He could see nothing, his mind destroyed in the interminable wake of this insanity, destruction, destruction, labs, stimuli, words: buckets of shit, passageways of organs and mysterious zones of want no answer in this universe/understanding beside the destruction of – goodness, two thoughts, goodness and reality, he held these concepts, he thought he could now.

Thought inundated by the evil fucking rhythm, the sex panic and mania, the intense tearing loin-demon that entered him; the gross pouring demanding want-fuck, in the reduced shapes and forms and rhythms; studied to impose untrammelled mania on a mind no defences.

Among all the waking shit, among all the evil, pulsing, terrible, desire, and the pouring out of his liquids, two thoughts/two concepts, he held them/loved intentionally, at them; fought with his soul/brain, the self - non-corporeal to hold them, for they existed, the things he held. Reality, it existed, it existed, it existed, it existed - there was something real and goodness itself.

Weird organ forms bombarded/

slides/windows; sides of internal biological structures, passing through him at rates, sometimes merely colour/more developed forms; the more complex the more explicitly organic, the more identifiably a liver a spleen a pancreas,

he was high extremely high up above some thing upon which he looked down

and then reversed, revealed to have been interminably low, unconscious somewhere else, a sideways vision out of desire directed intentionally into bypassing the self straight toward control, he was controlled, he couldn't see/interpret/understand. What his body was doing – her – he couldn't understand the space in which he found – not himself, he didn't exist, he was the thing which the stimuli played across; he was the duct into which was poured the wants and the shapes processed-organ reflections; refracted angry paralysing layers of want and need, he had to desire, he had to be stimulated -

toss yourself in it, drink, drink, the muck slime want need paralysis passion layer and die, it said, incomprehensible-untangled, no connection concepts, passed through, their moods to interpret: no way in which strings of thought could be connected in linear processed-ideas in which any kind of external sense or concept could be applied to any of it and this was an idea that -

eradicated mind

fell a terrible height and distance, he couldn't interpret, his body crushed, instantly crushed, where – where – where – he sought something he had need for/he had need. A new need, a new need in him that wasn't. - He directed what was left of himself toward something that -

made sense in terms of -

He couldn't any longer, die, beach, fall, beneath, plunge into, it said to him in the rhythms that destroyed thought and mind and – he wasn't a man, he wasn't a being, he wasn't a conscious entity, he was the rhythms.

He was the rhythms that played through, he was the shapes, made in colour, made in angles, biological, he was the bucket into which they made him vomit -

- he was the woman's cunt into which he - made to - sprayed his internal organ parts/he was the bucket fold, shit contained in which he slept his lips, pushed-kissed above the breaching surface, then evaporated off him.

He couldn't understand, spleen layer liver land radical layers passed through, him!, that he couldn't interpret, void world wonder land nothing boy spite passage and the side of a river a pancreas, its bubbling, incandescent chambers forcing him, one beneath the other and himself inside them, where he went, he sought her – where – she was – clinging to him, she was clinging to him, she was clinging to him, she was clinging to him, the same way he clung to the final ideas that his broken mind thanks to what had been revealed by her beauty had managed, through the onslaught still to understand in any sense were worthwhile and

existed –

there was a final reality and it was good and she clung to him.