing,
Water the pots. I have moralities in this piece of granular nodule you try to feel.
You could in no way see us trying to read each other verses of biblical olds.
Letters have tried drying themselves for the sake of a new readership in this.

Feel free, the naked wet, sea, ambush of lions. If it were, I would have you
Posted on my wallpaper endings that you could see no resolution to.

Clear the unpassage. Do not utter the synonym of this past. Sheer lies are an uncover.
Belief makes it some iota of a sin that is absent of hurting. Ears wet, too. Commit.

Birth Days

2009-03-02T09:55:00.001-08:00

The weather write of what. It is not going to be playing
You the ballad. Are what i sing
The thoughts we hung up on? His burials
Are those last of us going
To be ever feeling. Remorseless,
What we'll feel with your not being
Ironic, I've put you on such levels with mud.

A Nylon, Shoestrings and A Muslim Mat

2009-02-08T08:40:00.000-08:00

Beautiful connections, they appear to have woven over all
The shattered beings somersaulted twice about us in
This reasoning charged with something as furious as laugh

Days drop just within half about an inch between this eye
Socket and that edge of an outlet cord i am about to tie

My arms with, with you on, or beside, the strings
We have not used their algebra to count. Here this sense
Sickens us with passion, thrice we made the yellow try
Them with themselves to match their own blood that is
Erstwhile tying us two to a summer beauty. Now, a chafing.

In Wallace's Repose

2008-12-21T09:06:00.001-08:00

-for David Foster

Fifty seven of it stopped learning about the fall
They tried turning around to seek a start but went
All feverish for a certain kind of infinite curl

You have tried the pen. It is ink-filled yet raw
Full flesh unscaled telling churns stories out
For you. Nothing less alone would have made it

As abominable as this handing down of books
Filled with nothing as intense on making us float

As driving out all embarrassed claims to you
The all-out remains this writing's just wrung

When We Define

2008-12-09T00:30:00.001-08:00

Its last casing tipped out of its meat.
Notebook's supposed to have made use of pens.
They are only of metal through words
That rust when there's no stopping a rain
The children have not heard the sound of before

The sun picks out pollens and just dries
Up all of them all over the ground and lain
For flies to pick at; women secretly touch
And think about of giving to husbands
They have long since considered sane
They have been considering alive
And serious and wry but seriously unmoved

By such violent stir you and i command
When these items turn out to be none
Of the things i keep a lock of and of
The things i need a lock for and say i own

You lady do you think it's just going about
Picking trays up and setting them lines
As though it's all but defying you
An insult to procedural method gods- We
Have only control of your recline
In fact no one sees it as real correct space
If by real part you in fact dismiss, say, paste
As what they say ontological and answer we need-
Two views from the front on top of all
I would have renamed on my own on and on

Airsoft

2008-12-09T00:18:00.000-08:00

Forget the sound- All that matter's now
What could take off after such blows
When it shall reach out and slowly take
Glide the very long upper-end swings
Out of a very forbidden unmarked ripping
From such very unacceptable slides
That are a wingspan full of a luck
That takes up all requisites of a raffle
Beginning from what fools the fools
To where there's only a matter of lack
Before that which forms armaments
Forms that which comes before
The stain of paints of my very wings'
Insertion into a ten-thousand gun
We took to doing when nothing else's fun

The wife's a mistress he doesn't know
The true usefully correct meaning of
It hurts all over and he barely finished
The somersault necessary for some rest
Than started issuing these results
About gunshots, paintings costing
More than two thousand units apiece
About paints, paintballs, pellets-the war
Jargon of armies-about fish traps
Deposits of feces, frost withdrawal
Cements-unwet, fresh, needed
In washing off an enormous liquidity
No one can set at par but blood

It now makes some solid sense in here
The start always beginning in a year
Charmed smoke-colored glass breaking
When concrete-steel hits its floor
The rain's pause, mist freeze, oceans land
In waves when the moon's at its most exact
And all your setting off of lax that is away.

