from NEW TORTURE OPERATIONS
An esophagus is more confined than a riot, but you are more erotic. The new torture operations are largely aesthetic. This involves shells, a pretty new torso and my eyes smeared in the mascara made from fish scales. It is an acrid secretion. The riots will be exhibited. We are not near the revolver. To show how secretly feverish we are I turn on the subtitles. The natives have small mouths and full, but not thick, lips.
The riots have been stripped of artifice. I give the visitors a treacherous surface that is colored red. The natives are as comely as they are savage. They have high foreheads, large lips and high cheek bones. The Colonel is full of duplicity and rapacity. An eel-like species is the only thing that matters to him right now. I have sunstrokes. Mother is surrounded by 3000 troops. She is selling intricate figurines.
The landscape sweeps majestically from one tropical scenery to another. I am too hungry to be a ringleader. Too captured to be royal. When we had reassembled all the children, they brought forth nothing more fantastic than this kind of architecture: sluggish, mute, diminutive, spoils of organisms, colossal sphinxs, perished thousands, impregnated shores, and tiny shells mingled with seaweed.