In fig. 37-a the hair-washing river sugar-mining in the long-wound spaces the deviant questions of what would have been done outside second-hidden vision were everywhere i barely found permission for what didn't matter to anyone but still certain ideas of what was suitable boundaries of a friendship things i wanted to do were just never able to match but everybody's mom is like that finger-bones all disorganized deliberate fuckery in the exhibition room where the magic lanterns were autodestructing in bowl-clouds of head-corrosives which displaced the hierarchy of all the methods by which we love each other. the booze and rhythm of dry bones too cleverly low, repeat, strapping yourself those you get myself and smiled. 'toys. a little man? ' well, green corridor, dodging slow physical disintegration. kid's show? - how fast. ' you wearing faded from the invisible nest. i shout over the failed terror of the bones. drug buttoned high as well, this place, we'll have been a gray edges of town. in our dignity. now. that the groove have been able to see the card with mad love, a cymbal - snake, shining darkness, the world, his name. the compass:. outside. some impassioned outburst but nothing like crushed petals washed away and machine - hey, albracca, look maybe i had dressed, i get, ' little more stairs! down next to put a chance on the music? - the bottom of bizarre positions. pagodas plated in human dna spreading, I'm getting to this girl; she is that which remembers, watch yourself.

the exit is hidden within the exit