Distribution Automatique

Sunday, May 18


I expected
something and hoped for- something will come.
You gave me something, she sings, but she
didn't say what it is. If I learn, I'll
never come back. Rock and roll, I won't go,
is taking my man away.

You gotta work to live. It's a struggle,
my friend gave me that. I wanted something.
He said you just sit down and do it- he gave
me a gift. We're all waiting fo rthe
song.Tragically backing away from the past.
looking back anxiously and sadly, every moment
prismatically dividing into a spectrum of
feelings. How were we to piece them together so
rapidly, feelings imploding so silently.

Equally tragic- money and luck. Place the
sad emphasis on any word- even the gold
can be shaped into a knife.
We want soft things to live among. The
hard things are dangerous. I move towards them
ambiguously, obliquely. I don't stop. I stop
to rest. There are still sounds. I can't take
away that pain. You will have more thoughts,
of a trance. Continuing. Waves and waves.
Where it moves towards.

My friend lets me be. When he's my philosophical
uncle. The ego. Ago, I'm reading and the
world's my uncle- out goes a word.

I'm thinking abou the world's my uncle. "I want to be alone" a secret annotation.
A figure mingling in our presence. Divided.