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  • Mors ontologica

    A pastiche of A Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick

      Death starts, substance talking with bugs fucking the fruit pies of old ladies Amount of death in a day - a self-biography written by another, an imitation of life scanning times gone and yet to be 8, 9, be sure your sins will find you out Faces of layers, layers of faces with a slush of the corpus callosum the world is the white of a Rorschach Make good, make do, make time give her blue flowers before the soul-sickness - a fucking loud silencer Are you not what you are not Is there anybody to judge outside your shadow, you as the shadow, the shadow as you killing the harmless things Step in and we'll record super secret police surveillance Death in the food chain between man and god men of good fortune imposters posing as posers of frauds Subatomic narcs in the suffocating grip Death remains hidden below your feet sending yourself mail to the afterlife - Grave, where is thy victory? His artifacts, on the tape, along with the Ayn, with a Merlot; an eternity of sins Death may be one of them Rewind and edit yourself out change death to life, the sins of summer bloom in the spring (the spring of blue) wait for the past shoot up shoot down without the silencer they won't see we shall not all sleep death isn't here Pain of Death, Death of Pain Pain of death, Death of pain versions of words are versions of the past blood tests for impurities of the mind an endogenic death speaks of futures already here seeing you seeing darkly Your complement stands in for you organic damage as the cause Death is swallowed down in victory a life in cryptology look up and see how you fall Off everything find your mind mors ontologica death begins do w n


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    Minna Louhelainen 2014 / minagi (at) honeyacid.net