i'm terribly romantic.
my dreams reek with the stench of a rapturous frenzy: spectacular new
ways that i might come to, with, and all over life.
perverse denial does nothing to separate me from the longing for
other forms and forces to assault my every sense...i've always considered it
wrong to reject an insatiably desiring, reciprocally-actualising,
viscerally maniacal existence.
alone, i live in a world where only duplication exists in time
and nothing but bodies burning with bawdy love belong to space.
endless absurdity and ever-chattering flesh.
a beautiful shambles.