this is the best number for plans and subverting the language of desire

contrast 44:

Lost in time thrown back into the dark ages of sorrow where the devil's labour shapes the thick liquids of grief & despair at the toxic points of creation where objects vomit out from within the liquid powers of darkness & lose their form & become soft like clay in the hands which also look at each other & hold on through the tunnel.  Captured by the black milk of evil which flows down into the noxious underbelly of the earth & spurts out at the cracks of moral weakness where the fault lines splinter the neutrality of objects. Try to solidify & crystallise the liquid that they might be still & be taken in the hands as small blocks of granite & be stacked up in the corners of the earth that the rocks become. That i might be free of it & stop it going in and out of the eyes & that the milk drip out of this matter in the brain & out through the spinal cord & so be rendered harmless no longer corrosive as it etched the lines in the neural tissue with the acid of black