& this is what constitutes the knotting of the puissance, the magic of the concept, the imaginary of representation, the charm of the real. This is the sentence, the matrices of radiating synthesis, surfaces, false starts, split and conflictual activities, the charm of combinatory models. This is the liquidation of all referentials the short-circuit of vicissitudes, resistant études of fête sweat stinking artifice

So, go ahead,  
draw a line in the ampersand, and supplement your 
verisimilitude.  i’ll do the myth. it aint 
bracket science – so, 
just step up to the paté, palette petite potage and
take it to the nexus revel in insufferable intervals, volés, values, valleys
or valets, ‘cause it aint an oeuvre till its ouvert 
and all i’m askin’ is for some quilted time
‘cause i’ve bent there – done my contretemps,   
so save it for errant deictic / data day-o re-storied for another detour
tour de farce, no-fault flossie -- i put all my ducts in the flow
was in full attract mode
where i was ready to push the enveloped, silky no-frizz volumizer
of milky torqued torrents

i was in the zone. off the chartreuse
throttling my squeamish humdinger peep show
of unrequited party bon bons 
aksing you to just read my slips 

What i really mean to say is, can you get more 
reserved?  ‘cause at the end of the data, 
there’s just 6 minutes in the closet, clauses, cock-suckin’ foreclosures  
of mnemonymous hauntings,  
a frisky go-figure fingering of the sweet spot money shot
technomediatic surplus of
pin the tale on the
rancour, spin the fraught brothel bridled-up
bottoms up, 
i’m putting my footnote down

So, just say it – 
hey jude, yr ghetto fabulous yellow starry borscht belt spicky doo rag
is as useless as a hip hop pocket
in a singlet for a song.
so, when yr on the scrim page, slip scrum, slap-happy slam page
just count yr glossings. And don’t get yr 
snickers in a twist / it’s a long road 
to the bitch ho / homilectic homage home page

so, go the distance, mother fcuker, 
cause when yr drecht to the nines,
happy as a prig in shattered
parameters, this is a complete pain in the apparatus.
i just want a stiff origin 
and chtonic. It’s a jolly lingua out there,
& a good monad is hard to finagle.  

So i say pile it on, for there is no accumulation before 
the story. And that’s just the way the blog 
blings. Put your moment where your myth is
and stop skewing around. i just wanna strut my anti systemic hegemony
of violent resistencies and plunge into the 
sultry materialist production 
of struggle. And though i can talk till i’m ballyhooed in the face,  
i’m just gonna leave and let livres lie

Hearsay today, agon tomorrow.

i’m up to my syllabus in buttered bathos
and though i gotta keep a stuffed über slippage.
You could hear print drip  (mired in opacity these 
precepts excursions, mergers) sometimes it’s coming 
at me like fraught entrances, this mimic of truth
and it never reigns but empowers.
So, torque it or lube it, baby,
with an apotropaic e-z bake 
iterability. Don’t piss off the agitator until you’ve caressed 
the sequined eros, the trickled matter of dry ardour.

so, heave my words: If you play 
with a furry führor you’re gonna get blurred. 
You can’t fill fuel. But as i always say, the scam’s the limit.   
It’s no body of ruses and i just hope to aloha you 
starch the trough, slough the fly-by-night knitted slippage 

(whatever bloats yr notes) 

So eat yr art out because this is a facet only an other could covet. 
You’re not just whittling deixis!  
Does the swirly blur kitch all that has gone to plotted notation?
Are there plenty of fissions in the indeces, 
the inseam, the insouciant saucery, abecedary sorcery? 
You can rant but you can’t horde. So just re-phrase the massacre 
‘cause by hooka or by crooked insignias 
i’m gonna just bust right in. You’re damp as a stamp and i’m gonna 
trust loosely cause it’s my way or the byway. And though 
i don’t know hijack shit about fugitive truancy, 
i know about transgressed affection.  
The alert is on but nomadicism is home.