And when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair and stole me a dog eared map.

Thinking. Thought. Breaking down the barriers and constantly thinking about breaking things down. Crazy Socialist bitch. I'm among the masses yet alone no more.

I can't seem to bring myself to write about loneliness anymore. I wonder why. Probably because I'm no longer lonely. Things have been brought and I am satisfied. I am the King. She is my Queen. Maybe I'm begun to say too much. Maybe I should let things flow out so easily among the plastic tapping rush of keys. that once was the metal pounding of keys that was once the feather scratching the parchment. I blame Gutenberg for the computer. He started with the bible, then probably moved on to printing erotica. Pornography is the mover of the world. It's why the internet was invented. Why the photograph was invented.

That's maybe a bit cynical. I'd say so. No faith in man. Maybe they just wanted to do something good. But that's something I doubt. Sex sells and technology is no different.

Belief. Believe. Believability. I'm one among the masses. But at least I have the queen and at least I have the white space to keep me company in this my small little tiny fucking universe so grandiose yet so minute because I always consistently have trouble meeting people though that may be hypochondria. Move into the words one at a time until they're blindingly fastly comingly out of the words of plastic sheets qwerty keyboard aren't we all out among the masses where the silence is reckoning and beckoning and crying out for shame amongst our ancestor's names and thoughts and plastic toys and action figurines and paratroopers there was no end to the start I know this to be true and I know you're listening to me maybe I should spell check because I know how much you like perfect grammar but don't ever listen to me because your eyes are always closed because you're afraid of the blindly comingly light.

Rain cometh and I am the bringer A little bit of fog that sinks and sinks and sits and sits and pees. As if we're the water cycle's toilet. The clouds squat low and we get drenched. Then we collect it to use in our bathrooms. Brilliant. Cyclical. I love that idea. Of cycles and the beginning being nothing but another end and so on and so forth won't someone stop the madness and monsters of the second timely coming? I think I know what you mean when you say what you meant. I know that everything is a relative aspect of blinding petrification. Bring the bodies to me and I will have them examined for portals and plastics and benign tumors. I know that's what you want.

And all I want is to caress your skin, run my fingers down you back and across your face and tell you that I love with all my heart and mind and mouth and soul and ears and toes and eyes and nose and cheeks (all four). Yep.