Hello there! Yes, this is a letter, for sooner or later we might all walk into this application. Therefore, welcome! Pleasant it is as if to a deliberate attempt sent down, looking for you in the eye whilst reading this. I think, Gee whizz, they is checking it out on their journey through my phone (is it true?) sending this or that around my spine in a shiver of quite well. Plus, is this not proof that you care? Perhaps not.
So feel if you like, to check out my "documents". Here, as in many cases with me, though in no means more than just the finest, you will find all words of smut as if in many things. Mostly it is pure horse-swoggle. Of course, perhaps you don't care for horse-swoggle and so don't read. I understand. Who wants to read, or likes being asked to listen to and to comment upon, a swoggled horse? And under your own roof to boot! Plus, is it not rather like being asked to heart the absurdist dreams of someone else, when poor swoggle is passed off as poetry, commandered to be read? Glog.
If you do go to all of the trouble by reading a couple two versions of this masochism built through raising a fever dream from common themes of this or that, it may lead you to believe they are (just) a silly poem, and with severe altaVista Bablefish problems to boot! Nor is this not true! For everything basically here is chopped so much and so many times so dissimilar, that as you may have noticed, they might share a belief, and which belief that would be, it is seemed, the writer am confused. But in real life they is just translation engineered and/or a cut-up of that which I wrote over a year ago or two, plus many last week and tonight today. All here, mostly ("They come out at night, mostly." sayeth Newt) have been set down distorted as drifting apart wrenched, such that they, of their originals, retain very few familiars. But still, I prefer the way that they look. It is how I turn up my volume. And here too as mentioned, does one find smut? Yes one does. But it is a heartfelt smut, and as good as browsing (debatable), especially where the endless fiddling with is an exacting alternative. Is it OK? No one knows. I love it so (real and imagined) and I love its life such as it is, though too infrequent at that. Mostly I'm obsessing over it here in this way of endless tinkering instead of action taking.
Anyway, if you here are still here around this letter I may perhaps by this application to continually be refreshed, but probably I will not.