Afterwood - joe - ETPV

Unrelated, and for a Cause known to only the perpetrators. The streak of white is inviting her to lick up any extra salt. Who among the living is willing to fork over the gold? She would yell this from her glass tray that showed four non-faces. and What to make a struggle for nothing out of? Was her second favorite thing to make people taste it. I tasted it and was comfortable with being confused





The name of the game has always been comPETITION, and there are insects and the gods of them are all ready to comPETE for more coopeRATION.

Actually

She looks out her compounded window lenses and sees it dripping like a flag. She reminds herself how lonely it was without it, her hot meals and habitat. Now it’s far too much, seeping through her cracks and fissures like apples in chain link fences. The colony, the nest, the rest of the world that she loves to forget; the best of it was left underground in writhing, decaying tunnels. She could either pit it out Ffrumm the soil and taste the juice or ignore it. The days of fighting for food and feasting with fools were gone and she decided not to think about that anymore.





Afterwood she would call it.




Gut wrenching, these parasites that eat for me.



She would tell me about the days she would shut her eyes so hard all she could taste was apples.









God spit more salt in the eyes of her brother and his lover, both shared her molecules. The past was crawling up her leg and sinking it deep into her pores. It was always there like copper residue, memories just made it more detestable. The system must be broke?

If only taste was as magnificent as non-sight, then she’d be able to find her way. She fancied herself a criminal. She liked to fight and make it twitchingly good with her brothers and their lovers. This, she thought, would truly cause a riot.

But it didn’t. It just made her more hate her sense.






Things took a turn for the worst when she fell too far from the apple tree. That wasn’t a chain link fence at all. She told me that once in the sand. I’ve been climbing WHAt forever? Leave what exactly for what, four faces for freedom? What is freedom without liberty? What is liberty? Why do these questions taste so good, why does everyone else tell me they’re supposed to taste like a mushroom? She really belonged to the world sometimes. She would break into song.

I have wandered lonely landscapes for too long.
If only I could count the moons
I would tell you but I’d still be wrong
I’m led by my tongue
I’ll compete I’ll get along too
for some more of it. It is It.
Is that it?


These moments when she made sense-- they make me afraid. Clarity is hard to come by in this kingdom. I find it hard to express but never to remember. When do I remember her words? When it’s dark I feel them crawling through my ears and molesting my drum. The vibrations. I visualize her taste. Though I cannot see, I can taste her sight when I taste apples.