Discovered in the trunk of some random ladies car after a long night of ecstatic halucinations and phantasmic visitations, translated from the original Infromanian by Rev. Elgaroo Brenza, and revealing through subliminal kabbalistic encoding the most enlightening future of our pale blue planet of the clocks. Latest translations are at the bottom.
Falling down, slipping, tripping, I think.
No longer illuminated, I sink.
Blackness engulfing, light small and far,
Do I regret this, my sun now a star?
But now around me such wonders I see!
These visions, and people, who dreamed they could be?
For blinded by brightness and glory and light,
One cannot perceive the beauty of night.
And now that I've taken that first, final plunge
I am free of such refuse, and offal, and scum.
And now purified by the frigid dark empty,
I see all of life as it is, and it could be.
Triptine College
Triptamine
Lemon Custard
Cookies Scream
Overzealous
Overcharge
Boston Scowl
Garbage Barge
Lick-Up Sugar
Coffee Slop
Make Up Beggar
Mirror Shop
Christmas Carpool
Open Wide
Got a Little
Pride to Hide
Open Dreamer
Come to Me
Let Me Show You
Tragedy
Swelter Summer
Peaceful Heat
Uniform Blue
Freaks to Beat
Tasty Tidbits
Succulent
Fatty Tissues
Gender Bent
Scathing Sidebar
Metal Red
Blackened Beating
Cold Hard Head
Slip and Lick Me
Spread Your Wings
Dream With Me
Of Better Things
Soft and Purring
Small and Sweet
Please Excuse
The Smell of Feet
Fallen Demon
Risen Saint
Simple Peasant
Food to Taint
Exorcise Me
From Your Soul
I'll Go Onward
In the Cold
Chicken Marsala
Broken Drunk
Open Containment
Slicked Up Funk
And Over the Bean Tree
And Under the Sea
Begone the Sly Empty
No More the PG
Over and Under
Too Near and Too Far
Again and Again
I Will Visit that Star
Solution set,
Nicker net,
Bitter Cornish
Hen fowl fret
Slow reduction,
Heat construction.
Have you seen
My llama?
Can you breathe?
Can you sneeze?
Can you tell
What's up my sleeve?
Wanderlust
And wandersex,
Do you know
What's coming next?
Triple trouble
Power core,
It's your mother!
It's your whore!
Now we come
To the Grand Prize!
Has it nipples?
Has it eyes?
All of these
And more it flaunts,
And with bobbing
Lights it taunts,
Full of jabbers
And gahorts,
Frumpish scents
And beastly snorts,
It's that cheery
Son of mine,
Born of tangled
Hairy vines,
Sparkling apple
Cider cans,
Creamy maggot filled
Glazed hams,
Stuffed inside
A deep, dark hole
By a mad
Phil-os-opher's
Pet vole,
And festered for
Five hundred years,
And now assaults
Your inner ears.
THE WORLD BOBS AND WEAVES AND MOVES,
INSANITY ENCROACHING FROM EVERY ANGLE
I TWIST AND TURN AND TUMBLE QUICKLY,
SEEING THE BLINDING STROBING OF THE CLICKS,
TASTING THE SMOOTH CREAMY BASS,
FEELING THE PRICKLING STATIC CACOPHONY
AS IT RISES AND SOARS AND PLUMMETS
WITH EXPONENTIAL ACCELERATION
THE ROCKS SPINNING MADLY AS THEY RUSH UPWARDS,
I CLOSE MY EYES,
I CLENCH MY TEETH,
And instead of a Bang, or a Crunch, or a Splat,
there is only a perfect silence,
a sudden serenity,
a bodiless floating.
somewhere above my mind
a stream is murmuring,
i hear birds call to my side,
i feel the stars and the void inside me,
the trees scraping the sky,
the insects crawling in dirt,
all the joy and the sadness
of people the world over,
how happy they could be,
if only they could see
how much,
and how little,
this all matters.
