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through you
as an electron neutrino
I don’t modify meself
I remain meself and
I belong to meself and
I belong to theeself
a bit of debris that
sublime temperatures
cannot destroy
and I then come to thee
and I am moved
moving the microwings that
someone gave to me
or I gave to meself
or you
in this maingrain
where all is greater
than max
where my micro-be
is thee beyond the superlative measures
you are my stream and
the immobility
but now I weep cause
you are like the clouds in the
stratosphere
you exist not
I’m steadfast and spectral.
And a nice countenance describes me.
I can hand you the burthen of what I am. Sex.
Supernatural spirit distracting.
Seductive. Overpowering.
Maybe I am a matter spirit.
Sex is what I give to you, with my closed eyes. With beauty
in my eyes. Sex I give to you with extended hands, whilst you
with your face reclined don’t want to look at me.
Love in any position.
Love you’re looking for, nearly in any moment.
A most sensual sex. And sight and feel, most peculiar, with me,
they live in one another. And you see and you touch. And the level becomes
most gratifying. The world breaks down, yours signifying evermore.
I give you the sex off repose, and that one in,
I give you the most gratifying genitality, the terrestrial dream, and that one exoterrestrial.
I give you the tone you are after. The girl is the sweetness. And I have the intelligence
to see her, and to touch her, and to feel all that which my being gave me the power
to see, and to touch. I feel the design as a most mundane and genial sex.
Off with my dainty skin away from my past skin. I keep staying little and more, for
I am the sex-matrix. My hands are the most effectual weapon.
Most young and most mighty just as neither the most young nor the most mighty are,
because in the instant they are, I’m more.
I’m the distraction, the deviance, for those who believe
distraction and deviance exist. For those who don’t believe they exist
I am DEMOGORGON only, the unmerry daemon, the spark
dark, the being betwixt the numen and the human, perchance the phantom of the hero,
the instant growing ever more than the men living it or
being lived by. DEMOGORGON is your instant, teeny dimoites, when you work, when you rest,
when you study, when you entertain with the filamented presences round propagated and
strewn with themselves to keep the tissues compact, cohering and in solido.
And I, in spite of someone hesitating, am the Fiber. To keep united
the life internet.
I am always and evermore.
The common-felt world is my den.
at night she is taken into the day
of electrum by the colour of azure
and she measures the assemblaged sources
those wherein the sun ain’t
whisper the words
she swings in the poesy of reeds
in the flower heads
in the radicles
in the hands of turquois
and if the night does not day
I get lost in her nights
which she kisses so
and remembers
and imagines
and receives into amongst her fingers
where a soft garden
stands out amongst wings of tenderness
when I gaze upon importance
my ears speak beauty
also in quietness
also in the swoon
of the pure white grapes
I don’t let go amongst
cracklets
of limestone when
the mind emerges amongst new wings
jasmine opens the wind
and I get closed
lonely
not continues
the measure of the timid
punctures
not denude my eyes
the delimpid season
where lovely and
agreeable comes close my jasmine
like flamsk she mixes
the candidess and the noncandidess
the puress and the humbless
unnaive torrents
not violate jasmine
laughter
have the rosy poses
and she sings me
in the nooks of mouths of little windies
and the windlet sings his hedges
with her
with teeth of joy and of flappings
of joy
even in a tender creaking
in helvaluminum
Governmental direction is cheating and ineffective as for the individual. There cannot be an “even” wealth distribution. Commercial actions and trading advantages and disadvantages have to be left to the individual economic agents with no institutionally recognized tutoring or legal supervision above. No institutionalized structure, no chartered privileged bank organization can fix any wealth-distribution problem.
Freedom means un-governed economy. No interference in property pattern and profit motive. This interference, known as etatism, lays waste lastly. Etatism is devastatingly misappropriating.
It means jeopardizing and hampering the generation future.
History is too knowledge-conveying to be neglected.
Vote is useless when the economic pattern is stateful.
The state machine in the economica is too massive to be sustained.
Education is to aim at the value of the individual. Any syndicate or union has to aim at this very value. Unfortunately, a union is inherently state-dependent and state-supportive. No warfare. No weapon revolution can make it, even though the temptation is strong. Progressive education of the individual is the only way to embrace a citizenship consciousness.
Progressive means no big government, no Sozialpolitik, no mercantilistic bias.
Progressive education must needs back capitalism.
Progressive education is thus called, because it is pro-profit. Prōfectus means “going on”, while a mercantile system is essentially nationalistic, Lebensraum-oriented, because it endorses exports and tends to obliterate imports. It sclerotizez, blocks the “goings-on” of society.
Progressive education has no borders, these being in a free-market network just a geographical convenience. Progressive education has no economically pernicious all-ingesting nationalinguistic élan, because capitalism has got its primacy anew.
This education is the only way.
