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fuddle, a

okay, there is a narrator and a character, or two or three or more. and athok loves cthok, but that can't be, they exist on different planes. they are not compatable. and why would she want to have sex with him anyway he hasn't a thought in my head. but make them the same, because, you have to if you ever want to move anywhere. its the only way the only. way. to move is to use it differently. stop reagrrange the words, they have already been used 48 times in buttons, which is a lot so stop and do something different.

desperately frustrated. stuck, bursting needing to want change. chagne change for crying out loud stop complaining about the same mundane things. and just be plosive. again.

fuddle

if stuck go in a circle. okay, here goes. muddle. why be base, why wash your dirty laudry in public, why think about mundane things and then bore every one with it. i am done with it.

truly value virtue, don't just love it and hold it dear to your heart and mundane it into little ideas and actions and qaint emotions. don't read it on the radio. be plosive. exact and unsustained. okay. how. here. plosive like pee, it has a beginning and an ending and it doesn't bother with trying to be more or less. it just is when it is then stops. its doesn't reminice or nostage itself to death (of thought, opinion or moment). so lesson. be plosive. have a point.

i had a friend who had a problem. he had a gift (or money or power) and a friend wanted some, and also an enemy wanted some and he had eve's power. and he said to me what should i do. and i said your enemy is more qualified. and regardless he is moore's well. but my friend didn't like that. my friend thought he should pay back his friend with the gift (or money or power).

that is immoral. it doesn't matter what your friend or enemy think it is. and if i am immoral then i have no right to complain anymore, because i am as much the problem as anything. i can't tell you. only i and i.

and a thok once said there was a problem with the protectors of life incase of emergence. this is absurd to me. if there was no police you tell me you wouldn't be a young drinker anymore, and you wouldn't have sex with women who you don't care about, and you wouldn't smoke any more marajuana, and you wouldn't try to better yourself at my expence, and you wouldn't be angry any more and you wouldn't be frustrated and no one would try to hurt you or harm you or take you children away from you... just because the p-o-l-i-c-e are no more. no. if all these were no more than nothing there wouldn't be police, but we make them more and so we pay them to protect us from ourselves.

another thok once wrote, shame. you have no prode, shame. this thoks would be better only if only if only if green carpets covered the world. move out into a tree and stop complaining. i cannot have both. if i ever ride in a car i am not a part of nature. i am a destructor, i help her.

this thok is lost. she has no role here. she is not welcome to think and debate or be. conform commisserate come here.
because

opportunityisnowhere

d, post

a drip of water hit marx between the eyes. he dropped his head a shook it suddenly. it was dark here. he was standing, in a bus shelter perhaps. she was there. that woman. who. he rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"you're awake?"
"yes."

he turned to the voice. there was music. russian, something russian or french with a strong beat. the woman was moving away he reached and caught her coat tail and followed her lead down the slick street.

"we have to get to the safe house, then you have work to do."

marx was already running through the dome plans, reworking possible exit points for the natti.

"did nod come?"
"no."

marx had the woman by the arm and was walking at a good pace. he watched the shadows around him thinking this was not the usual way home.

"x, are we not going to diagony?"

she quickened her pace and marx could hear her take something from a purse with a metal clasp. he dropped his head a little to the side and quited himself as much as possible. they walked nearly 20 minutes in silence, turning down numerous streets; doubling back at least twice, marx thought.

marx looked at the sign on the wall across from the cot. it was glowing something, something glowing. if something came after he wouldn't be sure, but the light was glowing and invitiation a message from the captian. marx stood at once and followed the cot to the wall, and the wall up the stairs.

"wheres he off to?"

marx walked down the street watching the ground stepping directly foot in front of foot. he counted directly each step then turned and continued down another alley. he knew the root, if he footsteps were trustworthy. he continued, in the darkness.

mentally ill

it must be that i'm prone to wandering that has led me to this place. i'm losing grip on my mind and i don't mind but i do but my mind is fine but this world is not fine for me. she thinks i'm screaming at the squirrals for fun

news

they always tell me, lecture me, instruct me, teach me
everything they have failed at. what gall! have you earned the right to write the fat one asked today, had he earned the right to teach? no he has just been given medals by his friends

grrr

i've had enough of this pro-submissive malarky, i quit.

c, post

he moved along the bench seat to avoid the draft of air that tore his attention from the woman across from him. he shifted again, there was a spring under him. he pulled up a leg and wrapped his arms around it.

"sorry."

she sipped from the liquid in the mug and smiled softly, though marx didn't see; he was watching the light again.

