Logos is honeycomb and broiled fish.  See the beginning; wear the beginning.  The empire does not dearth but crosshair (iron) in clay the iron from no proton decay ! the tunnel ! ! the tunnel! a slit glass a slit helpless sound sound becomes a voice a beginning or an end a birth or carcass the Lion eats the same -- the sound is a Lion’s roar and a siren at the Exodus -- innocent -- innocent -- guilty (of being human; of being an archangel) -- exodus L-phsa the third Mother -- Wisdom I called for you upon the streets of Buenos Aires or Monterey where I heard the Turkish singers and chitaras -- Wisdom I called to you upon the junction synaptic and inhibitor -- I was her birthday) I was Wisdom, the Cavity -- She was the gomphoses, immobile and I became female and mobile form) spatial) helix Logos spatial and mobile (the Chicago auto-mobile -- as a gift the confines is a gift the scrap metal is a gift) I call Logos, your palatine gold Word -- didactic -- Word discourse -- the Word becomes a god and the Word is a god -- a scratch orchestra and I was never a conductor, I was never young and Christina baked cookies for those door-to-door Mormons and for her birthday she received school supplies and a cupcake holder that holes 24 cupcakes and that discourse is the body.  The body itself is discourse / the hairing fertility fertility length and to cut is to conversate (part to a part; individual to only) -- DEAR MOM I AM A LESBIAN -- to cut is circumcision (the who invents who merchant / anteater shark rest mass cart cub my cub meek sought Christina cub -- the cub is a body easily as the foot or hand this phalanx (proximal Christina apropos atropos and a moth terrifying) or that phalanx (distal Christina this from San Diego to Sacramento) -- I was her birthday) She is the quiet.  I do not like the quiet.  I need the WORD.  The musical atoms -- volumina -- spatial summation -- the WORD summates -- linear -- hyperbolic -- the body is never quiet but circle) crosses a circle and continually the body crosses and becomes a sun cross or part of the sun and the sun remains in the discourse -- illuminates the discourse as a body -- the body of discourse upon the body and the discourse itself (of all discourses) form a body functioning as a sensory receptor or postganglionic nerve or a neurotransmitter or skeletal muscle -- the body is always powerful but always gives up its power in the process to the OTHERS -- carotid belief, Roswell, photoshop, saints, erisians -- but to retain the power of (my) body is for the OTHER to give up in the process -- giving up and giving up -- and giving up is retaining the power to conquer the body although the body does not need conquering but rather use power for the benefit of control of the discourse and control of the OTHER -- then the quiet is not quiet and the belief is not belief and the state is not a state and the body is not a body but a Body Belonging to I.  The moon is midnight and I walk through the marketplace dark and stormy, stormy as a Pete Cosey guitar solo -- the Arabic Marketplace -- the Samsara Death met in Baghdad beak bleeds -- death comes for the body in Baghdad -- Death discourses the body in Baghdad (even the quiet is discourse / Quiet between Assyrians and lateral cuneiform disposable instant pictograph picosecond deciduous milk and elm -- flay you for a whorl -- integument discourse) augment (disjunction) and at midnight when the statement is full and an alphabet soap (a clipper soap canoe), I bet the quiet for the ACTION separate from INACTION and the SOUND separate from UNSOUND, to move as centrifuge separating solid and plasma -- the solute from the solvent.  To be a Friend is to wage War against her(self) and to be Enemy -- capable of enemy (enemy -- nemesis -- is the Truth Revealer) and the One-is-One and the Two-is-One and sometimes the Two separates as Two and the One serrates in Two to perform the discourse and  trochanter -- quiet discourse -- enemy discourse in the marketplace black and contrain -- shadow’s contrain and ghost -- a Father a Son a Holy Ghost -- a Father a Daughter a Holy Ghost -- the Holy Ghost is the remnants of the body -- the alpha body is the discard of the bitter philosopher the makeshift philosopher the mannequin philosopher who died in his own body without gnosis only self-contained with his ad-hominem.  I am not that philosopher.  I am the marketplace.  I am the hanging.  I am the hand of glory from the betrayer of the crossroads.  Therefore, the discourse leaves me) the Powerful left me -- but I do not leave the daughter nor the remnants of the body.  Childream’s hours whoreres where no flower is a flower nor a garden to a garden the garden Shade shot his shots whereas nightshade gathered his grave, straw once on a crib]  child witches the bones of baby dolls) Marriage I said Let’s marry marie and jump the broomstick jump the rattlesnake and chain yes I know the shipping chain a lash in which the bodies excommunicated themselves acting as a prison - a clinic -- a panopticon -- pinhole process -- and bodies clint to curtain iron and pact, packed like orca and salium -- discourse is draft -- filter charcoal relay dark -- draft (body) proper discourse like marriage (let’s marry Let’s Marie) an Ohio grassman stele.  