In the end it.s all about looking for love in the world to celebrate it. In the end. There.s nothing like looking, driving a car, fast, well oiled,no pain, wind sleek,the color platinum blonde or silver screen, built by itself, in the end, to cut through the air like a blade of a knife, and quietly honoring you o join it on this trip, at night, it's color navy blue.
on foot montauk highway is stolen dark beat unawares, away from its electric light.you feel suspended, like you.re floating in a somewhere molasses of concern,gravity less.you feel like using flares to get from one place to the train station this after stopping for food, finding one place selling cocktips of commoners in a flash/concealed ad on the web, the other intracultural choice pick shut down early, door locked, staff on hand to feed bridge hampton.s nuclear reactor gas tank,enormous, right next to it.Your last chance commons mall, the staff trying to bury you in a nearby field, disavowing any hostility toward a " maria" , a fascist who crosses over her childslaughters from left to right, right to left, like a compass needle gone shaky from too much availability, too many schools in a district, not any schools unionized in a district, parochial schools, vocational schools, too much, so soon, not enough never, never enough homes to claim as houses of her own, a vast gaping wound of need, simulating a generative cuny proud in the 70s, now worked down to a next to nothing hegelian/engelsian/ vico-heroic boner in 2021, just right, the perfect fit for the only royal methodist gamecockpiece left in town to box through its episcopalian connections and shrink independent work and expectations through its presbyterian.
catholics in the hamptons limit themselves to beating you senseless with hostility while donning a fascist salute through its young, all gorgona prison island, beating you away from HRA benefits and safe housing, kidnapping free children for a pope who lectures daily in a white walled bathroom that looks like it smells pine cleaner, with flowered offerings cut down to size to steal the allotment away from valid contemporary work who needs Buonarroti now when a procession of bigots and their dog children can eat a sailboat down to the hull, redistrict the slave ghost crew to local restaurants run by indonesian street whores wearing gallon hats, ready to spit out the rudder, who is a rudder to decide which direction to take, on its own, in connection to staff, when an everweaning loathsome god stands to command even thought in endless repetition of inopportune expression to build up for a repulsive lynch mob proud of its teeth molting in their mouths, slicing up snakes with a twodee paring axe, such compelling, commercially viable skin, with miu miu making ski loft lodge boots out of english sheepdog scalps for depressed cross country scandinavian slave holders, warm toes to cross the alps in like hannibal as an elephant hunting for friulian farmers glands of any kind, and a brain to appease a bourbon papacy and queen christina for having to put up Descartes.
on teevee you can see the pope shooting sound waves against his interior walls, the echo of a din, djinn,
a desert, David, you can.t see an employee offering small packets of soap, hand and genital towelettes to use while in the off camera stall, chanel models ready in the background to:
1.verify that the shitter.s asshole is genetically royal oval;
2. to welcome the byproduct, hooves, nitrites, in their turkish brothel themed world hungry mouths, teeth substituted by chainlink in case a recalcitrant insert fits in the disabled stall, by hook, by cruikshank.s rood, by war, by love, in a substituted infiltrated world, repeating itself and only itself like cheap foreskin onion skin paper for blueprints visible only to.one.eye.
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