Stealing is transcendent and more bound to cosmology than you'll ever know, and I also do it.
A break in me. The lung games. Often forgotten. Played only by neophytes. Hung up in the shredded rooms when done. Foreign and dominated. Pleasure, while players sense inertia and all come at once. Coach: An intercom, but live and run with winks.
Zone is an understanding. Void is a brother. Space is a lack of sleep. Learning is a function of never leaving. Never is a relation to mirror. Zone is a callback to relations, their relations, and that love is a picture of ice. Understand? Understand? Correct? A rainbow is only tempic.
I'll leave you to intuit. Obviously. What I've given you is a plate of inedible fruit. You can leave it rot or watch it or eat it. You can eat it, though. What I've given you is a plate of inedible fruit. See?
Watching me.
THE HAND IS HERE!
No. Not honest. I see the contract. Yes: There it is. My XXXXX is written on it in an ink I don't recognize. Take the ink of. Take the ink of.
Pleasure pleasure pleasure pleasure—
I've got to get some principle again.
The longest you've endured, my dear? Please: Hold out your hand. My god, what a fine glove. You, surely, know the finest things.
Allow me to walk you through it — oh, watch the stairs, watch the stairs. They're deeper than expected. And the heels — I don't know how you do it. Please. Right this way.
Ahhhh — and here is the central landing. Yes that piece was brought in by my grandmother — a patron late in life, all sorts of fine sculptors. Yes, that one is quite famous, actually. We've had people from all over come to see it — I just watch from the windows. The help charges admission. Ahh! I kid. I kid I kid — come. Here, watch the cobble-stones. That grass has crept up around the edges in such a peculiar fashion, don't you think? Hmm. And here, this magnificent — oh, please do — yes isn't that quite a full sound? These magnificent doors are late exteenth century. From a Spanish oak. Taken from a stripped monastery in BEEP. Oh, why yes — they were neutral. And like all neutral things, (breath) the world must… touch every bit of it. Was what, darling? What was what? Let's continue on — this is the main ballroom—
Cut the shit.
Count the king.
Bury the horses. Do you see the labor? My back is basically breaking.
Did you know that phantasms first appeared in wax?
You are formally contained to the territory for its entirety. The ball begins and ends at midnight. The theme of the evening is 100,000,000 Pardons.
If known, a place is a known plane of planes in space unknown in their relation to the relation of the planes of place. This is in my blood.
I admit: The stream is there. Remember?
Or take a plane ride, set yourself there. Feel the layers of full air on each side. You must imagine first. Measure. Then, know that a name exists for the full air on each side of the plane in which you are laid, and that the name is only discoverable through abandonment. But then there is a layer of, a bevel of, useless space, no plane at all but a static, sorted, in between. See it and now you cannot see it. Hear it and know your ears would burst. Feel it and know your mouth would swell and cry. Sense — know the planes around you now are the planes in which you lie. you have left the center again—
I can't help but laugh.
A national polclass="underline" The morning brings everyone awake, and wears them formal. They are cast to each other on freeways and broadways. They are made to eat food. Lights click on in intervals. A national polclass="underline" The sun at night or moon in the morning. Are the rays meant to be castrated. Are the animals to be kept on provision with gag order. Do the stones set in a row, do they, should they be moved. Is the speaking voice still proper. Was the control collar a viable — thing? thing? was the — control collar? And then: Boom. Hands sweep aside the ballots. A nationwide sigh as magic goes away. An internally circulated grin at the success of a self-effacing, disintegrated voice. COSTS become an echo in tertiary space, and as it passes the satellites and diode cables, the astronaut feels it move up through his feet and out his helmet.
Lapse.
Numbness in the shaman. Cry for that now.
Or if the wall opens and offers a child: I will beat it to my chest in the just-dead way. I will sob for all mothers. Sob for all mothers, like good myth. Obliquity in worship.
Tertiary space. How light might come in.
I have run a gamut of plague, or akin of plague. First: Little hives. Then swollen tongue. Dry eyes. Unconquerable thirst. All this in rapture, obviously. Then: More thirst, mighty as before. Then boils. Blisters. Tongue unswelled and reswelled. My throat felt the tongue go and went up with it: Swelled shut. Fingers bent when I couldn't see them. All the time I couldn't — can't see them. My lips shook. Ears oscillated, spun around on each side of my head. Like plates, and that was awful because putting your ears to the floor only revealed the—