Caveat Lector Let the Reader Beware http://www.caveatlector.com/node/41/atom/feed 2008-03-16T14:16:36+00:00 skin crawls http://www.caveatlector.com/content/skin-crawls 2008-03-16T14:16:36+00:00 2008-03-16T14:16:36+00:00 Chris my skin crawls. the hair is greasy and falls well without a comb. wearing black is the answer. scrubbing out the white stains from rubbing a morning mouth. seeing the hours pass. immovable. orangina and vienna sausage. i'm on a roll; i'm on a roll this time. i feel my luck could change. 1998. the time is exactly opposite in OZ. pull me out of an air crash. i am your super hero. we are standing on the end. lyrics spinning from the large speakers. _The Breast_ is the name of a novel. it sits beside me. I wrote the number of a woman into its inner back cover. a 212 number. the breast. a man wakes to discover he has become a breast. he is placed in a sling which looks remarkably like the cup of a man sized brazier. suck my nipple. lick my nipple. its all he can think. he think he's insane. thinks his woman will leave if all he wants or needs in his life is to have his enormous red nipple incessantly molested. thank you mr. philip roth -- we indulge ya something awful you brilliant son of a bitch! orangina. javascript. hopkins. wintel. some things when i think about the way my mind works caught up in this parallel processing mind of ours looking for pi, searching for the ideal form, realizing that no matter how well turned a foot, no matter ho tight an abdomen, no matter how arched a back and how pert a breast, this is but a shadow, this is but an insult to the form. and then i ask, as might have stephan, what in hell are we going to so as to turn our back and bear the light? in photography, the only thing one can capture while facing the light is a silhouette! no matter what, even when turning towards the ideal form, one may only still glimpse the outline filled with ink. fill flash. pop. but that is part of you, now --pushing your own waves and particles so its not perfect any more. evian. high and dry, radiohead. don't leave me high; don't leave me dry.

two jumps in a week i bet you think that'[s pretty clever don't you boy flying on your motorcycle watching all the ground beneath you drop you kill yourself for recognition you kill yourself to never ever stop you broke another you are turning into something you are not don't leave me high don't leave me dry don't leave me high don't leave me dry. drying up n conversation you will be the one who cannot talk when all your insides fall to pieces you just sit and wish you could still make love they're the ones who hate you ... lost the lyrics -- can't keep up...

©1997 Chris Abraham
]]> my skin crawls. the hair is greasy and falls well without a comb. wearing black is the answer. scrubbing out the white stains from rubbing a morning mouth. seeing the hours pass. immovable. orangina and vienna sausage. i'm on a roll; i'm on a roll this time. i feel my luck could change. 1998. the time is exactly opposite in OZ. pull me out of an air crash. i am your super hero. we are standing on the end. lyrics spinning from the large speakers. _The Breast_ is the name of a novel. it sits beside me. I wrote the number of a woman into its inner back cover. a 212 number. the breast. a man wakes to discover he has become a breast. he is placed in a sling which looks remarkably like the cup of a man sized brazier. suck my nipple. lick my nipple. its all he can think. he think he's insane. thinks his woman will leave if all he wants or needs in his life is to have his enormous red nipple incessantly molested. thank you mr. philip roth -- we indulge ya something awful you brilliant son of a bitch! orangina. javascript. hopkins. wintel. some things when i think about the way my mind works caught up in this parallel processing mind of ours looking for pi, searching for the ideal form, realizing that no matter how well turned a foot, no matter ho tight an abdomen, no matter how arched a back and how pert a breast, this is but a shadow, this is but an insult to the form. and then i ask, as might have stephan, what in hell are we going to so as to turn our back and bear the light? in photography, the only thing one can capture while facing the light is a silhouette! no matter what, even when turning towards the ideal form, one may only still glimpse the outline filled with ink. fill flash. pop. but that is part of you, now --pushing your own waves and particles so its not perfect any more. evian. high and dry, radiohead. don't leave me high; don't leave me dry.

two jumps in a week i bet you think that'[s pretty clever don't you boy flying on your motorcycle watching all the ground beneath you drop you kill yourself for recognition you kill yourself to never ever stop you broke another you are turning into something you are not don't leave me high don't leave me dry don't leave me high don't leave me dry. drying up n conversation you will be the one who cannot talk when all your insides fall to pieces you just sit and wish you could still make love they're the ones who hate you ... lost the lyrics -- can't keep up...

©1997 Chris Abraham
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