p1 from a new Leather Space Man-related comic: “T.L. at Home”
poetic crass canadian moments
You can see the viens, like shallow cracks in an egg shell.
a drawing by Michael Deforge.
“Gonna be a lot of fun walking away today.”
(Aw, sh**,) ain’t it hard to do the god thing? And it’s as simple as pushing a button - oh. And every bit bit bit of what it is, piles on like snow drifts - in sand pits - watching the weather slow. Yeah so, as a framed card by an outlet last year, and yeah so do, and each one done, knitted in with the tender touch of nimble digits stitching together the simple pitches of a soft as flannel voice sung. Out far flung from a single soul, in a gobble headed crowd, our open mouths stood at the knee level of the Man with a Mustache. As his words of dinner hands came flashing, Yes! we could hear a bit of Us in there, and we could hear a bit of everyone else. (B,) (B,) (B*.) Ears ringing, it comes our time of speaking our mind, our mind comes out blank sometimes, passing out clean slates throughout our story ripened teeth. We cannot see what we are missing, to be able to see a space of nothing that wouldn’t be so, if we shouldn’t think so, we wouldn’t? Think goes click each new minute we close our eyes to blink - oh.
The putrid smells, and urgers to urinate. Little nasty buggers. Always with green and grey hell met hats. They torment, in torpid unshaved chins. Bang bang bang. They bark, and order, to order, to a distinct format of speech.
And so, this is Yet Saturday, and I can still be transformative. A massajiating spell of breath, in and out of air. And a standing spray, of liquid trancendence in shower steam. Not yet the cameras of today, to capture a precice moment of soft harkenings. But yes, Sven. The noise box. Always a pocket nesecity, still attempting to fit it.. to
Meistro, PHONEWALLETKEYSiPOD,
PHONEWALLETKEYSiPOD.
But none of my ukuleles snap back into position, to play.
