Art Gallery
This is horrible—paintings all over the walls... You're not even classically trained, so I don't love you like I'd love a Dora. You know I can be petty as Picasso, and why not? Sometimes you're as sterile as a Maar.
What's your purpose and what's my purpose and when does that make a difference? Oh, the jealousy can be quite demanding. It's the emotion and exertion that keeps me close to you, whether it's negative or positively negative.
I'm sure you've written me a very serious letter about it(which you haven't posted.) I'm sure you've written it, but just haven't the legs beneath you to send it. What would it say? I'd keep it my secret, maybe; even in a work of fiction I wouldn't tell all your secrets.
I once saw Jesus' face in the leaves of a tree in front of my house. I've never told you that, you'd only laugh and think poorly of me—even if it was just my brain matrixing. Then again, you might worry that it wasn't your face I evolved to see.
When I showed you how to palpate a blood pressure I regretted it immediately. You looked at me funny when we were quiet and I thought you could only be thinking how you absolutely hate hate hate me. Sometimes I just can't disappear as completely as I used too.
Now with paintings all over the walls we have to make judgments on them or there's no reason being here or there or anywhere. There's no reason to make paintings if no one's gonna think about how they can't stand 'em—and there's no reason to go out on dates if judgments aren't being made.
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I've been trying to write something that reminds me more of a poem than prose, hide the poetry in prose. Maybe this is a better example.
This is horrible—paintings all over the walls... You're not even classically trained, so I don't love you like I'd love a Dora. You know I can be petty as Picasso, and why not? Sometimes you're as sterile as a Maar.
What's your purpose and what's my purpose and when does that make a difference? Oh, the jealousy can be quite demanding. It's the emotion and exertion that keeps me close to you, whether it's negative or positively negative.
I'm sure you've written me a very serious letter about it(which you haven't posted.) I'm sure you've written it, but just haven't the legs beneath you to send it. What would it say? I'd keep it my secret, maybe; even in a work of fiction I wouldn't tell all your secrets.
I once saw Jesus' face in the leaves of a tree in front of my house. I've never told you that, you'd only laugh and think poorly of me—even if it was just my brain matrixing. Then again, you might worry that it wasn't your face I evolved to see.
When I showed you how to palpate a blood pressure I regretted it immediately. You looked at me funny when we were quiet and I thought you could only be thinking how you absolutely hate hate hate me. Sometimes I just can't disappear as completely as I used too.
Now with paintings all over the walls we have to make judgments on them or there's no reason being here or there or anywhere. There's no reason to make paintings if no one's gonna think about how they can't stand 'em—and there's no reason to go out on dates if judgments aren't being made.
------------
I've been trying to write something that reminds me more of a poem than prose, hide the poetry in prose. Maybe this is a better example.