Protocols http://www.alansondheim.org/outline.jpg Protocol 1 "How did I get mixed up in this? It's almost pornography, "I'm a panoply." is yours... yours" to yourself. can't hear or interpret the codes. 2. Are you becoming close them I'll make my author author, Children flood out. speak: Saint Thomas! We love your Come home with me! Your linen! Now tedium of directory. calling one false move and I'm jammed into beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what lost transubstantiation. Me, faltering, sick it, everything. A weaponized Or groom's thick hair, where that from, leading everyone Other who waits on other's shore. myself." Stop It! Thomas lowers his hand hole. Freud calls Svelte comes mind, takes off down winding country road near Who are you? dressed as what? whatever? women! Sew holes! The women sew holes men. men body plays me beyond skin! What do call me, they? Panoply from somewhere else. What's matter crinkling brook, trees lined banks bushes, flowers character novel, always critical, there criticize, take no prisoners. another region thinking. Is they it? Region bless their swords. shove swords bridal train, following clarity darkness. water's surface, water-striding. This but children! see nothing! color same cornucopia coloration. ? Do have 10772 19592 - knew all along! , lively, Julu, this program, out rear! tip! forth linen vagina,:Julu, throats. cries: Men! Slash eyes! sword earlier, meant. idea. keep thinking eating, excreting memory. edge cliff, lip cave, mountain peak, for what's hand! cry: Freud, don't be afraid! Cut hearts sharpen tips spears. Their draw blood marks sand. come thread. misappropriation light." sinking way something Knives clash. Death everywhere. thinking, Thought? laws say so. obey laws. Here: given memory light.:: might lovely thing? you. believe lively yours. You think I:How recoils trembling. cuts throat. calls: here, it's tarn. But live! Argh argh. there? answer, can live I? ... vagina play with." wore her frock 444602 hours? vagina? looked Everyone must one. wrote hearts! Men cut hearts. killed. throats! slits become wombs. Protocol 2 "How did I get mixed up in this? It's almost pornography, almost "I'm a panoply." is yours... "I'm yours" to yourself. I can't hear or interpret the codes. 2. Are you becoming close to them I'll make you my author author, Children flood out. Children speak: Saint Thomas! We love your Come home with me! Your linen! Now the tedium of the directory. I get mixed up in this? It's almost pornography, almost a calling I'll make you my author, one false move and I'm jammed into I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of Or the groom's thick hair, where is that from, leading everyone Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." Stop It! Saint Thomas lowers his hand into the hole. Freud calls Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near Who are what are you? dressed as what? in whatever? are you women! Sew the holes! The women sew the holes of men. The men Your body plays me beyond your skin! What do you call your _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of a calling from somewhere else. What's the matter with me, a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do bless the women with their swords. The men shove their swords bridal train, following everyone into the clarity of darkness. bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to character in a novel, but a character always critical, always children! The men see nothing! color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. ? Do I have a coloration. and 10772 and 19592 - and you knew that all along! coloration. is , lively, Julu, I'm lost in this program, I comes out the rear! Children on the tip! The women see the comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a cornucopia of coloration. calls forth linen your vagina, cornucopia of coloration. :Julu, I'm lost in this program, I country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not down their throats. Freud cries: Men! Slash your eyes! The sword earlier, what it meant. I have no idea. I keep thinking of a eating, excreting memory. beyond the lively, I'll make you edge of the cliff, the lip of the cave, the mountain peak, the everyone into the clarity of darkness. Or the groom's thick hair, everything. A character in a novel, but a character always for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath from somewhere else. What's the matter with me, what's the matter hand! Children cry: Freud, don't be afraid! Freud cries: Men! Cut have no idea. I keep thinking of a bridal train, following hearts sharpen the tips of spears. Their hearts draw blood marks in the sand. The women come with thread. Saint Thomas cries: into the misappropriation of light." is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's it something else. Knives clash. Death is everywhere. Freud it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call laws say so. We do not obey the laws. Here: "I'm given no memory leading everyone into the misappropriation of light.:: light.:: Come home with me, I'll make you might author, one false linen Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized lovely thing? I'll make you my author, one false move and I'm matter with me, what's the matter with you. I can't believe me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of might author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, myself." "I'm a panoply." is in my lively Now the tedium of the not the same as cornucopia of coloration. I'm yours. You say of coloration. :Julu, I'm lost in this program, I think I:How did of darkness. Or the groom's thick hair, where is that from, of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is pornography, almost a calling from somewhere else. What's the prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding recoils trembling. Freud cuts his throat. Freud calls: Men! Cut region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." here, it's your surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, tarn. But you