Revolution

It's like this. Plot headquarters is base of operations for the dissection of triangles, but someone has to remain Switzerland. Let it be me. Luke and Marianne are convinced of separation at birth. I'm putting them on hold. Am I an unreliable dramaturge? Luke conceives anti-Marianne, a babe that has never before existed. The real Marianne takes this misreading and runs with it, ushering in her directorial debut. Thus begins the reign of terror. Life is reduced to footnotes on the weather. Luke becomes paralyzed so "storming" anything fails to be an option. He realizes the impossibility of interpreting beyond her words the simplest feelings shown in Marianne's face, sneering or smiling. Mild precipitation casts doubt on her heart. The muse could always rally the masses, but being at a loss for words is such a thankless job. Why couldn't they just settle for the same fantasy? There is no way to explain it (at least in this language). But for all the hubris, not to mention creepy insularity, I envy them their carelessness. Is ignorance the seed of their torment? Nah. The longest line between two points is the least detected. The receiver dangles, still moist.

Holes

There are many murders there, they call it Gulf. Japanese businessmen examine the openings scientifically. Smells like it's been a long time. Allowed their dreams, they guard against inappropriate feelings like anger or mental molar extraction. They may touch not just look. However, to show respect, take care to leave a little to the imagination, like a cum sandwich. Or a restraining order on the sun. Rinse and spit. Belated attempts to master earlier trauma, gently down the stream.

Memory

More desire came along to take its place (don't blink). She stepped off the plane complete with instructions. She was neighborhood. I was at the age where hitting someone meant you liked them. Don't lock yourself in the closet, the alligator will swim beside you to the island where you will begin your program. When strategically ripped, her mind ceased being a little supper club. All the great passions based on distance; they promise us that future cities will be adorned with monuments dedicated to her; her head and nose an upside-down mortar and pestle, her beard an obelisk. Still more to come.