In One Is Two

In The Gallows of Saint Teresa of Avila

I thought I recognized her.

It was hard to tell.

I was at a place where a certain person died who for many years had lived a wicked life, from what I knew. But he had been sick for two years, and in some things it seems he had made amends. He died without confession, but nevertheless it didn't seem to me he would be condemned. While the body was being wrapped in its shroud, I saw many devils take that body; and it seemed they were playing with it and punishing it. This terrified me, for with large hooks they were dragging it from one devil to the other. Since I saw it buried with the honor and ceremonies accorded to all, I reflected on the goodness of God, how He did not want that soul to be defamed, but wanted the fact that it was His enemy to be concealed.

- from the Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila

Third Floor, East Wing, Sporting Room

Meanwhile, who the fuck could have been late? How many guests did I tell you to expect? Am I ever fucking off target? What do you think I pay you for, you dumbscumsheepfucking piece of shit? When I say to you, when I say, 'absolutely NO ONE is to be admitted unless they're on the list. Under absolutely no goddamn circumstances is anyone else allowed the fuck in,' what, exactly, did you take that to mean? You motherfucker. You goddamn motherfuck.

[Takes deep breath. Wipes palms on suit jacket. Composes himself. Looks down. Smiles. Looks up. Makes eye contact with henchman.]

Do you know what you've cost me?

[Still smiling. Leans in so that his lips touch henchman's ears. Whispers:]

There is no excuse and I afford no second chances. You've cost me. Do you understand? And now, you'll have to repay me with something ...  hm, extremely valuable. Some call these things priceless. I call them little piggies. Say oink you stupid fuck.

The Dripping Sink ( _______'s Husk)

The point of the _________ was to understand further what Fatherhood was. My son was just a son. My eyes just two, and empty. I didn't anticipate the following sequence; the moods between the beams of a Paris, Texas realm. __________  ________ was my professor that spring. __________ had the longest hair of all the women in the room most days. She wore hers in the low pony. Th'others wore top buns like morning breakfast pastries dripping with large egos that looked more like egg yolk if you ask me. I saw nothing but samurais. Fatherhood looked like the long end of a sword held suspended by my mother's gut. I wasn't fond of that side of her. It produced a somewhat unflattering anger within me. _________ was intrusive. But something in her salted corn husk hair bled me out of my feather bed, far further than the running water wore me down - the dripping sink. The fucking dripping sink.

A Dangerous Street In The Winter For Pedestrians

daub it on the rocks, over there
grab my gin and bring it to me on the porch
i'll sway over these stones until the music starts
in the basement
on the longest street

the rhodes is a marvelous thing

accomplice |əˈkämplis|

the twins were henchmen; [informal] sidekicks.

'Left,'

'Guess'

there wasn't a one remained to be troubled by nightmarish intellect.

The White Room (or, Disrupt Of The Womb)

'Describe your appetite, or at least, the force feed. I see the thickness of the tubes, vertical. Very vertically organized. The story, what was the story about?

'...'

'Your volume is uneasy, please focus on the volume.'

In The Barren Lands

As far as it will mind to go, dammit.
That's the problem with these things. They don't mind to get nowhere.

1946 January 20 - Present

The world is getting louder every year, 
but to sit and dream is a beautiful thing.

D. Lynch

Brazil

carry beam whitening the ether sides, both tall with flair, romantic feelings between them, sharp steel always reoccurring forcefully and unwanted, isn't it. two youngs dating for red breath reason, both for mother and the step who's off this weekend business-ing prominently and resourcefully. no phone call no letters, in fact pens extinct by now. some breeze heavy with tin soil trash melt the alley above the strays and loose fur pets, don't touch don't even look; rabies futuristic rabies. she lowers her pasty thumb out the pocket and soon all four others down to touch the gray. sores immediately, swollen tongue, but well hidden. clever thing wants what it was down there, twisted, angry, breathing slow. intimidating for some who don't go out much anymore, but not between. understand the stroke and weather the calm, weather the rain. at least another three hours under the garbage dream. four eyes all showing wet, all showered with ash. round again to the tall where slow light is indeed slow and spies them only after they've gone too empty a song for such a time. it's flown by now tipped off and without so much a spat farewell pattern. vapor metal doesn't melt, it follows bending, leading them home, away from the wet breathing thing, away from each other. home is this empty hallway, hoarse leather cud, heat by mantel dream.

before sleep among the last thoughts of day,

when I close my eyes this time the distance between my fists is measured by miles and there are valleys absorbed in reflection of steam and steel, absorbing itself in forms of tectonic mission unearthly crude vast expansions between my two fists with my eyes closed

I feel sea sick or motion sick with the tide my breathing is steady but warns the guests with reaching ache lungs - really no one is between them now at all and I could open them and shrink the scape

absorbing itself between crude fists now the eyes are open fists remain fists.
really no one is between shrinking the scape open steady she goes wide unearthly tin cylinders about,
one more shut before the last oscillation measured in miles of steam itself nauseous but shifting impressively

by my standards.

Are You Ever Going To Get Married

 Greek Vines Vs. The Forewarning God by hannahcarpenterpitkin

Maxion Voldrahnaix

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