A storm of prose to cover their nose with verbal cloroform

Snort a line of time. Trip off the traced page. Abstract rage: A tip
off as 2 what’s to come in the next stage. What’s done is what’s made.

Duck the aligations. Think about yourself: “mental masturbation.” The
crux of ink bled out of the vein, is it’s too acidic to keep on page!

I drank the blood shot & shot the eye-o-dine & being possesed the
words & they’re all mind. Tracing the manic schematic line to color
blind.

No sleep, ride, girl, money or time. Catch up. I just want to know
you. I just want to talk. Better to do jazz hands than give the
finger.

I am less a comedian, more a life-bloodletter. Blood letter? Scarlet
letter? I am clever. Less a crass innovator, more a wise-ass imitator.

They moved an hour back. They can do that. Shows U how unyielding
civilized time is. As for real time, dont hold on, it moves with or
w/o U.

Hormones bring whore moans. Too much young flesh in this place. Trying
to stimulate my mind; thoughts come late, body comes on time. Get it?

– Mike Phelan O’Toole