A Short, Unfinished Craving For Self-Made Feng Shui

Woho’oh-Yi Rata Bolt

rinse the two front and back of hex a ogne

dorroway maké hex be ogne à quares

rinse haize left haize right

you haize throoo diagonaly

rinse lines too fine

hiccup

non dorroway ou the haize flows into sights and blindness will flood and its black

and it is lacking

There was never a desk here. The look from the empty, pale, essentially colourless and yet equally whiteless and entirely blackless floor-thing pulls me in and aches my brains like static. No thing on earth must look like this. There is no service, there is no employed wood. I plant water and paper, desperately, healing the ground. The water dies and then the paper dies. My knees are broken. I sip bleak fatty liquids with power and split my eyes with meanings to save my smell of brown nor gray. I run out rapidly and fall asleep and wake up in a port and swim and there are colors of meaningful brown and some green but it’s artificial no-ness and dead still. I look through over-hexagonal glass, it approaches the old effect but evolves and shows a new town from no time.