Fragment⌗

Peaceful crossing the road is easy with the shops unlit on order from the popehead. Don’t want Pauly not a lick and not polluted not through gas if the grid’s not coal. Ivory tower dome, do the blessed nuns and monks all live it up together? Sacre-coeur! Activity then. From building mess to mass, and shields are up in solid white. Thought black but who’s who and christ what colour. Dirty white are the pillars, arches and entablature. And it was an erection over London then. Mustered up grandest for an epoch and a sage. Look at this fast food opposite, slick. Just slap and poke the bubble till it bursts. Let the rat run loose inside. Em, can’t get edgeways in without the ebony rosary gold plated crucifix? Supporting chapters or red cross affiliations: the receiving kind as always. Giant parks against a floodlit face and straight rock. Do not take anything for granite. Rick said don’t take it for granite although he’d never seen the polished nipple up to Dog before. Rick would also unzip at the chapel door and release not politics over the cityscape. Original speculation right, and not about tulips sake, not stalks or stubs; INVEST IN THE AFTERLIFE Hey you, hey there. Give yours to us, make incessant prayers. Family obligations? No time to waste! For family capitals on the day of death, and you’ll ascend. Think of futures and options for humanity, and help us advertise the one true doctrine. Passed through and linearly active straight from Jésus, Lorde and Mahmoud. The one who died to let you walk upon the culmination of misty hallways of our modestly infinite estate in the sky. Villa of blue, for only a token of you, a share that lets you and us and them appreciate the wealth of all Valhalla. This sacrament to the angels shows that we don’t live in squalor now. Help welcome them into the Eucharist, our table, and participate in the body of the Son and know our house is worthy of reciprocation. And they will invite us up into the corridors of our ancestors residence. Who advanced from physical into spiritual beings, walking with the saints and almighty ancient minds. Walk towards your judgement day with confidence that you’ve given all you could and you’ll know that this is yours. That here you’ve built this house, for this is the home of the eternal free. Do not walk away from this once in a lifetime opportunity. There is no beyond your means. You are the means, and we want you. Run and your eternity will be spent in trenches of the searing spit beneath the sewers of Saint Paul. Give into the house which you desire to hold, or turn forever from it’s sacred doors into the unknown and the sin. Until you are ready to repent, and to give up giving up and thus retreat back from the simple sins of insolence and sardony and grin. Ah, sire. Beyond a reasonable shake and granted splash of good Israeli kak. What’s not to love and what’s not to hate? Well, the avenues of history, litter bugs galore. Dropping game on blocks, whips to make the unskilled smarter. So what’s a rack, except for sanitation wrong and where’s the moral line? Real question. What is vandalism on the raped and stolen land, built up to museum quality testaments to the powerful elite? So ask what’s the difference between man and god, and what’s the difference of bitches? One’s got public and private, one’s got inside and out. Sums of privates and the randy gauging inner children’s shouts. Giant does pull out and leaves a stink behind and to the true pit, the hole of man’s kindness to itself. That dodged the face of labour for a tax, that breaks the rules of people and found the loops to circumnavigate. Who stopped one tyrant and let two more enter at each other’s throats. They had been allies killing off the third. Yes bank is it for the bank. In those days was it just one bank or of the riverbank? Dealing with deposits, what’s the difference? Accumulation of one kind or another. The underground’s the same, and not just Bakerloo line spider crossroads. Bank which is liquid non-newtonian and a financial centre deals with liquidity and there’s the difference: riverbeds (and associated banks) still hold on to the viscose and the fluid. Tide, shore, buoyancy, depth, spread the universe applicable to a range of different inconsistencies. The liquid surface moves slick and reads the moon for speed and cubic deliveries. The sludge deeper to the bed of the river is the stationary home of urban low oxygenated monsters. Crawdads and eels dominate the darkness underneath the Thames. Good for body disposal, good for a scary story. But don’t bank on it for Jeeves sake and don’t swim where you can’t see your hands dipped underneath the surface, don’t dive if you cannot see the bottom, and don’t fly if you can afford to take the train. The rush of stock liable to move little in a day and nought that you could help. The reliability of a red lion is about as worthless as guessing to the mm what the level of the tide will be tomorrow. Still, it would be but a club past Islington and penthouses brimming on and on. Pubs that don’t close need a different breed and some folk never. Giant on the railing all horseshoe locked and strapped down. ONSON, full PPE place not easy sneakings over corporate walls and slippery paint enclosure. Sahi foot up will ya, get a buckle on this; a trick, mongrel pup can’t or instant incessant half cut rascal man with head half on and half litre wad and loved up swollen everything and there can Sahi sahi. Whatcha doin’ hah can climb up drain pipes, whip round tight corners, slimline, beeline, couldn’t find the line to not cross but just a look. Just have a look it’s not closed, a bit close must be. Have a look just scenes closed and topped off too and can’t cannot no can you nail the desks to floors and can’t glue lamps to post-it notes on sturdy standing desks. No, you can’t put this kid in a cage and say it’s life, no not with that hair and a kirby not. Put that beautiful girl on a bus pumping headphones in and tell her these three daily hours are just a part of life and don’t say well that’s three days each month, and what’s your weekend plans? Sit sat on the deck of the 159, sitting on the desk or whatever. Sitting got a special seat too - butt shaper and a foot rest, and top gel hand and wrist holster - got that in the zone type space set up. But who knows interior designer, upper management, directors could be radical and have you standing up, and mandatory office jogs. DISCRIMINATION Can’t happen won’t happen. Arses happening all day, and arses clapping and happy cramping. Kushy, maybe got it wrong and skid lore upping stairs will be a shops and cafe matrix. A school gymnasium would fit inside the foyer, each child a desk, each class a team, each teacher a quote, each rector a goal. Little office university and get paid while getting laid. Amazing results when we’re done with the pigs. Let’s keep the buildings and don’t roark it up to the imperfect hall. It’s the dogs that have to go at the end. Incorporated space for bulls and bears. Just one percent in the fire pit that’s easy, maybe bottom one percent too and be fair, and another one percent at each ten bracket, nice. Let’s keep it top and repeat and repeat until subordinates get the picture beat. Choose life, sweatshop catalyst, have new jeans. Having mon-fri socks with a new fresh smell is best. So fresh for footrest and waning gibbous waxing crescent sneakers. January to February spring, summer, autumn socks and boots, flip-flops, crocs, ticks and smocks on corners own spot matching headband stocks - but old docs, old docs from the store are old docs. Each matches mismatched, must have the pairs as odd and not and hats to match and spectrum jackets. What about music, that’s a brand, and Beiber, that’s a statement coming from a man who’s fully grown. But I’m a believer in tit for tat and stripes on plain shirt pockets and plaid cuffs and bleached denim ripped to super cool. Uber. But they’re coming out closed steel toe in to stick desires and brewhime, timed to ruddy up and keep sitting. Ollie, Charlie, Alex, Keiran, John, Peter, Amanda, Craig, Stephen, Pritchard; you got it slacks on powder jeans on site and sweaty shirts off and sweatshirts on and turtlenecks and chinos, loafers brown and blue, adidas iridescent and blue gazelles, and silver seikos and gold plated casios and swatches,