Again, another parse of the body -- appendicular (the appendages of the noun -- statement -- Christina dares the Quiet -- statement -- this is the historical -- and parses into the maquams and princess / Christina dares the Quiet and the Quiet shudders (I fear the quiet.  I need the WORD.  I need the Statement.  The statement is the hand and opposition thumb.  I was your birthday; I was your wishes).  State.  The statement is individual)  Hand certs hand like an adverb an cillin dancing boulders all around -- unlith -- state -- the body as an anarchist and statement is state-not-state becomes anagram suiter -- Christina dares the quiet dares the marketplace and hammock -- serfs who under dare or dear and suffer either to obey body or the Marriage and undeniably denies body and surrenders as a Marriage / Between you and me, I surrender to you -- I gave up my body, the whispering discourse, and placed it on a blank page and a sun cross and the sun bore a daughter.  Who fears to speak of easter week, the plumb line and hail, and not fear musket or Buckket Joss posting bust wall (the WALL the Well the body down well did well good boys always do fine and cows always eat grass when not cannibalizing other cows the weak ones with spindly legs daddy long legs and against a Spanish firing squad and the graveyard -- Well, I said, I dig it.  I don’t hear it, you see -- I performed it -- I regarded the well, the bloody pink well built pounding the WALL pouring the center -- letting sounds happen -- Quiet resists sound causal noise -- performing is becoming a sound participating the sound even no sound -- body hero sun and lies earth so pregnant and broad moon but rather man lies in its pregnancy than a woman but gives a goddess to a goddess and a child to a child, a daughter.  I was her birthday / I’ve been listening to a lot of Eliot Smith and Andrew Bird lately, Christina says.  I always think of you when I listen to them -- I try not to, but it’s hard -- my psychologist had told me not to talk to you anymore.  He said I’m too motherly-smotherly (that’s what he calls me) to have a mature relationship with someone in need -- “it’s not good for either of you.  Well, especially him,” he said.  But it’s hard.  I still listen to everything and I still reply (just silently).  I still remember and I still feel your presence.  I’m sorry I’m not the friend you need, but it sounds like you’re doing better -- yeah, commissioned -- that sounds good.  You’ve conquered a lot so far in this world;  I hope those strong parts live on like Darwinism in your body.  I hope all the wimpy parts die with the messages and poems and I hope the good lives on and on.  I still want to be co-authors and maybe even neighbors someday /  pluralities and bebop versus modalities and swing.  Therefore look at the body as body -- these simples arranged body wise -- controlling the body as control - intoxicate as a body -- sex as a body -- for the null (this becomes null) and the body reverts to the simples -- to a Christina conversation that dares the quick of Quiet with a song as a bird songing holding water in her crestfeathers flight in the desert)  -- Roft) donce red coving red (cove, Oh two oh two dance, oh two oh two kiss, oh two oh two and I laugh at the jazz -- 
and I laugh listen to that jazz listen to that jazz a tin pan alley cat eating roast beef and sometimes I imagine being at the Five Spot with Amiri Baraka watching Thelonius Monk and John Coltrane play slippery} and I wish I could write like a jazz musician -- time no changes or third changes or parallel in this mode (here watch me imitate herman hesse) or that (Marilyn Monroe God I miss her) and I think maybe I (you have to improvise -- you have to take the cane reed and dive -- flood -- rains down like floods a Gilgamesh flood Mesopotamian waters and crater -- rows of cane flooded in a wet season where the weather improvises reminding this poet no reed is needed to make the noise or bite like a canine bite shot right through the rooftop and trusses steam and all elegant explosion if I ever saw one and The One Who Builds Cages said that’s the difference between the formal [structure][architect] and the process -- the table is the structure -- that is the object -- I see the object and I know the object.  I know the atoms of the object, its compounds, its curves and straight.  But I do not know the process.  The process is a weather.  A funnel moving this or a storm moving that in little particles making up the whole, little flashes of wind and mist create the volt and negative charge.  There is substance, but the substance is not an object, but the process itself.  Like a flood on the crescent or the holy land.  [I am a child and I wait my turn and I’m student of the week, wearing my nice shoes and I sit in front of the class the overhead is on and the teacher fills in the answers to the questions she asks (the habit the black iron prison) and I say my favorite colour, and my favorite movie is Double Impact or Fists of Fury].  A monk asks the sage -- what is the nature of two?  What is its recognition?  These red leaves, says the Sage, put in vermillion.  Jazz is two;  jazz is one - there is no two; there is no one.  Hear with your eyes.  See with your ears.  Only hearing and only seeing.  God I died to you.  My Lord I died to you.  I died like jazz.  