Automatic Diatribe (II)

Here.

Heel.

We are running in circles.

Cyclical spires of turrets leading to screaming minarets.

All is as it has been before.

And, I hear your silent complaint that I never wear my hair naturally curly anymore.

Give me a reason.

Who summoned whom from the pneumatic ether and how many times?

Who and Whom are a real, diabolical pair.

Alain de Botton hissing out a status of anxiety.

Dialogueing with the ecological shaman of

David Abram casting natural spells of the sensuous.

Put your faith in me.

I will make you watch me return it and put it back into yourself while I ask you to consider the chartreuse evening.

Prowling the catacombs of the catatonic.

Buffering neophytic initiants while irritants and retinal scratches

itch;

because sometimes I say silly things when I’m embarrassed.

Hand sigils and face touching.

The difference between indoctrinated and initiated? I call to Æ like a game show host.

The difference between you getting it and blowing it versus you getting it and not blowing it: he grins, blowing it for both of us.

And what if what I call discipline is just self-indulgence?

You bitch.

Don’t fret. I love you madly, too.

It is true. I don’t know you, yet Æ thinks I do.

You’re interesting: he says.

I reply: you listen or hear better than most.

Ammend-able.

Amen-able.

Ami-able.

Ambivalent.

What’s the difference between the interval and the rest.

Your silence.

Duress and stress?

They were meant to know of how I see your eyes, dear.

Depleted and explicative.