for your

for your work.

eyesore me lookt-me

in-thee i-was

n-jin. mennee timez:

bee. for willbee a-genn co-knected

perfeckt sinn. mettree is hymn.

purr elastick. happshee dresst.

so quicklee cuzshee used

two dresstreel slow.

her lover

There is no such thing as a good story about nothing.

Your excitement should be symbolized.

To be frightened by the truth is understandable.

sometime last winter. her real body: red stockings and black panties, red lipstick and a black silk dress. the night before she dreamt she found a thin black plastic square. strangely attracted to the object she had inserted it into her vagina and used it to masturbate. and it had seemed to her that it was the object, and not her, which screamed when she came...

on the twenty-fifth of february she had broken down and cried. why did this occur? she could not say. nothing in particular had happened.

she recalled thinking:

of course, she thought, the square must have been him infiltrating the dream dimensional plane of the earthly sphere...who knows...who knows how many humans had sex with that night? what prodigy was now to be predicted?

she tried to find the words but couldn’t. it was like some kind of timeless emotion, all that is alive in any of us – in a mouse, a deer.

“you are killing me.”

they stayed at the hotel that night. it was like he was him, and she was her.

the theme for this one is...

LATER:

weare
livingin
helland
weare
allghosts.

LATER:

cut key to code -

once again you prove you are the master.

LATER:

she would have liked to have been caught. have deliciously, her cold blue wings teased off. her skin stretched into rainbows. then nailed gently to a wooden cross.

LATER:

you may just not be feeling -

barefoot, choking on a cigarette, with her belly swelled to bursting, and a cough.

END

[Anna O. & Josef K.]