Dubbed liners.

And of course I had thought it clever to find a sign for her – but breathless as she
was, she let the harp play, revealing mine in a returning manner, as for me to swallow mine own.
Itself standing between wind and none, and mine own crown unbore alone between head and
heaven. Advent heedless unhinged to her, whose nomination should be just interrompted by great
talk and titbits of greasy flesh. Might thy twohorned tongue avilize thy, thy ? Almost a hair parting
this tongue then, no hope for this. (Deemed unseated for the J.J.Q.'s Quompetition.)
Where was I, of yes course, beginn again bragging to others. But to no result, as this last notion
should have come before. Iou need names surely to go fit flirt with populaces and tandrums,
fishpond for testardments. So there were Chris., lately died of too precocious, bold – axciss of
chemotheropos. His voice changed talking about. But Simon of course, armed with a victory à la
Pyrus, his coming after me, and I faking to have come – I was there all along despite. Simon was
grand, and nice not in the least. Easefully I had seen her waiting – where I thought I was only
waiting in the world. There was a mate I could pavanate myself to, in common room, proud I was of
his name, whether first or last ! Prerequisites for a story I believed at the moment – chest games.
Goyfully discovering her formitude, I took on a distance to and with the body. He (the body)
brewded, consumpted, prepared its surmise, devival, on pietastool, convering all deemed necessary
for occultion. On this time – I was in it, unflowing, yet giving the flow, the semional river, as I wish
to this day which could insurrect this time – I found rituals to all. Repeating something I found to
be. Essence of things, some just. Some pieces, that seated Ricercare, woeful Adagio, I wishing to
replicate in my art of then the grandness of announcement of rehearsing, probing to see and observe
among and between her and I some re-, ad-, cognition. Things repeated always growing though.
Yes, yes to find a mining, seaning, wahnsign, among her. The circles of a signature allotting to our
mutual death, her daath, unmovable finding point, point for finding. Me the circle though. Whose
line then ! Where all minge and fleshed pots on the glaise. Her touch was a divine I thought and
since thought was all : it equalled that of music ; for music touches without contact, and she
contacts without having had to touch. Doleful, grandful satiety. Once again a thin liner, dunch, to lie
upon, to recover, until – but no sleep quite yet, insulting as it'd be to sham my eyes away against her
skin. Finding barely myself on raily Chartres – or is it Amiens. Barely opposeite even as I hoped on
t'tram, find a baton to hang on to and recollecting semes and simies, on in normal life. Yet ev'ryday
found its way to this station, to her standing. That might be for the picture good, a daycoreum. What
ills would do to a little chatter ? They were rumors of course – as in all, liars, repeated as frequently
as a dead would happear. Grand schemes to encompass. Tram systems of thought it seemed,, as
trama, for drama according to Goyrge, fremd friend of silver land ! (another acquaintance for your
cashier of loads). Becknighted upon me was the revelation that she was what I wanted to be – as in
all true couples, situation which managed to give me great reassurance of chosing this specific One,
mind Plotypus, and fright as to my incompletion. Was it the salty air which protected her from my
wüstful attacks ? Or the woven themes of her unaware strings, repeating as they might the
compliant of the undone widow ? Virgin by being a foreigning here – queen of my drained upon
nights ! She claimed to be welsh. Jewel I would call her. I, Roland born of my grampa, stuttered to
this country plain with ire-honnie. Of south I had come then, then even further south as you go up
my family tree – Alfred seems to have been borne ajew times. Detested, I wish I had stayed today
longer at my Brazen Head, remaning true to the name. To acquire this rut-i-lance, fleshness of
thought, action of dream. Ah ! Ah ! For her missing godness, Ennoia could should I call her –
separated at birth by breath, Scham ! And me, providencing it, dismegistus, Harry as well bore in
middle. Our last trip, island of beauty, brought naught but coincidences, parallels. On the north rim
of Ajacciu had been staying, a house daresay a fort lying against steep hill – Alata ! Was the name
of our Hamlet. Close to greek heritage surely – me busy with drafting yet another addendum to
commentaries on Heraclitus, of ephebus. All turned to white coffee as soon as we came back to
Ireland – I had never left her or it before. Come back there, here almost quite yet ? With new things
but old also gone just as brightly. Names, faces, which I never cared to truely learn, gone. Just at the
end she was there, only remanent atom, laughing rib as she could be, twisting intentions to make
these ever more nervous. Unwinded pasture of neither : her of strings d'air, mine of earth,
catachtonic standing but above as verily always. The divorce of the other shocked me. Cravy, as
brilliant and fuming as his wedding might have been, gave me light to think about unity : since I
don't recall the name of the bride. Seeds of wacked hair among ruins of footsteeps. Our letters, their
terms, origins of going till. Splendor just not beyond this. She told me she has no home. I have but a
home, but a feeling of ever constance. Sometimes privation certainly but so as to keep sane.
Coordinates didn't mean much, and homely is the Kippure, Blackrock, or the Stella gardens.
Misplacement and umbalance, separation at birth, mirroring and repairing that at Death, itself the
misplacement of the center of life – arch-mnemosis ! - were our words of order, begging earth to
have this soil animated with our mistakes. Had she known, realized, had I not circled strangled my
akin, could maybe have we been staying together ? I was all things, elements, but she was all
movement – dearly so. Proud nietzschean as ere I was, thought. Wait this is pastense ! Not potense !
Already over my tongue heents at Ai. Damn symbols, voyaging always behind and beyond. I was,
thought that all vacuum is abhorred in my nature, impossible air making water stand, hidden
making the works magical alight alright. So ghastly beings were dealt with accordingly – klept
secret. And we filled each other with maps, bodies being surfaced by these, covered by their
instruction, restruction, obstruction. Ars memoria from our own emanations – as the turtle, we bore
our home on ourselves, turned each other round about, abounding in knowledge, immediacy.
Discovered the soul and its fakeness – instituation of a distance to avoid the price and beauty of
pain and felt restriction. Ex nihili, ergo omni per multum.
Ire land