My guilt is a damp sock. Eden feeds on waste. Love feeds on love. This notebook keeps me sane. Stung with passion I am not enough.
Throatchoked with all these images. A book of snow. When someone touches me I see pictures of where I want to be. I left my broken watch in JakJeon. Time is out of image. Image is a crackle of distant thunder. Auf Englisch: I shuffle through a silent desert. I`m stretched out in this capsule coffin and the kitchen is full of strange smells. I`m relearning the arguments of love. My head is creme brulle. Ireland is my ankle and Germany is my distant toe. I`ve got a load of rubbish to sell. Grace is on the nape of my neck. Knight on the horizon. An ancient horse in my throat. This is a different sort of time. I cherish my broken watch.
Inside my shadow is another shadow. A Russian box of shadows. My tongue is a provocative projection and my third mind is a pendulum. This is an erotic tendency. Legs and crotch. Jumphappy. I bleed ego.
Breaking off or breaking in? A rock shrugs off water. Hard on the outside; chewy on the inside. I have a mind/body problem. This is a fixed madness. There is no end to making out.