minimal herdSomehow, just for nowI need to depart from the flock, from the pack, backstraight to where the soloism of the dead youth is kept as clean as blackto where there are no more room for moreroomI presumethe blisscape people quote as solitude(?)where there exists an absolute-absence of conflicts causing audience and audience causing conflictsI resume to tic.With a diary secured, obscured,
satisfactorial discontent1.It was mating season but, was a solo doggod was boredso he bore {one more}a special kind his mind would find exquisitely pronounced on and in every square decimeter of every existence existing,grantinghis ungranted longing to accomplish things but to fuck and his ungrantedlonging to do nothing but to fuck.god wanted more.god wanted explicitly more.so god made you.and god was pleased2.without quarrel, it's magic to drown in pleasure like the flowers, no matter (what)however, no matter (what)to drown still, is to suffocatesuffocation leads to disorientationdisorientation topples onto panicpanic in
mannerIf he were to be an animalhe would be a roadkill, a streetfloor impasto, with his mouth sculpted to a shoutinto a poutaround the dismissed possibility of speaking to the recently deceased,remaining a sobbing mute and his tongue of passively acute. He would be a trophyfor he employed the evidence of his worth, his legend presented on a dish for supper.a macabre memento of their flighta macabre memento of his life.With nothing but decapitated dignity, he's nothing but decapitated dignity.He would be a delicacy,he would be a five-star flavoured slaughtered savior for
order for disorderused to following everything.the.book.of.good.had.to.prove.to.be.morally.good you patiently adapt impatience as the anticipated joy of irrational politeness undergoesprogresssive pre-extinction,extinctionthen realization,of you as the pleasures of orthodox activism die outtorrent starts to sing from the rabid mouthof the fresh infant climbingoff from kind to find what else there is to eat and drink and kissand love aside from everything the book of good had to prove to be morally goodyou lookedyou found. and after a while you seem to thrive on unlimited servings of deprived optimisms,and after
carnivorismserved.with.a.sizzling.plate of realistic nothing you ilt your focus on the neighborhood prey and pray just.beforeyou pounceand tear away a sizable-chunk of grace of theirs' and as you french-kiss your plastic ribs to the bone you phone yourself home and ask why the meat is just as bitter as your sizzling plate of realistic nothing.