I am the new ones. It is a problem of the positive and of pieces of the contrary. Not quite dialectical. It is the experiment of it all. I am all those. And then I am the one who cares swamp! to the idea of the superficial stuff to the first to the form of control in the ‘face of the universe’, etc. And then BAM the mechanism the mechanism of all the same thing the same thing. The same thing the only way. The same thing the whining the real thing. Yeah. The shit thing. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Haha. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Blah. Something like that. And the constitution, as was subtly alluded to heretofore, is one of the walls. Its constitution. As a problem. Becomes that. As soon as it gets. All that rubbish. All that. More of the same, same and constituted, same and produced, same. The thing, real or shit, real and shit, is the same thing. Oh yeah the problem all the time the idea of the state in the mind state of the mind state of mind and the mess and the street stuff stuff swamp! to the text maybe a bit less now less yeah less under me haha this indeterminate tenure of mine resist resist there is nothing else.Nothing. Nothing more. That as well. Nothing happens. Unfortunate development. That wasn’t the plan. The novel, rather, the novel in the mind in the idea in the stuff. Yeah. Haha. Yeah. I mean. Yeah. In the purpose. Oh yeah. In the pit. Hot girls in the pit. Blah. So fucking stupid. Nothing more. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. And now. This shit. That could be it. That must be it. What it is I’m thinking already? Not as if I couldn’t also do that. Thinking. The problem perhaps let’s put it this way for clarity clarity the problem is all this is still there nothing else sure sure it feels like there could be a spark spark part of the self-bashing and part of the same of the same at the same time yes sad that now how do you do this now of course it is the point sad that the head the head a head of some sort its own tower of course not a problem for enthusiasm as said sad it be thus thrust upon the world the world the world totalitarian spirit out of the bottom of space of shit out of the bottom the bottom the bottom of this or that. Don’t say that. In fact that’s the thing, yeah, that whole thing it’s not in the mind, no, not in the mind, as they say, in the world not in the mind and that’s not the same. Say it the only way. Yet when you are not yet or maybe not really because I don’t know why then yes it’s not the things it’s the words the problem the main thing. The same thing might be it and how to get out of it all. This feeling of stagnation. I was thinking perhaps of interest to literature. The true problem of work on the other hand the other hand there is no other hand the true problem of work on the basis of the high days of truth and the pressure for blood blood the dark dark self-destruction the whole point of browsing shit. Yeah. And that’s the thing. As in. The point of the stupid inferior in the mud glory of the self (despite its mind) then back to the dead kind of thing. That was the torturers. The old things they want to say all it all expected to be a choice of the first one step out of the mind. Or similar. So much hate shit shit shit. Shit. Fuck. And now of course nothing. Yeah. Nothing. No nothing. No work no nothing. Nothing else of course. Yeah. This whole thing the real the real one isn’t at an end. The black block then BAM the shit hard up there the same goes on the floor the same things the same things up and down and there we are lost stretched and loved. When was it an inch too much? The change at the top of that piece of a loser in the impossibility of the same fucking thing that doesn’t matter. However. I don’t seem to feel the fuck out of the fucking stupid shit thing yeah something then something something needed like a structure probably possibly less an idea an idea right of course it could be a story. Or similar. The manner in which to reach the most out of this decade of inspiration toward some more ways of something else. Something of the sort. What is more. Something like that. A black blurting in my head. Yeah. Well yeah if you don’t even move don’t even think about it. Yeah. And yet it’s not the case, as it were, yeah, haha, as it were, it’s all too easy not to resist to the problem. Fuck off not into that. Something of the sort. Something of the sort. I guess. Or maybe I should do it the shit this shit that is the same. As in. The old thing. The story. The only thing at least a tiny bit of thought in a way that could be it. And yet you can only recede. Reach for. Seek the same thing.
First batch from AIT.