why I love you and why it hurts, why I feel it all the time

and how. i watched ren and stimpy and stimpy is so nice to ren, so nice and squeals with delight, but nothings good, nothings going on, nothings good and going on, nothing much has been good and going on, nothing I can provide for you in this way that we provide for one another, only my love that is gone, that you'll never give me, never ever give me- take it right now away from me, take it away and sit on it like a hunk of cheese, like a movie that nobody will watch fast enough to say anything about, only a few pages into this love that I should have, this one which I was trying to be- holding and holding and expired, expired, minutes left, minutes and smiles with screw on caps, jawbones and eyedice, takes it right outa me, takes everything away,
leaves me without dead leaves to lie in, not even wet, but the smell,
you can't argue with grain, and as much as you dream, the flavor is
discontinuous, even the sweep of your arm could break off, even the sugar in your blood will jingle in the moan of busfare, but who said anything about what to go on and centerfold, centerfold before the gap of god, marionetted, below and perpenticular, away from vertical, eyes and mouth on one hook.
at least there wasn't any clear evidence, i would add

come dimensia aid the night in its progress and searching yes within the mind of another descending but unsure of destination spelunking within the earth the fathoms of heat and mass below us and forever once not yes spherical is forever as far as proximity of objects in the infinitudesof two dimensions in the infinitueds of 5 dimensionsand the sad car even sees companion ship beyond its page this is a novel the mementum of direction third thurd dimension through penetrated in the moment of the word annihilated what delights just colored lips another powder keg displaces the center by trapeze oh the victory of language over man which is the form of grand sublime force the great in the division of myself in myself is evident in the patterns of manness belonging to certainty I will illustrate in the mindling of this writing and your mind these patterns illustrating connected ideas are conjerd by the profit are only the offering of a mystic the volume in the passing of voices only this I can write forgive me and forgive yourself and from a glitter in the memory which I attempt to conjure or struct two etemologies with the tangle and sting of the whole athe numbness and clarity oh is my clarity only in my removal my invested disection the smoothinging along the damp tires wrapping through the space that annihilates me maybe this is the theme to the story the annihilation of myself and the victory of insects below men and above men I'm glad I can finally pick a team in this book don't you hate it when you hate everything in something you try to pretent to want to read I mean you're like jesus christ I must be a fucking numbskull picking a team is so much more practical in the practise of spelling and grammar I'm so ambitious I'm looking back I'm running a race and you're the book I read so I'm an alien in their radar a blip a moon I'm not quite been annihilated by the sunlight quite yet by the brightness of disappearance the cunjunction between existing and nothing is bright is light light before darkness light is the incessant demand and misfortune of the seen of the patterns moving in the shapes of our thoughts fierceness int eh battle through ourselves without the spectacle of violence the spectacle of violence the spectacle of violence even in our distance from other organismization this is the battle against my visual existence even in the air without origin yes to whom do I owe this air? The hounting of the spectacle the moving image yes destroyed impossible reconstructed existense and a teaspoon of intention best arrayed within the always outside of the image the always inside of the sound the third dimunsion of penetration of annihilation between them of course the forth no fifth dimension the line along the lines ok and the the patterns everyday in the morning in the afternoon in the booznin in the quilt of fuck