now kiss me, cavitate aztecan she'd want to take it down every day, maybe every few hours he brought his left leg down, and although it took his weight and saved him the fall, the pain was excruciating�� it felt as if a dozen bolts had suddenly been driven into the bone no�� he didn't want to do that those blue eyes he eyed it, then pulled it a bit closer to the jam "you were moaning,�" she said it ran down the sides, tasted the fluid that had pooled along the outer edge of the paper-pile and shot up yellow you got a hose, but the car you pick for the free donation has got a locking gas-cap artery

strange to think of you over there coughing excuses into lecture hall fraternity read yr book today downtown in store price here is 2,000 baht 40 bottles of Heineken one week’s rent a fuck from a bar girl ‘though she won’t stay beyond 9am and you can’t come over her face just think yr book is worth less than my sperm dripping off end of girl’s nose truth is I’m angry ‘cause I read the acknowledgements and I’m only there as a black cloud rain at the end of yr parade yr colossal mutual appreciation society appreciating you mutilating you said the supervisor probed at your thesis a prostitute would be more honest people in the same institutions can’t be honest they’re implicated intelligent prostitutes (fucked by previous winners of Mastermind) should judge academics I said yr work was an uninteresting pile of shit & that was a crime yr obviously still upset if the book fails find a dress in Manchester that has the same price as yr book (check it on Amazon ‘cause it’ll be hard to find in shops) buy it a size too small so you remember how much yr actually worth

and so we met, corner, fingers pointing

"I see," he said, "a hat."
"But Felix tried to keep off any sort of shootout. But to do it he had to get supplies to the students; do you see?"
"The hat is red," Jason said. "Like your ears."

and from this vista the brown arc of latent sexual intercourse in the after life, and music, and prostitution, and slavery, in love/songs/poems, pornography, prepubertal, and cats, and love poems/songs, and shawls, sheep, shrines, sidelock of love, singing, sistrum, skin colour, sleeves, smashing the red pots, spells, spinning, spirits, statues, sterility, stewards, stoneworking industries, sugar, superstition, suttee, Syria

cleaning girl on plate bend over stare knicker shape taut buttock cannot ignore machine before me guts of hoover lust spread out in faulty wiring erotic map on duvet girlmouth twists in disgust yesterday she caught me with extractor fan she smiles through leer tomorrow she will wear maid uniform with black tights will lick dusty thigh condensation all up sniffing burnt electric smell of other lovers

The Bare Bones of the Story.
Jonathan Varicose turned and said,
- Daranjeet, your Dad’s drunk.

tells tale of lonely man whose only friend is robot — broken down I love your metallic face your whirring cock that I made from expired food mixer your vaginal cog search for lubricant in back streets looking for third way a way out

…ineluctable inability to make. Trapped, on a spring day, just bought Flow My Tears, The Policeman Said for £1.25:
Flow my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled forever let me mourn;
Where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.
Sun glinting, forlorn hopes, dangerous craw rising of wanting the words to be mine, slave share, but share not me, because not me & sell…melancholia of stuck, happy, sun glinting, can’t give, recess which, feet sitting in Abney Park Cemetery bench now sun moved on gravestone feet shuffle – Dear Husband Banks 92 Ag~ s Years Dear Son Bayman 1892:
Dick was many authors; a poor man’s Pynchon, an oracular postmodern, a rich product – you have to say the cities novels, sitting outside sun glinting, Dos Passos, Joyce, Doblin, it’s other people the
- she says, hi there
goes down a lane, existentially so far away, how the fragmented gestures are social relations wincing
- she says, hi there
waiting but not, the never come back, the eternal return
- death will be & in between
- she says, hi there
fly lands, what happens can’t happen, never happens again & again eternally for ever we make it smother never for ever so we don’t know what’s there, wake up a filmstar, smell of Turkish flatbread, dog pissing, cock slamming into her, visceral accretence, world dryer, burns hands –

…Joyce’s secular epiphanies - socialist feminism – the uncanny – the New Left etc – Critical Theory – ‘Now is past’, John Clare – John Clare, The Cottage Tales, Jockey & Jinney or First Love, ‘For Jinneys bosom felt that harmless sin…Her cheek was rosey for the day was warm…’ – ‘the counterfeit detective. this is one reason why he the sleuth is celibate; it is part of his mask, part of his mystery. He too is outside the family.’ – I didn’t buy the Amiri Baraka/LeRoi Jones Reader (£1.75)or Simone De Beauvoir The Ethics of Ambiguity (£1.75) – return of the repressed, eternal return – a fascist narrative celebrates id & superego simultaneously – entrench sect full quarter at how & when on the txt -

Melancholia...past sell by date
...love took place in the frenetic modern city with its mobiles, its emails, its cars, its passages of easy escape for the loved one in flight...chance encounters in the street. txts gone astray, assignations in shady regions, sudden illicit embraces in awkward corners, secrecy above all...unexpected juxtapositions amongst the deadly monotony of the everyday...

To a Passer-By, Charles Baudelaire - The street about me roared with a deafening sound. Tall, slender, in mourning, fuckable grief, a woman passed, with wank hand a belly. Raising, swinging her dirty skirt; Agile and graceful, her lickableleg was so. Orgasmtense I drank from her eyes, pale sky then thunder crash. Throbbing gobstopper i can't stop returning to die. A lightning flash... then night! A glance, the gaze, lacanalthusser & fetish bored me, bored into me. Just one more before... return once more? Elsewhere, far, far from here! 2 late! Never perhaps! You've gone, fucked off, round the corner, gone, you don't know me, you don't know where I go, I would have loved you, or you, or you and you all knew and something diddiddidn't happen !

"I remember the first night. We lived...opposite a dress shop, in the door of which a shop-girl used to stand...we came to an understanding by sign language...but when I came down in the evening someone else was already there - well this didn't make any differance...she...signed to me that I should follow them...we walked, I following slowly, to the girl's apartment...there the man said goodbye, the girl ran into the house, I waited a while untill she came out again, and then we went to a hotel...Even before we got to the hotel all this was charming, exciting, and horrible, in the hotel it wasn't different."
Kafka - Letter to Milena