Miles Davis was human and so was his (second) Quintet -- only human -- Miles Davis died -- Tony Williams died, that thrashing nefertiti -- Miles, I said, that Motherfucker, I wish I knew you.  I read your autobiography (picked it up at a used book sale for one dollar -- one one one).  The First Quintet -- Trane, Red Garland, Philly Joe Jones, Paul Chambers -- God are they all dead, too?  I saw in a dream and the thoughts upon my head and the visions in my head terrified -- let the vision fall back on the desperate -- in my vision I saw the singular homeless embodied in one collected heavy and perched upon the roof of the Thunder Tree and she said to me, My name is Benjamin the Divine and I am no longer (parting) you but Christian to those who received Poverty.  Immediately, I was enlightened.  The second vision was the body and two angels -- so many pairs of wings countably infinite -- shouted THE STATEMENT IS FALSE -- and a choir of greek choruses chanted recoil and performed chorea - in their plaster death faces they turned to me and said, Find the Others.  Then the angels who were circumspecting the body divorced her and left to return to Iris and Lens.  The third vision was of the female Buddha -- she sat on the grass -- she says, I am Sophia and I am related to everyone of you -- and she cracks open a pomegranate and the clusters of fruit spill and become the brook of Christina memories -- here she is standing in second grade proclaiming she wants to be Reba McIntyre [I wanted to be a country singer when I was a kid.  No, I wanted to be Reba McIntyre.  Like, literally.  My mom always encouraged this dream, so I was shocked when Mrs. Shannon told me I couldn’t be her.  We all had to stand up and say what we wanted to be, and I said, I want to be Reba McIntyre.  She said, you can’t be her.  You can be a singer.  Should I write that down?  No, I said, I guess I’ll just be a teacher] -- here, born 14 pounds and barely worth the trouble -- here, learning to fire her first gun with her drunk Father -- then Sophia closes her eyes and dies and becomes the pomegranate / I was a prophet once.  I sang saxophone like Bethlehem angels and improvised visions and dreams -- rigid and liquid structures (formations) -- blur the dream -- harden the dream -- the dream was multiple -- Christian was experience -- and I died to God maybe to meet Miles Davis or Charles Mingus steal a tune like Solar or Tune-up)  My God!  Are we all dying?  My dad bought me King of Blue at Costco when I was a kid -- those fourths!  AABA   D dorian   Db dorian just like Impressions.  I can sing it.  Still wish maybe it was Philly Joe instead of Jimmy Cobb but I don’t know -- back and forth, you know?  or the 
oh two John Coltrane and Rashied Ali oh two Parker and dizzy Oh two William and Drake Se Kindred Two-Lock-One and God dies or some God (kills) like a magic cylinder -- kills prophets (jealous prophets jealous gods) prophets timed to tied and God slew me as a dark rider on a white horse upon my ash heap and I cursed like a Job and discarded my prophet clothes -- the scaffolding, bell chains, erkonig -- Kindred Two-Lock-One and without dying but died becoming pomegranates -- homeless -- Miles Davis -- parable gods, Lost our clothes but (parable) gods -- inseparable from NOW (Alcott’s NOW / Therefore NOW destroys BEFORE and YET TO HAPPEN for to observe is to collapse the wave function and becomes NOW.  My pasterns leader NOW -- my child (when I was a child) and Christina Child (when she was a child) is (always) us now NOW (always becoming) -- past dumbstruck beer oracle (There is no predestination of the Kindred -- proclaim Christina prior Prophetess -- Yes it is unique but it is not God forcing this thing upon us.  I believe in our strong characters.  We had these amazing pasts that linked us into an even more magical and strong history [becoming the NOW] that doesn’t mean it has to be [this is the choosing of the monomyth] -- just means a special moment in _______ [mystery our secrets], talked and sparked and [it all] came down, tumbling down.  And then -- we were Us.  Kindred Two-in-the-Lock)  Us heretics.  Us Sellouts.  Us wakers.  Maybe the only thing that ever existed was us as children and NOW is children, becoming us.  You are my rose, egotistical and secretly frightened, (trying) to protect herself with her four claws, but they are only thorns.  Plus minus minus plus minus markov chain flat:  Bearfox kinder minus bear fox Benjamin Christina -- Benjamin minus, Christina plus -- plus minus bear fox Christina.  Oh Ben minus bear fox kinder ember, Christina plus Ben, gathering the coat of embers) Do geese see God?  I saw God in the eyes of New Year Jimi Hendrix, fillmore white until I died and became gesse and I did not see God as any goose, only the goose as a God and all years take trains back to the butcher’s paper on a T-square avenue -- Here’s God!  There’s God!  Holding doomsday signs and packets of instant lemonade and fireworks) Subterreaneans.  God, you alcoholic, Lord I have two swords -- mermaid sword and tangerine blacksmith Clementine tangerine and in general, I lost my baptism playing the cabaret -- boy, do you have a union card?]  Don’t know the Happen or Bygone or even fleardear -- the dreams stopped.  Let the dreams fall back on the clumsy.  
