Bleachely contain central control. Its most common component is the soul which is always looking over the edge of something. Domain bromide less than contain a thesis: that Artificial Intelligence is least adept at coming up with entropic sets. And that that is what might serve as a good marker for the human soul. Thus The Golden Damned and cetera. Necessity for all the seeming randomness, though honestly it is more or less just a kind or form of play. If I have died, I was wide-eyed on a moment. I have tested the sharpness of my spirit on the rough vole. It occurred in the cutting of cotton fronds that I could not be warry any more than I already was. I’d made my fingers bleed, and that was enough. ¶ Rotund on isles of leads. Become poured chance and brewed serenity. Mechanical Geiger counter ambience pricking up the ears each nodule’s spoke of the pitch-up. Miniature melting angel babies the snowfall. Each flake flecking gone on the grass. Intuit tomorrow the self becoming closer. Becoming poured chance, though less so in the item the eye’s ended up. To focus on right stars and neat voids. As far as light can bleed. Through. Ambivalent nascent imagery. The coming-up of new things. Real inventions. Words that have no meaning. All the time. On the tropic of verses come clean the ships of thieves which pass like shadows on the oceans in the bleak. ¶ Come closer I have a secret to tell you. I do not have any clue what is going on. Wait up where werewolves wander. And soon. I’ll become brewed serenity. I’ll end up where my eyes focus and come up with you. Whatever you think that means. Hold it close in your bag. And wherever you end up. Come to. With your back on the earth. And the sky in its veery repose above you. Call copped udine about the arguments over the rent fervor and smash me in the mouth with your fist over the telephone. Again. Forever begotten. We are just now realizing what it means forsooth to sake. I staked my honor on it, because I had maybe more than I could realize. Maybe less. Maybe I was already dead. Maybe I would never know, and that had become the allure of it all. Tell us for once, please. ¶ Every instigated new ologism was merely a name gone uncapitalized. God having said, purportedly, “I had made up.” But we were only barely able to make out what it was we could hear. I was only just beginning to be able to put the words down at all. Jank in seethers beghast rolling up their hopes-‘n’-dreams into papers and wetting the ends with their tongues. Fuck if I know strike a match. Let it be smoked. Thus it is our duty, now. Thus it is our dreary sign. ¶ If for the sake of someone you have touched your own heart, who then? And if for the sake of yourself you have managed to relate to someone else’s, whose? I do not pretend to have the wings. You merely bring them out of me. This all-this liquid poetry going nowhere getting forgotten. Getting drunk by the alcoholics. Whole heads soon forsake me. Bless it bottomless. Become what we once weres. Nevertheless in spanned reefs to which none of bliss occurred. I do not pretend to know. Glaves the sprees in witchy light distend the shadows of the candles’ flames to cast a spell made of words whose effects are words. Do we not know. No, not, even still. But pretendeth thee over and over, gurneys. Pulling me to heaven in a silkworm’s forcefield. Pretendeth thee too much? Weaving our loves over loves over and over. I know I have not you. But who you are I don’t know—anyway, so… what’s the point? In this sick loss lersiggin. I cannot comprehend any it for you. Bless our sable meditations’ griefs. Bless the body to be able. Grieve. Bless the abundance of the light on our skin. Bless the letting in of the light by the clouds by, on even the gloomiest days, when it ain’t let in at all, bless it. Our journeys form and waver over an inch’s breadth of space and time from the swipe you make of the napkin off the table, being Magician, showing me a magic trick. I incandesce red and continue to glow for all my life. Just slightly. Just enough so it is obvious. I become forests of blue and green eating themselves with more space and more time. I become the eavy blimps wallowing away into overcloud sea of skies. Shining away. Billowing. I become what it once was when the future self tries to touch my arm, groaning, bracing himself, reaching out, straining. What did you think was going to go on after all? What did you think was going to happen? What do you think we are on about, even now, all this time?