interviewin, gargle…spit out that old darapel
i mean, parachutical. where’s everything falling to? and it’s becoming abundantly visceral that the old fartyparty methodicals are falling down on faces.
and all the art has gone out of my own skyll, anyhoo.
how to force that art back in there? crowbar? (car caw craw) or maybe some oldfashioned dynamite? macrame?
and the skyll farper slithered over to the left side this morning. feel that forehead burn. and where’d that arm got to in the night? it’s feeling crippled and here’s hoping the old bodhi isn’t a metaphor for something else. it’s not bodyn well.
have to hack out something soon or maybe my brain will…. what? byrst? disinflate/implode?
what’s that linkin have to do with anythin? dunno…