Tonight, I will go to sleep and dream a dream, I know. I only hope I can remember some parts of it when I wake. I only hope I can carry forth the dream the dream the dream, the know the late whodunnit who knows. You cannot portend to tell pretendering slender felled who’s-its-what’s-it. I know not where we all go. After this life or for what’s to tell what’s next, ah. I become splendor dreams, somewhere somehow. Someway you gotta get happy, somehow. And then when entry permits I may step yes to step yes per dream a way down a way up between the levels, who knows it. Ivory wings they slank away. I watched them go out of the -sphere. Watched tumult bring us all this way down. Bruises’ inky planets defending nothing from itself, at last, pretending nothing lasts. While all the ways away from it nothing festers outward forever and the leant-in collapsables split splintered down their edges into each other. I know not what the call is or how I feel brought this all about. I know only disfigured thoughts the mind for vibrating legs I watched the earth below me quake while it was still. Spun in and out the elderly visions of ancestors’ dreamy nonthings. Delacade Decaresse. Haughty blowfloats towering high the visages of cartoon evils. Postmodern men with briefcases made of pumice. Drifting in and out of elderly thoughts, their ancestors reviled, and I akin to all of them. Saying NAY! to the must-go-back-and-editness of it all, wherefore I replaced “some” with “all.” Trays of food you can’t eat brought for the olfactories to sense and the brain to cry. I cannot tell you the living things. Falling away from everything into where the way nothing makes sense makes sense. Blot the light away. Tender poor is iron, but porous ionic bends in space and time the real the rift beneath is key. Wait and watch as the mind unfolds its own necessary veils and wears them to see itself in the reflections its image makes on the reflective things. Surfaces it can’t see the entirety of but from which it can get a sense. Because of the veil. ¶ I’m telling you the truth, now. How did it become this way? I was once a child. I was once a child with a pair of wide eyes untouched by all the chaos. But then, was I? ¶ Why can’t you speak to me? Holding onto Theron’s root, I know, there were many buses to take to the place we became friendly. I know. But then of course what was the avid gale?
Not to care in wet cement. There are flights we could take. Now, your plane is boarding. Watchout.
In line linger. There are setups we don’t have time to. But which are. If it’s ever.
Progress of some sort, somewhere, to be made in what regard as to what effect, who’s to say. But to something’s effect. Big fish in sin. Low fly, but we turned the radio off. And to great effect. Ratitude escape. For better or worse. Into hello-bean buoyant. Low comma log in the water still described in the sun. Did you well know? Frost and karma have our heads. Rillo halters but not all can be said today. Whose dreams lie in wait I was a burning expanse. On the river Thames. Well under blue gone well under gray sky. I bought John Updike’s Rabbit Angstrom Tetralogy an hour ago, and am excited to bask in the prose. It is the Knopf Everyman’s Library Edition. Ought to be pretty good. I know something good must be bound to come. If I give it enough effort for enough time. I hope. Earlier today, talking to [Redacted], I mentioned about the possibility that I should be hopeful, and I said, “and hope has not abandoned me. Hopefully.” Rows in stride to rend the day. Up and down and round and round. Nothing but the best to say. Something’s true and something’s found. Love, avatar—of my soul. Black as tar. Has a way of seeing green. All you know is what you think you mean. Lesser the heaven, her buckling legs. Are giving on out and I’m out of my head. Altogether now, every man. Up all the hills and over the land. Way distant crosses falling into the water. How can I tell you and how can I know? Nothing is wrong and there’s nowhere to go. How can you move such a way through space? Every last billow, my heart’s arace. ¶ Kent and calm and clean, dot nets warped out before I had the time to taste what was going on with my character. I was the man in the pulley’s section not moving any levers, waiting for my time to come. But the spotlight struck me on the face, and I wondered, what was this? I was no longer drunken homebound heathens forever lost. I was no longer nowhere no one forever in his own way. Dry as high and a high busted high-falutin nobody with three names and none of them connected. The body a dry desiccated balloon flying round losing helium. I was a cold saw with no energy rusted over dull-bladed soft in the water like the log low described in the sunlight. I was a crossed light-sailed airship that never landed but often became smitten with the world in a rather dreary way. Hey now, dose knots you tied won’t get you safely down, rappelling. I was gone on something or other and moving through the world as though the fallen branches and leaves were minute works of art repeated infinitely I was deliberately stepping around. I saw the beauty in everything, and it was wonderful. I am not so certain I was changed for all too long, though. Now I list on the ragged edges of my fear’s frame and wonder where the light went. Now I await the cultivation of time to become more of time spent. Now and do you wonder? Do you wonder who you are, sometimes? Grace-lifted energies. De-energized banks. Toils and rolls and come-to-fores. Tress but tuft a rug.