and ya know who we are. got any bread, man.
yes, rather creepy, as it was closer to halloween than christmas
that i heard wails on.

i bought gloria review, too, hook, line, and sink her, but wilt steel likely
go see the film, as i make it a point to regularly go see stuff with which i
expect to disagree. however, i declined to see _powder_ for much the same
reasons. as "you", that is. these are our choices. ha.

and yes, a very softporn term it is. as is most things political, wordwise.
the situationists were right about one thing: he who controls the streets.
it's just that they were itching to go home for summer vacation.

as far as curtailing, isay, keep it where i can see it, so i will know what
evil lurks. it's not a situation of what one cannot see doesn't exist. one
needn't romanticize nazis, anymore than poking fun at aryan nations promotes
anything other than reciprocal ill will. it is more than enough to -document-,
dispassionately, the scenikos for oneself.

censor oneself.
i want a bumpersticker. hpk is bent.
i have options. my choices are limited. my senses are excessive.

nana's was the finest appearance of dining of my apparent life.
the boss paid but i felt guilty nonetheless.
-she doesn't have much money.-
no one ever treated me so good for my sake.

i knew that, i just forgot.

everything is dancing about architecture.
i'm not such a hot dancer.
about all i can tell you is summin really knows how to deglaze a pan.
everything is yo mama, too, mutha.

you know you're a scenester when the mayor stands at your table, holding
a basket and tongs, and says, "you puppies want some more bread?"

i would gather to blather. play cards. whatever. geriatric night at henry's.
or not. anyway, one has -balls- enough to read faux poetry on the air.
where are the old women? shall we wear purple, too, to tell fall tables.

what is art? it is better to remain silent than to answer.
only police ask this question and one has no rights. three ways.
anyway, to not dance about architecture, this is something one
might not do only for one self.

for one's sake.

the problem with pc is that some have apprehended there is no correctness.
the usual leap of faith from there is to then declare all the incorrectnesses
as valid. where they get this shit, except wishful thinking, desire fueling
demand, idunno. peeps will just about anything. peeps will chortle over just
about anything. humor is vile.

everything is faux and evil through and through.
we ignore this coz when it seems useful or flatters us.
we call this survival.
it is unnecessary and slightly tolerated.

mel brooks made a feel good film about hitler.

modern poetry is a feel good film about hitler, stalin, jefferson, and pol pot.

i'm talking about what art is, here, you see. how rude.
woody allen says viva la france. color by l'oreal.

the leaning female remains.
everything is a tortoise and lamp.
sitting in a library,
smelling up the place,
i'm a slow reader.
we cannot stand while sitting.
they can.
this is another fable.

the table is futile and excessive.
no one has the authority to do anything.

art/politics. beauty/suffering.
serotonin presence/absense.
metaphysics of neurasthesia.

what was i saying, food? grain goddess. artpolitical fold.
i've never used that or the other word before but it's all about servings.
started out with a few calloreads but picked up a few more along the way.

what was i fool saying?
i'm sorry. i'm feeling so good. i forgot.
i'm getting old. give me another shot of dopamine.
everytime i remember something i get mad.
is there an up with that?

you think i want your congratulations on something?
try this: 350 kloc, 0 pr.
all this for demand
fueled by my desire
to -show her da money-.
one can spell, do grammar, on demand.
dog and pony show.

doing something: metaphysics of testosterone.

problems stated is more than a problem of the left.
it's a condition the left attempts to ignore.

be chivalrous, save a woman from art today.
if you can. go ahead and try.
one cannot even save oneself.

i would read every word of arendt but she's too close to da man.

one would forget all stimuli to imagine
a metaphysics of the body
to write on, as though a table.

also, i ask if one thing is another. that's my fault.
i ask because i hear a truth inserted.
-just- because not x and not y, not z either.
everything is faux.

what of the metaphysics of faux?
faux is faux.
lemme know when you find the real decoy.
more sake please. i'm waiting.

i'm on the wagon again.
i failed to see the demand.
the desire just wasn't in me.

i'm amazed at how reporters might misquote,
young folks who can't even remember automatic conversations,
maybe embellish to fit their concepts,
and yet we expect real issues.

expectorate real issues.
if things are so easy, where is my will?
ejackt metaphysics of potency.
a good dinner always does.
a parent, "i" can be bought.
everything has it's price.

faux has its price.
your will pay. your like.

the word is translated: "clinging".
a word in it's place.
loving the supplement.

the man's man says wait awhile, it'll come back,
play around with it, look back, re-examine dead men.

one more exhumation,
gather the men round the stirrups, eh? cole?,
to peer into the void again,
looking up the birth canal of we
who will always already have been dead,
kinda like one more thesis,
and it'll all work out, he says.

quit playing around and look back farther.
remember, dammit.
remember what you cannot remember
or die trying as you -will-. three ways.

here's a problem for the left:
until you deconstruct eating well,
you will not move outta chapel hill.

revwest, the problem with the homeless,
got any breadman, he say,
is they dont -cotton- to fasting,
go take a stand in the bread line.

the problem is "we" at home dont cotton to fasting, brother.
we wont get "beyond", or rather, out back, ground, from behind, the table,
until we see that it isn't; and that the bbq we bring home to put on it,
we dont need it.

we
dont
need
its.

bred to wait.
mississippi mud.
eat dirt, motherfuckers.
calling all motherfuckers.

art appears for woman as "we" make art product out of woman.
we make art product out of woman for our enjoyment of art.
we feel desire for, create demand, for art, make for each of us other,
as we've been working so hard, wanna water break.
she says she loves you but it's what you do to see her.
working so hard, as we control the production of art.
control the production as women stopped producing
when they were made into product.
civilization constructed as a nest.

"we" won't discuss the making of them into product,
that co-option is for "them" to deconstruct.
"we" should be silent on that -account-.

except, i might airtewsay, sure seems sofarlike
they wanna relive neitzcshe's life.
simian cyborgs reclaiming the slave apparatus set to worship them.
ok, nuff that misogyny.

calling all motherfuckers,
here's a march away from order
eat mud without a home in the streets.
manish dead not girly.

waiteraltl long her.
prep hair the whey.
make mush,
room for tables.
we will all sit down
and break -bread- once for all.

3.2.3