Monday

deafness to the mute



This way in Jill's got a blown brain . Grass and glass her figure 's as fine as the weird night and its epic Simone. Paris suiting her fie fie fie persona she's happy harloted and vained.



No brains make for a luxurious waste but this was not matter but gulnerability. She's a word personage. Not a creeping vine! a mustybust smack of her sapphic self , loving the vines of her lady's tree ~Open the latitudes I have come to make your smooth striate ~ . Of the humpydumpshes' beefed her egg and ragged her moon. Rasp and Caspian sea are her over logs. The rogue park alongthe quais and her English the twisting tongue. Her fruitful fly's bearing soldiers and camarados. Bucaneers on the near buttocks.

As for Gilles and Guattari she passes them in the street without a word


Mona crying, her name

crying out her[e] name ~ .

.



Onyx-eared boxed in delicate labyrinthe she doesn't hear a thing a thing ~ .