4’s begun a snapper and no mistake. near to snapped my nose clean off; it sure got red enough. and flurries of flurries all day long, staring out through that pressed glass. only back out in it once the sun’s tossed inside it’s warmer and the crouching shadows loom [outside of everything].
feeling that… or that is to say… there’s just some kind of painful twinge–brainwise, neurochemickular–when contemplating that staccato beat, that blood-thumping maestro, thoughtless, maybe, but not so… i mean, that is to, no faltering yet. and now with all the questions and probings and the rehashings of old records (can they be found)… a painful occlusion of the mind when pondering the coaldark side of things. is this the cowardice that makes
religiousers? if i went that route (sirrah?!) i’d want it to be otherwise, indeed.
feel that old flush of anxieters crouching by, cramping out that phone cord smile.
this one wants the long dark to end and the sun to bring back its light…
gaggles and giggles aplent back on the farm, yessir. old frapperies seem to be fraying at last and maybe there’ll be those of us who’ll see some new kind of thing a’brewing. (toil, toil, boil and bubble…) there’s like, maybe?, some kind of transmigration or transmutation of metals going on here… some malkuthian paradox had to transplant that whatzit, or something. or, contrariwise, there’s nothing change, but we’re now looking at it through the curvature of a spoon, bouncing and bending that old light until things like NOSES, say, or FNORDernails seem bulbous and curved, reaching towards the center of it.