Through the mist, guiding the passions, fading and breathing in, staining the walls with the smell, the dank fragrance, memories stick like fly paper, album covers, or ways of speaking, scents can be everything, shaping the way we remember, wafting in and chugging towards the center of something, perhaps for attention, for roominess, for attraction, on one hand the raunchy and the rancid, or on the other hand, romantic, only a very fine line between rustic and grutesque, create all these memories, a hybrid of sensualities work to create the memory, like a necklace worn all night, then left at the bedside, the lover inhales and again he is in heaven
onward onward, the sensualities creating our memories, good or bad, but what about the expressionless? who have high ceilings, who don’t create memory? who do not have sense? these have masks, masks meant for neautrality, masks made for actors moving through space, neutrality has its own unique sensitivity, diluted in sink water, smells like minerals, which makes us think of water, neutrality, the cleansing
onward onward, potent as **** in parks, sometimes you can’t distinguish between the potent plant and skat, and sometimes that can be difficult, dare to know the different strands, dare to be a master of wine, dabbling in notes that are sung with different feasts, wine, and bread, and cheese
taste, driving us onward onward onward, relativity, driven to the ends of the earth by distinctions, with fine lines, onward onward, sifting through the mist, attempting to get a waft of the best of it
