LIVING CODE
Wending hollow morphed sets sought to be a symbol. When symbols are how man speaks to himself and learns to understand who he is. De la ca trinidad un ruin le spar. Heavy sets of glyph structures going kathunk! in the night of the soul, long and dark, and getting registered to the blessed mind as a living code. White-out moments invariably snatched away by the sense something is right or wrong on the node. You in the instant you must speak know exactly what you want to say, and that is what you should say, I find. ¶ Crumbling texts of the longnis spree fair the boon well and satiate the hind mind, where formations weep. Cold trembling hands for once despair the night slanting inward over the soul’s personal bubble where the self sleeps. Deep intricate puzzles in the slough-rind in the mind you call dreams. Nowheres to be going but let up and the self is already changing all the time. Or at least the world is. Fend for a wanting may, do not despair, lean into me. Craft for a plundered why a wanting for a manuscript that depicts all the parts you’ve deleted as well. Then for calls or else from your mother which make your heart well a little, smile go back to dreams. Life’s too short to be missing everything that happens like a perfect solemn while, where whims breathe. Never desceath nend prouster largess. Tumult a while whole brilliant Ninevahs baking in the sun while a stode-past pulls rendiant endrils into the scene and swaying softly like skates underwater for tiller mulls a hundred half-past-anyways and non-forgotten shindrel hindths blubbering upward brilliant nonsense allthewhile not known indicators seethe over hundreds of glacked brutes in travail. Cameos of actors from lesser-known films for the scene. Tea tricks ongoing in the sponner to dinner because Lassey and Agent Entrance are having a meal at the bygone table which moves with them as they talk inside the blue-tinted forest a while. Sipping nakedly, Agent Entrance says, “But when swy gall predicts undiant smathers be, what’d you say?” Lassey barks. AE says, “Recisepley.” Put into different ways, not all not-actuals slammed upside the bedding make war. Agent Entrance is beautiful and a semblance of the Anima. As Jung would postulate. But she is more a symbol than anything. And leftover home-brewed coffee sits on the table all day getting cold because Lassey doesn’t want to drink. Moving through the forest. The top of the table reflecting the canopy tinted blue moving across its surface. Visual fields impeded by monkeyvines acting as momentary bookmarks for the passersway living and unaware this was all their life all along. The grant action on the small void cathedral one. Temperate in trusted wark never the let the thimble fill drinking blue punch spiked with love stuff all along, never the same twine. Over fully anvilled cartoon establishments the creeping feeling there is still enough time—before the end of a dream, or the end of a sensation: enough time before the end of time. There were cool embarks on the sabled wine stalk getting talked at by this constantly really cold water really very cold, now, hurting your feet even just stepping in it, really very cold. Despite what it knows, not. Very much the one of the very knows. So blind despot points out the way to the embered end of the cigarette God smokes, and doesn’t know—he doesn’t know—what it must mean to pet the butterfly symbol his life is on the line for. But sends off the long haul for forever and tries to undertow…. ¶ Nesting us night light in the trenches the foreseen four-havered forever toured no known talking about “forever” as if it is a thing that can be understood, even while dust bunnies attempt to contemplate the rest of dese pert fining and indigenous mud soothed. Tales of prouder times regailed for treatise for the song for layered oont. Grailed fortunes of never denial tooth smacking down on a too-hard sedimentary particle if it's known it’s never known per se, never sound only a crushing blow. But where were thalls not in destray a fumed indigent angry spool of yore forgave itself its stumbles and rallied all. Then for where our tangled pall were crying seawater over the earth’s wake and surface says any mare is haul. Trepidatious figments of the room to waltz. Frequenting tell-army signs on the grist to null for wherever the spark went. The same little vocabulary mostly only getting mildly reordered and faxed out to the outer brain where the fingers’ synaptic signals get received and nerve junctions reimburse. The way portered hulls divide in crashing side-to-side are life are life. Engrained in our subtle Escher’s claw, divined in awe, we find we find a little more space repeating loops outside of time. And the engine always flattening out revives the mind alive alive. For to where our hearts dismay the old recumbent spine. Ordering the actuary out of sight out of mind every time. Training truthfully the acid waltz and craving glaze of eyes and driving through too much fallow haze and walking upright and all and despairing over less and less until the enlightened mind meets the elucidating gaze and stay and finds all parts of itself rumbled and tried and grossly humored for two for where we all were fined our livery souls for the path we’d have to walk down to get wherever it was we wanted to get to go home to be above the bottomless out-down trying to sell gold to nothing trying not to fold. Sibilance in the engine, now, getting flattened out forever wind-wound and pining oblation. Feverish mallets striking down then forever lifting up, unknown, amulet-chorious andrethars ankling the cold-cold water, too, feeling discomfort pass quickly into pain. Where on the river bed how is this the same story I’ve told before, oh no. I must’ve forgotten for a moment, like a dream, what I’d said—anyhow nothing is frozen too long. But where wraths find our legs lace in sequence with the divining rod. Hep-hep the underwater sting to light the way and get to shore again, yes, or the bank, not for too long.