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and to the endless muses i profess the word of god, but not in jest, and not to challenge or posess the practiced privlege of a guest and to pardon the peniless sad bastards of the tests, for we are all failues of our own posession, take off your hat and plead detestment but not for humility's sake, the snake of faith will strangle the unworthy but to show the path, ensnared at last the visions of a slurtlead black and sparros languished lumbered laughs, to rejoyce alone is still the summer of our thinking, over and over, until the elders wonder ever after we were children.
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change me and delight, my wondered deity in sight at last
provide me the enlighted gave from which to cool in shadow
and sulk in summit razed and reigned, the feudal years were belt
belt and belt out belt and belt out and belt
on my back from the slack of my father
a shit sad sack to spear the past and make me maddend babble
you are a man you are my mother
you are the change you are the wonder
you are what i have built my whole life thinking
who has come before
whopping underscores
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a man was walking in the woods alone with no one but the trees to gloat and guide him on his way, he wasn't a stranger to this place--he past stagnant water and broken glass, the shards of sharp sin's warning: it is holy here, it is clear. the man looked around to see the ground was all a wreck, it was his mess, and he sought to clean this place. to sanctify the wooded lands, and linger where the wisdom stands to wonder. to wonder times of longer times to pass by quiet places where the water flows, to wonder what he could not know. but the man looked out from a higher place down on the forest floor and wondered where to settle.
and could never save them from his hands, the trees beneath him wept, "we are but never far enough from you to grow the ages of our times, to weep in hindsight end the bible" man interrupted nature first phonetically.
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I don't know where to begin or how even to describe the past week in my life as it passed through my eyelids, sleepwalking through a daydream. I met the people past the point of pleasure, tripping on their internal headache shocked that anyone was listening. I paid my debt to the times I laid awake at night depressed and now am level headed like a steady rhythm building.... It is so very hard to read or think and there's no medicine to say I'm sorry. There are no words for the things I think I've done, I feel so guilty for this truth.
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I am far too sorry to say that I have every wronged done, I am not a bastard's son and I would love to start over again. The cadence of the words I thought stung so far in to my soul that I could never think again. I am an indifferent plasma on some field of energy somewhere and I refuse to be silent, but I am afraid to speak any more. I wish that I could send you a brain wave to let me know that you can feel the same, I regret the words I said but I thought about it in the hospital for a week and I am still sorry. I feel like I've betrayed you, I feel like I am lame. I am sorry. So very sorry for the way I have behaved.
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try to understand yourself completely, indefinitely
you misunderstand: can you vandalize the idea of yourself so entirely as to see the full picture
the one without yourself in it
it became a game of numbers or a game of words
you choose to play either side, one can only win in the end... the words warn of the singularity of numbers
all to one, eventually the sum of everything can be no greater than all-one
my mind was not ready to understand
I went insane--how can I describe it?
if you're listening you remember the words I can no longer find,
though I swore I wrote them there.
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released October 31, 1902
