Thursday, November 1, 2012

103112


Over the past two days I have become increasingly tangential to the point of origin being observed
within this species.  My body is touching itself, touching me, touching you, so now I’m contaminated.
Ah, what it is to be vivisected and relive the agony more acutely.  What fine punishment for a
narcotic observer chemanthropomorphising Cartwright Kafka, with a rhyme for his illegible scheme.
The treatment plant pukes when the hospital bathes in disaster relief.  Can you handle the comfort?
One banana and I get really crazy! Split personalities divide my schizophrenic house with dry/wall.
Smoke sockets were recently installed for my pipe to smoke me in my skivvies and long socks.
In fetching stockings, she passes me a roach, and we lie attached at hip like the temporary Siamese.
This is no normal hair day.  It’s come to this.  The black leather mask is coming with me to school.

Basking in the ambivalent simplex, TD Apothecary sells Nerve Ending Ditherer, a transdermal
gel for shaky cigarette hands.  The quest for the Holy Grail of Perpetual Qi keeps my status Qo.
Clubbing drugs are like beating baby seals, it takes a lot of nerve, damage, and the satisfaction is sick.
The hot seat is Kelvin’s lofty pedestal.
At the Zee frequency, in the key of Zen, 23 factorial! 26 tilde.  The shepherd’s
scale
, logo-light itself, key infinity forever, brought down to Earth in a plastic shed
in the early morning.  Pumpkin seed vitamins are good for getting up.  Cherries
help with enemy fire from master puppets.  Wifi jacks?  Why Fiji, ACK?

Pumpkins with a horizon line cut across narcotic borders in the long blink of an eye
resting beneath the thick lids of the laws of sleep science resting between hard covers,
book binding, and horse glue.  You heard it here first from the force of the source
of the horse. I’m talking about equine labor contractions and Lilly Ledbetter.
Basking in the thing that is ambivalent and simple, elucidative procedure allows ‘to’ to ‘for’ weeks-vacation, just enough to cover each Roman Sabbath with fanfare and confetti.  Life dissolving napalm potpourri plays disintegrating medleys for its curative properties, charting holes in rough topography with war darts aimed at offensive angles, 108º, Flatland MDs know how to integrate Swiss cheese, corpse of milk.
If Joyce contributed one memorable laugh to the whole shebang…
“You use big words like a cute child.”
There was just enough time to draw the leads before the play was cast to/for the ducks.
There was just enough time for “Argo” to fit another scene with just enough time and space at the end of a runway, for a receiver to drop, for a plot to squeeze one more suspense from a group of undeveloped characters.
My main squeeze, it’s unfair, she’s trying to graduate ‘Mrs.’ Without Me, from the state’s (two rubber trust issues from the bald) orthodox art school, BS, UBbing me the Wong way.
My racially concentrated dominatrix is stereotypically painful.
I’m a back-tracking survivalist and a back-packing surrealist.
What is reality but a farce?  Because parody is the highest expression of art:
When the gods laugh, everyone is happy.
Fitful creativity liquidates and solidifies, melts and freezes.  I am a water table, cycling.

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