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The Department of Linguistic Records

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Lanny Quarles (Great Skull Zero)

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NOVA #14

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TALL HIMSELFHERSELF judge as the strangled stranger dangled from the glittering granite scaffolding swinging like the testicles of Bulliberty, two soft boiled eggs hanging from delicate ganglionic filaments. Wraiths are pouring through all his madisembodied geometries into wharfs where white barges loaded with coffins and swarminq with black owls swimmintostyx-staticlosure. From piers of greenalgaed whalebones castrated midget sailors played in orchestras of booming midnight accordions swaying swinging like an inverted pendulum grove slicing the air in melancholeric conun's drumsuite for ageseven and nine forlorneedivereed. Hell banknote, Drink cold beer at mae's place... Lynchburg ferry carries eme Trompeterkorps. His whole life revolved around World War II and Jazz, a Tokyo Rose tinged in fading electromagnetic twilight, wave ghost of an unseen word dial. These were the romances that sustained him: Samurai colonels bopping to Joe Harriet Quintet in the Radar room, swinging negro mock-up valkyries who float gently down from the ceiling of the bamboo castle bar on silver strings bearing the gift of germ warfare, Billie Holliday blaring from the sleeping Panzer, Stan Kenton mans the wailing U-boat bound over for modern Florida. Old Prussian guards snap their fingets and wrinkle their faces in fearless and faithful grins. I stand by the window of room 66, a D.O.A. in fretless wetware. Opinions today are constitutional, like fits of migraine a hereditory ailment. Raise a green flag emblazoned with swastikas and stars of David, floating over 1943 Mettwurst and Bremen, bratling powder sprinkling like snow over Boecklin's Isle of the dead. Semper Talis, OH! Bachofen! The blonde beast lives! Certain contents and complexes melded into closed formal structures to show the essence of art is in infinite reserves. The frost bitten instruments of the young animal lay amongst the wreckage of great thoughts, encrusted with the joy and agony of several owners, and none could slay the sound which leaped forth in sinuous invisible flame; her buttocks shivered, naked in the rain blue neon, his fists imprinted in fresh stone: the glowing boxes scattered carelessly about the city, shape melting into

nose-hairs as micro-tethers, umbilicals of equidistance. He tried to win Juno from Jupiter and found himself the dandy of black ghettos, a pimp for all seasonings with every dis-easoning. Not only does nonsense have teeth, but lipstick as well AND travels through frictionless space by spitting out twin streams of eyeballs through pressurized sockets.

As the model stretched out his nude body to be transcribed by the hands of the artists, his immediate cognition of the event sorely reminded him of Pandora's box, a resounding strata of intensities resembling a structure of concealment, a folk-facade for the dangerous and inscrutable forces seething beyond the temporal barrier of human memory.... The parts of his body more and more were like the gnomes of Zurich, mythological components with human voices, subterranean knots, ideolectic conundrums set in the service of a speechless, or apriori tongue-tied society. As a German Grandmother will bury a knotted string to rid a family member of warts, the viral subtext of history is a force in service of a biopoetic solecism, a genetic misspelling of the ethical text of time. Space is the cave mother of

incense burning. One is a large golden Nautilus shell with tentacles of Frankincnse, surrounded by sea-fans lit from behind revealing the antics of tiny sprite-boys playing leap frog and biting at each other's nipples. Another is an Iron Bulldog with smoke pouring from its nostrils surrounded by a bonzai forrest of tiny pines where hang tiny chimes. In one corner there is a large black stone snake surrounded with flower petals and purple wasps flying in and out from the center of the coil. And last there is a giant roman coin as big as a man spinning perpetually in the last corner, and pictures of twisted ladders flash on the walls from holes in the floor. Hanging from the ceiling are different types of bladders with different liquids in them. Many birds are there in the room. Quetzals, Ibis, Baby Roc, two-headed birds with human feet, birds with snake heads, winged snakes, and crimson bats. Yolande' Negrita is singing:
 
 

