crisscrossing such full of probes who full of magnitude with each adheres: even before how to bend in several directions since adjusts in outerletting – the heavy as though he rode full of our fibres full of each others’ toward-the-germ-line, one after for you thereby enabled in habit and discarding his soothened like full of […]
There are many meshed and just enough, so in their brittle wakefulness molluscs that lumped. Cancerous behind their voices. Shook their shadows before the slough-off began in earnest. Rolling out horsedark, heat with too much mouthing as to breed thin annihilates the rest of our habit-retition. Bodies that tick and thousands that are sounding celestial
These smithereens I – our little segmentations, clearly visible, emerges as human bodies, as the mood to fill your apartment with liquid and enjoy the city straightjacket-ed (our apparatus of production), which can only swift over dissilence narrowest at the shy white nothingness, some morphogenesis of k-drips mustering glassed perceptions all ourselves at 131 McCormack,
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It’s not my hand raising your direction to some point I can’t quite describe. Just the threads. These methods, she argues, cracks its eyes towards me and all over right angles. A presynaptic mechanism deepens the entire width of your floor. Limbs grow much faster. And I hisses in rushes and noisy nourished all of
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Telecommunication words by Patrick Ignasiakillustration by Cameron Ashley Spasms, into you, the not-allzero fitted to onenothing you can see, you-branchof spidered out hypertextmothering yourself: silicon chips, set out to eatyour way outsidemicrovoid, its syntaxdithering off, passes through,scatters; you redressmy mistress’ eyes inliquidcrystal thinness. Remains slouch,half-chewed hemoglobin,fiber-optic, you swallow
Concentric Circles Working words by Patrick Ignasiakillustration by Cameron Ashley out of every I wish it’ll turn
Concentric Circles Working Read More »
Fond of Our Shadow words by Patrick Ignasiakillustration by Chelsey Wang Bite down on the umbilicus, resurrecting the road. Weathered asphalt reflects the death of birds, and their shadowselongate on: teeth extending beyond the furrowsof your body, just beginning,
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Crossed Cables words by Patrick Ignasiak illustration by Anella Schabler yesterday, nothing quite moved, and yet, sweeping the entire frequency range, well it’s mostly semantics, but curlicues of waveform-buzz seem just to touch lines of sight, and to clarify, let’s just say I’ve made quite the mess of the sugar-phosphate backbone, I mean, for now,
