The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive


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the true complaint

see our breasts. We want to touch everything. We want to mark mark, almost
sexualized, as our bruised breasts would smash our bodies locked together.
i will never rest or sleep again until i know THE TERRIBLE - THE TERRIBLE
SECRET. this place has a terrible secret. it's an institution; the charred
palm and wood matches igniting everything in the institution. I'd rather
you fuck me until we drop, rather than reveal a single word of this not to
ever have the slightest inkling of this, ever. Even if we fuck and our
species imitates the dead. we are wanderers without hope of the All, but
the prognosis - pro gnosis - was different. it was a dead end. i noticed
there are an enormous number of potential diseases, some deadly. i want to
be of the living with the dead. we left stones unturned, noted how we came
to call each other black and blue. our skins around our fuck until we drop
are reddened and almost dead as we write our quality text. Aw, who am I
kidding? No one will skin us, alive or dead; we'll molder dead; our tales
of terrible sex will die with us. THE TERRIBLE SECRET will die with us.
We'd like to burn the institution to the ground. I'm keeping THE TERRIBLE
SECRET. You know nothing's going to happen.


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