A Small Palace of Thoughts Thoughts Lying Together Remarkably Beautifully

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Virginity is fucking and fusing with fire and divers fervor and five-petaled times the reality of fire. There is no other virginity. None. 

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Chi is the steam of chai. Watch that steam shit around and swirl, you'll find the first's rexactamundo the thing were are. Christ is chai. Christ is chi. Together we good. 

0000

T is the Via of Volume times Variable Cheese. Via being the geomantic symbol of motion and instability. And the variable Cheese being whatever is angled profusely toward the unfagged Lincolnshire posy of Time. Is there is nothing more beautiful than volume that properly constrains the motion of time?

Nogat

Look: Chartres. The rose window and the maze. The whole form of the place trusts the Lord to bring the body of Jesus home to it, and the embodiment of Time is HIM, which is fucking capital. And time moves through it in the same organized way that Christ asked us to move, when he himself asked us to people the church. Valence after valence of what is beautiful and timely touches the truth of the spirit. The windows fuel the antinomies of blah blah, which are grace and expectation--expectation because there is always something more to give, and God expects us to care. To love. To exert ourselves. The cathedral lifts and exerts herself: "Have sex with me my Lord." 

&&&&&&&&&&&&& And

The catbird king as well as the second son of all that is says Yo. 

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"Let's make the world more beautiful by making us more beautiful by making the world more beautiful by making us more beautiful by making love more beautifully by making every language more instinctively itself. Lotsa good chow is good too. And friends. And turning up the volume at the dance. You might feel lost. You might feel overwhelmed by change and difference. Tough.

Okay have the bees give you some honey. Have the pitcher pitch you another curve. Have the shitscape say you is shit and sing it back. And then cry. And then try again. Sorry that's the method. Little by little things might get tougher. 

HB

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I'm fucking done, said HarChartes. 

Still I want to see the real fucking Big J Lord come. 

I want my Mary to be my mother

forever shit-visibly blue. And I want you.

And I want her. And I want Her.

I know this is expecting a lot, 

but catbirds do.

H.