i will be in there perhaps, rest, rest on the side, the side of things, i will rest, i
will take the chair up to the 7th fl, look at the jack of spades, is it good, is it not,
the genaeology of morality must be eviscerated, hatred for the self, pushing on despite
the finger pain, the wool gloves, the scarfs coming on around me, looking at the nails,
what has been eviscerated, it has been the comedy, the sad dog politician,, the
girlfriends and husbands and wives celebrating their 30th birthday, "golly", saying
always the wrong thing, the repetitive thing, the shame and the pity, eviscerating all
morality, the text drooling in its scope down, the symbols mapping back, going through
the sieve, staring down, the power coming through the base of my neck, why should she
bother, zip goes the handbag, and what where do you go to now on the sinusoidal curve,
take a lil taste, a lil taste of the magic, hair strung to the side, never repetitive,
the only thing worth hating is the words, chilly in a poorly heated house, you watch the
bums come indoors, the soccer players making it with their own heat in their own way,
typing but what are they saying. you thought you were on top of a great line of being, a
great chain, but even then that is incredible if you have your headphones and hat on, the
skully, what is his problem, it's that he reminds me of someone else, somewhere else.

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