Automatic Writing


“Soft breasts of ursa minor delicate on the open sky bulb. Tin for the lion, silver for the serpent. I come not to sodomise but to sanctify, it said on Castor’s hat. I followed them all, Prince and men of coal, to a great fortress. The smell of ships. We swam hot and salty til we were swollen and empty, found ourselves dancing in a ball of pages on vermillion sands, stripped from the parrot’s throat by the doctor and his galvanic tuxedo.”