| rdfs:comment
| - At this point I can only cringe to think what you think All must be revealed, as this is what it is. Until I reveal myself, we'll only bark a laugh, raise cheer, and carry on Fire up, knives are spiking glasses tonight People hand the strings and expect themselves to show. What a let down Oh well. They're boring. Everyone's the same. I like you, I don't like you, I don't care about you. Categorical methods make this overly simple world all the simpler Where else to find flare? Elsewhere. Whereever wells with which witchs will water walk wellest There's a broom stashed in the closet. Too easy & gone
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| abstract
| - At this point I can only cringe to think what you think All must be revealed, as this is what it is. Until I reveal myself, we'll only bark a laugh, raise cheer, and carry on Fire up, knives are spiking glasses tonight People hand the strings and expect themselves to show. What a let down Oh well. They're boring. Everyone's the same. I like you, I don't like you, I don't care about you. Categorical methods make this overly simple world all the simpler Where else to find flare? Elsewhere. Whereever wells with which witchs will water walk wellest There's a broom stashed in the closet. Too easy Sweep it all away, we're starting over Off the tables, off the floor, off them all Falling off the floor. The thought has occurred before. What does it even mean? Only now, having walked off and looked at negative space birds and such, has it struck: by some trick of the stage, the floor opens itself. But that's falling into the floor. Unless one were to roll of the stage How clear it is between thought which has had time to correct its past and thus imply itself and thought which streams itself along by some desperation of logical leaps in an attempt not to drown itself in contradiction. Dependency chains line up in lock step. I'll get back to locks later For now, there's still more to say about brooms. That'll come back when we get to locks Dust and ashes or some shit oh shit I can't write right now Alright. Alright, oh right? You're right & back again. Through the floor & back again. Here I fall back there to bring back here: Esperluète. More on that later. J'espère Que tu sois là pour moi quand je ne suis pas Enough of that. The past couple days have been riding up on me. Vive la Francophonie The broom is a nihilist. Which is to say we're going back to Augustine's definition of respecting nothing. Nothing as in no thing, rather than that thing we call nothing. English would be greatly improved to repair that deficiency in its accuracy. Deficiency doesn't rhyme with accuracy so well. Yet another English deficiency. If only it suited my every need at my whatever moment. How clashing it is to have to exist dynamically with these static things Whatever. The fact is that there's this sweet little cherry on a broom. Because this is a fact, it's been delayed to mention. Who needs to mention the facts? Facts mention themselves. As simple as this: I'm on a broom Back to locks: She polished the broom end with hemlock mush What a thrill to brush Quite a rush Much too thrush & gone
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