Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

lood cells die, they abort themselves, and are forgotten as the girls go
to pick more roses…
Agent 139 hung up the phone and tried to go back to sleep.
!
HOW
can I be certain? I close my eyes and try to forget. Try not to remember
(And, there is no ownership of flesh.) How many times a day do I
have to go through this? She said…no good. Shut up and move the pillow.
Crick in the neck. Slender neck, pale skin. Howdohowdohowdo: I
stop this and try to remember her smiling. Tension builds to a breaking
point. Fists clenched. Backs off right before the tears come.
DO
Howdohowdohowdo: I know? there is nothing certain. “Maybe” is
always the answer, no better than random chance. Prefer to be lied to.
“It’s all going to be okay.” There is an uncertainty in every movement.
You can never be certain what impulse lies underneath an action. Everything
she says: Do you mean that? Then I turn on myself: Do I say this to
be heard? Ethics is just a means of protecting yourself. Insecurity always
gives rise to conscience. Aginbite of inwit. It bites on both sides. Roll
over, my back is sore.
I
can still see her face. (No, that isn’t her at all.) Why did the mystics
always turn to prostitutes? Shut up. You set yourself up for failure with
this. (It’s just random coincidence that you always chose the rotten one.)
Peer Gynt. What was it again? had too much attention from mommy,
only child, always looking for princess.
(No, that isn’t her at all.)
K(NO)W
beneath. Above. She can keep the candle lit back home.
(No, that isn’t her at all.) I’m dedicated. Her, Briar Thorn. It begins
with him on top. Turn over. Just go to sleep. An onion, was it? Keep
peeling the layers. No center, just masks. An ontological crisis clothed in
this? It’s all about
K(NOW)
-ing
That you cannot. Do I let her stay home and go gallivanting as
revenge? Impenetrable. No, I can’t. Sincere, and I don’t know what to
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