Be like sandalwood, that perfumes the wounding axe

                I will say what once was said
                So the mind will never forget
                That one day our lips, leaves, were made
                Grass, rapid sky, velvet and dense fog.
                This smoke in the void seems
                the other, life, that
                lasts as lightening bolts last, quartz

Storm Reality Studio, and retake the universe
--William S. Burroughs

           Ω

            Noises have sex with the superior things of the Immense, Sodium, silences reducing noises to their nexus, none. The Immense turns itself around with its Kama Sutra, its Wittgenstein, its walkman that knocks them dead at the festivals of Thoth. Nearly immense, ruined Angkor blooming Vietnams, the sea sets traps for scars, and the skin is a pharaoh ticket.

        Any possibility
        Wherever it

        Comes from, from light striking & shaping
        Shadows

Repetition is a form of change. Change is a form of life. Life is a form of repetition. And the message becomes the vestige of continuous change. The dance is the same. A form of repetition. Each memory exhausted as soon as it occurs, and all we have are traces, texts, that accumulate upon the waters -- they do not stop. The idea of presence persists, but suddenly it is mere absence.

   The deserts respect time.
    See how they meditate, the stones.
    The sands are discrete disciples,
    shifting over the bones of the master,
    with insolence.
    The climax of the artifice is in the azure-
    total landscape without points of departure.