At this time there was an expectation of terror meaning cops in kevlar and
the green civic garbage cylinders sealed with discs of steel.
At this time the new train ran to an underground forest sheathed in books.
This time many years after the towers near the sex of the city were found to
be twin cruets of jizz and sang.
We all floated with the same specific gravity in the constantly moving stream
of money as of this time.
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As in time of strike there was quite a bit of garbage loose in the street not like
an orang-utan in the Rue Morgue but it eddied and whorled at the edges of
the seductively weeping stream.
I was riding a swan to the underground library or having sex with a swan
under a shroud of words.
As of this time we kept a copy of the city in the library and another in the
ether.
Constantly offered as a time of therefore but with a feeling of as.
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Kevlar and carbines and garbage reduplicating into the quotidien in the time
of the Plan Vigipirate.
Not more people in the street but more intensely as in the time of a transit
strike promenading behind the veil of speech.
Around this time we thought of the skyline as new nature.
And through it flowed the invisible milk as through the ether and the sewers
the milk of capital.
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There was an expectation in everyday life.
It gathered in the dead spaces beside the endlessly grieving stream.
Of milk jizz and sang in the time of garbage in the vale of lang.
The shining order the burning simulations there are more of it.
