Diary: Sex and Heard Voices
Maybe my dislike for the rich came from a childhood where the well off not only equated poverty with stupidity but such a view heavy with liberty let escape racist slurs. Put together there is a mixture noxious enough for most people.
The slights and revealed truths of what was on their mind presented an easy enough mould to catch future quips and mercury.
This reasoning I see valid to this day means the child who framed wealthy hubris is still present at moments of evaluation and critique.
I haven't been laid for I don't how long. I just got fucked tonight. They were a very friendly and artsy person. They disclosed a love of cinematic New Wave and global art music.
In their attention to me she helped me catch my breath and mined for conversation. I let them know the physiology of the come-down. I started hearing voices but only described their quality and not content. Some young passion milieu of arcady returned to me. The word "agapanthus" was then internally heard by me.
In this almost fractalised return of the neoclassical I searched for the language of flowers. I will make it a point to look up floriography. A secret garden and mirror stage? Asked another heard voice. Hallucinations aren't delusional if they're apt. The notion of delusion is fraught with values generated by an epistemological elite. A mould holds mercury.
I don't know how many of us there were in this tryst.
These are remote resonances that are conceptually plottable on a complex plane. Amongst say Ravel and evergreen simplicities ticking like clockwork. Keep furies all to a craft.
The slights and revealed truths of what was on their mind presented an easy enough mould to catch future quips and mercury.
This reasoning I see valid to this day means the child who framed wealthy hubris is still present at moments of evaluation and critique.
I haven't been laid for I don't how long. I just got fucked tonight. They were a very friendly and artsy person. They disclosed a love of cinematic New Wave and global art music.
In their attention to me she helped me catch my breath and mined for conversation. I let them know the physiology of the come-down. I started hearing voices but only described their quality and not content. Some young passion milieu of arcady returned to me. The word "agapanthus" was then internally heard by me.
In this almost fractalised return of the neoclassical I searched for the language of flowers. I will make it a point to look up floriography. A secret garden and mirror stage? Asked another heard voice. Hallucinations aren't delusional if they're apt. The notion of delusion is fraught with values generated by an epistemological elite. A mould holds mercury.
I don't know how many of us there were in this tryst.
These are remote resonances that are conceptually plottable on a complex plane. Amongst say Ravel and evergreen simplicities ticking like clockwork. Keep furies all to a craft.
