الاثنين، 28 فبراير، 2011

Temple 2

HAHAC*%*T
 
there, dire, diabolical, a good wife for a jew. shame on the family.
 
let me go for a nutriton drink and a smoke,
 
 evil little men that kidnap blondes and put them in the back of the car.
 
I knew always, I was writing 'volk' lore. I knew it and no-one stopped it. Even the ones who knew, wouldn't have stopped it, they just sighed, while I hopped and rolled up and down the stairs, through the doors, round and round, hopping, stamping, sometimes marching, sometimes dancing, and always talking. The garden to the doors to the garden, just a little room of planks and a built open hut with a bench. I was the light part of the Reich part, deadly words. cynical jokes, desperation for ...acknowledgement.
 
put. put.
 
What happened?    
 
 
"It wasssssss a juck event!"
 
that thing was christ, that thing was? a serpent. It roars like Ice, it evolves in german...it solemned Love. It burst through FIRES!!!!!!!! FIRES!!!!!!!!!! "Volk this, volk that, always Christ."
 
The serpent!!!
 
Just expect to Death!
 
Just expect a song, somewhere in my bed, some new song, I knew all along....I wasn't surprised but I was getting a little disgusted. Didn't anyone want to save me?
 
juck, juck.
 
"Was it gorrrrrrrgeoussSSSSSSSSS??"
 
You are gross.
 
---
 
Angels eyes are silver.
 
Get sick of colour, get tired of colour.
 
My wife made Art, abd the Jap girl looked at her walls, and called it:
 
"A little plate."
 
It's impossible to read heathen hebrew minds, I had wonder why I was Japanese.
 
Japan eyes have discovered the colours of the New Temple. It's a stuck type of wonder, it's simple.
 
I played cards at table, and when the game was finished, I stood up,  I put my forehead to the table, said my thanks and walked away. I went out for sushi, in the dark, thinking about japanese minds and japanese girls, and geishas and fathers. There was one girl for me at the washign sink.
 
Nans arrived, to the Artist, and translated my steps.
 
Syanara.
 
I could read only japanese minds and though about japanese culture, and heard the yellow in the supermarket and supposed japanese whys.
 
Why, why were they killing the Artist dead? It was to me at the card-playing table, like a knife to the heart.

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