• lads, first rounds on me lads, what are we, eight, boys? sorry, boys and lady that’s nine so what nine lagers and a shandy is it. Outstanding. Craig, see us a hand with the tray, mate

  A LITTLE LATER

• smashing tits, fucking hell.

Anyway Tuesday is not a heavy one and some pores stay open more than other ones and fashion in its own way is the prolet chic. Even the one’s got out the dust and can’t shake the gloves and hard hats, clean hard hats and new boots, and clean shirts under special visors. Architect’s an abstract thing, can’t be too much more than formwork, for the amount of folk you’ll hire. Formwork design - that’s concrete. But the fitters, fixers, fetchers and fat arses, that is informed work. Haven’t seen such since a few holidays and they gather all around.

• Gather round, SANTA CLAUS has an announcement to make!

stand up, stand up

• Hello, everyone, happy to be here. Berg, Baum, Birchen, Bilde - families I would like to have died for if I didn’t have the choice. Let me say…

beads of sweat are forming, trickling and wiped off slow from reddish head

• …just a…

• (beat)

• …just a little tale and boys and young ladies, wives, husbands, free loaders and hard talkers,

(beat)

sisters, siblings, aunts, nephews, friends of friends that have gathered here today…just going to lift my leg up for a little dramatic effect…nothing to worry about…I…

