In her heart lots / Lot's daughter/ ruins and forks/ fort like walls crumbling round the basin of a sea .. gone back to the edge of time's boulevard. And the round rinsing gum of time ~ of ruins Of this Shelley said and Mona.
a ruin of lots and timber! timbre timber!
for each ruin's brain a knock down dead forest cluttered memory. body ache. broken fell bell angelus de death. s's body strapped across the case.
fiction as it's done
them their numbers is the mini--plates, or plateaus and (not the aristotles which are the Ari-Stotle stratas). Now this is from a part of my Dis sertation. Regards, Mona. Clifford Duffy A part from Clifford desert in the fort. And the ray of a cloud on the daylight ~ wrought with figures and legal fictions. Not e being not a nothingness . Nor her sharing of her mouth with another woman as his strokes permitting all. Not a psychoanalysis nor a psychoanalysis of the subject.
them their numbers is the mini--plates, or plateaus and (not the aristotles which are the Ari-Stotle stratas). Now this is from a part of my Dis sertation. Regards, Mona. Clifford Duffy A part from Clifford desert in the fort. And the ray of a cloud on the daylight ~ wrought with figures and legal fictions. Not e being not a nothingness . Nor her sharing of her mouth with another woman as his strokes permitting all. Not a psychoanalysis nor a psychoanalysis of the subject.
Mona holding her hand to her sexpurse strings Masticating and rubbing her oils. Not this! Not this she's insisting. What Deleuze the nonfather called became the other of truth. Becoming. and its feather.
