- Elementary Funk
-
- About
- Contact Soon
- ..Archive..:
- SAQ
- To the floor and there we shall dance
Dry-wretching, methanic, rancid; the base of the tree of mango. Soil that could not seriously be considered as such, a viscosity and odour not unlike that of something to emerge from an anus, or a few. This was a mark of shame, such a fervent generation of methane, surely this cannot be anything of planetary conscienceness.
Alas, that was the past, the month prior, the past-time of new has seen a noticible reduction of that. Or I can no longer sense the wonderously foul world that exists for the olfactory. The transition from dirt to soil is a marvelous thing to witness.
From a swampy, disgusting, burping something not even close to calling itself mud, to something that you would not have such a severe reaction to touching. The discovery of plastic, softened by the weeks of blinded worms—never seen a worm yet—amid the misplaced bones and rancid meat.
All this reference to a corpiscuous entity surely has taken its toll. Blister, at the base of the right pinkie, something of a badge of effort for yesterday's churning. Last time I spotted a blister it caused all sorts of bodily havoc. Wanton removal of skin has been subdued, for at least skin intact is skin that does its job.
Tuesday, 14 August 2001 - 09:07
*Optional and not kept. Read the privacy policy for more.