she it was that was nothing in elder pool or something of t'is missing where paint by fingers wore it s care not knowing if always was the same as when the prayer fingers stood on the head

we 're heading down the a venue of London

over forting when may claimed came of stripped its hue tongued night


chronicle of the schizo-organes

as the Knight was sad sick and sad, or was the Dulcinea read Knight's eyes cossetting the plain or was that dancing in the rest of the bucolic space which each river cried. but what was the gerundive of correct? sitting by his body shes holding he shore to each not wishing a loll distance to detach her cream coloured her lesbic make-up or the heavy lean to of doubt

The Knight has no Organes when saving is the treat the stinging self when it waiting.
: Cross listing of text: we'll call it, eventually Crosstexting .


at the[e]

at the[e] hill where many river meet essay and balk the night plain what word seized this pint of blood.

now the current of imagination paranoia the grab giddy as final ruin, the urn
chappered ashes, not the face of your heart, broken again, broken

. open yer mouth before this ugly smile

god punishes

you & you but not the only space of
repletion & over the mask of its hilling



Chronicles of the Squire the Schizo-sans Organes-to be followe d by

He read the words in the magic golden book s amazed at their perspicacity and the Irish girl saying, it's obvious , it's obvious to sing on your head, and read with yer toes. but to laminate the sticks Now that is another ting! Altogether!

Nothing is easier than to familiarize oneself with the mammalian
brain. Get a sheep's head, a small saw, chisel, and forceps... and unravel the parts ... Guattari nodded asleep a drone on Deleuze's sleeve


Once on a time, a schizo time it was a pUblicker offerEd a Booke to a poet, but when it came time to tit-a-tit the publiker got scaredypants and peed and ran when the contract was due its past date of immanence and imminent peril. what then , became of the poet poster?

he blogged his fortune past the dogs heading foR the hills of hide and plenty mocking and knocking at many doors,

nothing worse than a poet who does not keep her word, replaced displaceD or otherwise

and then Mona,like Orpheus besidebefore her Knew that all was Hell.

in this bad bad bad world .

_______________________So there are fictions and the dada duffy chronicle
to come ~.