TheTypewriter

 fuck this light inside my skull flying out my eyes painting blue brushing, blushing the first kind of paint dipping in the language you taught me how to use emotion (is) motivation but without control emotion takes our lives but through submission emotion paints the world but from the inside out

the abyss of above sailing stars out of sight narrows wide on the nights where the time falls apart where the hours are dead and the stragglers are said to be warped, bright as lead, out of sync but the stars move along and we keep walking on with the streetlights as dead as my cat I'll tell you a secret (you don't need to keep it) my cat is alive as the night

I didn't know what I wanted to become when I grew up, before I biked past the Montefiore Hospital in 1925. What got me were the lines of people, friends and strangers, extending half a mile down the road, lock-jawed and waiting. I remember seeing my friend Andrew waiting there with his parents, with a bowed back he got from a run-in with barbed wire, climbing the Walstein's fence. They told us that anyone who had it had less than a 50% chance of living. To cheer my little sister up, I told her that it was also the odds of the Yankees losing - and the Yankees never lost. But my sister and my mom died from Tetanus in '26, just like half the c

August the third, 2122. First impressions are very important in a project like this. From the first day of operation, both subjects have given us enough information to make me feel like i'm not doing my job right. There are, of course, things which have obvious suggestions about the character of the subject in the most broad and specific sense (which is of certain use to the HFSP), but there are also things which I just can't understand yet. For [illegible] in which they will not cooperate. The neuroscientists did their job wonderfully, however. For this first day, we've run a trial of sorts, and locked all the doors on their living space

there are these things that I see when i'm anywhere, doing anything and it seems so certain to me that these things are part of something greater these things are like the backgrounds of a game I played when I was young or a fragment of a familiar sound that puts me to sleep when it's sung and I don't know what these things are but I do know that they're beyond me - these things which are just slightly too far these things which are just out of reach one day I wish that I'll understand all of these things which make crowds in my head but now, on this sea, I make voyage to land; to coasts of not feeling, but knowing instead 'ti

I was sad as light appear'd and bowing, left the moon though I drown in sun for now my friend, I'll see you soon but daylight does as devils do in greeneries of light the flower, but instead of food I chose, still, the night the tides of time, they waxed and waned, and wished a wave to lend and fell, I felt, that still in wait my waning would not end and wane, I must, for minutes more or stretch out will my soul 'til in parts of me, pulled far apart will burn a blazing hole however i'm told that the night will come again blazing, brazen, weathered and wizen'd and with it will come the cavalry of a thousand stars over the h

I don't know if I will trust you and the most important thing is that I don't know if I should You are a woman and also a filter and I still can't tell whether I will be sieve'd or saved whether I will end up flowing through drains underneath your house or picked out of a crowd to a place where I will matter to you and inversely I don't know if you will trust me and to be honest I don't know if you should because I am a function and also a man and I will not tell you whether I will feel still or any kind of will to create something that I can refuse to censor because I am in love with that little black bar

I am the fuel, temporary so, I will combust to a vapour once I have served my purpose I will join the atmosphere- your by-product of consumption but one day you will rust and I will float on

there may be an ideal sequence of words that will set off the synapse so that you can feel like I do but I think you won't I killed a dog today a dog that loved me the kind that gave you faith in the animal kingdom the eyes and the gifts that she gave when I came home these were the things that said "feeling is first" and that it is better to just love than to question what it is and how it works but I am a scientist so how can I, with all the exactness of measurements and the accuracy of taxonomy love an animal that by all science I shouldn't it's a pleasure in particles nothing more than a complex example of entrop