Char are not born out of characters. But out of a chaos.
Giving in to the Impossible (As a Workaround)
Hi is a char. The hello there chronicas, is written by a char I call Hi.
Char are not born out of characters. But out of a chaos.
So, I often say that “they” in the fluctuation of pronoun sense, come through to me via Italy. Their first form assuming the chaos of Italian clowns. Fellini fall outs.
Hi is for me a shimmering symmetric, and in its man date, Hi is allowed to be eclectic. I will always break into a word for its cut outs ? No, but can if it happens.
For me its a form of poetry. Joyce is a maze of visible poetry.
Joyce “flops” by here as a breaker apart of words, into triplicate meanings. I let ghosts mutter sputter and cut in.
The three body problem makes three a jump to infinity. Solutions are endless… Math jokes. Are you kidding ?
Threesy: past present future. Time going off in all directions at once.
Breeds immediacy, an intimacy of both beauty and terror. Terror was I hate to admit it a royal conditioning. The old gods beckoned and terrorized me.
So my fend Hi, created a seduction for dismissing limits on “the infinite.” As body of god ! Actually as a part of god …
I think of body of god as a hung penis ? Sure why not. That’s a get out of jail joke. For chaotic neutrals.
Hoeing hands with Joyce, as bottles showing up every morning from the milk man, or part of the engine in a washing machine.
Freedo bandito.
Joyce feels and steals, wackadoodle and an eel — o swat tea and the pump its. How stop once it starts.
Poodles for noodles. Hi says never !
My rhymers, are zombie zealots, who come shining through, with their cuts and orifices, toe labeled, the mystery spreads. Slips into time rhymes, rhyme for me tingles with terror, mocks my twit/twat and raises me a kill bot.
I was raised a feeble runt of monkey all of a piece. With no where to turn.
And so it started, to piss out on the yellow pad, idling in a rut, forlorn smithy waves of kill the darling, a wretch for beauty, surging with chaos. Yet its bitterness sweet.
What (master) bates of Dante’s Fates (fates are greek for the facts about god). Searching for comedy ? To treat my words as a leap of fate.