Why is this: This     This desert this decay     This decay seven sermons to the dead     This at this desert dry decay that simultaneously preserves the human grotesque / mummy monsters     (monsters tell me why I don’t like Mondays)

When is this: This and this horror and my horror
	(Every horror movie models mortality
	(Horror models body mottled variegated blood variations)
	(Horror movie modeled mothlight)

Why is this: This     This body horror hallelujah     Hallelujah flesh moths man horror hallelujah


//
This: crunch crunch catastrophe (crunch keep crystal candle aperiodic crystal)

This: obscene from who abyss and chaos

This and this threads this and the this reflects (models) the horrific catastrophe of my body.  My body crunches obscene and censored, but the horror nonetheless reveals.  My body crunches obscene from chaos and abyss, and I think it all comes from eternal sources.  My bones crunch catastrophe and if it’s bones, it speaks.  It speaks to do something deep about what it means to be bones, intentional or not.  My bones speak whether something is good off or not is a more difficult and subtle movement though… My bones speak OK, so if all off I’d ocean it then it is elsewhere.  It is ocean in who senses its bones and it all comes from the same source…

This bone speaks crunch crunch abyss crunch     Captain crunch all buried     This catastrophe


//
Why is this: This     This body this horror

(CUNY philosopher Noël Carroll notes:  “It is a remarkable fact about the creatures of horror that very often do not seem to be of sufficient strength to make a grown man cower.  A teetering zombie or severed hand would appear incapable of mustering enough force to overpower a coordinated six-year old.  Nevertheless, they are presented as unstoppable, and this seems psychologically acceptable to audiences.”  Why is this?)

Why is this: This     This descent decay (My horror does not originate from strength but from deformation delay, the disheveled grotesque of my body.  The horror of my body originates in its crunch and catastrophe, and my bones speak as a teetering zombie and a severed hand in my body cuts into my body: This.  This body tuned in this horror teeters horrific catastrophe.  My bones speak odd horror oddities.)

Why is this: bones and bones speak 

(I mean it’s pretty bare bones, says Asia.  Just some rocks and a sponge filter, but I had to sanitize everything.
I hate them and their TEETH, says Asia.  Worse than horses.  At least they don’t have weird legs and hidden finger bones.
Opalized dinosaur bones, says Asia.  I want a chest piece of a sun motif, says Asia.  Yes, going up to my collar bone.)

Why is this: This     I filter but them bones     This them bones (I believe them bones are me   some say we’re born into the grave   I feel so alone   gonna end up a big ol’ pile of them bones)

I filter but them bones     This and this philosopher remarkable creatures (I resemble a remarkable creature: creature assemblages assemblage bone collages     I resemble a philosopher and an alchemist and my bones stir the cauldrons)      I filter opalized going mean I horses / at dinosaur up it had least bones


//
This horror resembles them bones and this crunch of remarkable creature

Only canyon subtle philosophical better
	Only canyon this decay
	I to pretty to they want my bare sanitize
	Philosophical better malpractice node vulcanization difference her

(Dead end?  Always dead end.  Bones speak dead end and horror models philosophical mortality.  Listen to Morton Feldman or John Cage or John Coltrane – how does John Coltrane playing the long solo?  Why is this?)

Dead end why is this     Them send hidden fingers bones     Just some rocks and hidden finger bones

Why is this: This long Coltrane solo and the music signifies forwards and backwards dead end. … I listen to All My Friends by LCD Soundsystem:  You spend the first five years trying to get with the plan and the next five years trying to be with your friends again […] Though we’re running out of the drugs and the conversations are grinding away   I wouldn’t trade one stupid decision for another five years of life […] Where are your friends tonight if I could see all my friends tonight…
What is this: horror of age and horror of decay.  Nostalgic horror.  I age.  I nostalgic.  LCD Soundsystem plays for me: If I could see all my friends tonight.  If I could see Krystal or Taryn tonight (I mean it’s clunky lone bone.  Just some rocks and a sponge filter but I had to sabotage everything).  Only language subtle creature reminders / weird tell and finger bones.  I find my this in the multiphonic crunch of the long John Coltrane solo: it is ocean in whole sense all comes from who same source.
//


Why is this: This     This desert this decay     This decay seven sermons of the dead     This as this desert decay that simultaneously preserves my human body grotesque… This body monsters

This body: this human body slowly decays and betrays     This human body ben adam adds hen to pan a porous flesh and rotting flesh (my flesh rots decayed rhizome / flesh leaves flesh petals my flesh flattened and preserved in heavy books

This body
	I want a chest piece of sponge filter but I had to my collar bone
This body
	(Double dose of shock!  A blood-dripping brain transplant turns a maniac into a monster
	 Brain of Blood)
This human slowly decays into a teetering zombie or a severed hand.  This humans human ocean from the nostalgic same source

Why is this: every horror movie mulches mortal bodies     This just some rocks and a sun motif     Yes, going up to sanitize everything


//
My bones speak crunch crunch crunch / my bones catastrophe crunch decay

I age.  I create nostalgia ocean than it is elsewhere.  This is a song for me.  If I could see all my friends tonight
	(The drink you spilt all over me
	 “Lover’s Spit” left on repeat
	 My mom and dad left me stay home
	 It drives you crazy, getting old…)
I age.  I reminisce.  I let the songs speak for me.  I’m doomed, aren’t I?  Dead end.  I will die soon, right?  No, I only destroy and decay into remarkable creatures and monsters tell me why I don’t like mondays.  I listen to “Ribs” by Lorde and I rewrite a dream again Krystal and reeling through the midnight streets and fearing getting old.  Christina and I listen to Hey Jealousy by Gin Blossoms.  Nostalgia destroys me and buries me mass graves seasons of the abyss.

My teeth eat nostalgia.  My teeth touch death dead end mending wall.  My teeth applies melodic wallpaper and paper mace crinoline (linoleum limousine mouse     Christina I need you so much closer)
	(You’re a wasted face   You’re a sad-eyed lie   You’re a holocaust)
My face disappears in the spectre of my face.  My face dissipates by nostalgic apparitions (vapor voluptuous vapor Christina towards my death and dying)
	Worse motif to teeth
	Chest bones opalized rocks
	I bare them at I and fingers

I don’t see you anymore since the hospital (I listen to more Christina.  Listen to my age and my body creature decays.  Listen to more Gin Blossoms.  I haven’t seen you in ages but it’s not as bleak as it seems.  We still dance in whirling stages in my Busby Berkeley Dreams).  I dream my decay strange Christina.  Christina the banshee presided over my body bag details.  Christina the psychopomp and my human body slowly decays and betrays.  This human body ben adam adds hen to pan a porous flesh and a rotting flesh (a cult of undead creatures seek fresh warm human blood!   Vampire People).  Christina the banshee accompanies me to the underworld as a psychopomp.  Dreaming of Mercy Street.  Well the band has stopped playing but we keep dancing.  The world keeps turning.  Christina dances my death.
//


Why is this: This     This desert this decay     This decay models the remarkable fact about creatures of horror
	Opalized dinosaur bones
	I back a chest piece on a cut rotor hat, going up to my collarbone

Horror.  Why is this?  This.  This.  This incapable of mustering enough force.  This presenting as unstoppable.  Horror: this desert this decay and my body betrays.  The song betrays.  Its ocean from its same sources.