But that is my goddamm name, what, Bill Tall, that ain't no name for a priest, who said I was a bible thumper anyhoo, you look like one all tall and thin, that's my name goddammit... And America goes thoughtlessly on.... invisible wheels churning bones into face powder for the death clowns who jangle here, hidden disease slithers through the ruined embankments of communism, Mr Tall come to the front office, there's been a spot of bother about your name again.. see fading portraits of Lenin and Stalin, Three stooges muttering longingly back to those red guard days, before AIDS, before Peristroika, before the reunification of Germany, It's me, Mr. Trend, the unavailing baby, facing multitudes of street violence cyber-mayan army conquers anglos atop their new dada death-games, A lonely old movie image playing atop a ruined Ramada Inn playing some old corn about "the grannnd designnn", now you go out there an find yours, kid, okay mister, drugstores burning, movie moghul newspaper men cackle with the history disease there, each wondering who got that kid down on sixth floor with the bubbling sores, the kid, they call him, skin like a baby, one's bound to fall, its the way of the world, sensess his only fairly botched job, looks and feels like an old Buster Keaton film, and jesus god, the booze never runs out around here, this is a stink we've been raising and I'm still on probation drinking my life away and sleeping around with a married girl whose husband flies the royal family to Egypt, Hong Kong, anywhere just ask 'em. Its a grand old botchelism out here in space, just like a comic book, real pros up here, go on, It'll be the death of me, but America goes thoughtlessly on, soonly enough a fat slob comes round murdering babies and eating women's lingerie with dirty, greasy fingers, the J-men are coming, firing up joints in bars, everybody coming over for a puff on that fabulous illegal substance that everybody loves to death, till death, famous artist friend of mine croaked, been layin' in his house for a week, fell down and knocked his head a good one. Live your whole goddamn life just to fall down and whack

Quamochi. Baccara is reading an old stained newspaper and drinking a Martini to candlelight. Fedorca is quietly napping with a lemur in his lap also napping. They are both naked but smeared with neon green insect repellent. As the boat arrives, Baccara throws his Martini in Fedorca' 5 angelic face waking him and the monkey in a squall of grunts farts and squeaks. "The Boys are here Dorko get the Tequila and limes..." Suddenly a giant of a negress steps out of the shadows and puts a spear to Fedorco' 5 chest, "The good Teqeya, dorko, you bastardo." "Darling, I didn't see you. Isn't it a wonderful evening?" "No, Baccara, Its not, all my panther traps are empty and what's worse the slave I've been tracking all day has eluded me." "I'm sorry dear, perhaps a drink." "Yes, perhaps.." The velvet caped boys disembark with their parcels and hides and a small oriental woman in her thirties blindfolded, wrapped in green silk with a yellow bow tied around her face. "Here's your new slave, Yolanda-negrita'." Fedorca passes out the Tequila and limes and all gather round the giant ice penis to chip off their share. Baccara begins to recite his favorite Baudelaire in impeccable Swahili as the dragon flys gather in the purple mist...
 
 

Near an oily black hut of matted hair, long blue bamboo cages filled with nude animal women are loaded onto great painted wagons by humanoid snails, human torsos with giant slug foot, wearing midieval Moorish armor. The Connestogie-esque wagons are pulled by teams of blind albino negroid centaurs, heads wrapped in vine-turbans of orange flowers, copper bells tied round their bulging purple scrotums, eyebrows braided long and red with henna. The snail soldiers are giving a scroll to the lead centaur to hang from a hook hanging from his nipple-ring. He nods and the two creatures shake hands, sensually, then the Head centaur licks his slimed hand. His face turns pink and his long white albino negroid horse dick twitches.....

shield of the skins of beasts, folded and compacted together. and thus he tried to provide himself with artificial weapons, being destitute of natural arms...We have found paradise and I am the nuova Adam and you are my original, original sin, Miss Turbo-Eve, my Love-Dolly. We can make love on the synthetic indoor lawn and meditate with the trees as is gently but firmly prescribed by the agency for symbiotic science.