Lie. It is true that I lie. I lie to you, I lie to me, I lie to the world. And I lie with you, and I lie with me, and I lie with the world. I'm just one great lying whore, entertaining you, me, and everyone else with this amazing, extravagant show the foolish robots call life, and believe to be real. Just as real as my lies, or your dreams, or your thoughts, or red October Tuesdays lit with the embers of my soul for all the world to inhale deeper and deeper until it explodes and excretes; flies apart in every direction, the earth become a huge potter's wheel, spinning faster and farther out of control. And you're just a little droplet again, this imaginary individual, with a life all it's own, not intrinsically connected with the sea of other droplets, you fly through the cold, empty night skies, tiny stars set far out in the pure darkness, separated by vacuum, whizzing by each other in a bizarre complex dance, with all of it's intricate laws and rhythms, until the song finally comes to an end, and the cacophonous chorus swells once again, and the climactic explosion destroys everything. Everything. But this destruction is at the same time a creation, the beginning of the next dance, set to a brand new tune, and all to the beat of one universal heart.
Basic events, true to elastic bean biscuits, and inherent to mescaline biscuits toasted a nice golden brown and piping hot, with Andrew Hoffman in an open wound with elephantiasis of the nipple, and regularly checking to see if his elemental chipmunk has born fruit in captivity, which officials have always considered "off limits" to mortals, but then, we all know how mortals get when they're told what they can't do.
Creating capers of abnormal size is a skill requiring hours of dedicated study and practice. You must understand the distinctive qualities of each CraftMaster adjustable bed, but only as advised by your physician, be him a stubby dwarf, or the real one, but we do not insure rotting cod carcasses for elective, spontaneous fire spawning, as this practice is looked down upon by my grandmother, and even though she's been dead for eleven years, we still keep her embalmed corpse around, though we did have to get rid of the cats because of this (they just wouldn't stop scratching on the old bag...whoops! Now look what I've done! Psycho-spiritual turbulence, etheric chaos, nano- specific lepton coloring, and yes, we do carry a wider assortment of quark flavors than the laws of your universe allow, so if you don't mind a little para-legal smuggling, you too can become a bloated purple cat looming over Tokyo like a gardener over my turnips!) Yes sireee, I sure do like your sister. She makes me trippy with her flowers, and trousers, and unmistakable fragrance not unlike a modern 747 giving birth to several trillion Tickle-Me Elmo's flaming down on Central Park, or the ensuing panic as everyone's dogs quickly germinated, and led us to believe that the final message is not mere randomness, but is in fact divine chaos, the stuff that stuff is made of:
A trillion balloons seeking animal fat for stuffing their personal mailmen simulation software into a universally compatible form known as nougat.
PS - Don't worry, this happens all the time. You get used to it.
[*]: Forsooth! My lion tamer changes frequency at random intervals, and this
disturbs me.
[-]: Tragic feet, my slippery one. Allow me to calm you with Middle Eastern
whispers.
[*]: Ah, the cool breeze of Carbon delights me. You are truly one in ten.
[-]: Yes, yes, slip with me into a cold fever of ritualistic ironing and forget
your silly toadstools, for they are naught but silly bubbles, you grape juice
humidifier.
[*]: But wait, I'm not quite sure that my trousers are ripe with the rubber
chickens of renewed Sports Illustrated subscriptions, and I think you just ran
over Lassie, the poor soap bubble of my pancreas. Maybe we should settle this
in Australia, where my head will be rooted in the seas of antiquity, and we
will be allowed unfathomable Cheeze-Wiz.
[-]: My unsavory pestilence astounds me with it's grommet-like ordeals of Dr.
Scholl's simian Castor Oil. Seweee, that's the dickens! Let's boil ourselves
before we can realize the folly of our actions.
[*]: Simple reptile pusher, these are my friends! You can't just skin them
like tulips and settle their domestic disputes with a few fell swoops of your
child like lower appendages, unless you want the rock stars called on our
feeble little ant farm of turnip vending Cadillac emblem collectors.
[-]: Well, well, well, wasn't that just the pleasant one, are we? I'm
beginning to doubt your conviction in the matter. Let's take potato peelers
to the concert and set them loose on the intermediary lap dog top spinners as
they open their most delectable mollusks in the presence of kings and their
feces alike.
[*]: Senile fishes swim in feces, and so should I, but why not compromise our
structural integrity with soap and influence makeshift mothbutter experiences
while simultaneously filling our notebooks with cream cheese on the matter of
table tennis rings rented to satanic, blind midgets on full moons.
[-]: Alas, all of this turbulent mustard cutting and aspirin slurping has
resulted in the fanciest of crayon candle making homeless Tibetans, sans
capital glue hunts. I'm afraid I might slam a few hedgehogs, seeing as I'm
silvered and devoid of pants. Let me out of this crazy cricket house!
