Saturday, February 20, 2010


ko vorme le mokca
co nalbalvi
joi nalpurci ku zi'o
le cfipyboi .i tcati ritli
clinoi ni'o carvi

.i vacri le terdi poi mi nelci
ke'a .uusai .uinai ku'o
lo remna selcne galfi
.i pu'e zu'i ku mi'o fange
daspo le mokca porsi

.i do spuda fi le respa
sance .i cnisau .i
ve vorme co se ckape lei
pacna befi lipimo'e le picti
.i bebna je ja dimna se danmo

(' "Armageddon": You be the doorway between the moment that is not-future mixed-with not-past, & nothing, in the confuser-ball structure: tea ceremony instruction-message... Rain. Air, of earth which i am fond of (strong pity!) (sadness!), with composition humanly-altered modified. By process the-usual, we-including-you are foreign-destroyers of the moment-sequence. You reply with a hissing [reptile sound]. Familiar-feeling. Doored-structure endangered by the mass of hopers of-likelihood- too little a trillionth. Foolish and or fatal smoke-source.')

Writing into Whitman. (via wood_s lot)

Morock'n Roll.

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