chip's waking-sleeping writing

re-reading this feels like it was months ago - 

i refuse your orange filigree

an opportune refusal of every transient preoccupation with the tantamount in everything always already foreclosed upon entering

for being forthright is not a general expectation for arrival upon the stage of intimate relation
i'm not apologizing , this is the way I say goodbye
wordless and long standing
the drapes settle around what wasn't said to be agreeable, desireable, or even ready for the next approbation, elision, or prevarication
don't you see how pertinent the text on the wall is now that the building is destroyed?
now that the story of architecture has a proper ending, an apotheothis, a long list of footnotes, beside annotated eulogies-for floors, bannisters, vestibules, counters, and miles of moulding.
This is before glass
so the shards stay suspended in the speculative cloud, exhausted by the anticipation of epiphany.
I didn't sign the lease because i've smelled fraudulence before. it's not unlike the smell of death. but sweeter, more palatable, occasionally alluring. like fake grape, or watermelon jolly ranchers. we have plenty of them in the afterwards. plenty to suck on for the unemployed perverts who gather around each other jubilantly exchanging allusions to things they would do to each other if all of architecture wasn't already in the sea. But the ground is still something they can stand on, their flesh has a texture, nonetheless.