And that was Zachman Belvir and his annual farting joke where he stands up and makes sure everyone is listening in before dessert and aperitif. A mock speech and tremendous, and let’s tell you tremendous Hanukkah. But no-one knows if it was a problem of digestion or diet that brought on such a deep and perspiring scarlet face this one festival of lights and we could tell that Zach felt it was close, and he could hardly concentrate on the harangue and instead started swelling into a ripe old lobster - fat and succulent and not much more jovial and saintly, inflated and a little bit frightening to behold. The stuttering interupting his personal tradition had Dr. Brimberg MD, and Prof. Salumnt, PhD Cardiology, edge away from the backs of their seats and really start to analyse the old fart. Was this a simple trapped gas situation and discomfort? Shutting down the body completely in order to pin down a deadly burp. Or, and not improbable taking Mr. Belvir’s history of public speaking and extreme lack of embarrassment for him or his children, and who does not ever stammer without a deliberate comic effect, had more likely some erratic palpitations and a long resting constriction of certain arteries, pinpointing a couple of troubled limbs and Zach Belvir dropped much quicker than a sack of potatoes with eyes on the back of his head, and legs more wobbly than the jelly he has for breakfast. This great weight crashing to the floor was almost completely unanticipated, and completely shocking, startling indeed. The show man hit the ground in a loud and muffled garumph and must have shaken his insides as his loosened body let out one final raspberry, biting the attention of every wide eyed in the room and setting off a literal earthquake inside. An earthquake situated, it is to be believed, around a fairly eruptive volcano which is well known to diffuse large amounts of sulphur into the air, but will really require a deft rattling to really blast off and make the front page. Zach, unlike Sahi, does only need to collapse in voluptuous ear splitting and nose pinching death rattle to wind up as the poorest but also and rarely most heroic schmuck of the week, at least on a couple of locals only papers. Luckily for Zachary, you can quite easily lose ten years and twenty kilograms in an obituaries profile. Now anyway, what’s a place like this doing without an alarm system to say the least and no CCTV on the inside and even for a lockpick this seems a little hopeful. And you could say steel girders and beams are a bit tricky to steal but here the concern is sabotage and not theft. A place of any kind of place can be a ripe old spot for auld tricks and if you listen to a poltergeist then be spooked and if you entertain the thought of foul play you must be a madam or a spook or a psychoanalyst. Luckily an act of Dog is inexplicable and is the perfect antidote for the budding over analyst. The land of the accidental and microsevere. There’s just a bit of scaffold and a DO NOT ENTER sign blocking certain paths, but without end or tiers and strict walkers asking air scold and permits for ladders. Red card for mostly anything that’s done and can’t be seen in the day and who could tell by finding a sneaker print on silica must be one youth and if there were one there were two and even if an inquiry was held well who could be sacked and who could be suspected. spraypaint HOLDEN CAULFIELD MADE ME DO IT in the canteen might get their attention. But that kind of monster youth is that which already outspells the foreman, outfucks the engineer and is a fox as far as causing damage and couldn’t find the whisky anyway. That’s youth, not a thief or a pagen. But there is an assortment of biscuits in the site directors desk and every fifth is laced with the dabbiest of drops and that is colourless and odourless and makes the trees sway even on the stillest days. It’s really the little things that make a world of difference to a day, and maybe a small dose makes you light and a cool kid with a wide grin and pupils half way into next week and clammy hands, might dry his up, but bloodshot eyes and verging on tears on a very unlit and please remain dark and fully grown and dick swingers will embark. And sharing is caring oh i had and cherry pie didn’t put my fingers in at 160 degrees no i didn’t fuck it not me. well nobody minds or half a mind to. don’t mind either or either pitch on watching the man man spiked clothes off looking at the bluesky and singing famous Leonard Cohen songs and being Jesus and pulling in the power of ten-thousand Jesus’ and ain’t seeing triangular warnings as funny singers and a crew who just think forever you’re as mad as hell and hell to damm well just taking that anymore. And Kestral Caugh O’ Keefe went out by the cigarette smokers to embrace sunlight, ripping off his checkers and banging gorilla on a surprisingly, though situationally fitting, hairy chest. And his green eyes and freckles go pore to follicle in finnegans likeness and