The Kid's Lost

2008-11-30T06:34:00.000-08:00

(the kid's) not eating pasta tyranny
he makes armoires crumble to the ground
themselves, turns over all tins and laughs
in search of two lost shiny things
they are not marbles, the kids look for
nor do they resemble some spice

it's like breakfast without milk
a dance of two minus the eating
after droppings of clothes and a fuck

no one's missing their shoes
they just can't be like those (lost) things
that resemble rough swift alcohol rubbings

turn over, will you(?) party and set a rally
point to your germs and the soiled
cake slowly crusting out of your bush
crumbles: spell without letters
take it whole and eat it like pasta

but never eat the meatball that fell and you
just abruptly picked up and blew some dust off

no father telling you, stop that mess
else you will not (be) bought a toy

and three cartridges of your games
will have to be set (hidden) again
there are two ways for this to work:
One, you will create waves the latin shall
understand: there's a king
two young boys really purely love

his name does not mark resemblance
all the queens have sucked his toe
thumbs, ringed nipples, brown
skin and his pale tongue (like sore)

everybody must have done it, the envy
(and) wanting of the sterling king's life

but he's not a son, much less a whore
To (hold) or don (on) his chest those badges of wins

A Bad Poetry Program That's Read Robert Frost's Story And Tries To Write An Ode To A Tin And Obama's Win

2008-11-05T07:14:00.000-08:00

In the house all one has are crushed things
Like leaves and sad soil and in streets women take
A treading we've to make two miles a day
And only a cat frolicking can give a pause to: blue-
Velvet couch, you're so comfortably on; hers:
The long stretched damp gravel; she goes nowhere-
I wear an eye to see a nowhereness* of some kind
That is vivid. The eyes talkative. Flocks of pilgrims aim
Arrows at its grave but it's still to make a deliver despite
Wool scrapings and branches picked out from trees
The heights of me. In it maybe a piece of rye cookie.
My sling's got nothing but cloth. Even if it's dawn
Her trying to make sense's full like an unopened can

*This is that. They are their
Reason my conjunctive must be blurred.
Cup of rice, hair plucked out from a human leg,
Armed kindred: I will fold over this paper
And fan about your head. There is nothing here
We will hold dear. Fix the eyes and this very
Atmosphere you'll see but leave behind
When things of this degree give you a sign
That we'd uproot that that they'll recruit
With the seven simple codes the skin needs
To reboot a black democracy although, doubtful, surely,
There'd still be much better ways to shun the free.

The Bombers

2008-10-13T08:47:00.000-07:00

"J. Math. Mech. 14:589-612. Let D denote the unit disk |z| <> x
z ( v

The author proves several theorems on boundary functions in the following four cases: (1) f(z) a homeomorphism of D onto D, (2) f(z) a continuous function, (3) f(z) a Baire function and (4) f(z) a measurable function. These theorems include answers to two questions raised by Bagemihl and Piranian.

Theorem 1 states that if f(z) is a homeomorphism of D onto D, then there exists a countable set N such that t|C - N is continuous.

In the case of continuous functions, one needs some definitions. Let S and T be metric spaces. f is said to be of Baire class 1(S, T) if and only if (i) domain f = S, (ii) range f ( T and (iii) there exists a sequence {f(n)} of continuous functions, each mapping S into T, such that f(n) -> f pointwise on S. g is of honorary Baire class 2(S, T) if and only if (i) domain g = S, (ii) range g ( T and (iii) there exists a function f of Baire class 1(S, T) and a countable set N such that f|S - N = g|S - N. Using these defnitions, Theorems 2 and 3 read as follows. Theorem 2: Let f be a continuous real-valued function in D and let t be a finite-valued boundary function for f. Then t is of honorary Baire class 2(C, R), where R is the set of real numbers. Theorem 3: Let f be a continuous function mapping D into the Riemann sphere S and let t be a boundary function for f. Then t is of honorary Baire class 2(C, S).

