Opium

They say we have five senses – even the chinese agree to agree on this one – five senses, yes. But everybody (including those Moscow men in shapkas )  seem to have forgotten permutation. . .

Per-mu-ta-tion – oh the slippery purple power of the nude mathematical mind – do not underestimate the hatchet job just thinking about infinity can do on the steadfast salty staccato brain – especially the really high-pitched kinda mind (the vanilla cello cortex folk have far less trouble)

It began for me one day with lemon strawberries and then i realized they were, in fact, green and that, even before I swallowed, they made me wanna sing Had a dog and his name was Bluuue.  Used to  love that song, cause it really got to the mustard-seed heart of the matter – why shouldn’t you give a dog  a bird’s name ?

And you don’t really hear rain – leastwise I don’t, I enter into rain especially when I am indoors – it’s easier then – friendlier – we develop this delicious silken relationship
no mere window could ever obstruct, and anyone tell you a rainbow’s got seven colors just ain’t looking so good  – permutations begin with seeing that that mighty weird umbrella up there’s got a zillion colors…minimum, and when you start to see that you just naturally begin to wonder what it might taste like (probabably limes with a hint of raspberry)

And my man’s touch is c-sharp minor when he really loves me bad
and the longing for him is way below freezing. . .

 

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