"its most oppressive, these --"

she turned to look at the light, and placed the mug down in front of her. a sigh rang with the buzz and click of the cafe so she packed her sack.

"i'll be in touch, mir will be along for you"

and was gone. marx tapped a beat on the table, as his eyes dodged blankly around the cafe.

thank you for keeping this train flu-free

no problem!

but on this note
i have taken the liberty to also keep this train drug free
thug free
bug free knowledge
free
free of lsd and pcp free of all the harmful letters and these three latinas
free from thought
and cost
free of nature
free of abuse
free of overuse

i have freed this train of
pornography
propeganda
physigonomy and metaposcopy

freed it from lust
and tyranny
freed it of bordom
and grace
i have freed this train of frustration and delays and
above all this i will keep it free of dollars overspent by you to thank me
for keeping this train flu-free

b, post

the cafe buzzed with electronic outputs and caffeine junkies. there was a booth where one woman sat. her white fingers tapping impatiently the ceramic table surface. she watched as thoks came and went to the station across the road. a note book lay open before her.

marx rubbed his eyes as he stummbled after the woman. there was a distinct glow that was nagging at his attention. she wouldn't see it. they passed the phog and tsura plag but nobody noticed.

"how much further?"

there was something rubbing his leg as he followed, he wanted to know what. his shoes felt like prisons, with each step enforcing their restricted space on his tired feet.

tap tap tap

marx turned his head sharply as the door slid open with a rattle. he couldn't make out who had come in. he sat in the booth with her, the cold of the vinyl pricked his back, and rubbed his hands over the soft ceramic surface.

"i'm not sure"
"well, if there is a way through we need--"
"i know"

he blinked and turned his face to the flourecent light, it glowed blue but not quite, blue.

"has nod been through"

she closed the notebook and wrapped her hands around the white mug infront of her.

a, post

he took two steps to the left and squatted down again. his eyes were yellow, worn out by the stress of the air.

there wasn't enough people to spread to serum to, so instead they just flushed it down the drain and let the fish and the sewer chickens have it. he knew it at the time, but decided that he needed to rest against the wall. the wall was bright, white, blue. i'm not sure. but the wall was where he rested with his yellow eyes.

"marx," a pause and then, "com'on, we godda go"

he followed her down the alley to the street where cars zipped by on their way to dinners at 7:00 and movies after. she took his hand and pulled him along to the cafe. blink was waiting.

news

okay, cause i dont do this (yet) but its part of the culture:

m wants me to read without ethnicity on the CBC.
time to start editing. also i wonder if m would publish me, if i had something worth it. and also d doesn't get on with the mean cat. shame.

ps. Dec 5, 2004 at Phog, 7:00 pm

Men in moonphaseOne

got drugs>
no, i don't

im wondering if it is possible to think anymore

: i want to think
: thinking takes time
: time is limited [constricted by resricting interia]
: limited time illimated possiblity of truth which reveals itself with time
: illimanated truth mean no beauty

my think means beauty is in the world

elim a nate the neg a tive

: i will think
: time restricted
: truth is old wine
: devalued
: speed is my new worst fiend

do you have an aversion to capitals...

washington is out then, ottawa too

if i wrote this poem of words or replaced words you want to
words i want if i wrote in riddles or aphorisms or moved to
the left & ease was my middle world would you read on in
this


okay tell me something, because i debated at length with a thok on this one. i said that i hate science because its zero point is arbitrary, but science-thoks insist that they
are percise. how can something with an arbitrary zero be
percise\ and then the thok i was arguing with asked me who i thought the trivium was any more precise so i said it was because it used an arbitrary zero as well, but it acknowledges that the zero is arbitrary and accounts for it. i told the thok that is wasn't more accurate just more
agreeable, but the thok couldn't accept that, because it was inpercise. i suppose thats how being a thok goes
though.

Post lapenderian

okay, this is interesting...
tell my child, don't fight or bully (un o riginal thought..what us is doing) but even as unoriginal it is still thok killing thok and still dont!

im in love sometimes with whisps of smoke (the space bars broke) so my words run together.
i have a streamof consciousness that eludes the pedantive state, i want i to


okay concrete

in equals or shoes

mode of trasnport
as if to say, little prisons the size
a foot, metre of his other feet, stolen line, step or line
or the door, closed window shade
no snow yet
but still a start to a good foot
or
the wood door
pile of shit


of luck, of shit protecter
of prisons on the seventh story
of pigeons and poems
of little women with little minds
or little men with little men
of the contents of my shoebox

a, la liama

a present state of
min d
centred in exploit
point taken

toys for me

la liama

when
i n states
of disetera change
i play

with my w ords