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DC the f saved xff any to to get g minutes of things

I'm in love, so it starts in the garden. DC the f to you for mind e this look CDs by look gf. The sky is in full bloom. Blue is all around and begins to infiltrate everything. The birds, the grass, the easel that I made from various branches, blue, all of them, and truly all the everything of everythingness that I can possibly relate to.

DC the f, all blue

me, All blue. Certainly something I relate to.

DC the f, two?

me, no. to.

Geez. I'm in love.

I swing left then right then swing left again quickly to dizzy or undizzy myself from this feeling. And yeah. I know that

DC the f, all resistance is fertile

me, futile.

DC the f, futile

me, hmm, yezz, quite.

All resistance is fertile. The dummy. The naïveté thrown all around out here . . Hm. No matter. What do I care.

I pick up a brush and a stick, now occupying both hands, glance at the canvas which is warped by the blue rain (yes!) and sun-damaged by the blue sun (yes! er, well, sort of), glance at my knees which look good and the blue bees seem to think so, and maybe probably not but probably DC the f but what are knees anyway

DC the f, knees are

me, shaddup.

DC the f, I agree

Oof. What a dork.

Then glance at this beauty-filled garden, with blue bulbs all around, try not get too swept up in it, but good luck to that and

DC the f manages to fhfh teeth just did full deed high. Around the garden and all.

. . and shake all the blue daisies outta my hair cotton sleeves, surprisingly light blue and bleeding, but hey that's cotton for you, catch a blue glare beam heck right in the eye

DC the f singing, iiiiii who have with King e King Dad thath great in yes in the dead hi for hi

iiiiii who want nothing to and get him no grass him free him see lol good

and yooooouuu who have nothing but she kind and he mom see the look see Nikki see

would have rathuuurrrr have nothing at Dad lookup see Nikki see the mill the bin is ll def joking see jus druuuuunk

me, Charming!

DC the f, yes. you see . . (babbles on and on)

Charming. Well, aaaand . . consider the canvas. See right the heck through it. Blow out the back of my head, so the cap of my skull flaps open and a blue rainbow plops out and just lays there beaming. All metaphorically, you know, so keep your shirts on. Drop those painterly tools, one primal (branch stick), the other one primal (brush) yes but . .

DC the f, forty thou, Grotte de Niaux, fiber, maybe bone, artistic expression, blood, spit, fecal, eh . .

me, ssshhhhh! concentrate on the almost not blue flower over there!

DC the f, fecal

. . drop my stuff, dip my nose in the blue watercolour, though quite watery, dab the canvas with it, observe its translucence, then consider the source that is All that is One, that is probably definitely blue, but who cares, we're off and runny, er, running and grab my brush attack dip drip slash dab consider detour squeeze saunter feel lonely alone crispy blue cheek tan from the sun feel good alive ignore the canvas touch faith with action blood heart muscle clitoris suck cum waste breathe breast nipple sun touch blur blue blue DC the what touch myself but metaphorfuckinphonily dada surrealism jeans burn life tenderness child baby womb sperm ovum egg now

DC the f, and it's done

Yes and it's done.

Now walk around the garden. Parallel with everything. Equidistance with everything. The flowers, the trees, the canvas, especially the canvas, the art, especially the art which appears to hover off the canvas leaving only a stain, blue-ish, liquid blue, but that feels nice, say bye bye, ramble around kicking blue leaves, toe touching the blue tree and its largest root, getting vaquely aroused, but was so, so anyway, ramble mosey feel my chin in the breeze, eyelashes crystal sun-dazzled lights tiny, perhaps from tears, perhaps from joy, perhaps from sleep, rolling out of bed, near naked, feeling joy blue, feeling like an animal, only a baby, so tender and cute like that, knowing

art is out there, like Rousseau DC the f in my blue garden, fuckin sweeping me away, Spring allergies and all, blowing shiny blue snot on a tissue I left in my blue jeans, true blue jeans, good for leaving such things, Rousseau Rousseau Rousseau DC the f swept up feeling these things

I'm more of an animal than a baby fuckin falling in love with the silliness of things