Bauling for Love
She sits there, empty gazing beyond this man, calculating the trajectories of various words. Bowling balls to sack the pins of genetic probability... the question is asked: does this man carry good genetic fitness? Silence,,,, the machine cannot see its own gears lest it lose its bearings.
Still, he has not budged. The empty gazes don't shiver his still desire, his solid desire for the wet.
The empty cannot be slippery for there is nothing, no substance to become slick.
But the void has its allure of silence: a lack of weakness (and strength), a lack of criticism (and genuine praise), a lack of lacks ad infinitum.
I was just reading some Baudrillard, this is why I'm talking weird like this, nonetheless, it feels like the wick of the candle of my passion, hence its posted.
Miss Existentialist said on November 18, 2003 3:59 PM:
I like ur blog, especially the mood colors.