From c1eb96578e5a40d2b6eaee0ace394cff8daf197b Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Mon, 2 Mar 2015 16:47:25 -0700 Subject: First complete compile --- spittle.html | 42 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 1 file changed, 42 insertions(+) create mode 100644 spittle.html (limited to 'spittle.html') diff --git a/spittle.html b/spittle.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a886cd3 --- /dev/null +++ b/spittle.html @@ -0,0 +1,42 @@ + + + + + + + + + + Spittle | Autocento of the breakfast table + + + + + + + + +
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Spittle

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My body is attached to your body by a thin spittle of thought.
When you turn away from me, my thought is broken
and forms anew with something else. Ideas are drool.
Beauty has been slobbered over far too long. God
is a tidal wave of bodily fluid. Even the flea has some
vestigial wetness. We live in a world fleshy and dark,
and moist as a nostril. Is conciousness only a watery-eyed
romantic, crying softly into his shirt-sleeve? Is not reason
a square-jawed businessman with a briefcase full of memory?
I want to kiss the world to make it mine. I want to become
a Judas to reality, betray it with the wetness of emotion.

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