Nasreen Mohamedi, tic-tac-toe champion.

Canning for the Anabaptists. Dutch oven upcycling with the Paulicians. Gluing rocks together with the Monophysites. Bowling with the Twelvers. This is our faith like a stone.

fish metropolis in shambles, debris float and drift along obscure waterways. Coral roads bleach and crumble. Bubble letters, bubble mail, bubble love letters, bubble voice memos go undelivered by the Fish Postal Service. Pearls and knickknacks tarnish in the churn.

I picked out all the thorns on your crown / you never wear it anymore

crucifixion at 32 (Christ speedrun new record any%) or living forever are both worth considering.

Steel Ball Run

A heavy impasto painting by Jean Dubuffet

If a painter put up an unprimed canvas on the wall, and then painted on all the surfaces of the room but the canvas, I don't know yet whether I would go and see their work. They could ship the canvas out and display it as part of the work. Would I go to see the unprimed canvas on display?

Mark Rothko cut a cigar, ashing his lit cigar in a can of red paint water, and collapsed on a frumpy couch. Around him are works of some small effort.

Lotus water eaters look horrific in these patches of moonlight

Here silence is a relief from the task of everyday, to scavenge, devour, and grow.

No, i meant the adaption, the new Piers Plowman (2023). I admired how flat the characters were. The apocalypse was so real, I hid under the bed. Thumbs? Up!

Is it even bread?

Nothing happened again today.

I fell upward through a hole in the sky

stars make their obscure turn, as I walk to the corner store.

the Kingdom of Ends, with no point of origin

kept in suspense for some obscure end

streams of dark blood out of a paper cut

Seeping dark matter into a paper cup

these teeth are not mine, spit them out

Could you tell us more about the bowl?

If the Big Bad Wolf would simply destroy my enemies brick house, My family and I would live proudly in our strewn leaf and straw pile.

do you see the skin of the world? It's translucent. Perhaps the earth is shedding.

We don't look at the sun. We don't call the moon. Our problems are right here on planet earth.

my hands are covered in paint. I think if my hands swell, I won't be able to tell? If I paint myself up and down, then I wont know when I'm sick again.

Prefab Sprout - Green Isaac YouTube video by martin venator

Does that mean I won't see you?
youtu.be/tAE73x1V5RI?...

these songs are about us
steely and dan were merely the medium
our glory in the Iran hyper war is assured

Soupist Children throwing Sous Chefs onto an electrified fence, murmuring how "too many hands spoil the broth" but "One must be like the Golden Laddle, like the viper".

The lamb ate the succculent cables. I was in Cologne. No, I never did ask.