it would be correct to say that the sweater and scarf match complexion, so it is. This, as may seem inevitable by now, has produced ninety-eight percent of a bonafide jungle man, who evidently makes the same realisation himself and starts climbing up the scaffold. This is totally out of procedure for the large bellied the mammal, and sites own director of operations, who, by the way, was a sparky and has never so much as lifted a corner bracket, let alone been in the monkeying around of trying to put the whole thing together. Crack Caliban was duly called into action while Simpson Steelfast wrote up the hazard form. Crack headed with his harness, a spare over his shoulder, and carrabinaded himself to the bar over his head preparing for the climb. Sim gave him the bright idea of catching him at the third floor, handing him a few bananas with a half serious half what the fuck expression. Crank, as Rancor West knows him, follows up the stairs with slacks on his shoulders, ready to strap the fateful ape. By the time that Crack could cut the Kestral off, he’d already started a King Kong on level four and was stroking his little strawberry blonde friend and cooing peacefully, balanced precariously above the plastic shell of the scaffold, in an extremely tentative and overconfident squat. Crack, clamber from the floor below and line up with the precious beast. He was quite excited by the prospect of lasooing the director and tried carefully to work up without startling him. As Crack Caliban got within a couple of metres he could hear the infantile chants clearly; a rhythmic stream of nonsense incantations. The director was beating up Richard. Crack could find no angle in, and started to become frightened. There was no sane point of entry, and so he retreated a little and called out softly to the director. Orangutang looks down to the human form climber. Remain completely still and two pairs of eyes locked, absolutely. Crack pulls out a small bunch of bananas from his toolbelt and holds one out. Still no movement, but eyes move between the bananas and the silent uproarious eyes. Crack knows his way around a druggy, but psychedelics are not his usual forte. Nevertheless, he is patient and careful to try and bring the savage in sans escalation. An escalations in such circumstances must be extreme in the farce. A man thinks he is before man, and not the superman, who can be tempted with the challenge and not treats. Not beneath man who will grab on every charity willing. The little scaffolder knows now that it was going to be tricky and sets his mind on the safe recovery of Captain O’ Keefe. Edge towards the supervisor, simian in pose, with a banana outstretched and eyes locked. The muscle memory of a decades dead slow motion does not let Kestral Caugh O’ Keefe to think he has any more swinging antics to go. The director weights with caution for Crack to get within arms reach, and snatches the banana out of his hand. Crack balances himself beside the ape, fastened to the bar, holding out the rest of the bunch. Kestral opens the bananas by squeezing them and slurping up the fruit into his puckered mouth. He takes another pair happily and squeezes them gaily. The crane and chains are edging slowly down above the pair. Corporal Crack Caliban still doesn’t have good innings. He opens up the spare harness. As kestrel takes the penultimate banana, he unwittingly puts his arm right through the harness, which crack plans on strapping to him like a waistcoat. Crack climbs around the back of Kestral and looks down at the director from the opposite side, offering another banana through the left hoop of the harness. Crack, deft, carabinas the back to the two ton strap hanging just above them, dangling from the crane, and before that director has time to notice, the front clasp clicks and he is being lifted up above the scaffolding. Intelligently, the beast does not thrash, and looks in fear at the fine drop below him, keeping a cool and trim fusion to the harness. The crane moves sideways and begins to lower the director onto a pallet drop on the fourth floor. Crack is almost there already and meets Simpson Steelfast at the lz. They congratulate each other on completion of the safe recovery. The recently active director is becoming docile, perhaps in realisation but probably a simple after feast nap hits him, and he greets them on the landing without fuss, sitting cross-legged on the planks while Sim and Crack unhook the crane and cover the jig lemon in a blanket and asks if he’ll stand up. Unfortunately it is the weekend, and there aren’t any biscuits to drug. Moreover there are no drugs and there is only a memory of intoxication and unspent fantasy of the future. Credit card clicks into the offices and papers shuffled sufficiently enough to cause site wide confusion. It is true that getting into the main blueprints will be problematic, but a little panic will be at least set in motion in the search for answers, and maybe even a silent inter