No-One Knows I'm Really A Small Bottle Of Light Green Chalk

My electronic baby whispers to me now, but like the carers in my memory, I care too little to respond. My apathy for the baby is a positive though (to myself) although the one in the past(s) of stagnant movement hurts but I can’t help it. I don’t want to ( Read more... )

Golden stars at the back of the throat conduct the poetry he writes from the lungs, the petrol left in the tank.
This, Christina answers.

A question. Many have asked it before, we ask it in pisstake, but as I ask myself in the same motion as I would remind myself of my instrument I begin to wonder seriously now, ‘pardons incorrect beside the earth?’ then in the motion of labelling myself a pretentious moron, I label myself either a joke or an arrogant idiot, depending on how ( Read more... )

my electronic baby screaches once more and repeats, it is a surprise, but a good one. the electronic snowdropper has damaged me again, this time for worse and the after-effect of tapped silver in a box makes this like the old feeling of night time ( Read more... )

The electronic baby lays dormant now, the blonde-haired girl of the beautiful river is preoccupied with her own hidden predicament. Another infant lays still in my brain, whilst carers have their days of green and brown in constant succession. More than a week and less than a month has passed, 2 sat staring at the future subject of Nasal Sodomy, ( Read more... )

The electronic baby on the wall screeches ( Read more... )

the great metal worm lurched forward and the mindless swore and the childish laughed ( Read more... )

The serpent writhed before the feathered god ( Read more... )

that (sad) little boy smiled... although he was (not) happy, he had found peace (like a river) and that was enough for the time (being ( Read more... )

can anybody remember where he is ( Read more... )