it’s usually the thing dismissed that is the most valuable—the extra push that becomes the salve—the fiber not mere accessory, epilogue not incidental; the added-on takes on its own life, redeems the main, as probability stands; the escaped steam lets us know the water’s ready for tea or thermidor. the revelatory slip that lets peek at iceberg’s bulk, forbidden lingerie; the borderline, backhanded double entendre being the true interpretive stuff of life; the trinket passed down in passing to assume a role (assigned passion). this is pornography, voyeurism of the neurons. a triumph for the unsung nitpicky, the collectors, the completists, excluded curators.
three squares, like the goldilocks lay; laid on a gilded plate; day broken in thirds because the body, unmirrored in odd pairs, makes no mean-cut meridians; a trio of belly-fires like porcine houses built and tried—circadian songs inside will cast a preference for one partaking over another. this is a recession, after all; and while in fiscally fatter times the motto may’ve been, never have fidelity in a thin chef, today it’s all about someone who can cook the books without eating the inventory—and so i fear my tongue is tied once more, or fit-to-be. a certain amount of toxin usually gets us getting at our more pure selves, so the ancients gave us a present to keep us out of the competition and off their mountain. we’re down here blinded by own reflection and pointing at each other’s divergent metabolic profiles (casual extrapolation of manifestations of nucleic acids).
the only transformation is when something’s at work beneath the mechanics. precision isn’t natural. incognito impromptu, making the original superfluous when the revision is superlative.
and me: i was one of these odd cogs too, odd cognitions—a misappropriated prophylactic and i got implanted, an ontological jest. (can it be creation if there is no intention? is that intention ‘god’?) ease up and calm down, tuck it in and chill out. there is always a second thought, and the sequentiality is the sticking point, the criteria others want to check. overthinking’s not what’s led to my withdrawal—hardly—it was your undersaying (understatement). words inside to supplement negative words outside. some days it’s, let me know when i can live, when i’m not totally peripheral. i had something, possessed something, but was clotheslined from a defecit of consideration. grace left to the last minute is a hoax. don’t tell me how i’m doing a disservice. i have an ire and inkling of my shortcomings, and age informs that that’s not the essence of intelligence (though like an affiliated molecule, it has something to do with it).
if you’re asking how can we get in touch with you? you’ve already missed the boat. nature does not need laws because what is illegal will die. men are comparatively milder, but don’t boast too much more mercy. fear of the new is absurd—i value my fear more highly, for i fear commitment—i can tell how the chain will chafe now just from looking at it. vision educates as to what type of prison would be good for me, and it’s never the detention i want.
certain ecstasies against the law on this grounded place, and the exclusivity of the after- is assured (closed club, but decorum violations verify the curtain is in front of something). taboo transcendences, and we are trained for civilization, yipee.