automatique writing: to forget, to remember

Hey lets dance she said, and the whole world started to spin around a cup of coffee as she walked away from that strange pool filled up with crabs and tiny fishes. Mark was a friend, but she couldn’t let him guess what was going to happen, so she went up the stairs and created a drawing inside the drawer so all the flies would fly away. Mostly, the clouds were a bunch of dusty screaming eagles, and the sky blue red, in the sunset. The earth was far away, the birds were screaming songs of war and the wind blew violently. There was no future. There was only one left to help. But forests stayed untouched, and trees and flowers. A plastic sunset. A plastic dream. A silicon valley, as they say. Poor little girl, so suddenly awake, in the middle of the night, as the chorus sang a song. Throw a ball of fire, step in the mud of days, for a love that is close, for a friend that is dead. Spring comes, it always comes, serpent single thee. Layering, the quantities of matter create systems. Interrelated systems of noise. Part of all of this is true. It was said that night when the hurricane came. If you try to make a noise, if you try to scream a word. Special when the day starts at four o’clock. Its after midnight. It was a whole junkyard filled with sand. Swords are sharp. The shark in the shack. The wood so holy. And my mouth whispering a whipped sound. Go to hell, go to bell, go to sterling dancing cloud. Arthur and Malthus two boys, to care. Shape of laws, strange surprise. I don’t think words have to rime. In the still point in the middle of the heart, in the still point in the middle of the earth. Reasoning resonate rising sun. Play with stupid arrows. Dare to care. Splash spleen. Gardens of love. Gardens of pray. Gardens of stones. Gardens of dandelions. Gardens of lurkers. I like this software that let me write what exists already. But I think it should be possible to write as we can paint an abstract painting. For example, to say astribdle should be possible, or grouvitle or primparte why not? or even sounds that we can’t identify, as shseut or whatever. And the flux of thoughts would be so calm, so vibrating with the sounds and the distance of a galaxy part of my lungs. I said, for you, to me, and I think you should listen to me. The day I die, I don’t know what is going to happen. And I will walk slowly into the deep darkness. And it could be today. Or it could be tonight. And I think I would like to die dancing or sleeping or writing or meditating. I know how the body can hurt. And I think the death is an reversed breath. And then the consciousness go away, but the matter continues to work, as the blood cools down and the rigidity installs another mode of work. Microscopically all the engines of the cells collapse, and the air doesn’t transport the qi anymore. My part is played, my role is finished. And I would try again. And I would live again. And love and suffer, and understand, and forget. Because this is the way it is, or the way we think it is. To forget, to remember.