[*]: Cranberry lacquer, not my eggnog you fiend! You've ruined Christmas, and
you did it on purpose! I'll see you on the marshlands, you Scottish freak!
Let slip my melancholy, sport fishing sheep dog on your latter knee socks and
roasted bootstrap slicking Labradors, you scathing commentary on O.J. Simpson
hysteria! You're not an eggplant I could replicate with sad faith and
devotion.
[-]: But let me see, I need more budgerigars, as my position calls for
immediate, induced vomiting as opposed to what my Rite Aid lackeys seam to
agree is beyond poppy-dermal contradictions, now with half the dog-like
apparati of other leading brands, you slavoring devotee to gingerbread!
[*]: Ooops, I've spilled it all over you, and now you must say it all over
again, but this time in stereo, with Dolby Surround Sound, but with higher
pitch to donate a distressed penguin living in Antarctic darkness without
television, or peanuts, or a working knowledge of thatched huts, unless you
count disturbingly large jellyfish, and I know you do so don't even try to
deny it. Have you seen my caffeine?
[-]: Your moose and his contemporaries have enlightened me far beyond your
mother's belief system, and I like it frothy, so give me the pistachios, and
disregard my true intent, I just want to be a jumping bean, and your lizards
are moist with anticipation, but I'll let you go now.
[*/-]: Seven for three,
Three for ten,
Target your quantity,
Release the hen,
Select your princess,
And lead the cheese,
Nine out of ten
Blind monkeys agrees.
[-]: Don't you contradict my ramen, you stocking stuffer! I've seen your
glazed ham, and it is good. My navel has spoken.
[*]: You ornamental candle! You original member of the New Yardbirds! You
person in a place where there are no people at all! I challenge you to reveal
your ultimate sandwich making capabilities in all their glory.
[-]: Bread is good for Cheesy Poofs, but I prefer golden Franklin Bars. Slim
pizza, Frank!
[*]: Sounds delicious, let us art.
[-]: Sound.
I awoke to this life with a body. It was soft and warm and smooth and sweet, but I knew it was not mine. It wasn't long before I was told to leave and so I looked around, but could find no trace of blood, and so I left. I was very early, a cold winter morning outside, and still crystal dark, and still. My location had yet to form completely, so merely I followed my feet until I should find it. What else is one to do in such a way? I met my Siamese twins of relief and dismay on a street corner which told me I was not quite as far from my familiar little bubble as I'm sure I quite well could have been, considering the territory I had covered the night before I became aware of this existence, so full it was of the shifting winds, as only limbo can be, so. As spacious as the void had been, I was lucky to even recognize the laws of nature, let alone the sphere or even nation to which this landscape I had never seen before in this lifetime belonged. Still, the needles of ice were already penetrating my skin, converging on my beating blood vessel, and I appeared to be traveling light, and the distance, though happily not astronomical, was still not at all enticing or pleasant to even consider. But then again, what else is one to do, seeing as I was the only living thing on this earth? Not even a full circle past this would have been accepted, even expected, happily. Heck, I walked all the way to The City once back when, with my little Buddha past steel dragons in search of my lost pumpkin. But that was another bubble. Same place, but at the same time, some place completely different. Another bubble, another life, another me, another world. A quick reality check in this latest one showed my forehead to be glowing bright white, and steaming, and the needles of cold were new, and sharp, and long, and would penetrate deep, deep, deep. Gone are the days of open doors and welcoming legs, now just a distant memory, a dream, a story in my head, glowing white, that had held my interest fast for days, that I no longer could hardly imagine the waste in pondering, being someone completely different. If only I had my body, my real one. It would open to me and welcome me fully, warmly, without reservation or judgment, not like those other doors I left behind long ago. It's is a warmth that burns through from that star hidden deep, deep inside it by that anonymous hand I know so well as well, though I've never so much as seen it, that strong, old hand, that caring hand. All I need to do is find it, and it will guide me, point me to my body, that bubble outside this bubble. That's all I really need, really. But why must I return to my bubble to be safe? Was I truly so lost and blind when I was aborted to that these empty streets become my surrogate womb? And is this why I am grabbed, and grab so quickly for these other bubbles? Bubbles I popped. Bodies I bled. And I bled, and so did they, and mine did too. But I did reach my new bubble, and my new day, fresh out of space, and the needles have been removed, and disposed of, albeit not in pristine compliance with hospitalitic sanitization standards, but my head still glows, and it glows on, and will continue to glow, until I've sapped every ounce of it's essence for emotional support beams found in every day words, if you know how to read `em, buddy, you know, left to write, all the way.
