teu orgasmo é
o nascimento da lua pelo sol
nos ares, de repente
o céu está cheio de
placenta
chuva e tua
esporra
.
Your orgasm is
the sun giving birth to the moon
in the air, suddenly
the sky is full of
afterbirth
rain and your
cum
.
Ձեր օրգազմի է
արեւը ծնում լուսնի
ներսում օդում, հանկարծ
երկինքը լի
ընկերք
անձրեւ եւ ձեր
սեմյոն
memories of my ghost sista 
I approve. How’s that for a comment? One of my favorites on that post, from a guy who is more thoughtful than most, was that I presented you as an artist who is happy doing what you do and should be left alone. Guess he didn’t approve, but is a decent enough guy to let people be…what W.S. Burroughs called the M.O.B.ists…people who mind their own business and let others mind theirs. I had been a M.O.B.ist all my life but didn’t know it. Good to be woke up and labeled by the likes of Kerouac’s Bull.
Later…
Which reminds me of Voltaire’s quote in Candide about tending to one’s own garden. I think being a M.O.B.ist sounds ideal: never have to worry what other people are doing, low stress, lots of free time otherwise spent worrying about what other people are doing … it’s like Buddhism but with less work involved.