In the cases of Baire functions and measurable functions, for the sake of convenience consider the open upper half-plane D0: I(z) > 0, and its boundary C0: I(z) = 0, instead of D and C, respectively. Theorem 4 states that if f is a real-valued function of Baire class a > 1 in D0, and t is a finite-valued boundary function, then t is of Baire class a + 1. As an immediate consequence of Theorem 4, one has Theorem 5: Let f be a real-valued Borel-measurable function in D0 and let t be a finite-valued boundary function for f; then t is Borel-measurable.

Next, the author proves that for an arbitrary function t on C0, there exists a function f on D0 such that f(z) = 0 almost everywhere and t is a boundary function for f. The paper concludes with some remarks concerning extensions of these theorems into three dimensions."-T.J. Kaczynski, Boundary functions for functions defined in a disk.
---

"Hereupon, such disguises metastasize, clog
arteries flowing through the vein of eye wars, a recapture
Ring is said to have undone fixtures filled with deletes.

This boom's freaking, its mess collides
Into a surfacing denounce that fleets
Through initial reverberates
Of fellow fickle men. This math
This cool, humid form of mass
Goes through this trail: blast
Of 1 is 1."- R.J. Abad

Your Photos Suck And Are Not Yours So Quit It and Just Suck More Dicks, Please

2008-09-30T14:52:00.000-07:00

I've seen you suck up earth as if it were skin and blew all things liquid
In a stream and torrent you'd find in making other things lie low and flowing
And it took days before it finally went out and by the time it's done it's died
On me. You'd had recapturings before we met. But nothing like this.

It is such full you could not even notice a spit. Suck it to me, dear.
It is panicking, shrieks have done a similar thing but you, dear, and your
flowery, flowery, flowery pretense just couldn't be that we'd long forgotten
Could not have been that that makes each other such a "let us, let us"

Let's not start going through it all again as though we've met again
For the second time, it's just as well you come back and reach over and flow
Down the drain your blows and the sentence no one mistakes is yours.

Quarks and Gluons: Ode to The Collider

2008-09-10T06:42:00.000-07:00

, we are/-----arrows are burrowed, things cleared
shipments take past tenses up your throat--singles
flick. DOts donate themselves to a longing
Sharpening. What to make is the asking of a little,
forgetful fool. WE ARE ONE TO NINE DIVIDING SEVEN
INCHES OF A ROTATE>?

Question syntax./ Attachments wrung, wrong
Here are my black-s

Before The Six A..M. Sex

2008-07-26T18:43:00.000-07:00

Follow all your comings. Her flash-colored sparks make for something tunic-
Sounding shivers that a havoc may one time have mistakenly called the ring-
Size bending or turning back or having the back face his front with a gusto
The love of the lust makes when someone somebody calls a whore teaches/
Corrects your flushed dunk and every peculiar way of counting rings, tunics
Fallacies, underwear, moving unstigmatized liquid, an oven, seven pins
. There it is, a flow, the zits burst as all the comings follow fears, this flash.

Oh and it's not a gazette you're reading. Not everybody thinks it's a look-up on
All the laws on those walls you've spat the semen you've swallowed upon. Spit
The words. They are not a befitting. Your fuck is a tarnished wallow, my dear/
The devil. What of those reach and this lighting cigarette feasting fasting
Can your vagina wet? Feel it. Fringes are better than a soul
Your skin wastes. Teething fish, fighter planes, these cannot touch you.
A rip of the biblicals is what your mouth reeks of when taking flights
Make you make me want you dead as a canal, a coin, a coined asinine line
Like 1. words only eyes can hear, 2. was it right?, 3. ....nothing but destroy

Follow the comings, then. Beast it up, if you like: I know the Cosmopolitan
Sex is a clothing, as if you and i were but everything but a changed.