God the nothingness, no God the one, then two and the two is no -- nothing and Christina is the nothing -- becoming and is a body, a hallow, and I enter (into the two-nothing) and I am no thing but a single thing which is God and God is Christina and Christina is Ben, a no thing but everything and that everything nothing is a living tuning old church hymns and plantars and I lose my faith but become (a) God or God consumed me, a nothing drank me and I was Christina and here are the children becoming the kingdom of Heaven, filling a pastless Gate and raindrop.  Christina does not know yet -- fears the Godnothings and breadbecomings -- do not search because you are;  I think about death all the time, but I’m crazy.  Why do you think about death?  Because I’m scared of it, she says.  My entire life I’ve tried to be good -- I was a true witness for God, but it was for the sake of KNOWING -- when I die, I’m covered.  I would go to heaven and that was enough to calm my nerves.  I’m losing that…  / If -- I knewing God-god-god and I continuous (never lifting a pencil across a room or a stairwell) whoin the identify (Christina often identifies in me in a lineup -- Ben, there you are!  Don’t be so mean to that poor girl.  I’m not, I protest.  Good.  Ben, look here -- isn’t it wonderful?  I want to go there and when I move I’ll be so close!)  -- I prophesy incomplete information -- none a prophet baker a prophet the ill a prophet -- once told me some fool, God does not use the (indescribabble) for witness miracles as a sunspot or Jonas belly -- blind mouths!  (wherein the current lies mine infamous sanity, the most decent lot a pillaring ashsalt) and if knewing God-god-god-Christina -- the whisking basket clothe turned and trapwire -- I did not know the knowledge -- Christina knows what I do not and tectonics the symmetry] OR [asymmetry born, astigmatist but the messengers (fallen) always seem a bit tipsy, a bit-tit wobbly Russian doll and the prophet is NOTIME NOTHING EMPTHY SET -- NOTIME EMPTY SET MONTH SLAIN -- killing (my) Father’s messenger’s and glazing from the vineyard cod fish caught New England Camille Chromatic Coast.  William, I said (My father’s names are William, Anthony, John, Eric, Herbie, Abraham, Muhammad, Jonas, Gwendolyn, Mary, Abigail, Marilyn, Christina) I saw the colour -- I heard sometimes selling out is waking up.  It is, Christina says, if you wake up.  People just dream and dream sometimes, not aware of their surroundings -- having conversations about agriculture or chicken stock to nobody but the grandfather clock and the (sleepsleep) black cat, a Bloomberg an Aristotle (name a cat an Aristotle a sharp toothed greek cougar) -- if God-god-god Christinamotherprophetess -- Ben Hen jambalaya liar -- !ha! muHA! nuHA!  the doodle boppers bebop is like a doodle free jazz is like a child who did died / Line.  Yes, line.  God once was a line -- non-Euclidian --   psuedolovecraftian cillary once was host stratified this or stratified compatriot muhaha nuhaha evil spock beard -- spock’s beard!  but no, the Line -- infinite who’s all edged up  2C-T-7 or 2C-E alpeh series EEE -- harrrr  -Line!  no one knows why the universe is so linear, so flat.  It’s because God botched some pancakes he was cooking and took the remnants and threw it into the hydrogen and fire.  Out comes the billions of firelights and fireflies glued to the sky.  
Like if I died at the moment of questioning, oh my goodness, what would happen?  All I know is I’m terrified all the time and I cannot sleep and I cannot walk to my car (in the morning) without a near heart attack… Christina, be a moment, not a terror.  Can’t help it…  Line neuron, dendrite to axon to psuedounipolar to whatever voltage-regulated chamber, sodium to sodium (give the salt to the salts, and become the salts) and the K to the K and the guitar player plays real good feedback and sonic-sounding riffs, riffed to the post-synapse and punted like a neurotransmitter -- all in a straight line, the zig-zagging lines swimming in extracellular fluid.
The Kindred’s unique?
Yep.
How’d it happen?
Us.  Our history.  We’re magic.  You can call it whatever, but I call it Kindred.
Kindred doesn’t rhyme with anything.  It will be difficult to work it into writing.
Deal with it (sticks out tongue momentarily).
What does it mean anyway?
A relationship that has both preceded and exceeded time aspects of a relationship.
Huh?
I knew you before I knew you.  You know.
And Mirrors?
There’s a little part of each of us in each other.  It’s nothing romantic and nothing of fate.  Just Us.
How nice.
I think so.  Also, I think we’ll be famous coauthors and make a lot of money
/ London bridge is brokwen dow’n dance o’er my lady London bridge is browken dow’d my gay Marie -- Line broken bridge cross broken bridge like godflesh and burning machines (penbody machines, forefront machines)
I want to hitchhike
I want to be a hobo and ride trains (coal trains wheel on wheel)