The Princess Syndrome
I, who have lost, and con-decorated in the treatment of the significance of someone else, take it out with me to always everywhere more than what I have followed. A belief that I have lived days at a time for something that lost me sense and put in me the prematurity of de-serving, not someone, but only that significance again. Oh finished life, target me rainbow for father of mine has another use and that of so many others cannot spoil me in beautiful things, but only spoil my beauty in its pre-dated significance. I, who de-serve, should deserve again.
In the Penis of the Father
I lack vision of my consequence and require all force. To force this cause of me and repeat my unfinished Mother in visions of an unstarted Mother in the endless childhood of my unexamined end. What do I want? That I can have had. One to one again: a stream of self-sorting numbers. And that, with that, two to two again, in the collection rooms of a wasted memory before a wasting body. Lift me, to unbroken sense of emptiness; that I may empty and that all born of this be the new landscape of a seeding without the significance of its life.
Two become none
Together we are strong, together we have the power of this great economy: the second half of the unified sign we make. The world outside will speak to us: shapes of us colourful of all the colour in the walls of the project external: it calms us, it aspires to us, fundamentally who we are: a widescreen production of meaning before and after our lives together. The better defined is the pixilation, the more defined and together forever are we going to be. A real picture: improved in every revision of the synthesiser. Together, we have each other: in the brand new name of the power of next-day Home-delivered significance.
The princess’s too much meaning, the penis’s dead meaning and the two’s telecommunicated meaning.