Face Telegraph

this is where my tale wings away past the clutches of the irascible Chadwick up past the hinges and the curly cue and its vocabulary roofing tiles preparing to adapt once again placing the bellows against the embers possessed by a holy fervor that could lay waste to nations in an orgy of justified non-compliance defying statistics and trivial desire their suggestions a camp fire ghost story in another episode of plastic theater where love is just another kind of attention another kind of hidden initiator knowing what it is to be a lesser thing scribbling no parachute on the walls of freshly mopped airport bathrooms seeking salvation at the last minutes as usual as angel trumpets bleat a new dawn to Chadwick's army of twerking schizmatics banging their forks and spoons in this cafeteria we call existence where the only real security is a freezer full of deer meat mystified by any and all objects of focus begging the referee to call malarkey but fat chance in Fat City eh where suicide is called proving a point and your body outline is chalked into a hopscotch court for sadist spirit guides bicycle messengered to Main St. otherwise the odds are slender that we beat this wall to wall sham brain chemistry is far from absent in these absent minded calculations duking it out with the endorphins that are prying open this clam shell yes these gestures are mine and mine alone wrestling back power of attorney their being an implication to every movement trying to buy a little more time or mercy but Chadwick's monopolistic pricing structure amounts to a rather long term suppression of what is already by god ours