Tracking down the non-existent

Of alter egos and names borne of gnarly reputations. Dial tone from Taiwan triggers a question on the right to sense of existence. Scramble on the line patches in rough picks and tricks, nothing clear when the packets fall between the gap of reality and pseudonymous fantasy.

Between the shards of vocal transmission and reception feeble, right arm into the sale. Selling what, never on ice breakable or even that made of water. Mud is the in the waters and a cup sits gingerly on the edge waiting for the other shoe to drop. How even remains more than just a mystery.

With no shoes on the feet, nothing falls. And the charade continues.

Soon Van

Sunday, 26 August 2007 - 18:23

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