On the rewrought-wood desk, along with the furrows wherein the colour seems to be alighted,
I get convinced on my own that does the colour of the stars come down which I have never seen in other zones
of miglothrez than in this one. I have never lived elsewhere. I’ve ever coloured without
thinking the colour, the sketching, the misline had arrived.
I cheered, when I found that that which
has been left by me strangely appeared anew as a fantastical affection.
I cheered, and the colour came down as rainy dew and so forth.
And it touched the ground.
And I don’t want to fear the ground untouched by the rain nor
the fresh appearance of that which I had left by mistake. Maybe I mistook, but no aridity,
even though the pathway I am in is arid.
Power-being is my cheer. And I cheered through my feeling
power-being. I cannot cheer if I am not or feel not
this. My heart lingers and strengthens, and stone does cheer with me.
When I feel the rain of dew on my feeling-like going into the borderzone,
I am positive that that which lies close to me will be my self. My heart strenghtens and the colours
of the welkin come down close, close to my positiveness. All of me is touched by the rain of
dew.
I cannot think the world stops. It cannot befall.
Rain on all of the things.
Prior to going away from this place, I want to see once more the school I got educated in.
Prior to running to the office they will entrust me with after the passing of the test,
I want to see once more the welkin of colours I know to be alien in the borderzone.
Prior to becoming «bio» person, I want to be once more sketched with graphite loveliness.
My visage will dark, and I will know the rain rains not on anything but itself.
And my heart strenthens more and more, till it feels not any other thing than the power to unfeel.
I will be «bio» person. And the blood will not beat on the walls.
Rain will rain on nothing.
FUNKY
Come not to be an individual.
Your atonement cannot come to the surface, you got no mien.
Get no coverface that
denies you to being-for-being blemishlessness.
Leave to us
the dasein burthen. You are regardless of your self.
Let no individual watch you, inspire the class.
LINDA
If an action leads to no change, it can be taken as error.
I know killing is error, but error gives me atonement. Is it just
atonement illusion?
Leave to me
the illusion. I will pay as the powers never pay. And maybe I will come to be
a symbol. And maybe I will not be an error
sharp.
If a govman forsakes the search of a thorough functioning throughout the society, if he or she does not contemplate the economic pattern and mechanicals, if he or she does not mean in the inside to take a risk by unveiling the underlying determinants of the crises in the society… he or she deserves to die, be killed: the economics of the world cannot be a prerogative of an ignorant arrogant uncaring govmanship.
FUNKY
Your mien attracts me, cause you got no mien.
You ain’t one, but you are a mode of the One.
If I am ast what of you I deem most lovely, I answer: “Loveli-
ness.”
LINDA BIOPERSON
When I get out of this function,
and I will get out of it,
I will be ready to kill anyone who
shut me into this function. I know that
the societal issue will not be composed, yet I will have
atonement.
I,
will have atonement.
By death I will take away power from the
empowered. For, if you don’t kill them, they won’t doff power
ever. They have no motive to doff that power
they got thanks to unknowledgeable democracy legitimating them.
By killing the potentates, I
recognize no issue is going to be composed. Only education, knowledge,
expression freedom, information circulation,
reduction of the legal block can lead to
change. But I
want to kill them so they can have the very feeling
of I.
Black-resin bonny. You live at the border and control
the accesses into the wide nation and the “goings-away”. Your mien made up of
black dust does not make up to anybody. Your mien is control.
Into this land not all can enter. Off this land does only go
that which the law does will. You are the «econoenforcer». Your chiefs take to
the word «economics» so as to make believe economics is damage.
It is no damage. Economics does function, anyway. It is the institutional entity that is damage.
Black-resin bonny, you are the comptrolling office, the ineffable while,
institutionally pure. The next year you are to be supplanted.
Black-resin bonny, with your age twenty you are this land’s
life, the sense of the wide nation wherein millions know who you are for what
you appear. The world of you lasts limitlessly. You are the resolve that
does not communicate to me, that does not communicate me. You are my death that soon
is going to show up at my door, beyond which I live stupidly.
Black-resin bonny, your office is named «bioperson».
Bioperson they all call you, the person of you.
The world is clean, dust clean, the dream bleaching the negritude. The dream
of the world you are to be. And all know that all that which enters into the land is
good. That which enters not, that enters not because that is not good.
Black-resin bonny, how much control you put in your office
days? What can I offer your bioperson but my
consuming, my purchasing inland products, more expensive than
if the nongood entered? you are comeliest, and I will the sex of you.
Black-resin bonny, you are comeliest. And I will the sex of you now.
Give your night-hued gist to my handfuls. Shed it all over my consuming-citizen skin.
Stupidly I am you sense, and you are my falling to pieces.
Black-resin bonny, the world cannot go on without both me and you.
We are so different. But our being absent leads the land to its end.
You are control. I am the controlled. One cannot possibly live, the other being absent.
Shed it all over the consumed skin of me.
