why would you entice art for there to be teachers of it, and learners of it in some oyster library of the frail tongue? why? why not set off by yourself into yourself and the last remnants of educated art to be the least educated, barbarian i dare say or raphael in the day care centre of oiling canvases... what are you here if not an opaque pale imitation of what could be worth an imagined residing place had the king thumped into statue heart carved from a single stone a mountain... what are you here if not an understudy of a tongue that only provides release once the least is expressed / expected... for more iron forges a symmetrical cotton in shirt than you'd see in iron clamouring for a blunt object of warring dare be seen if the merchant class of people remaining in communism nearby to govern a heretical monopoly of words without things: or of man the unifying self of solipsism as a species for the bargain of category of lion the father to a bonsai kitten: or as heretical to monopolise the added milk to an over-sweet espresso begot them less alcoholic but more diabetic... i.e. i've heart if bean sprouts and cloves sold, but none of the technically grammatical words added to the cirriculum vitae... more like cirriculum mort so for the cucumber i get a kalashnikov? juicy! but as warmth is said to be behaviourally acute so it's said to be discriminatory with pseudo justification; oh arab. no amount of mammon will be just-cause you a stealth when all is "hidden" in the exposed. invoke the meaning of niche... then i bring in the collateral abundance of bee ***** to the sickle sweet beehive... and we settle the score between a room full of them... and an endless stream of them dislodged to applaud ******* as them ******* to no applause of the men who left them behind for the open road; and looked back on origins for a formless chill than a shadow in revision of what tamed the soul when the body spoke more of shadow than of thought to couple itself to a relief of a hidden hope that could ever be made image: the gods in their own image crafted man (narcissus), but man crafted the gods in the image of his own shadow (hades): so too a form visible akin his own: cinnamon men of the ivory dagger of india, cinnamon askance of the asiatic in igloo, japanese pale apple pulp for european jealousy in the high stationed salon ladies for the baby powder pamper... the girl with blonde hair of the book of revelation only attired in grey insomnia while the girl of the equator was fitted in auburn chock. to stress the girl of the sun: the girl who dittoed the most of it... easter island aquiline featured jews, and so it goes... one lung of the amazon healthy... one lung of the himalayas sick if not merely shrivelled by a gasping odour of a congregation's coughing up a sahara in the moulding to give wind the power over sand as water for the clay that rose into splinters penetrating into the lunar orb.