Tied up. Tied up. -- Getting sick of getting attracted to people. Getting getting caught up in them, -- Enlace. -- only for them to fall into naught, fall out fall out, fall -- Rope. Rope. there's an undercurrent arising in the text, in the, in the text -- from whatever grace you raise them to, what ever level you allow them to ascend -- an undercurrent of loss, of -- Quick wit. -- you allow them to, to be come, become something beyond their skin -- having something taken or broken. Coping seems to be of great importance to this -- they just, just just -- True Love. -- they just just just, -- this collection. Tying into the themes thus far -- Let us look, at the text. -- They've stopped being people, their just statues, statutes of beauty that wonder around unknown they're adorned -- 'causal suicidal' -- You give them what you can, you try, you try to be with them in some way and they just stop, they just stop talking to you, cos you fucked up or they fucked up and nothing said matters when they've stopped listening. -- seems to be a recurring theme. -- A mother is tempted -- Im summoned like a carrier pigeon. -- A mother is tempted to end it -- There's no speaking, -- A mother is tempted to end it because of a person from her past -- or if there is it's not anything other -- A mother is tempted to end it because of a person from her past, cut him off, and in -- than quick instructions or demands. -- Synchronize. -- A mother is tempted to end it, call it quits with a lover, and does so, and in doing so drives herself to suicide. The child goes off and eats breakfast on the day it happens. She doesnt seem to care. This is the Mule. The Mule might be the mother ( the title is in reference to a story her lover (Buddy) tells (poorly) about a mule caucus he drives through and destroys.), it's not improbable. The Mule might be the Daughter -- SINS OF THE -- , it's not unlikely. -- FATHER. MOTHER. -- What do I want? -- Tied up. -- There are constant references to a rope, that the mother will probably use -- Getting caught, getting caught up -- Im obsessed with anal -- to hang herself, tho if she does it's off-screen, as it were -- Enlace. -- though I have an addiction to ass -- we never 'see' it, we never -- Getting caught up, caught up, up up, -- that's getting pretty creepy. . . -- What do I want? -- Rope. Rope. There's an undercurrent rising in the text. -- Perhaps this isnt too prose-y -- Quick wit. -- We dont talk, just get it done. -- Getting caught up, getting, getting caught up up, -- There is no: -- It's almost dehumanizing, no idea what __________. -- Censorship. Synchronize. -- I've stopped. Stopped this that is. Not the blog, this. . .self-loathing shtick, atleast for tonight. Im unbelievably horny and no one on earth could possibly satisfy, slate it. That's not meant to be some mucho macho man ultra-libido crap. Fuck that shit. Im a man because I am, not from what conceptual bullshit that's being flushed down us. Fuck that shit. No one will be able to fix my horniness my hunger because it extends from somewhere outside by cock but still with me. Sex isnt what I want. Sex is just something I feel like I understand. Walking around town this late at night there's always a discrete feeling like something terrible might happen, if not to you then someone close to you, emotionally or physically. Flecked through out the ground around here are piles of dog shit that owners are too....lazy or..apathetic to pick up. Image. Fuck the shit Im told to write. Fuck plot, fuck story fuck everything that might be expected. This is non-image story. This is non-plot. There's someone who works for the apartments whose only duty it seems is to go around every so often and pick them up, toss them in an old bucket and dispose of them. Poetry is nothing but pretty words so why cant prose be nothing but pretty words. Prose and Poetry and exactly the same as they are exactly different. I dont know how to end this one. He's hot. Somehow it feels almost ironic to have the guy who picks up the dog shit to be some crazy hot college dude that looks like he's tried cocaine atleast once. I watch him sometimes as he makes his rounds, they typically send him out once a week though there's an inconsistency of when. The lamp posts look like spot lights at night, shinning down on your shame. Enlace. Tied up.
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