THE TEXT BETWEEN

#include
void main()

Obscured in depth
Mind point-clouding past
In a curved hypertwisted transparance
C++ B.C., our language
We, the codereaders we, the codewriters
We, the unhappy few
La Pourriture Noble
Wasted wasted wasted
Blind eyes cloud-pointing Calabi-Yau-shaped futures
We, living in Gaussian suburbs
We, (“the heart equals the mathematic look”);
Obscured in root-finding

,in a Julia set

"OR">>

Fixated eyes on the black screens above, rotating television sets or thefan creaking, almost as if they would fall, and the rains would wipe thescreens blank or that the eyes will close and the mind will free itselffrom a purgatory it has no knowledge of.

“OR”The intoxicated drunken bliss, displaying paradigms, where total loss,is the lost into, a stomach curdling feeling, and soon you’re pukingyour guts out, feeling more real than you’ve felt before the Photostatmachine where your life seems to flash. The internal surrendered to theexternal. The performance of every hysterectomy, of every silent death,and of every monotonic energy displaced ends in a climatic entropyconcealing the bags below eyelids, the fury of the present stuck in apast saved for a future that simply doesn’t exist. Aaah the lipstick onNietzsche’s lips have no taste. And “OR” there

And thereAnd there is a child drowning, another being abused andstill a third dog roaming the streets with his hind legs broken. You’relocked in, before the screen and the fans creaking, you’re glued, youcan’t move, they’ve drugged your mind and tied your body, and the whipis bleating, it’s sliding, stinging across the skin that responds in redtears, and then when its over, you’d get up and open the door “deliveryservice” the package enters. It’s a new toy for women to play with. Youwalk back in, place it carefully on the mantel place and strip casually.The phones start ringing, one by one by one. They were suddenly in theroom, the voices, a personal orgy, there were hands working themselvesinto a frenzy, moving from the unknown into the known, the smell of sexdissipates and then almost without warning the pills stopped working,the voices stopped calling and the heart stopped breathing. Alone, nailsscratching wrists, wrists begging to be ripped.

“OR”

Everything itches, everything feels like ice on warm skin, the minuteskeep count, the trepid isolation of isolation shatters its own myths andbefore the mind strangulates, he calls, says you need to be there halfan hour early to clear your desk, says you’re an incompetent bitch thatalmost cost him an important client and then when you don’t murmur,“hello?”, “I. I. I….”. Silence met with silence. He had too much sex inhis life where she had none.Pop3. the mind escapes. the gray ceiling turns black into shades of bluemoving, the chair slips past, the widows open, the wings brushed areleft aside, skinny legs, webbed feet pad-locked, strung from a clothesline, arms lay helpless on the dressing table beside a tongue cut.

This is not eBay, but...

Due to serious personal reasons (love, empanadillas and) I have to sell the
two following items of my library:

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- Type of Material: Binary Text (85 x 3'5 cartridges for RS232 port, HB-75)

- Personal Name: Dan Allenson

- Main Title: Grammatology Of Morse Idioms During Telegraph Wars

- First Published/Created: Zaltbommel, Bibliothèque européenne, 1985.

- Status: Non Verified.

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- Type of Material: 720 m Audio Tape (Mono; 3 3/4 ips)

- Personal Name: Al Soundzon

- Main Title: The Seven Gates To Adult Literacy In Phonetic Languages
(The Aural Quixote, Actae Colloquiae, Intervention)

- Published/Created: Triste-Le-Roy, P. Ménard Editions Sonores, 1966.

- Status: Audible. Some hisses and lows in the audio spectrum from places
to places.

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If anyone feels interested, well, the price is cheap but as I won't be able
to send them either...