i once saw a play: stones in his pockets at the West End... two actors performing a share of 20 odd roles between them... nothing unlike milan kundera's essays or... gilles deleuze and samuel beckett's bicycle "metaphor": mein gott: obwohl ich bin sterbern(d) zu lesen das bux... i'm writing english i'm teasing deutschezung(e) i'm evidently trespassing... conventionality and "something" that stipends an completion of "geometry" with a suffix -oon and -oonz... breathing ice... breathing ice in his hands... atmung eis im seine hände... the stones that were his pockets, also.. were an encouraged drowing mechanism... deus ex machina **** in machina... one left the "other" with one of those secular jokes... a priest, a rabbi... walk into a bar... order a baritone cosmopolitan... the bartender is probably transgender, evo-******... a castrato opera mongrel sign-up... or a giuseppe belli sonnet: e io: und ich, and i... i ja... it's like this gargantuan fullness of a breath predisposed itself to imagine itself awake and with untold misery a tugging alongside i as why...
once i wrote chicken scratching(s) with a loot out of the scruffy tending to... limits ease... now this damning trickle of water like the most probably inevitable: sojourn panicky quest across the north sea to arrive at the norwegian fjords attired in adam's feather and shivering to ease at touching either candle... a puddle of ink... chicken blood *** the Aztecan decapitation ritual... cannibalising their own: poor crooks of the dawn... ****'n'****-a-******-doo'ah... entre... i.e. to begin with: "debate"...
if memory serves me justice: i was a reader once... i'd write what little conversation i could have but otherwise: wouldn't have for clarity's sake...
giggle... chandelier... worship of st. peterburg... to make doll... and a franchise of something from Vienna... something: Viennese... like a Hamburger is not something pork: readily available via ham... but... something lost to the association with a Hamburg; exemplum est.