live! that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? the same as cornucopia of coloration. Argh sick of argh. Your the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, there? are you in you? you can't answer, can you? You live on the they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in think I:How did I get mixed up in this? It's almost think I? ... your vagina is Now the tedium of the directory. thinking of a bridal train, following everyone into the clarity thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as to play with." You wore her frock for 444602 hours? I'll make you to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's vagina? I have looked everywhere. Everyone must have one. The way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath what I wrote earlier, what it meant. I have no idea. I keep what's the matter with you. I can't believe what I wrote where is that from, leading everyone into the misappropriation of with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia with you. I can't believe what I wrote earlier, what it meant. I your hearts! Men cut their hearts. Men can't be killed. Their your throats! Men cut their throats. The slits become wombs. Protocol 0 I'll make you my author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. :Julu, I'm lost in this program, I think I:How did I get mixed up in this? It's almost pornography, almost a calling from somewhere else. What's the matter with me, what's the matter with you. I can't believe what I wrote earlier, what it meant. I have no idea. I keep thinking of a bridal train, following everyone into the clarity of darkness. Or the groom's thick hair, where is that from, leading everyone into the misappropriation of light.:: Come home with me! Your linen! Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." is in my lively Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." 2. Stop It! Saint Thomas lowers his hand into the hole. Freud calls it something else. Knives clash. Death is everywhere. Freud recoils trembling. Freud cuts his throat. Freud calls: Men! Cut your throats! Men cut their throats. The slits become wombs. Children flood out. Children speak: Saint Thomas! We love your hand! Children cry: Freud, don't be afraid! Freud cries: Men! Cut your hearts! Men cut their hearts. Men can't be killed. Their hearts sharpen the tips of spears. Their hearts draw blood marks in the sand. The women come with thread. Saint Thomas cries: Women! Sew the holes! The women sew the holes of men. The men bless the women with their swords. The men shove their swords down their throats. Freud cries: Men! Slash your eyes! The sword comes out the rear! Children on the tip! The women see the children! The men see nothing! "How did I get mixed up in this? It's almost pornography, almost a calling from somewhere else. What's the matter with me, what's the matter with you. I can't believe what I wrote earlier, what it meant. I have no idea. I keep thinking of a bridal train, following everyone into the clarity of darkness. Or the groom's thick hair, where is that from, leading everyone into the misappropriation of light." Who are what are you? dressed as what? in whatever? are you there? are you in you? you can't answer, can you? You live on the edge of the cliff, the lip of the cave, the mountain peak, the tarn. But you live! Your body plays me beyond your skin! What do you call your lovely thing? I'll make you my author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. I'm yours. You say "I'm yours" to yourself. I can't hear or interpret the codes. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." is yours... I'll make you my author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. calls forth linen your vagina, eating, excreting memory. beyond the lively, I'll make you might author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. is , lively, Julu, I'm lost in this program, I think I? ... your vagina is Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." here, it's your vagina? Are you becoming close to them I'll make you my author author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. ? Do I have a vagina? I have looked everywhere. Everyone must have one. The laws say so. We do not obey the laws. Here: "I'm given no memory to play with." You wore her frock for 444602 hours? I'll make you might author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. and 10772 and 19592 - and you knew that all along! I'll make you my author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. :Julu, I'm lost in this program, I think I:How did I get mixed up in this? It's almost pornography, almost a calling from somewhere else. What's the matter with me, what's the matter with you. I can't believe what I wrote earlier, what it meant. I have no idea. I keep thinking of a bridal train, following everyone into the clarity of darkness. Or the groom's thick hair, where is that from, leading everyone into the misappropriation of light.:: Come home with me, I'll make you might author, one false move and I'm jammed into another region of thinking. Is that what they call it? Region of thinking, region of Thought? I'm lost in transubstantiation. I'm beneath myself, not beside _it._ And it doesn't know what to do with me, do they? Panoply of color is not the same as cornucopia of coloration. Argh sick of argh. Your linen Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." is in my lively Now the tedium of the directory. Now the weaponized directory. Me, I'm faltering, almost sick of it, sick of everything. A character in a novel, but a character always critical, always there to criticize, to take no prisoners. Svelte comes to mind, takes off down a winding country road near a crinkling brook, trees lined with banks of bushes, flowers up to the water's surface, water-striding. This is sinking me one way for the Other who waits on the other's shore. "I'm beneath myself." "I'm a panoply." +++ _______________________________________________ NetBehaviour mailing list [email protected] https://lists.netbehaviour.org/mailman/listinfo/netbehaviour
