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_____________I remember_______
when my good mood
was a serious agitation
to an addictive agitator.
It was Auguste 14th when Shell's teeth stopped shattering.
In her sleep they usually did, but sometimes in the day they would clench and grit. and inside to the base of her skull she could feel the vibrations. It was an intensity that was self-driven like some kind of nervous twitch and right between the base action of it she felt like even her dreams were reflected with a vivid buzz. The man draped in wolf skin would smile and hold out a cup of liquid. The golden cup was fastened with fox bones and laid out in a pattern that cycled around the container but it was not the structure or the presentation of the cup that mattered but it was the violet liquid in where the tale began. Began Began began The sound of locusts always sounded like electrical lines not warring with each other but crackling to be noticed more easily by any other creature that was not a locust. The liquid bubbled like alkaceltzer and she accepted the cup from the man's hands holding it up to her lips. draped in wolfskin, eyes in makeup, barefeet and claws around chord around his neck there was a center of attention of burn scars decorated from the base of his wrists all the way to his biceps in some salamander pattern, dancing one to one in a form precise and important but she could not talk only ask through action and only learn through symbols teeth chattering in her other body but these classes she took, transcribed in to her other body and this man would he teach others at the same time in the same night perhaps the very same things it did not matter, she intuited not in some nihilistic way but as an acceptance that she was chosen to receive these drinks and walk these paths Paths otherwise driven out and away But the skies were as violet as her drinks and the planes were as golden as that cup she now held Yet not, too, like the cup, scattered with animal bone or even residue but tall curling plants of a neon blue which seemed to speak or breathe as loudly as the actions of the man or the bubbling of the liquid and even that of the sky. but it was yet early in time to really hear what that plants did say and in her other body she never did see those kinds of plants before she would always birth back in to it before they opened up their mouths by the brew had hit her stomach and her teeth would stop chattering finally once and for all when she revisited that place and the man, without speaking would say more to her than any mouth of any man or woman in her other body, had ever said, but this time the plant, it wrapped around her not startling, for she was always safe there, and it spoke to her through feelings and through a pulse where the sky would suck down and raise again and the man would hold the golden cup and shake it where the bones would rattle downward and shake to the golden plain where Fox would spring to life and dart one after one in many directions where the plant, with many arms and mint-like leaves in that neon blue entered in her scents and poured through her tastes on her tongue and the man Smiled and she birthed in to her other body Teeth had stopped grinding There was nothing left to speak, no way to say it really, but at the window sill in a flower pot This was the first but not the only The miracle species of a plant destined to be spacious like some invention that overcomes tycoons release the blueprints shall not sell it to release the blueprints release the blueprints freely freely freely without institution release the blueprints, copy, reproduce She planted, planted planted and the Man smiled more and more and more in more people's visions where they woke up with minted sensations in their windowsills or near their bedfoot or even near wettened boxes and tentsides To grow such a nutrient where Fox bone bounces off golden plains and spring with the fire of a tail in any direction Etchings of burnt skin tracing in a pattern up to the neck and around a jaw of a smile that almost had faded but replanted, destined. -------- here we have a curing that grows--knowledge of its properties being passed through a dream world and the physicality of that method of healing takes its shape in the waking world. It is fluttersome like remembering or searching for specific details,
and then to bring those important snapes of concept to the material world.
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Copyrat/Siamese-wrong/Gather me electric, to carry that song