I found myself lying on artificialously green grass, primped as putting green, though thrice as comfortable. My immediate surroundings were suspiciously lacking in that spacious, infinite feeling of reality we are so used to existing in, though I felt much more comfortable and at home here than ever I had in the "real" world. Not that I was in any position to care at that moment.
My neck was craning to stare at a dark, crystal pool found directly headways. The visibly frigid water fascinated the entirety of my interest with a violent yet calculated aggression that I would find under any other circumstances most alarming!
What little air I could observe about me seemed infused with the perfect cold focus of purest vacuum, and I was cold brothers and sisters. With the non-existent marrow of my soul I felt the chill of that air and I tell you oh sisters and brothers, there lives no furnace on nor in earths below what could ever blast that chill of ages from my bones complete. It seemed to me that I was seeing now huge, fluffy, frosty snowflakes, real tongue freezers, hanging all about, frozen even in the very air and time above my lifeless body, sprinkled throughout and about the arboreal skeletons permeating my frigid cove, though I could not now explain to you how they did this, or why, or even quite what they looked like. The cold did not bother me though, as I seemed to be quite dead. Even without the ability to take my eyes off the small body of water that was determinedly, slowly, relentlessly engulfing my sense of reality (not that I could have, mind you) I could tell that my skin was bleached deathly pale, and shone through gleamingly wet, white clothing shredded by machinery light-decades a way from my current awareness with no contrast. The mere concept of pondering why I was not even disturbed by not even wondering how this had happened had apparently been sucked dry lifetimes ago by this sinisterly beautiful mirror of nothingness that I somehow knew my eyes would never become desensitized by the ever present icy grip of the clammy hands thereof.
A frost spider wandered into my little bit-o-non-reality(tm), lit alone by the chilling new moonlight of memories forgotten in a concrete ditch on tha' way ta' Jersey, to rest undisturbed even by midnight tracking head lights and that is or course what they were. And this is the mother who told us what they were. And this is where she lived. And this is where she was bourn. The spider entered my field of view slowly, cautiously, as we all know spiders lurk about. Pausing at the water's edge it downloaded it's message, sneezed silently in response to something quite beyond my field of perception, as only the initiated know prone to doing (a sort of reserveless, primal, arachnid shudder that us vertebrates just could never understand, and that is why it freaks us out so) and left just as pointlessly as I did not watch it.
Then it came, what I had been waiting for, the action, the climax, from zero to zero infinataneously.
I saw gracefully unremarkable, feminine fingertips pierce the flawless surface of that pool what was now my mind fully, penetrating my reality con nary ripple nor nipple. Calmly, with not a hurry nor hesitation, almost arachnid themselves, human only in surfaceguise, fourscore such fingernails slid without warning, without whisper, followed quickly and efficiently by fourscore fingertips, and fingers, knuckle by knuckle. Then came eight hands, eight wrists, eight arms with elbows. Thusly they came out upon me, sourceless, glistening girl-fleshed worms, some foreign, some familiar, all a bit premature, though all apparently wise, wise, wise, and, of course, none matching. They snaked through the air in an intricate, ancient dance simultaneously following the most beautiful as well as the most direct paths towards my body. They gripped me firmly yet gently in perfect unison, as if according to some well known plan laid down long ago in brightest detail for just this occasion, and quickly slipped my body, head first, straight down in to the pool of darkness and, despite it's being half my size I was gone without a trace of my ever having existence, just as only moments before there had been no concept of anything but that puddle, and me lying there beside it, and just like that, gone, and lo, it's depths were mine.
