Thirteen

... something like petitions for fixing up our world our images aim to bring a dose of messianic spirituality to the hypocrisy of making... we are the faded and rose-colored demons of tomorrow... glory... glory unto our skin which will finally take on the candid and pure tones of skinned fowl...

glory... glory... ooh... glory and immensity... to the freshness of our future bodies stripped bare... glory and veneration once more... and then defïnitively installed on the dizzying spires of our intergalactic spaces... us... free of ail psychology and with our tiny pointed fingers... sign of an orientalist relaxation... from on high we witness mundanity's omelet moving in a strange strolling way... like yellow cream in activity... ah... activity... nourished by the reciprocity of actions... brings satisfaction... oh... yes... really satisfied to be able to refer directly to phenomena... hmmm... crafty phenomena...contemporary phenomena like Saturday's shopping... and... then... oomf... mmmf... favoring gluttonous and bulimic consumption... urgh... gurgh.. gurgl... vrooomit... gurhglmit.