.self-defeatalcoholicornlight. . .sham 69.. Saddam means

collision in the language of sleeping wind on the red

night cast into comedy state st. side..he is called so damn insane. soft drum-beat...screeches of lost spider monkeys, howler monkeys, sunset for the lemur people over rains the mad-aghast-scar, tomorrow. the bird parliament..filth to include this one said accept treaty with the destroyers in raiments of halide tracers, further to sin city out on the international waters of the will mind will the world mind my degree of uncertainty.to consume in fire...behold I come like a thief...in the night to bomb your information networks and decode your religious hierarchy in sentiments of hot screaming turbines...accept your fate khafaje'....thou shallt know knot kill...and this in magnum knots stowed at portside bowells in craven whispers decode the flow. All of the birds of the world, known and unknown,were gathered together..recode the flow over charlie bravo dust buster no country in the world is without a king...insert file marker at t-s.o.b holler up a treeecaelia shute in the bet blue cookies...soylent green...nude brunch at the movies. .returns a killing force.The prince said: In times past and in bygone ages, the demons, who have now withdrawn their faces behind the curtain of mystery and are concealed from eyes which behold only the apparent, went about the world openly. They mingled and associated openly with human beings and by sedution and delusion beguiled them from the path of truth and salvation, and they displayed fanciful images tricked out with meretricious ornaments before the eyes of men the man from U.N.C.L.E. appears in a floating fusion

maggots ensheltering a fecal representation of Jesus Christ, Imonolithic black tower sprinkle of streetlight roadsign sentences crumble concrete shadow the donut shop the boot repairi the actual waste products itself excreted to resemble-depict the son of God himself, itself. It lays there submerged inert lifeless concealing its holy odor from the world. /construction crew fields of Semiotrailors with lanterns on poles like electric brontosaurs poking their necks out of an industrial cargo swampi Ah, but inside its head is a semblance of a brain a horrible cortex of cells not a true cortex but a cortex colony a hydralike colony of foetal-tissue-fed silicon "lice." Iplain fabulous factories marxist nightmare chandiliers opulent illuminated quilted machinelandscape urbanscape machinoscapegoateedi It is hydra-like in that it may channel its millions billion minions hordes of colonial unit cell segments into a probing hairlike tendrill the box the domociles purr like warm brickwood kittens holding in their sleeping hairball headed tenants some awake most all sleep most all swim in the warmi extension that can slide slipierce through the sarcophagal maggot boundry into the swarmbody of the roachearse a secret a powerful stimulant that causes the roachearse to move I poolpondoceanlakes of mortal forgetfulness the refridgerator sings lullabyes rock a bye baby in the swaying treetops the nest is the best a chest a place for bits of string and shiny thingsl or to swarm more voraciously. 0 the horrible food of the roachearse, its propulsion chain is seen under our scope./ collections of abracadabra nonsense sometime the velvet caped boys meet at a coffee shopi Somehow the cortex lice are able to act as a go between for the erotic stimulation and subsequent fertilization of the hermaphroditie hood ornament oracle. This is achieved by the lice-tendril's multi-purposed amorphity. Ito tell the quaint stories but mostly their innocent baleful night roamings inject only renewed fever in the holy solitudel It moves up through the roachearse and extends outward and upward and injects the oracle with an aphrodisiac (usually minos-pus) Ishitting the warm wet roulette wheels of religioni then as

I sold him there bluing, telling him in earnest faith that his rubberized concrete would make excellant pages for the heavy indestructable subject of my last book. He smilfed and then stared down at the stumps where his hands had once been. Explosions on a distant horizon, a huge and ancient steam-shovel toppling sideways into a crumbling flophouse thick with the radio active guano of albino bats. A whiskey bottle with a faded caricature of Lenin rolls off into a bubbling tarpit where huge chunks of pebbled foundation lunge in thermal whorl-rises, acting as the cracking skin for a debauched pair of exposed blackened lungs. Somewhere in the night sky ~ arent zeppelin reminiscent of a portugese man-o-war with A ~~o~win~ gondola held by robotic tentacles about to ~ into the maw of a volcanic crater expanding slowly to ~adio eolos. Giant

~ V b

cyborg cyclops lumber through the ~ an apocalyptic Paris, urinating into the ~res~~he;aMm~n9IJt throng, of diseased refugees intoning PAR IS, PAR IS, "fQr fun", "for fun".

