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WHAT
I SAID TO MYSELF by John Amen _________________________________ Choose the butterfly over the cocoon. Choose light, the ballroom, the well-lit restaurant. You have for lifetimes strummed minor chords on the coast of a dead sea. Think major, spindrift. The sex between you and grief is becoming mechanical. Despite your vestigial sentiments to the contrary, a scab's story is much greater than that of a scar. Your cock is not an umbilical cord, it is your heart's mouthpiece. Choose sunrise, please. It is time to do something that might cause embarrassment. Let emptiness mother your child. Put away the map, where we're going won't be on it. There is nothing particularly inspiring about a death wish. You have learned all there is to learn from the woman in black. It is time to stop insulting ecstasy. Masochism is an empty udder. What was is a cipher. Pick the rose over the injured dove. Pick warm waters. Attend a circus. Go for the comic. There is nothing more mediocre than the association of dysfunction with genius. Indulge in color. Believe me, there is not a problem. Plumb bright places for new symbols. Recommendation: study evergreens. Find me. We have much to talk about. |