i’m pretty scuppered from the hottentotting i’ve been doing. sleeping around the coast and dangling from great heights with salted peanuts and vaguely insubstantial party-favors.
went here for a spell and listened to the reedy voiced guide voice things about things. old furniture and old curtain grinders (i mean sausage boxes) and wooden girders and stanchions and just about all the
![[funny clock woman]](https://www.vikingsholm.com/selma.jpg)
household things from long ago. i’m thinking there’s some kind of hiker and she’s… and it’s funny how the eye frames a thing and makes it so. or maybe contrariwise, what’s with all those light bulb arrows flappering in to the brain? it’s passive/active and makes the work so crunchy.
luckily, there was a time later when we had time to …., because or otherwise something like a self-consuming might have overwhelmed and listening to that pacific theme music crashing in the distance or clampering over the rocks and daisyfruits (i mean icicle plants) while the sunmirror shines its cool light down upon and all the light on water seems like a (nearly) cheap digital effect in some badly dubbed 1960s italian (or russian) cinematick. but that’s okay. and though rocks are hard and crunchy, yet we are soft and feel those fingers…
even now, that dance of fingers crashing makes my helmet crumble and feel that sconce. or, even that day when a pink delight approaches. sheesh. shall the heatsweat of summer be amelting me? can i even bear another hour of closet isolation in this gray bespeckled booth?
…
but to put it differently, there was a great playing of games. a great hotchpotch of ’em. and all the time, whittling or whistling with my old uns, those favored amigos from days past. who can say how old they are? or how long since they’ve occupied? it’s a curious thing. a kind of thing which makes us smirk around the edges and wobble as though the electronickal cloud vizzes just a bit. then we’re solid all again. and even the meself begotten once in the hotseat there, questioning all t’others: what is it about pianos with you people!??
and then, with a great munkey, i’m playing another game with myself…. trying on for size, some other type o’ thing. it’s all wrong from the getgo. even with those magnetic soles and mattress which might be floating on air, given half the chance. it’s the worst dreamlike state and that nightmare cloud just draws out lengthwise into a drawling span of spittle. and there’s no nightmare people, it’s just so so so… dull. i’m bored and i’m never bored. it’s a chemickally induced boredom, how sad. and all i’m thinking is what a doom is this? watching the brain crumble and poke along through the ravelling spic of time. it’s the lowpoint, sure, but we all have ’em. the only regret: what a waste of time, and i’m no humptyfriend, then.
all in all, in spite of the lowp, it was grand grand mellons all the way round. forever and ever and none of us wanted to come home again, through we did anyhow, in spite of some slack efforts by the universe, its agents.
