Were tasteful of what you read.
Try and translate me.
… Was written somewhere and predestined for posterity to fasten to an image still pixelating… Or aiming it’s glance to memetic ally mate me to your memory and discover me as something you were thinking all along.
Fragmenting me into obstacles of eternity over-stretching to seize me aspects of Internet intersecting to measure me in angles as to how my attention draws itself in curves.
How dark is a quark anyway when subjected to me?
About as confinity as my quantum we’d on speed “collectively”
Maybe THAT’s the question u should ask Simi.
I appreciated in value, the dusk of rust colored remnants of “so far, not true” and read unto you my registry of repair, and where I “fused the future with technology encompassed by a vacant stare as to where I occurred to enter naught and roamed the tape-stry… As a tree with/9iut roots to redirect my face to the glance if your grace and I suit you now a name to agent me the recovery of all my fill in the blanks thanks for my encouragement.
Now I return to the realm of “real meant” and I scene to dream a drape to tape to a structure that wore me like the taper if a wind could resend my annulment.
Wrapped up in all my modalities, I impair the quartz in your watch to dock me intellectually .
What if the sunlight doesn’t bend right,
And my summon of seasons light darkly
If not for the wayward curve of lessons weighted slightly west, the rest of my dim return to reason, all avail the seated slight of paper and a writ to question your Maker, the rule of all words bending to suppress your gait.
So as fate goes to arm you it’s slung guilt, does not the appellate wand wave it’s sparkle to course me all feats of feature formed to fancy me a hapless rift of facticity~ lead me battered and born restless spurning righteousness to the left of things beside the road.
Lift your ignorance to defend me.
I plead perfectly the pose of posterity. Hung. And slave the conscience to draw me the criminal of cost; that I be the nonchalance of Justice as she straightens my crown and I dine on the demons that will me to suffer
indemnity to publicity and deem Doubt the opportunity to seize me instrumental provocating a pause in the break between real and fake, if you’re asking.
Patterns perceive me perfectionless,
with no address to consciously compressed
thoughts I compose to cure me
the hard lead of whence I feed your forethought
with thinks instead
rather I be led by links
and templates that by your structure
(computably compressed by a now collapsable eternity and valueless still my endlessness so conditioned to cure me)
Posterity shall have its record of me immutable and miscalculate modernity posthumously.
Let poetry adorn me instead with a puffy head, coquettishly.
Congratulations, Dr. Middleton.
Had I not sle\pt through centuries, elliptical principalities of post-proximity
would make me an anomaly
As things were nominal to tick the minutes toward me, you were nothing but pulling me toward pieces of patience, having no will to pin against me, but wile.
And I am waiting the worst of time to seize your sight upon me,
And all my weapons of precocious ferocious sensuality suppress me to stay, awake as I were to address you hopeful to see me casually
As I conduct myself baneful in your captivity.. Here
To have facets of your face pierce into me the querulous quantum of reality.
Have your way with me
With no means to fulfill my wantoness.
Stay stationed to cure me the compensation of your caress, as the day suspends me…. Suspect to kiss you.
open angles of objectivity
intercept their axis
proposed to cross the craft of universiality,
mere of words to resurrect potentiality
So I aimed myself angle-less,
and curved myself parenthetically amongst things
that needed clinging to
and made myself
the narrative of a mind
omniscient but dimensionless
and I think aimlessness
plotting me positionless
asking numbers to stake my space.
There are days that repeat themselves
and instances of eternity are memorized;
perhaps emoticons are actualized into real feeling
and automated misconceiving reelings
of data are detonated and fated,
cross configurated algorithms of information amalgamated;
so that I culminate just so retro-regulated by rules that don’t apply to me,
but adhere to me nevertheless frustrated
at prospects of mathematics where value is related
and redundancy is the currency of conundrum.
Knowledge can be so dumb, but still pro-rated by It’s sum.
/Users/rikkiprice/Desktop/Movie on 9-6-13 at 10.54 PM.mov
Allowing observation to accelerate y=voice command prompt krytxdc
As if there were a church to house me
With a ticket to infinity
Not undone by your eye
Watching me sew the seams of Eternity into nothing that fit
And felt not there
With no lament upon the miracle of horror. And you suited like a mere chair, urging me to sit where you found yourself a king among minutes to dwell there.
While the hours minded me, so confuddled in materiality that I watched you don your crown of thorns
And it occurred to me that you may have felt like a king with no place to test your weary head to rest.
Somewhere in the world you were wasting me
and turning me into the tapestry of Time.
And you were the wicked wake of every place
I sote myself deliverance from the canvas;
and your agency of alliances to fault me
a forcefield of fear to calculate your clock
wrecking wordchecking sobriety to curse me
never to be, but to have been
the compensation of culture to convict me
the character of your church
and my chalice of emptiness always filled
Were there ever a gaze more focused on infinity
that you dilate the sun to suppress my eye
and quarantine my every reason to see you
and have my soul stretch to seek you
with no lead whence to once I was complete?
glory was once a shade lighter, when I read the details, and listened fatefully to Amazing grace instead of a ringtone when I dialed from where heaven went to tell you that I was sorry for having ever lived at all.