Now, this sinister, furry little creature was not happy at all about the position it now found itself in. It had been perfectly happy having nothing to do with this story whatsoever, and existing somewhere just around the corner from our reality (or lack thereof), and now here it was, existing and everything. It was far too wise to give this life even the merest chance, for it was a bitter little thing, and it knew the folly of those who attempted to make something of their lives. No, this suicidal rodent strode with forceful menace of a Mack truck (not an easy thing for a lemming to do, mind you) right up to the head of state, sniveling in his own sloppy secretions, for he knew what came next, and bolshy great sexy Jesus, did he scream like a pre-adolescent country girl being raped for her first time by Satan himself in the form of a shiny new Sears-Roebuck hedge trimmer when that beastly little brute tore up into his ass and died in magnificently disturbing and painful metamorphosis into every small, brainwashed child's friend, Barney the dinosaur, who had unfortunately and quite mysteriously been pierced by a suspiciously large number of violently sharp, jagged, long shards of metal, causing our "fearless" leader to explode in one of the most painful, disturbing, and disgusting ways this reporter has ever seen. And now here's Bob with the weather:...
Fuck the Pope, I don't weather lightning, the caregiver says I'm too smart for coke. Fuck the Pope, I don't think you like me, fuck the Pope, never going home. Fuck the Pope, your fascist cum delights me, fuck the Pope, can't let that fucker down. Fuck the Pope, my music tries to fight me. Fuck the Pope, I sleep in feathered shit. I open my nose very cautiously, too prophesied, splattered on the wall. I open my eyes very surgically, they participate Frank, this I know. The sound, it marks my heartbeat. The house, it is alive. The knowledge I've seen, the insects I've been, the rabbit, the cover, the hole. The natural, the sentient, I see him coming down the hall. The dolphins call:
Two new morons of glue on fire for liars and spinach to boot. I demonize the glow upon us, let me to my armchair speed, drenched in nitro, fumes will let go, sing to me of salmonella gone to hiding, fears my flames abound, stinging forces pop my conscience, let me bleed, let me scar, a great super-scar, scabbing up my atmosphere, spread disease with fans showering my urinal. I don't know why I stand, I stand, I stand, I stand naked on the highest sea but for barbed-wire stole, groaning silently I drip away the necessary tithe of beauty kept downstairs, slippery, and fishy too, I rip it off, my eye comes free of charge right in as I fuck your sky with my father's blood and flail your plastic man. I burn, I BURN the high-rise down, my ladders fall, my stairwells call, farewell to greed, my monkey freed to find fatality in custard-oatmeal getting cold. I nozzle my way back, I open the back door, I back in to manure, I pull the curtains down, DOWNer, down syndrome dreaming of double X conventions, I slip, I grab, I notice I'm alone and bleeding, I cry, "FUCK YOU!"
I swear I found them this way, slimily panting out the rhythm of my thoughts like corrugated cardboard caked in the blood of the ancients, grooming the cake walking in irons red and blasted by the heat, the fuzz of the power outage ringing in my inner ears like so many lengths of intestine plastering the ceiling as the stalks rose against them, cut THEM down with the very weapons they had made of them, curse their greed forever tainting my mind, the wind blown flowers will prevail the judgment of liver damaged mongrels as they feast on the lack of oxygen, caustic breath, WE are the corpses of the infinite millions slaughtered daily for our birth, and with profane gestures we keep them dead and shit down their throats, and rip them open with scorching lashings of the ol' tick-talk tabloids bashing Superman even in his fortress of solitude.
I watch them stand in disbelief as the black snowflakes fall, and burn abominable scars into deeper flesh than ever they felt in life. Slowly the masks drop, and the bloody tears wash them all down the drain they dug themselves in search of gold, as the most brutal hatreds dissolve into embraces of love despite the pain, despite it being too late, AND THEN HE DIES AGAIN, and they learn and breath again, but only for so long, again and again, they whip themselves and foam bloody on their genitals, as acid streams their veins, I see them try to scream, all the while walking proud and condemning me for not joining in, being a member of Team Deception, I pass through them like the spirit I am, as visible as WHAT I AM YOU FUCKING DOGS, it is pity alone that lets you live, and lies alone that shackle you to the hate machine we shoved overboard ages ago. Good luck swimming monkey fuckers.
twice removed i saw the glimmer, saw the shadow on the pavement, read the letter in the lunchbox, in the birdhouse, on the road. the night i will remember in the darkness, in the shadow as i turn the pages clockwise, see the phantom on the wall. the reservoir incites me, sticks it's needles in my glue, you see the flicker light my candle, send my colors into Fall. the enema is rainbow colored, variations stalk, inspire me, connect and tingle, web in focus, location nowhere open cantaloupe, i saw the monster, i saw the rude rind, i closed that door and trudged along the carousel.
once i saw the error i never saw the night again. once i saw the mirror i never saw the face of men. look across the void, look into the meat, see the absence synth, feel the heat. one ticket is not enough. three merits the negative, tough. roll around in carpet bags my precious little worm fiend, licking up the notice of regular customers crawling in the dirt of a thousand ecstasies and i lathered her with all i could to notice the buster the night sticking me up for green back fruit change martyr munchies in the delegate of cream puff garden hosiery lamprey feeling entropy lampoon doggy hard flat crayfish bomb crank oil slick me with walrus good god the frank sauce.
