march 5

Morning typing for superstitious speed, though the connection between hand and mind is lost in a sensual absence, there is no smell of ink or tear of the begotten paper, she had warned me of using a nice notebook for such ranting thoughts, but I didn't listen. I type with the speed of sound through sea water or hyper jazz experimentation but it leads me to forget purpose entirely. No going back, do not read through what you've written or edit, just fly onward and get to know your own true voice, how it arcs and flows over spaces and ravines, dipping low, for the pursuit of an idea or at least the most angelic combination of words, prolonged eye contact with the soul of things, her hair braided back and zapping through these close encounters with third kinds of beasts, the quick typing proficiency, though useless unless I wish to attempt publishing somewhere for money these spontaneous and schizophrenic rants, perhaps there is no way to edit something like this into a better, easily readable, counterpart, something worth displaying to the textbook youth of my classmates, hard copied and devoted to losing interest in everything else so quickly that they are transported into another realm of consciousness with the same guideline eyes of well bred warriors, those camouflage rituals to blend into the old archaic sense of wilderness we once shared, with our prognathic faces, the development of man and the interesting paintings, I'm more interested in world history or animal paintings than relationship gossip or beer purchase, the cigarette guarantee for lonely nights and rapid succession days, glad we refrained this time otherwise your pretty lungs might burn inside like a gliding eel through the landmass breeding grounds of land and time, we would curl up and pile up over each other to surpass any obstacle on wet nights, while writhing about on the ground in death throes, though exuberant and exhausted by the prospect of a life lived incorrectly to the soul, the heart of things, the creative mind falls to pieces when the regulated mind, the time keeping, limiter turns up its gain and consume the free flowing life to which the subconscious is so jealous, wholesomely jealous, a jealousy that masquerades as inspiration and then you can become on par with your solicitous rivals.