office witchhunt will unfold. If Sahi kept his head on lower and thicker he would be the lackey and have nothing to do with the piping. There is also the freespace, the air pockets of bad architecture. We are back to the original point of abstraction free architecture when arriving into the realm of plaster and wiring. It is only a hotel, the worst kind of extravagance to be worth a billion. Imagine that, a room of one’s own without life. The ready meal of habitat. There away from home and wife away from strife. Paper copies located and building under budding mental siege. Capturing a great weight in a small space is a fantastically useful skill. It doesn’t matter if you are a basketball player or the banksman, to be able to hit the bullseye in a tight spot translates to almost all facets of life. Eternally grateful are the lovers of snooker players for their keen ability to take a cue, sustain it for extended periods in fluid empathetic strength and release at absolute precision. Of baskets that are to many a truly great distance. This analogy comes from someone uninitiated in the inner workings of an orgasm and presumably thinks that relationships are very scientific affairs. Not to be making jokes about chemistry and psychology which are only the scientific explanation of phenomena. Phenomena on the other hand is another art all within itself and although an ordinary plosive utterance may make the art of cunnilingus, one would imagine that the soft palate communications (normally utilising the tongue) are a better alternative to the phallic oral vernacular. Phallic oral vernacular, known in the world of embraced sexuality simply as POV, is the sensitive skill, both contributing to the chemistry, and the psychology of sex. Here you whisper such explicit expletives as GET ON YOUR WHORE FACE, BITCH, DON’T MAKE A SOUND, FUCK, OK, FUCKY, WHAT’S YOUR NAME? resulting in the adrenaline gland supercharging both parties erotic experience and similarly increasing the energy and stamina. What a place thinking sexy thinking what have i been missing and what a nice head of hair and nice looking too and handsome too and not poor not rich and only calling close friends bitchy and i am ironic to say he they won’t ever do a DNA here not for this it’s just a practical joke for a man to man and man this happens all the time. But whose desk, director? Won’t go back there again and the manager is too smarted he’d eyeball it right out of you the next time he saw you he’d be damn sharp and prepared he’d try and make friends with the lot of us just to crack it. Tripping us up on any random question leading us to the filling lack. It’s hard to be so soft all the time. No time for rest as always exposed, though trying to cultivate a blasé invincibility reserved only for the molecular and the infractable. It’s true that the insignificant cannot be damaged, tampered with, or improved. Only something that is significant has been that way always, only previously misidentified. It’s soft to be hard all the time; crushed under the weight of steel without even a strong thought of control. It’s hard to let go of the dream and focus on the life force instead. In fact, mostly what discovery tells this is that it is hard. John O’Groats has this power of terrain that you can shake at and trample and purposely ignore and never touch it not man. But he has no power on terrain and only a claim of it, which, unless I am mistaken is not so much a dominance of earth but a leverage over the neighbour. Jacqueline knows that her great grandaddy didn’t own it and her great granddaughter probably won’t either and we are not indigenous. Yes humankind is not indigenous except to planet Earth and maybe Africa is a buzzword but all that means is that we have the same doctors from Peking to Mither Tap. Well it’s good to do reconnaitre before the plan is done and the building is in prime shape to line the cracks and holes filled up to take hold of flame and wait ready for the match, when the fire safe is the sulpher dipped wood sitting before the friction and a break between the scrit and the ground floor, and the ventilation and the street when the fire is looking to break in and the oxygen fills up tight the vacuum and makes a building bomb. It had to be someone when the plans were put to action and the foundation is unsealed and open to the air and we can pour C4 with the concrete. Gunpowder sits alongside Electric cables and behind the plaster and the gasket heads which sit above the hotel beds, lining choking walls with flame and you just throw your head against the window and see which cracks first and you can throw yourself at the door and see what the corridor looks like in the middle of an explosion. But it’s good to dream and imagine the coordination and London’s burning and that makes good and start a new world build upon the ashes of the old. And through corrupted ages in the super crematorium, and you did it to me and made my brothers and sisters fat and scared and