i nearly left this post trapped beneath the page guard on my decorative typewriter(a human device of unknown comport). pinned forever against the blank face of a rotating wheel of rubber.  it stared at me in my sleep, from the edge of my bed my erect phallus pointed at it like true north. it begged to be shown, like the station's fanciest prostitute on st. gibbons day.

(the atmosphere was thick today. gaseous emissions clogged nearly every port on my supple body.)

to have left this post(all things beyond the scope of parenthetical dignity) outside of the gaze of the worlds would have been a tragedy of grecian magnitude. (not greek food, though?!? am i right? ladies! all that cheese of the goat and carbohydratol would damage my self-worth beyond measure!)

(i am a fiend for all things touched and untouched, the ladder of my universe dangles tantalizingly away from the surface of my things good and pure. pure like a font of white aura, of which i bathe my clothes and genitalia simultaneously, commingling essences and services in devout fashion.)

now entering the era of wooden emotion.