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July 10, 2015
Spin, gobble, roll around, then retract the limb, its gesture befouled by a furtive whip of flesh seen as something other than, as the other-than is extruded, an other-than that's never when but while its done for doing, when its means as the source of love becomes a pit of fear, when it spittles, drools, vomits its venom out a swollen cavern glistening as the manic cancer it is, as the juice machine to feed the demon seed, so brightly called for real, is nothing but, pours an elixir off the stage for spurious food spiced by lies.