Friday, April 1, 2011

43.5 mile house specimen b

The ticktock is in my brain. On most days. On most days it's a waiting game. All of my breathing is for waiting it's the abstractions that make us forget. Though distraction can also make me remember. Echoes of past resonate from the geodescence of my immense landscape of imagination they coming down with centrifugal force hammering the dull gray fatty matter of my neurological brain, my events, my story, my world my time my clock my ticktock that which is what time is it it's half past my ass and a quarter to my elbow I live to die I die to live my name is sophie and I have full blown full blown full blown aids full blown full.