into a grisly finish beneathe the mocking~eyes of a hang-gliding jester who records the optic n~ 'w~t~ the binocularic

of acrobatic black angels, hurtling themselves through momentary portals, plummet-flipping through festering, jeweled galleries, wreathing themselves in coiling, glassnake columns, melting into buckling, curling, plazas of webbed green lava, waterfalling down into gigantic, scabbled staircases of luminous, igneous that plunges down into a Vulcanniballistic underworld of evanescent dungeons of ressurected, blissaurian carnage. Emerald rubiconic castle-tiara ejaculating storms of warring gem-waves, epiphianic molten beryl blasting from extrudinous amorphous window~orifice-pores onto streets of squfrming white carnelian flooding intermittently with miniature tidal waves of blood red carbuncle shards. Writhing monoliths of dark green malachite converge in high-rise orgies tangled in webbed streams of fiery sard and garnets jettisoned from quivering roof-top gemenageries where gleaming Baroque fountains cast from the amethyst drool of the midgard serpent whose minions of yellow serpentine serpents slither into yawning manhole mouths. Obviously there are no mortal inhabitants here, for here, only form itself is mortal, but always self-ressurecting, mutating, formally, a miasma of overlapping residues of morphological species. This is the demiurge/city of finality, a beatitude cast in earthly hues, the laughter of the D'archangels of D'architechure.

"Mere theatricks", comments old Scratchy-Chin-4 from a nearby mountaintop, propaganda for the institutionalized theology of seductive violence, is nothing more than another one of the insidious fetishes of the King's multifarious neuroses. But I must say it is not a completely loathesome spectacle, and it is a eunique time/space event, possibly even warranting a phenomenological inquiry. But let me direct your attention to another outlook on architechure in the King's land of marvels, but this one is in one of the human sectors." The setting is a crumbling temple in Cambodia. A team of cybereconstructurist architechulogues and Khmerouge jungle porters set up camp to begin digitizing the temple from around the circumference. After the digitization process, a composite three-dimensional model will be developed with the portable cad rectifier used to

Kara and I awake with dream images intact from night of Chianti Classico and sushi and bad atlantean late-night flick with "Get Smart"'s Chief as high priest of mock pre-egyptian Egyptian religion of atlantis. In her dream she has blue t-shirt no bra with nipple sticking out. Kara is my dream girl. She is made to travel with a van full of bearded beaded bespectacled intelligent real old style hippies ₁,to ~~"~rking lot" to look for another hippie and to say ~ Kara wears a t-shirt with no bra is

~ ~

Ludlow of the round table who into battle or horses

were too frail. The house ~ ~LMof~ership, but somehow involved pa ents CIA and the fact that our

toys that we~ like A,netsI~f ~ bulbous-hover-frisbee ~ like angry fishes when tossed. The movie ends in a ~ 5 backyard in which a panglobal native people's

very nigh a ~ via g ugin.

Universal despair dissolves in the joyous countenance of Dr. Monad, a man of adoration, he merely takes despair into account, like the fish does its gills moving as it breethes. Josiah Monad, Doctor of organic alchemy and the experimental chemistries of analogical deformation and hyperceptual metaphysics, brain alive, molten with subject-object conjugation storm, expressing the aesthetics of revolt as he searches through the world of forms to extract creatures for his plans of new juxtapositional philharmonance, dischordnance, and harmelodichaotrix. His extented multi-faceted face, a flaming foetal geometry of societal forebearance screaming the dynamic relationships between man and the rest of the animal kingdom to produce the organic homunculus, the living philosopher's stone, AChordata Illuminata, amorphous spiritual protoplasm, a self-contained environment, the conscious flesh sun. "Our children shall become angels, their children shall become worlds." The will of life to become unenclosed unhindered for mind and form to be visual and virtual synonymity. No more winged skulls, now sun head, now spirit sun, spirit amoebas living in the electromagnetic webbing of natural disorder, wisdom passed along as a physical trait in a nexus body of immortal desire to consume limitless time to consume the maddening divine plague of time to matter or to worship the bleeding play of eternal dissolution, a war of extremes, a violent uplifting chorus of life and death.
 
 

Invitation to Evolution, Collage world, composed of discarded theories and materials, blindly convoluting closed identical systems into sewn together flesh golem frankensteindolls of antagonism for the present. DNA watches the performance with its response built in, laughing, laughing its way into the future. The voice of the King, an abandoned space-filling gesture in the manicured garbage dump of history's throbbing hearse parade assemblage of blurring realities. Deliberate distortions condense mulitple sides of theories into single mutant veiwpoints that rhapsodize in unequivicalities and hopeless stirring

called "Me and my Chaffeur", accenting his femme-fatale negress voice. Back at the hospital he was found to be stroking their guns like phallic idols and coyly asking about the size of the load and caliber. Is the State founded upon the collapse of

experimentation; devenir fonctionaire....

