|2003-12-12 - 9:53 a.m.
you are now just the vessel for lubricated letters that slide and crash together becoming words that make reference to meaning something about nothing. and i hooded in black you called ME a nihilist. then you are my muse. so far away from what is real we toss wisdom around like we own it somehow when we'll never really be stepping ahead of that game. our rhythms are setting in here. the beijing years. we are sitcom drama action adventure. we are a fucking scream. i sit opposite you and your late arriving, i have pissed on my trees and you pick up the scent. lights flicker off chins. smoke streams trail like cartoon ribbons. whiskey and lavender tea keep our mouths moving. bellies warm. state calm. and we are fully ignoring the hatred i feel. hatred only being equalled by desire. but you are only the vessel, i said. you are motor sparks. you are the grip around my cock.