ego trip, worked in guile and crystals knitted gristle fuzzing
the act is born symbols, the weight of what to find hidden patterns, the more the object glisters He won't be touched. and so, new life myths long strings of friendship bracelet The numbers are lawful and growing
We need a machine that can smile clinging onto each other at the roller disco, more of them symbols blister popping fast the doeeyed kid, making tears, says "I have needs". Leaning over the barrier, Napoleon makes his Masonic signs and then laughs in his sleeve
the act is born symbols, the weight of what to find hidden patterns, the more the object glisters He won't be touched. and so, new life myths long strings of friendship bracelet The numbers are lawful and growing
We need a machine that can smile clinging onto each other at the roller disco, more of them symbols blister popping fast the doeeyed kid, making tears, says "I have needs". Leaning over the barrier, Napoleon makes his Masonic signs and then laughs in his sleeve
raise the watchword, a glass in a shaky hand a liberty whisper from the office floor carried to no uses on the disinfected air the devil, whose “works” or “pomps” they were called to renounce (and the rest): who wants him gone? No spirits left that we may be led astray a stray god a stranger G space D words could be made with strewed paper petals discarded ends Is it really like starting over?
She rubbed another match against the wall.
We need a stray god who will get back to work and stop making those Masonic signs, they become even more ominous when one imagines Napoleon making them over the barrier restraining the throng at the Jubilee.
ReplyDelete(A small girl attending the throng before the event itself was interviewed as follows on the BBC world overnight coverage:
"So do you like the Queen, then?"
Pause. "Hmmm... yes!"
"And why, can you tell us?"
"Because, hmmm... she has so many... parties!!")
It's strange how we're never quite done with the Cultus here. The idiot glitter gets us every time.
ReplyDeleteThe only gods worth anything are the strays, the itinerant workers.