This thought I am thinking smells sweet.
Like lovey dovey honey?
Um, more like wind and fire and burnt meat
more like skin and eyes and refusal of lies
more like a caress of truth layed gently upon you
more like fuck's all I know
the world and the world and the world turneth
and I smell an earthly moist piece
of revelation it's bigger than my body and
bigger than my brain bigger than an aura
maybe of uncertainty but revelation just the same.
A proustian revelation! An epiphany of touch or maybe sound?
Senses collide in a sweet synaesthesia of memories of the future!
This thought I am thinking smells sweet.
romanticly, electronicaly instead of with meat?
the charge is there I swear.
Living in an electronic world we create in our minds all the senses of the real world to augment what is realy just zeros and ones.
The only way to feel another through this electronic universe is through synaesthesthetic imagination. Go ahead, close your eyes, that is the only way to see me!
And what do you see? Isn't the imagination a beautiful thing?
I have become a mixture of truth and fantasy and I fit you like a glove.
Revelation I tell you I can smell it
and it's sweet
gone is the trepidation sometimes clad in bitter
liberation in fragmentation missing pieces always the most exciting
with trails of crumbs guiding for exciting
trips across the world and back
you can fit me in a backpack
heavy self burdon like an emotional knapsack?
carry the weight together my own flaws deriding?
insecurities shed as snakeskin secret lies wither
under the sunlight on honest expression
insecure statements blurted out with ernest intention
repeat to yourself that these vigilant confessions
are confessions to a mirror of internet compromised expressions
confessions to a mirror is computed calculated revelations
mirror images are exact in their sameness except for direction
Trite, trite, trite are the revelations reinacted online
Is the object of desire merely a projection of myself?
Or a succubus conquering my psyche by stealth?
There are of course
other ways of finding morsels
to bite just look up in the local of real world
and smell that sweet smell
of revelation for one
revelation from handmade handfelt handwritten handbitten
bite
I see the future and there lies the present in all unholy raw and undigested
desire in real world and desire on line stem from the same pod
one perhaps more elusive but I believe the authenticity of words
whether they be written or staccatoed from a hot whirling machine.
There may be black holes consisting of magic
simple tricks that the brain does when not static
the imagination does doth go wild but it is especially delightful
when the brains of two in overdrive hit the dirt
in cacophonic harmonics.
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