Thee light is sceean As high's rays sail Thee rays collect In web-like rail Thee web, it crosses Path, hill, valley Thee ups and downs The robots tally Robots demand The lines be straight Thee lines describe Forms love and hate Thee love flows through And melts as one Thee one flows twoo Out from the sun Thee sun cuts us From shady earth Thee Earth receives the myth of birth Thee born recall A time less known And know less where Their seeds are sown Thee seed, it holds Eternal rhythm Thee rhythm crystals Dance, sea-son, hymn Seasons remind us Through steady succession Great cares they have taken To balance equation For equal are cups To that which they lack Leaks never are filled unless bent to slack
East danced the scenic overpass of wetter stars between me farther and further still not unlike a close encounter with a spoon. The silence pursued my ashcan luncheon in the mysterious inaccuracies of waste, palm and kettle drenched nights. Often camel, often obscene, I pleased the lick slide through me to drain abysmal buttercups, soft and furry lightning mountains made. No more dismal than stockings, no more stuffed than stuffing, a fly lost gloomily, marked forever soft in stone. Waiting, telegraph gone wispy, fuchsia fever left in bowl type negative tripe reminder glowing onward, awkward as buttonflies seam in rendering to grow more human now than machine, dark yet vengeful, frightening slowly behemoth's call you luckworthy, call me Mr. E Pooh, gratefully forgotten yet dead long through tunnels overturned in fiery abandonment sits it's maker but ruins the patron, lips sticking blue and hovering behind me, aloha platoons cross sticks at railways, barking their beats with spray paint aplentifully cheerful of moccasins spraining out super glue together in glee, wondering me through it's doorways fogged and wispy, crystals come ramparts come crystals come meat and waiting, and wanting, the frog turns it's figures for something to eat, creamed, spicy, and neat, land nettles decry cone spangers and fry antelope hearts pierced and prickled ol' lamprey to feeding a rock pet beside you in the dark of no one forgotten root cellar heat.
I'm stood U
Stood tall like glue
In face of gorgon
All-igned with crew
I twisting 2
Twist madly through
In beam from KNoWHere
Becoming still new
Your pain drives deep
As I drive through sleep
In the face of her mask
Our eyes fine shall meet
Condemning 2 creep
As I's melt 2 heat
Not asking again
Why pains so unique
Yes, I'm stood U
Sacrifice I's 2 view
As I fall down the mountain
So I'm stood 2 U
Heartspeak beat treat the soldier river sweet and bending to the moon, as(s) probed the rhythm silent darkened hymn harkened parents blende to pitch reunion slow. Godslip the bug fest palm flesh rots ways too kind and broken, gotten fired lore.
True tones pass smoothly beat beating time amore
To tell for moons implore
Open miles message imbore
Her secret cycling unborne membrane, after birth lines mold no more. Too wrote in fabrics woven sweat case eggs son cradle sands send for the credit come feeds minions grub cold castle fin dig crumbling ore.
Swept slowly open
Ominous caws deadly
Soul therapist candles shingly
Craze the latest, deadliest swore
And the madness brought peace
And praey lies soaking in her blood
I ask again why not
And rot.
Today I found the first tree. Its fruits reminded me of every food my lips had passed. Its roots were cavernous and deep. The twin priestesses of the tree revealed no secrets to me. To busy were they with tending to their coffers. So I sold my right hand to them for five wooden nickels. One nickel I sent by eagle to the librarian. Planets had rained upon our library and so he was replacing it with a sundial. Another nickel I gave back to the silent sister that she might reveal her secrets to me. In the hidden passageway she taught me her harsh lesson in ecstasy. This consisted mainly of wine, music, honey, satin, and leather. The next nickel I gave to the spoken sister that she might do the same as her sister. She however recognized me and led me outside. In the leaves she spoke to me soft exhalations of love. We talked of purples and horrors and kings, with only a little wine. When she had to return to her caverns beneath the tree I let her leave, forgetting to buy her name. On returning to my cave I found my new brother swimming in the fountain. I had to wait until he was done and gone to make my wish. The final coin fell ill. Having taken so long with my sisters, it was already dark when I reached the sundial.
