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When I last saw you, still horizontal, interrogating the floor, you'd begun reversing Kafka — a slow transformation from beetle to vertical human. Powered by a new locomotion, you steer yourself towards the stereo; music erupts into your world, is taken entirely for granted.
Waiting, something opens without our willing it, without force ... A vastness of silent notes accompanies us, a symphony we have longed to hear of belief far beyond our interpretations ...
Christmas for crabs; their island blooms with a rare largesse of flesh mashed to pulp on rocks — such 'palatable human refuse'.
Vile denunciations and allegations waft across the vast expanse of space and time. Flatulent Dutch ovens of bigotry aloft fly, as adult, equal love's tagged 'sin', not raft to finding solace, as surely as the Made seeks the Maker's consoling deeps.
There was a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job; and he was essentially a blameless dude, and unarrogant, and he was blessed with seven sons, and three daughters, which is a startling number ...
Grabbing my hand you drew a line on your chest, moving on to make the sign of the cross. Or so it seemed. Priest! You want a priest? I said, puzzled yet pleased to read your mind. You rolled your eyes, looked up to the ceiling, slowly shook your head.
Two blessings, one resurrected, one still in the tomb. We are not pre-Vatican. We think whole, body and soul ... We are not parrots in a pew trembling.
He drew fear from flood and seedless sun. She traded contradiction for curves and valley hips, verdant sod of earth, reckless drift of goats. When the bailiff came, the end of lamb and beef, she clung to rock and let the salt erupt ...
Mist moves here, cloaking statues, mild giants that haunt and wait... the slave breathes towardhis freedom.
She would be aghast, at the weeping litany of my sins... From the moment the apron string is cut, we are free to be. And to bring, make or undo, whatever the hell we want to.
Talk of morality is bad for rationality ... it's a derailment-factor, a self-sabotager, a barbecue-stopper, plain un-Australian ... I can help you leverage your life-goals, so that you can experience real change with improved results.
It might be an epitaph on a tombstone, or an ancient call to prayer ... Forget the ancestral trespassers, the heritage forbears, the gin and bitters people. They didn't ask, they just used their guns.
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