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2002-12-13 - 4:33 p.m.

italia transcribed part four

monks hanging their heads, planted along the freeway drop seeds of humility as i pick up speed. each corner i turn reveals a messenger without a translator. the petals of spello pad the ground of exquisite village arteries. and i, the pope of richmond, am lead to grace.

can i feel time peel stabs of lotus lessons as i become naked with skin armor.

strange magic of venezia, all perspectives masterpiece. even downpour sets a tone of abstract release. i am lost and found with every third step. lingering somewhere in this playground for the gods. surely i am one of them. the nights melt over and the subtlety of romance emerges and i can't help thinking of the boys. my heart awaits landing as i could easily fall graceful in any direction.

returning with grace as i had sworn i would. the house of giulietta more than a sacred ritual as i am patient for the development of incantations and inscriptions. we are witches. how one unit of universe affects the whole and the dynamics of fifty spheres in giro, spiral around each other in the dance of the sixth dimension. sticking out my uninjured opposable thumb to hitch a ride to neptune to explain the party foul. walking naked through desertscapes wearing nothing but a fine strand of blinking bulbs. and i am marked and painted and pierced and proud. let me be the last lover of the earth and i will become her as cracked skin will soften with downpours of realization dropping iridescent seeds of the everything that will blossom into capricorn banners of only one thing.

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