Art and Text by j4

​Testing is sexy

​That doesn't seem likely

​Do not trust this cloud

PORK USER



Schism


Our names written together over cream. 
In a gastrique glaze. Openly something.
I'd hug that all night. A technical love.
Eyed underbodies, getgo, stalling light is paneful.
The fabric would thin with the sweat. 
Reading in the dark, sneeze next to me.
Fall bits of picture through treble glum.

I am talented and they love me. The burnt edges assert themselves. 
I am the last goo beyond the network’s bland clods.

There are those who lack vision though, I don't know.

And they’s a no go for this ho, 
but to each his or her own or whatever.
Their mouths crawl together. 
Bummer about that.

I want you don’t exist.
I was a teenage exit. See the other side of the directions.
Let's all be together on this, please.
Bang tango and a rapturously applauded exit.

Leftovers and toenails mist. After breakfast unclean.
Provide immediate confirmation upon elimination of target.
Half of likeness ( bleeps blonde & liminal) can I find yourself in the mirror of me? 
Excuses become the only thing to even hold back anything, I guess.
What the fuck are leftovers? 
Cook for the moment.
Except don’t mention this poem to anyone, anything.After a moment they disappeared completely, and the world went quiet and still.
A future in which lateness widens its quilty disguise.

So many lonely guilts as yet unstitched together.
Chased away my best idea on a whim.

No things but in things.
What say you, Bubba?
One signal out, and one signal back.
Blubber tingles dangles fact.
(I'd only bought the thing because of the commercial.)
No ideas but in irruptions & vagrancies.

Sides hissese.

Falling in love does not interest me.
Burnt a nast 
or a nest 
but why not?

All above me does less with more quiet thrill.
If it isn't too much trouble would you not mind if you could?
Too much description is like smelling your fingertips on other people’s hands.  
It can be understood through tough thorough thought though.
Thinking thinking thinking, balls in an ass.
Ick brand impetus.
Oh my goodness, we have to do all of that to all of those?
Wooden booth weeds us together 

through back-lit words.

As long as you have sheep, you have wolves.
If you could carpet the whole world,
I hope you wouldn’t. As I said I hope you wouldn't.
As those who leave into the noless deep.
I always open my mouth and fall apart.
I am too thin along the that-that.
You Know. Falling apart shines its natural ease but the peckerwoods always fight it.
It’s spirit’s infinite tool—also bayonets, cannons, and bodies.
This is fear of the things that love me.
Also the things that have nothing to do with me.
Painful isn't in the picture.
It hugs through thing waves.
It has to be that way.
I gave my love a cherry that had no stone

​

Bio: j4 is a collective of four persons, all given names beginning with j, who are compelled to explore transindividual composition
— j4work.wordpress.com
— j4work.tumblr.com

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