Screensave vispo by Adriana Kobor (Italy)
De Villo Sloan in the newsfeed and my preprandial hypertension gives way to a superstition I can hardly overcome now.
Cooking as synonym for jamming. Jimming Pavlovian twinkles. Overhours over overhours. I can't let go of this strange feeling. Sinatra's synus node would nod on this.
Mine is a twinkling Hawkingian garbage bin.
Never mind, those happy hours sound like a faraway song in a vet's back office.
Death is always around as a doom. De Villo's poetic self's autohypnosis.
I would have preferred to write this with mere initials, but I'm so nervous right now that any abstraction would damage the encircled c's righteously unelliptic sphere.
The newsfeed is hungry, so we gotta feed it.
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"Neuronal pressure, axonal exchange. Spare me a light bulb, dear Darkness of midnight nuns. Nons. Noons."
- Adriana Kobor
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Ouch. Hyperbolic pressure. Anisotropy.
Whatever you've done, you'll always be conscious about the fact that "you haven't done it (,) as well".
Those wee small hours of the evening must pass, a looming surgery of the surging thought.
The fool moon seriously damages the CNS, as bad weather does so with the PNS.
Neuronal pressure, axonal exchange. Spare me a light bulb, dear Darkness of midnight nuns. Nons. Noons.
And sorry for coinvolturism, De Villo.
As anything else, even this was only and exclusively written in the name of the lobotomized holey spirit, treated repeatedly with ECT. Etc. Et al.
- Adriana Kobor, September 22, 2021
Editor's Note: Adriana Kobor corresponds with Asemic Front 2 from Italy.
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