‘The diamond of unnamable desire’ (Guattari) stuck in your throat.
No matter how or how often you swallow. S/he moves deftly thru
the crowds and corridors, ‘
there is no opponent’ (Bruce Lee). Things as
movement. Would be boring without a crowd. Sometimes too
close. Schopenhauer’s porcupines. S/he is disgusted by honesty. It de-
serves to be bracketed. Or replaced by precision. Training to be
a precision machine. Conversation would never start nor end.

Does literature progress, like medicine, or engineering?

Bare belly on white-tiled floor. Soft curve on flat coolness. Float
on pressure of air lift. Dynamics of open air theatre. 
Greed moves with reckless haste but stamina. A colony of ants
moves as one organism across the water. One proletariat machine.
My lower legs twitch against sleep. Thinks she’s dying everytime
s/he falls asleep. Death by insomnia. Crow eats big-boned big-bellied death
off road. Road itself holds great promise of movement-along & death: 

– imagine a new Library of Alexandria –

long and winding, stuck in the absolute open, helped by the scorching sun
and the darkest night(s). Stars – night, maniac – ruler, lover – recluse.
An unending horizontal window sits divisive in my house. Self-flagellating
suits slowly move along the street. Another, with a side-parting wears his suit
ironically. But to no avail – both irony and whips. Auto-absolution.
In the right doses. Musn’t overdo it. They sacrifice a blindfolded little girl.
They; the evangelists, the well-read men, their robes and staffs.

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