am in babelon counting gods zero million zero zero million zero billion zero zero zero zero gazillion zerozillion nichtgle zeroplex the citys a circle i conclude in my metromathematics and divinitys a hole in the middle and whonymitys the line that facilitates the circle being seen but confuses its facilitation with divinity which plops the question if anythings been seen theyre lining up everywhere
for gelato sartorials water albums footwear tickets lineups autographs phones sightings work coffee play death food sex viewings listings alcohol sports marriage outerspace operations transportation education extinction abortions sleep lamps laptops planes vacations drugs war linens releases visions creams csections lotions supplements suppositories pics disasters adventures vacations rides pies sighs lies violence prizes gambles horses forces feces vices fusses faces if it exists and even if it doesnt youll find them lining up if you lose a whonym np just look in the lineup here im in babelon wanking walking
like a tort thats lost its liability and mind a shell of a tort a hell of a mort but walking yet and that aint nothing to fart at everythings a combo in this town and if its not walk around it balk and mound it bulwark street and its wankers fadison and its slimies the righteous and the duteous it sparkleth like an
infinite set of eternally falling psychedelic dominos all to all no end all bends like a jupitersized discoball spinning past the voids spewing its dark light through sybaritic prisms onto a dashing planet and we chromatic nights lurching through the streets exchanging eyes like undurable indurate consecrations to deities so long buried their graveyards fossilized under
noctilucent histories gonads like wings without a bird flapping through the lustscapes and bipeds distraught stumbled dismeaninged mumbled in quantumly regulated metro tunnels hindering the great productive parade this march of masked victims in babelon everythings a comedian especially the noncomedians the more serious it is the funnier investment bankers evangelical ministers funeral workers hospitality front desk people leave me roiling in tears for days the urban
planned stones and trees and i wink at each other across the shared ironocene of smirk technical problem the phones attack like chiggers cranium presbyterian church after you die youll meet god thinking of suicide people become their office find truth out of service ive had stronger apple pies before thatve been bad but this one was good good caulk is hard to find gord and cindy risk community centre maintenance issues i am that thing you kill your grandpapa
to avoid in the tramcar giving oneselves over to the energies and rhythms of a quettapolis metro is for some of us freakophiliacs to unearth alignments between the movements of the ancient untererde and the equally ancient esostrates these forming among themself a peculiar sonics which plays as one rides and its this music particularly that may be the reason for transit everyone under nein and over sixtys
insane but member insanity just means being out of sound and what do you do when youre out forage for more us scavengers of flaws and slowness them drones of ruin and false ceilings of silence but who believes in that anymore whos a pronounist the those here the these there who believes
in prepositions omibod the gonads of transit crave along the avenues of not like interred blockbusters punjabi men sit in lawnchairs in semicircles around the shrines of yawning trunks in the parking lot open like geese or closet cheesecake but now finally o cheap divinities
its night ive found myselves in a basement in a modern rental establishment and all the roaches of meselves scurry into coalescence and feast on the leftovers of suppressed indistinguishabilities the city they says just a misnomer for a name that cant find itself in the tangles of its slutty virtues look up dear fellow pilgrims wellmet let us go up and down upon the mountains and bewail our virginities for of and for and by poputchiks here i
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