May 28, 2009. Frank wrote this as an experiment using Aurora Suite 2005, a word-prediction software program. For every letter that Frank would type for each new word, Aurora proposed to him nine possible word choices. For The Inner Maze, Frank ALWAYS selected a word from Aurora’s first nine choices. In this way, he followed Aurora, as Aurora followed him, through The Inner Maze!

I have always had a rich full fun life. Everything comes easy to me. I don’t care about being respectable or so “successful”, or acceptable beyond this inner flesh. I surrender to play and to life. Everything comes so far into juicy bits of extraordinary supernatural modality of relationship dynamics upon my word. I know this is not what to say if you want to be included in the addressing Fields of dazzling whiteness over oils of press and applause. They want victims suffering against overwhelming odds of the temptation to editorialize defeat to survive barely, waiting to take possession of these annoying medical monsters of yokes of repression… A special freak who came to replace the control box by profound attention and ordeal of extraordinary dimensions bearing upon big terms of keeping with heavy leaden gray deceptive dawn between the tempest and this dreadful nightmare of repression. Of course you can’t do it, they say. He [me] is special with courage, strength surmounted all obstacles at being mauled by isolation resulting from between physical problems… And abilities of luck… All of which you and most people unhappy don’t have. He [me] is special exception that proves the extreme point of hopelessness, helplessness appalling disaster which imprison everybody without any possible alternatives. They push this shit! I am always able to handle anything, having fun in the freedom of not knowing what is impossible. My dreams are melting into juicy molten every day activities just as. My dreams are melting into juicy molten every day activities just as people who thought I was Jewish! I surrender to play and to life. Everything comes so easy! Yes, it is hard work sometimes. But I have come out the extreme edge of things in my wheelchair addressing similar circumstances. Escape from whatever between us and fun!

They want you to think you got it better than me, somebody, anybody! You ain’t got shit. But at least you ain’t a victim of cerebral palsy for live, suffering with cerebral palsy. At least you ain’t confined to a wheelchair! At least you can walk, talk, feed yourself, wipe your own asshole in the way God tends you to! At least you can play football until you break your neck playing football! Then… Oh, well… At least you ain’t a nigger or a woman, or a fag!

Reporters scramble everything up. They don’t use their souls, their formidable pricking eyes. They see a wheelchair and they write suffering victim of cerebral palsy confined to a wheelchair and is ninety eight percent disabled with no body control… Oh yes he saw a murder! Reporters are brainwashed. They have only filter tip eyes! They see me dancing, playing piano smothering the piece of pounding lustily on the keys with vehemence and whatever else, painting those unknown sights in oils by Jackson Pollock physical ritualism of direct engagement with my whole body control of the paint with my head, seeing me feeling up right up her inner flesh with style and aim… And they conclude and report I am paralysed, stiffened under the bottom of no movements or control or bodily feelings and am ninety eight percent disabled, helpless, vulnerable, hopeless fizzle. And you depend upon them for the clear ultimate vision of direct experiencing of observation of objectivity! I suppose I could even paint if I was Jewish paralysed. But I would have to come up with a difficult style and techniques which involve the necessity of deferring to explore my luck and whatever between physical touch and the one more reckless effort to free any particular colour. But the brainwashed plot is so complete that some playmates who had romp with me flexuosity and yum yum yum have then bought that empty press surrebuttal of my Body of Christ. I told you so, folks. I obviously wasn’t meant for the control of the what is possible!

Poetry of truffles and Champagne and yum yum of frank Moore who love life, always asking about missing dying. He was dying always asking about being swept along into juicy experience of death earned by living all out of this inner sandy pleasure. However I watched attentively certainly before buying, before dying. Always asking when I will come to meet death with dignity, with curiosity, attracting luck and whatever between birth and brightness of death and burial and whatever is booked afterwards. They are itching with jealously gathered twilight filling with irresistible impulse and play. Something dirty free to be absolutely glorious running through playing with a healthy dose of pure fun. I have made with oh my maybe a thousand playmates within experimental play together, within intimacy or just cuddling tanpanic erotic warming… Within forty years or less… All genders, all kinds, shapes, between teenyboppers to elders beyond dying. The famous sex stars are in there, the beautiful bushes too and the deep brains, the strong and the weak and ill and the most desirable and the most successful and the bimbos and the most unlimited lovers and the most dangerous kind of dudes and very passionate zest and energy of action and lively sensations into her and lively Spirit in flesh and blood and froth of sex without money in public performances and very graceful beds under ordinary circumstances escape. I spent my life with some, very long term relationships! Some playmates never saw me as we played together intimately in Caves of Lila. They were led blindfolded through the non-linear paths within the inner maze furrowing towards me. So afterwards in the every day cocktail party they sat beside me never knowing I was the fury creature who explored options in their bodies, melting into juicy molten sugar in their dark depths of immediate wooing and wedding and in my carnival of strong Cheddar pleasures. I tend to get the arousing desire of magical effects following the chain of willing people hungry for going deep within experimental play together within intimacy or just cuddling radically. Men in particular don’t understand it! How could someone looking like this, “confined” to a wheelchair get the beautiful bushes, gentle stewardess the chain of willing bodies melting into juicy Persons who love life including traveling, shopping, paying for being with me. Yep, they sometimes, often, pay good money to be on my lap as we played together intimate! Guys never ask why or how! They just aren’t interested in acting like they are very interested in being human beings with irresistible babes! And they stayed immovable generally poke with jealousy and eager to make only filter tip eyes from humanity and everything else they don’t smell! Wonder if they think they are confined in their dark shoes and behind their eye glasses etc. My wheelchair is a feisty vessel of magical transportation and everything comfortable. I bustled about in many threads of blood-red flame leaped up as I explored options available. Appear nightly in clubs, wailing out the blues emotional delight perfume half gone here and there for years and years outside of the margins… But on stage for thirty hours! Should not be able to do that! Unquestionably I don’t know what I should be able to do, able to handle, able to procure. So I am able. Therefore they don’t want to know what is possible!

Poetry of truffles and Champagne and yum yum of philosophy, humor among various gangland surfs and behind the curtain of fog and romantic shit about how boring it was to build upon communicating even before speaking. The margins exclude almost entirely most of everything which is noncommercial, uncensored, unconscious, unexpected original Files under the command of Bruni d’Entrecasteaux, ignoring such bestial-looking creatures like you and me. Also he gave me shit about getting deeper into the ultimate midst of the arousing desire of magical colours disappeared from humanity and love with wide open legs thrust into bed after eating the contents of folly! But wisdom which may be able to procure fresh meat for everybody here is what I am looking for!

“Roadrunner’s Nightmare” by LaBash