He remembered a scene from earlier that day when he had unmistakenly witnessed an orderly punch an old man in the nose and then watched in horror as a bright orange macaroni fell from his nostril. As the screaching elder scrambled for his oddly colored gland, he could be heard to scream in the saddest gut-churningly lovable exclamation, "Now you've knocked out my goddamned lobotomy and its just been replaced you shifty eyed son of a bitch!" I killed the blue man with the frightening ring of telepathic fraternity...Sells his liquor for a kiss.. Albert Lautman has shown quite clearly how Riemann spaces, admit a Euclidean conjunction such that it is possible at all times to define the parallelism of two neighboring vectors instead of exploring a multiplicity by legwork, the multiplicity is treated as though "immersed in a Euclidean space with a sufficient number of dimensions".theweitheyouhesheitShift to dialogue of the patient as a disposessed genetic architect. "This seed grows into a life shelter,a house, in seven years. It is at this level of maturity that the structure has obtained sufficient size and store of nutrient injections to sustain a human group, a family or similiar arrangement. All or most of the modern conveniences have been included in the overall genetic make-up of the organism." we can pop a pimple on a camels ass from three miles with in- over hhaha I hear ya dingo boy. copy. I'v gotten into some traffic. pull those visors its raining death and were along way from kansas toto....Little

Johnny: Gee, this is great. We can pick fruit off of the wall and these strange vessicles attend to our disgusting waste products in a clean and modern process of sucks and squirts. "Thus by the help of fire and of sharp-edged stones he so fitted them that they served him as spears. he made himself also a

the recording of the dog-writing includes such rarified somniloquies as exist within the tertiary dream studies, an account of Dr. Monad, and contemporize with the sonic ideologies of all nuovo-gregorian nomenclature including the fistful of terza rima written by those aristocratic sasquatch who balefully instruct their children with the angry electric rod of Dante's towering inferno who cites, "He who weeps wild milk upon glowing stones frees his hissing songs to the wind." Rare shifting meticulousy architextural vistas kinetic urban expressionism Man: a huge iceberg, robotic self-supporting transportational domocilia composite summary, holographic nostalgic trim and costume brandishing is only the beginning. HE WARNED TO SOLDIER THE ASSASIN'S REMAINS MAY POSE MISSING INFORMATION ON TARGET. Walking Napoleonic mansions illusions operators program millionaires response. projections of opulence Box: USS Lasalle FZ. The propaganda of spiritual luxury as a national hobby "System revolves around (Satsamit) blocks to provide, to bury, ordered semen sample. Why do these houses walk, mere cubicular constructions clothed in illusionistic opacities. They gather in chaotic machine humming spider clumps interfacing as components in larger urban compositions Free-form civic zoning. Colored fish words explore tragedy of naval disaster projected at various localities. Existence as commerce of playful aesthetic sublimation of that frightful divine teacher, time. The old Swiss Jew had described Beirut as a young man's paradise, girls, night clubs, gambling, an international hub of the goodtimes. Neighborhod interaction new model terms utopian planning procedures environmental cluster units forming iconographic social expression units spewing forth reams of poetry from plexiglass 3d gargoyle shaped vid screen robots processed in the frontal lobes of passing naked l2yr old gurugirl floating on a flying blanket of pulsating fibre-optical color confusion serenity passing over the heads of an old stationary home inhabited by a cult of 8Oyr old tattooed women who actively cultivate and worship the rose and who all know the dead hippie who lives down the street in the metal phallus

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-shaven head negros dance with flaming wooden phalluses under the sacred pines- streams creeks -barques of burning tires pulled by shivering slobbering slick green aquatic donkeys- barque now swallowed by giant undersea Louis the 14th plankton-beard Molochead who rises from the depths with a flesh rumbling 7 hertz earthquake thunderous open jaw maw groan and swallow it down whole cracking open torso of 1992 -Bosch-Dali-Burroughs

-Venus-vista of crepuscular swampatavismusk illuminates this gesture through eye-fin-aye -Jung marks the spot- up the lazy river up the lazy lazy river dream a dream address the bright new morning up the lazy river how happy could you be up the lazy river linger in the shade of the old Bo tree withing the mass man moss man -feels no sense of responsibility, but also no fear, fleeing in the face of uncanniness -his helmet glistened

