A near total isolation from the beginning, we lift the other to
extraordinary heights, and wonder with awe what it all ever was from the
distance… the balls are always in a vice, throbbing with a pain that
can only be felt from a disrobed stroke in the claustrophobic
constraints of those traveling pants, and the nervous break dance of
having to pee real bad… an ache without mistaken faking depth that
cradles the map of the subconscious, that displaced trip through time
and space, invaders and defenders trapped in the confinement… decisive
devices carry out the lords of destruction, I find myself cringing with
my fists out in front, and the sudden impulse to strike out… lashing
only against the sides of hell, the silence felt so deeply when all else
might be alright in some way, but cannot be… the nervous, twitching
demiurge develops the sage advice, but few trust what hopes are sliced
into quarters drawn and curved… though thoroughly observed from the
views of quiet words, a helpless nerve repents to take what it deserves,
and lashes out into that spacious particular empty between things…
