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  • Writer's pictureAmelia Nicol

Shifty paraiso

Passions in words, irregardless of what they may be; the concequences of coincidence and the paraiso or something. Thrumming difficulty drawing garish dread at loss for words and un-common engagements. The lingering intuitive vexing isn’t a surity of mine own. Break the tide of how are you today for the fifteenth time from a stranger unstructured and untying vibrant gaps of supposed nuances in the common to uncommons and the ideas of transitioning pardon the interruptions and the common inner blasts of fury at situation’s conflict with ideas. Our situation’s have such power to reinforce the breaking away of ideas from thought frames more based on violence toward criminals than violence toward police. By the way, rambling nicely and then heavily coursing out something in harshness and slight vulgar passion tends to leave some of my favorite silences. (followed by a lapse or pause of varying length followed by a gape of some sort or a harsh rubbing off). That is to say; I don’t want to be evangelical about my ideas, you cannot force understanding and you cannot force healing, but to get the point across is motherfucking necessary.

A humyn body as consideration over raging conflicts breaking up pieces of conciousness to misconstrue language based on casualties in hit and miss. Misconstrued deviations in bare functions of co-postulated sources framing places farther from myself to hear my own wonderment crash back into what I can’t possibly get away from. And render!

The field is constantly moving; mucousal sheaths bending and melding to fill or create space to then transfer and consider filling with more space or further positions. The context of cortex in conglomerate reverberations of forgery. Estrogen and progesterone; the medium of bones and the sinking digestion of minerals (magnesium) by estrogen to help form lacunae to fill with blasts of necessary formed and unformed data. Calcidiol, calcitriol; endoneurial energetics.

There is so much that I need to know. Now. There is so much that I needed to already have known by now. Shit. Everything.

Sure, try, roping in corners and convex lenses; handwritten pages and strange stitches. Bewary about that sure fire miss fire conjugate of praxis in skipping a consonant or something like et; borrowing or bartering around language I don’t know enough about nothing. And there’s the teacher I hope myself to be for myself in the back of my mind somewhere when I’m considering literature that creates a strange offset of hormones to decode themselves according to attitudes and considerations in thought which then could characterize it’s movements in further potentials.

Porch swings and see, that’s the thing, the changing of conditions so quickly the snow built up on the porch and canvas shoes, the sound of frozen water breaking; we are stealing away the winter for ourselves someplace tucked away and slightly vacant. Stare a starry sky to being lit clear and harsh along a horizon that shifts in and out of places between ridges and valley lines so desolate and bright harsh biting cold. Breathing illuminated the shadows cast across lights shadowing dense reaches of slightly moving pattern; a shadow falls across a beam of light i’m breathing cold air onto and gathers clarity in perspectives of simulated glancing from all edges of a medial casting.

Oh, conditions; grant us this hour for the outcries of anarchy, of love and rage and the beautiful idea of total freedom. [I don’t want to write a doctrine]

Wolves pad heavily their bellies down toward the snow and slightly dragging in the depth of cold toward themselves or kicking it in mounds to create a warmer place to sleep. Or to keep your blood moving. You wear me out, kicking and screaming to build warmer places to sleep; and, obviously, strange, lone, stranger, not just the warmth of a domicile. Warmth of mind; bitterness doesn’t make any sense as a constructive indicative of cold in a personality; the bitterness is a root, like absinthe or something, not the type drawn so hard from wormwood: and the cold is harsh smarting in disagreeing, not the type to solve with tidier syntax and spellings.

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