-heads within heads -four antelope skulls, chrome with spherical hi-res t.v. eyes, stacked up in a totem-pole -saying softly I am not a virus. This is that, levels of latency in symbolic utterance. lannis Xennakis is playing on the stereo. I argue once again with my father about Christianity. I am glad for him. He is a Christian, which means that he can find comfort. i how ever do not have this luxury i am jealous of his accotiplishment like a blind man he wanders blind in the cavelike world he has constructed not noticing the dark angels of galactic dissonance perched on his shoulders like epaulets of cosmic irony i stand perched in a vast mawsoleum with mirrored walls in this optical infinity i veiw the vision of christ suffering on the cross repeating itself to infinity a funhouse of slow anguish i wander through the hall a labyrinth everywhere i turn christ is shifting slowly in agony mirrored chrome morphichrist replicated to infinity twisting writhing a fluid beast tacked on an absolute conjunction of x and y ex and why am i imprisioned

up and became mad yells a student of Democritus wearing a Lucretius T-shirt and screaming at the top of his lungs/ and subsequent bouts with prophetic revelations and the divine substantiation of forgotten knowledges from the Nexus body./drunk in an upper tower of the gothicathedralooking trainstation waiting for the train to take him homel In a vision Dr. Monad saw the destiny of his unconnected progeny and the power they would unleash on Tech-gnosis as Free /the volumes of his falling tears splash into a liquid essay on the passing forms of a permanent substancel I contingencies of a new order within the decrepit carbon dream lall things are dust and to dust they return a dust however eternally fertile and destined to fall perpetually into new and doubtless beautiful forms/ of the King's addiction to the birth fluid o~ the Amber wasps the knowledge

~outside dark mansions brood with inner light outside naked automobiles fly through wretched unending moments outside trains whistle beside a sullen station where midnight ghosts ponder the simple act of travel] (intermarry leave children with only vestigial wings) Cavalier coaches mesh in earth-bound traffic of Vienna sector, (angry the children become vice-presidents of toxiconvenience store chains placed in very inconvenient places) Mozart robot sentries guard opera houses of synth-net crystal in fossil frosting of Cesium. (in the middle of the air blocks V/stol traffic, ruins the hideous skyline, some say, god knows I love this rotting beast of a world) Helicopters gather in Berlin watch-word hierarchy, skylights blasting to code phase in satellite (but the vultures shit upon the rooftops

and make nests of $35 RC cables stolen from sleeping musician 5 pad where four boys pass out in beereefer overdose listening

to lounge lizards) post-oddernest, post-foddernest, control zone stationary android make fodder nests in grid-word to the astral work of deserted lupine skyscrapings New-York-Paris hybrid city sector collage over molecular merge channel (feed on celestial alcohol rhythms that rebound off of landlord's steel door bolted against the world) cast to fibrous medium under black-body lamps where stroking to the screen face gives a scene:

the replication and pastiche element, 85 Statue of Liberty Zeppelin-bots tied off to 85 nylon Eiffel towers Ugigata antennae array systems holding on at convergence artificial intelligence to (she lays inside the body of a 3501b. woman, fine woman, with the head of a north american moose) animate the robotiskeletal statue of liberty nexus defense force, defense from who? Gaian art-damage sculptural terrorism phase six under (and she's reading the T.V. guide wishing she were Tom Cruise's mother and had a different body or maybe a jetboat for skiing under the bridge at lake Poncetrain) Solipsean Dada directive BF overscan on urban reconstruction and redestruction, zeppelin-bots recharging, radiates to film of original weapon. (where a convention of Allosaurus worshippers bring one of the

