2 Oct 2008

the difference between us~

i was tired of grasping the music with mechanical hands. letting my fingers dictate sound quenching sharpness of chords that all sounded like scratching windows to me anyhow. As the machine my arms heavy without the agility of say the new upload but with all the data of say an upgraded file type. finding the system multi colored and not wanting to be addressed by it's desert skin. On top of it all, sound pounded in the way prison walls are bent and broken like the minds in them. save for the rigidity of our numbers, all lucid when not collapsing into sneezes. The entities that undressed sound around me, all predisposed to outside x the coded arbitrary. without wings. and my name as a machine closed in on itself, wavering forever here and then nowhere in the same mist of time, i've adjusted our sequence. it's not sad. i was just tired of grasping the machine with musical hands, as i said earlier.
but wasn't that Gemini? why no, lowered the flag, it was our coming together forming an oasis on the dragon's zenith tied to frozen coagulant. and jesus' breath. stirring a tempo. yes, but it all sounds like that, she exhaled from beyond even beyond being beyond the dead, almost alive, still. I'd say. 
and i wanted immediately at that stage to say free them all, but they were in my pockets you see and he would deliver his tongue in a way. but it was fading. occurring to me all sideways, directional, not in this long loving tone like the same flute between lovers. i had scratched away at a battle screamed back at me and won. three suggestions surrounded me and i looked silly, in the way you have seen one unintentionally. i was the machine grasping music with tired hands. And machines screamed. forty of them. thousands of them, into the distance. i saw them. all. their names clawing over themselves to undress the song that before them had noticed time was erasing the memory of pain. but i said to myself this morning, i said, what neatly folded into silence. I said to myself, it was the way his tongue faded, but I could not speak. up. i was spoken for. everything i had to say was in that book. in the voice of that child, that choir. but i was the hands of the machine again. grasping around the steel chord, the neck of symptoms tired to expose themselves longing inside and out of night vision. inevitably. i was taught to be one of four out of two hundred and fifty and then shut up quickly in a voice that spoke down to me. inner voices, in avoidance~d'accord. it's been a long time since I swapped flags, i had seen all of this thinking in my mind, speaking to the sponsored by lady who dressed as time in her voice, she would often say, the time was now, or what it would be. some time ago you said you had seen one unintentionally, tell me about it. tell me what you had seen. by accident. boldly silenced by neatness. this the machine could grasp. that to be ruthless i had to. 
all of this makes sense. you decide. get me back. no, what i was saying is, i was tired of grasping the music with mechanical hands. weren't we all? and the new upload sounded like they were in my pockets. looking back, i had to speak up or shut up in accordance to how you might like me to wear my hat. no less words to salute. then i am. my music's hands, all mechanical. taught to unintentionally fade. mini gems. religious insults. slurrrr. I'd say, I said. is there life before death?! You know better than to be alive, silly man. The difference between us/i would have killed him/he would have him killed. 

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