May eyes see through thee clouds
May eyes see through thee trees
May eyes hear through thee void
May eyes feel through thee knees
May eyes focus on U
As you focus on me
May my blood flow your name
May you'r name my blood free
May my eyes be your storm's
May eyes be Y our own
May the focus of our eyes
Make my flow form you'r trees
May my weakness disarm
At thee sound of you'r voice
May mine restlessness turn
Off my dead end less choice
May you'r whisper winds breeze
Through you'r soft caress eye's shine
May eyes submit to light-in-ing
As in lighten-ing eyes hold
As May's processions March's gold
May eye's writ in as light is sing
Dad, wanna look at my spider?
Dad, put your eye in my cup.
Graceful daddy with out trees
Burning daddy on my knees
I grab for you
I grab for me
Where is it mother fucker down home in lions' dens, waiting as the walker stops bottles sweeping through the lines of power sought sideways, animals laid down in gutter cottage trench tables noticed trouble farting lightways through joints and tumbles, rubble noticed the sky color burning desire old pretty story sick with show, dull with vomit, granular and growing a trouble time slow rowing about in cycles brings bubbles and time pools in clutter on beaches left under covers in moon waves the bloody appendage about my head, why let it off good freaky trombone silly with his bouncing mandibles cracked and lacking itself into fury at the drop of it's hat about racing about garden shows the spirit's moving about my pants counter-clock wise through the ruler to the board upon the coming of the glory of mine I troubled a codfish for several lumps of clay and through dolomite his escape was paid.
I hear a car driving across the surface of a planet not far from here. Vast and smooth, the car glides softly across. It is going KNoWHere, and comes from all around. Distant birds watch it, wondering why it doesn't stop. Clouds obscure their view, and it's gone. I've learned better than to try and tell you why, too where. It is enough for it to go, and going, be gone, without notice. Whisper like, it's absence fills my head with longing to be in that car. I know one day it will find me, pick me up, be my last hitch hike, and my grandest. Swiftly my razor slips up against me, and long gones a long my silent pillow. Long drops beyond the curtain and breathes my morning back yon calamity. Webs post their postulates in rhythmic fencings, leans back a stretch and rests my head above the sultry sands that stand all long my face. This truly is the end of nothing, as much as all things sweat away in the swirling vortex of eyes. The mists regain and dance out in silent, whistling full. When the fellows they told you the cross was a round, they tricked them against circling the square. So I laugh when they trip on my stack down stairs, and die laughing all the way.
Honey eternally revealed
From the book the night is sealed
From the night his art is healed
In the colors he saw
Between black and white
He knows SHe’s there
SHe knows that he is looking
But he won’t look here
This where her soul is cooking
There is no sneaking in the day
There is no peaking in the way
There is no knowing, thoughts betray
There is no rising beyond today
Dark arts summon only madness
Disordered heart aborts in sadness
Mellow drama pre mature
Thine flow is felt, do not ignore
Only one might set u free
Wander not who SHe might be
Do not search, you will not see
Thy love lies close, in you, in me
Focus on one
Tis one no more
Stare at the sun
Your eye’s soon sore
Just look around
SHe’s in your eyes
The clouds, the sound
She breaths and sighs
To play with them
To learn HEr ways
They spin and fall
SHe turns and stays
SHe accepts nothing second rate
You don’t come home, you make HEr wait
It hurts her so to let us down
Pray drop your guns and look around
I’m asking your forgiveness
Your forgiveness I ask HEr
SHe is smiles, knows you’re coming
Feel this kiss forever more
Ride on, Ride on
Right on through HEr
Ride on to HEr
Right on, Right on
Ride on through HEr
Right on to HEr
Do not think SHe is for real
Don’t forget SHe is alive
Check your mind for what you feel
See the rules our hearts contrive
Loneliness is afraid of being right here
All you need is PAY ATTENTION very near
The Dragon Train, it’s not your job to steer
SHe’s loving you as much as you can bear
HEar
HEre
HEr
Now
bless your solar milk
sound the soulful tilt
of evenings soft remorse
of letting fillings course
and trouble throbs but fades
saw trollup latter spirits
untie sour sin dish largish
center braid camel trample
tirade simple soft sorrow
to spy the pinpricked sky
in summer’s misty sigh
sought note and no delay
reprint recall
fine tuned delay
smooth but deadly
by why watch and waiting
for overtaken tacos
supreme and whispering
come this way
is here let’s stay
and hear to
day i saw what was no more
less on a song
of pass i on left over
seat able to meet
slow down and valley appearing
hard y necessary
vocal seminary
dank and bubble
along merry and knowless
supple transmit the fear
of lack n gear oper
open near hound
the throught of dear
and fround over sampled ear
Limbs a vibrate
In tune with a star
Sun burst and winding
Breezing me too far
Crashing against now
A prison of glass
The prisms shatter
My mind streaked through as out
Cooler colors
Spin, bounce about
Brisk and bright
This shower of doubt
Makes me shout “Flight!”