confused about our plan and gods plan on Earth. As a bit of writing on the wall tells the dryliners where to put the cleaners socket on the outside of the wall. And where the party box goes in the letter boxes go. The letterbox is a river of cables and piping, hidden from eyes and making lumpy rectangular prismy boxes around the edges of the room, creating a jagged field to an otherwise cramped space. Little boxes all stacked around and stacked a mile into the subterranean. Hell is a mile down and one by one and your hell is being in a box falling down and speeding up until the air comes in through slits is razorsharp and frosting and there are never nights and days and you will never move your legs and you have cramp and a tiny bug is a bullet and your eyes are never closed. Shrapnel comes together after shrapnel from angry catastrophe spreads through air and in guts and we’re in situ, lifting you from brandishing against us. And what was the enemies weapon the driving you into obscurity? That is the market and the modern usage within marketing which is viral vs. vision. One requires the detail and decree, the Dostoevskian good deed on a whole bachelors lesson and not less. the viral is the primitive instant laughter, frightening, wide eyes, tight bellied reactions. The criminal is inherently viral and hate is more so than love. The act which most tear us apart to get the most attention. But it is just for the right reasons and there is no reason for you to worry about the inner beast, only I have the inner feasting agent. When (unprintable expletive name) and his brother in arms (unprintable expletive name) entered the concert hall during Warren Lautrec’s encore, the crowd was at peak, and, depending on where you stood, almost drowned out the sound of songmaster’s penultimate rock and roll and folk ballad. Minutes later while the brothers in arms were at peak and a tub filled red and thick around their feet, the whole world was either watching the feed, or a thumb away from finding out what was happening in the city of love, which was drowning in excessive hate (which, by the way, also stemmed from some twisted kind of love). Melanie Wince was validating rumoured gunshots in the inner city district of Aubagne whilst simultaneously texting and calling her younger brother, Wandel, who is making a weekend of the event in question (the gig, not the massacre) and, regardless of involvement, was quite understandably shaken. These thoughts came later, of course – the three-minute mark simply had her thinking brother brother brother I don’t know I don’t know about brother brother. The worst assumption is the first assumption, but with regard to international news is only assumption and the personable nature of virality. In your bones and in your blood and eternally relevant to you. So, Melanie winced when she saw the feed of an ongoing mass murder because of her brothers involvement by presence. It took the whole heart charging from her chest to see PARIS — GUNFIRE — CONCERT and in a split second of realisation, the wrong went from heaven to her, and the story was her story and she was engrossed totally. Mel, as your friends call her, texts around for a little support for herself, emotionally, and a little help in locking down the Wandal’s location. Now it has been eight minutes since the first gunshot, and five minutes since the whole world knows. By this point, Wandel Wince had made thirty people personally involved in the bloodshed, as the event unfolded, it was being related to in tandem. No and never craving for the end of time and most want for the lot to the best of time and will fight if pushed a little and for our family will fight to blood. And the big family, the everyone family, that everyone is born in and can’t escape unless a final and don’t come back escape is mandated. A pain is universal because they’re only three degrees from here to anywhere, and start and end. There is always space between two and padding between white and its absence, or black and its reversal. Ping goes the death shell bouncing around the ballroom of the society masquerade. And on the outside looking in we can’t be sure the loved one was missed. There is no sure thing in solipsis so one posits that the possibilities run amok in the head stock and the primal imagination which connects oneself with disaster within an avoidable prayer that it is make believe, and although it is purported to be the worst of times, the disaster is infinite and impenetrable. There is only distance, but there is imagination of presence and empathy which sparks a self saving appreciation that the bad is as bad as it seems and it can and is happening at all points in time and space and so must be felt in the bones of the witness as well as the cracked bones of the victim. You are the victim by an infinite association with the minds available. One is mine and it is the same as yours and we are of a mind simply for the sake of passion. Consciousness is instinct, Though