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manages robotically controlled beyond my control it is forced on me by the biology talking about somebody’s words two kinds of good behavior principles because I like it motivated by my emotions understanding the mechanics a tiny pair of sunglasses and a little hair clip something inside her was blossoming her smile said fuck me a delayed adolescence sipping on grape soda and being envious of the others I might end up left behind forgotten a piece a trash blowing in the wind tell me when I stop making sense excuse me am I supposed to be at your beckon call going through the ups and downs seeing as a defection being a deserter betraying humanity for a crummy cause most people live fictional lives inside their heads there are the things they do to survive and then there is the fantasy world that they build up in their head how is your fantasy world running today have you made yourself someone’s savior have you crushed the symbolic representation of evil left to drift in outer space losing oneself to the world of external forces after all this do not hate me do not regret that you were born that you became what you are rip out your pure heart show me the purity I have read about it when I was in school I thought the pure were the figment of an overactive imagination they were created for the movies or something a mad scientist cooked them up in his special ultra secret laboratory west berlin gallery district she tells me about sex with her husband how he begs her for more but she can’t give him what she wants she holds back and she wonders why I record everything on a vintage tape cassette recorder using old technology make me feel more analog than digital I like to feel analog especially conducting research with desperate housewives now when I’m studying fish wives I go purely digital the digital recording go more better with the fish scales and the tentacles are not bothered by the electronic hum of the bridge they have stringed Christmas lights across it and the enemy tries to blow it up every night I did find a silver pentagram buried deep in one of your cardboard boxes that you left in the basement it had some strange substance that I washed off with some warm water and soap I hope I didn’t diminish its powers they say welcome back and one more thing scratching their boobs with wooden spoons ten to twelve of them absolutely think about that verbal signification at some point verbal fragments sitting in a boot full time for better and for worse align your stars to the coordinates a verbally constructed modern world what about the old world the old reality are they less significant because of their oldness it new always better what is better how do we know that better is better isn’t it all just arbitrary labels that we place randomly upon things profound pain rage and lust for destruction already thinking the thoughts they are inside you and come out of you at strange intervals unpredictable even demonic thoughts that seem unfamiliar in the light of examination there is an understanding and a pleasure that coexists in your world this world that you have created your own special world your objects form the world your world and not mine my objects form my world our imaginary world must have something in common with the real world there is some thread rather real or unreal that connects the two worlds of reality and make believe we make to ourselves pictures of facts you string them along behind you like a trail of shrunken heads she was