Saturday, November 1, 2014

the old business

erryday

errs day derry deri day ahhh d’hey
all day dibble script and scribble
delly dibsi diddur dirc dric cuculucuc
scuhquaa scchqchheeqqquuusq scvicicu
 write the music for which I dj
just the scratch noise fuck the music
knack up crack up its back up
piddling pedantry of the shanty
mitrichondromancy imminently
magnanimous finger dance
fiddle finger and prance
hat man glad bag man
catch a winner jar bag
chronic romancing
chronomancing
smile thrive on the dial
revilably
belittle letters littlingly
titilatingly belittle languidly


hey there words and letters of the best friends fun just running along like a good dog
today what are you going to be today you’ve got everyone guessing were it anything
your going to be a book aren’t you, you’re the fucking greatest fuck the documentary
write that book all with your words and letters you fucking know how to do don’t you

looks like a real book doesn’t it every kind of those papers left livid sitting so strewn
with its sentences so sadly drifted about in the driftedness lifted loftily through hewn
real fucking good really fucking reading it to me all its meaning because its known

looking like it seems like we werent going about places like it wasn’t anything where
paragraphs diddnt catch the breeze alone not that they can but still you know breezy
today doesn’t seem to cross at a reasonable hour of the day of the week if it asks
it, three to five maybe once along were anything asking about it today of the week,
maybe if it comes one way of the end of either of it’s ways we can take the west of it

so many letters look them all around making all of it sense and sensibility in reality
one two three ok with me it makes more sense than giving freely all of it easily
look at me just enough for it to be enough it just happened to need to be it really

they say millions it was just passing by in some part of somewhere around her
fuck you all of you bitches just being somewhere or something fuck things

ill sit here making this fucking letters at all of it because they are small and petty
at it all the time in their natures, even in the culmination, text and literacy

quite small thinking about the spacing you poor fucker writing fortune cookies
poorness is everywhere but you still rise above the grave stricken and meager
poetry still rises above the moon somewhere fucking amazing man lives as a god

elements trouble me i don’t know every fucking thing elementarily
so many fucking elements don’t fucking have compression elementary
still smoke pcp literally but still only fictitiously still mantra is pcprecicely
federally I just mean i sell pcp to every first second and third world country
fuck with me got to turn the bricks i make running the old time racketeerery
rack in the stacks stackrackery fuck the factions in anguish meekly. merely

Still and Always, Sir Stillsburry





some people say that lives should be books in biographies, my life is like a short story
i am a majestic man i am beautiful i run forever in a fueld of magical love i’m naked and it just thrives on my being. it lives because of me, I am it’s fire. There is a land of blackness around me that imbibes of me and finds me delicious, i am so passionate it ripples with my essence were it a puddle floating in space, intent on being liquid capable of taking any form, the radiance i exude comes from the sea of all knowledge that dwells within me. I am omniscient yet i still reflect upon myself, channeling my eminence into solid tangible existences, creating parallel worlds in the fabric of existence. I exist much like a volcano of latent emotion that explodes from the fields of tangibility I dwell in. the surge knows no bounds and exudes from myself uncontrollably. My presence is the soothing spring of water that quenches as it is so painfully refreshing. The mind knowing no bounds of the refreshment wrought by this presence, unable to comprehend the glory of the overpowering refreshment. I am greatness because I am a cloud.

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