there are always complexities in the path. At least the goal is unanimous and relevant to a body involved with aeonic decay. this is another fine and perfect circle for you, the unceasing energy. Turn to heat, turn to food and lose mass and fill the mass within the space around you. Turn to gas and announce yourself to the ocean after the great collector of the mislaid energy. It churns in the sky and churns into the gills and pores of the aquatic, filling them up to full and bringing them back to the bedrock of millennia, paving themselves for the tip but to the dry and to the mineral. Remember blue cheese when you started to like it and the cheddar that went off spent months in the fridge and we cut off the mould and there wasn’t otherwise any cheese except American cheese and it had turned rich and delicious and bold and orange near where we cut off the mould. We must know it’s full-bodied when it goes off so quick and the catalyst enzyme has nothing to do with it then and the weakness in the curdling. And curdle breaks up into archipelagean drift, or heaven’s hammocks in the milk white smog of some kind of holy sky, effervescent with microscopic life. And maybe Valhallas host is in a glass of old full fat; it would be smart for the angelic playground to move and settle with such ease. This is the afterlife, or, as previously unexplained in detail, the beginning of life. And you may arrive in dairy or on wood, maybe you will find a longtime host, a human child’s stomach perhaps; what cultures are ready to thrive in the acidic swell of a newborn’s belly. And you are in luck because you’re collecting from mothers milk. Lucky for some and even if you don’t have a voice you are the sway into personhood, for who said anything but a stomach makes you move? Let’s assume a bed and now we need to eat, and eating makes us think and I am thinking simply (it is simple) that the reincarnation of souls physical form finds a culture of new bacterial growth to govern. Souls are spores, there is no difference between the two. And decay creates new bacteria, first by food, and next to spread. Once the spores souls find a host, they multiply and take over the specimen until it is only. If the host happens to be a human bean, the bacteria can make them sick, stressed, horny, hungry, sad, diabetic, senile, athletic, hormonal, smart, playful, etc. The stomach leads the brain almost entirely. This is because the stomach is cultured, where the brain is a single culture, or, within a culture, or cultures. This is important because it is a known fact that the brain rules the body, and yet it is still the body which pulls the strings, providing growth and missions for the brain and ultimately makes up the essence of the mind. no matter what you think I’m getting at with the essen of the mind, here’s a little food for fried chicken, once believed to have been a staple in conscious growth. Think back to Kestral and the strength of two men in the arboreal – a feast of fresh fruit is limbering, lengthening, and strengthening. A powerful person substitute relying solely on the in bloom and solid juice. The silverback is another one, a champion man breaker, fanged and dominant, but his diet consists of guess it again green green green. And maybe you’re hungrier than a hippo, but to the hip camper a portion will never be the same. Believe me when I say that you are the only beef you need in this life. well that’s right about the food as thoughts progress from pressing noisy stomachs and a million little influences showing you into the toilet at the right time. Sometimes, let’s call it / them a cat, the cat in your belly reacts badly to the poison stirring and vomit is likely, as most already know, but equally likely, from a probabilities perspective, is the need, albeit a forced need, to use the commode. And, using another of my favourite Americanisms, that liquored up tummy may as well be drunk by the time the bottle hits your lips for it’s sending all the right signals uptown before even Tension Fringe had a split second to battle metabolism. this is smart, bacteria, sending verification up so that a switch might by absolute expectation be switched, so to speak. This is the same way the Mustang can sprint days over pastoral USSA planes - physical sensation of grass is just close enough to supplement that a chain reaction triggers an okgo. Taste for chemicals slowly associates with euphoria, and bodily functions. Likewise changes come over the body after certain experiences of ingestion. Psychedelics leave a brilliance that never leaves. This is the ability to unsee plain. Black and white space teem in the essence of light. You see a faint buzzing rainbow, where once was only light. It is pure colour. We are once was an absence of light now reflects the spectrum RBG back into the once white peoples, now on the white in translation. This should put off anybody afraid of never recovering the untripped vision. You will lose it, and it will never return.