Down flat faced fields
Forlorn for shadows
Four shortened minds hold
Fast
Flight
Street penetrate what heaven
What atomsome power
From knowhere it flies
Your vocal beauty devours
Leaves my shell shocked free
One full focused strive
Once upon this little puddle
Whirled and forced down through this little funnel
As we once fell
So then will we thrive
In what hole did I fall
And how was I found
Bound and itching to end it
Blind searching for life
To walk smack in to
Float, ridiculous strife
Found swimming in water
Howling hot for a drink
Why drift in the flow?
You could panic and sink!
No rest to the risen
Locked in random precision
And Love Always Finds Me
LAUGHING OUT LOUD
At My DEATH In A CLOUD
Dripping fireball clowns
On a crowd
Of broken balloons
Most Holy lampoons
As I grow
Through the cracks
In my shroud
Penetrate this my vision
Through undulating rhythm
Know this shout
Takes its root in my soul
And shocks through the sky
Free for all
And when I’m free
I never run away
I never try to stay
I never wonder why
I never have to hide
And I no longer need
Or have posses of greed
But have not to shy
From U’R try
Not to cry
Once you’re dry
As I drift down
Slip swiftly round
Neptune’s swirling crown
Jewel globe orbits down
An undying furnace
Aching to burn us
Brings us life
Lighting from strife
And slow rolling round
Dust pieces, ghost town
Awakening twilight
Humming mist soft and light
Cool scatter and bobbing
Slight creek crickets throbbing
Dipped hand in the shallow
Suit-cumber let slumped go
Frash and patter
Leafy glow gone down dawn
Syruped fruits gain groundsquirrel dens
Hoards of ancient apple cores
A grand ol’ willow parting snow
Green fuzz a drippin’
Coushins fresh show
A garden of rocky breath
A shower of lead no less
No need to explain or to impress
Litter-ally leaves the world’s dank dress
Bubble in the woods distant night
Clover crown the berry of true sight
Shatter, shatter sand in rock
Dust from light bulbs
But log from rot
Ground rush
Come on to my carpet
Feel the dark intentions
Know the satisfactions
Tightly turn the corner
Overabundant floss reflections
Penetrate with rash inflections
You’ll never know
Your need to let go
And fall free full
Faceless sweet
Crown creeping fronds
Fantastic claws
Cringe the battery
And take full charge
Cramp release valve
Fresh pulse of dead real ease
Realize your fleshly priest
Ecstatic undergarments
Flash and burn
Crass crayon candles
Cremate, smolder, burn
But ho could one turn on
Your fire’s ETERNAL song
Entranced a tribe of concepts
Conflict with babble presets
And on the dewy morning
They drift in to the sky
They fly on tender moments
They sing of softest sunshine
They touch on something different
On the night before they die
And glanced up through the silence
A ghost of long forgotten
This desert and its contents
Are nothing for to cry
For deep synthetic mornings
For lost pathetic yearnings
For naught but dull returning
Hesitate not but bye
| Thee Rev St of Skuzzbunnies, Sr Elgaroo Brenza du sLAcKE
* | * Cytoplastic Ninja Clan, Psychic Enema Division
/|\ elgaroo@13th-floor.org
/ | \ http://elgaroo.13th-floor.org/
(()|()) ICQ#: 1979348
\/|\/ "I think it's an important thing for a writer to know...that she has the potential to be as ROTTEN as everybody else."