Paul’s Reviews > Theoretical Animals > Status Update
Paul
is on page 21 of 124
But the madman, king of the subjunctive,
in the hour of plots, defended my rubbish-tip dream as I sailed storm-tides
in the blistering rain, feeding motherless girls and boys to me through the
deep, vulture-worn horizons. The water pulsates its angry infection and I
sigh: ‘Infection always fucks the masses.’ The grave expression on man’s
measured laugh tattered - nothing.
— Dec 22, 2024 09:49PM
in the hour of plots, defended my rubbish-tip dream as I sailed storm-tides
in the blistering rain, feeding motherless girls and boys to me through the
deep, vulture-worn horizons. The water pulsates its angry infection and I
sigh: ‘Infection always fucks the masses.’ The grave expression on man’s
measured laugh tattered - nothing.
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Paul’s Previous Updates
Paul
is on page 78 of 124
We sail through most days dressed in strangers
and unmarked souls. Children of singing suicides, their magic plundered
and sucked out like sweet fruit, empty their bruises onto dirty plates. Iron
faces fat and slumberous from the death machine drift up to the shoreline
decks, their weightless tongues grubbing ante-mortem blood.
— Jan 29, 2025 02:09PM
and unmarked souls. Children of singing suicides, their magic plundered
and sucked out like sweet fruit, empty their bruises onto dirty plates. Iron
faces fat and slumberous from the death machine drift up to the shoreline
decks, their weightless tongues grubbing ante-mortem blood.
