an uncolored book

This is just an exercise… a forced and painful attempt at tapping some unconscious reservoir of jargon that might, if strung together carefully, yield a compelling pattern. Success is almost always an accident… a cheap stab at developing a poetics out the detritus of the mind… of my mind. The spilling of fragmented thought ugly and dispassionate, occasionally unique, temporarily profound… its meaning is in your hands… the constantly developing context drawn from your own personal experience… there is nothing I can write that means anything… words only… strings… phrases… broken teeth… shattered glass… spread gravel… watered seed… partial downloads… applied profiles… image spam… commingled recycling… slips of the day stored and recalled… language devoid of any sort of actual information… all of this empty is for you… an uncolored book.