Perishable Press

Yes it is that time again. that time to write right what it is that must be thought of looked at and expressed throatly so. so silent i sit here screaming my fingers through this iconoplastic monstrosity. and i see my hands and sad to say see they are withering slowly away yet surely yes they seem to be and i will let it go knowing that soon they will be mine no more. i can move them with full control now i smile and sit patiently for the thought to come in like the melodic envelope of that high high synth that echoes so magically above my head soars head sores as i type this ..flowing froing throwing it all away now i have to ask since i half two acts have you seen your own hands? go on now and look at them for a moment no stare at them until you see that they belong to you as they have gotten older are you scared does it frighten you. just look at those old things. you belong in a cage for wearing such ragged old claws. go on now and sniff that disintegrating flesh. plug it in plug it in. flesh for sixty days flesh in every day–a real fresh fetish and an i opener as well.