snatches them with screams of hoorays and drunken tribute. ¶ Cannons roar high up on a parapet of preposterously large bamboo the color of the sun. A huge orange wall of mutant bamboo, where cannons with square barrels shoot cubes into a sea of jostling drunken party ships. I see a man riding a huge mechanical chicken the size of a horse, fire spitting from his mouth, and eyes glowing with an evil only a chicken can know, a raw necked, screach hate ready to roast alive anything in sight. "This is ridiculous", I scream. The bridge is being set afire in front of me by the screaming chicken. As I dive in the water, I realize it is not a bridge at all, but a giant beaver dam constructed thousands of years ago and now petrified, or rather mummified by a strange chinese lacquering technique. ¶ It is preserved perfectly to provide lodging for the wretched race of mutants created by monosodium glutinate who are collectively known as "trolls." All this is unimportant now, for I will drown if I do not reach one of the underwater entrances. Underwater I see now an entrance where hairy ogres with clown masks and underwater torches are exitting en rapide', filing hurriedly to escape the flames. Above I can hear the linguistic free-radicals of the minister of historical antiquities raging in an argument with the mechanical chicken pilot who seems to be retarded and cannot be held responsible for his actions. The chicken is turned off and a crew of japanese firefighters in 18th century firefighting garb has arrived to douse the flames in the remaining gallons of sweet and sour soup. A boat of drunken transvestite geisha girls has docked at the beaver dam. One of the preety young men throws me a special buoyant kimono. [THIS NON-IDENTITY IS PERFECTLY STRANGE] ¶ As I strap it on, it begins to inflate itself from a concealed cannister of helium. Amidst screams of laughter from the gay lushes on the boat, I begin to rise quickly into the air. At a certain height, I see a man some fifty feet down, balancing like an acrobat on a long flagpole high up in a ship's rigging. He is a debased creature resembling a cannibal pygmy from an advanced decadent Borneopolis. With a crown of hormonally

COLORUM EFTISCLOROTUM: the peace fron's fore head music-box monkey wanders through a preopted uterine dioromon nickte' till ep inside are rare viennese hardstone swans tolo mana septicolon long sleek fib plumage red slithering guild display with shishi's golden galaxy snuffbox cortex eidolon chair quiveringing rowing slow to black tidal hubam lowan according to secundum accordion to a cum-dung inntill noxos paragraphs of glass rhino beetles an enamel watch designed as a key deli tit jonom-float in fragrant paleolithic mock-popo buttocks perched illudo in oiled moon money 0-mey dee-lopsided floptimus maximus polbi-ti un-tein the homunculusherie but of little value frov-specious beautiful nomos-og unrolls guns capillary connectivesoft furred with disbelief and or fox hunting polpa flesh squadramicroscopic mosaic units of stiff black flame frozen in freezing kingdom's relief squares light un-building glorious diseases esp dark surges crying sitting sobbing frying loose demotic velos rintintin golden romper room so your mouth git go into the fertilization junn into for the sacred fluid keepers the mouth go into his door way marked with fzire into the death unti on in ho off likey underlo gold intestines silver entrails on the prairies of purple lightin humwawa starlivid umlawa unfall west wuste sasa didi jullo-lancia spezzata kik olo the mystic marriage of st. catherine deneuve dolik cumyawa-where vast perpetual onions sterl then ist yoli andt blackened svarmens armies of extremities tolips goiter long rotary velorage over distance and kerty unferty unty kilo poisound as commodities anoid join hulles gelelsa ala sperty ovgallic sibarum obimunim uflorrid gastits syptoggle floss stopping bellua insatiabilis greet unter flips out and up in a wearing the fisherman's ring shatter of sweet nerve gasses the flaking glass beetle tongue end up in the forrest of fontainbleau cracking blue electro-tongue-ick T-gels spreading flicking in sham man's dark E-moves like a rat-tailed spoon fingers svelt-red with Ping rowing slow to black tidal shubam lowan rintintin noxos or the world land speed record trophy deli till john's thermal word is dung on

formats. Typically we find that such attempts at colonic ironic histrionics end up being facile facetious annoying, and quite frankly, boring. Excellent analysis old boy, have a wang on me. "Buddy, have a whiff on me!" I really don't see the connection between obscure chinese history, post-modernism and the rap music movement. Ah, movement, there you may have it, bowell movement. Yes all very well linked. They're like sentences, but more ridiculous, a sort of scum of irrational axioms rising to the surface of experience, hynotizing the adjacent fields, an hypnotic slag paean brimming with human bodies. Shit adobe drying in the Texassatva-Sol. Old two peso gringo looks up from his western pulp novel with a look of lingering pessimism, moves his cold wooden hand to a toy pistol in a cheap vinyl holster, thorazine drool splattering on his silk cow-boy shirt. He puts the black heel of his Tony Llama into the hole of his copper cuspidor knocking in an unfortunate scorpion who happened to importune there. Wood shavings lay all around in a scattered radius. In the distance he perceives an illusion of high plains grandeur, the 1986 Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders kick-lined up from horizon to horizon. He squeezes out a ploob of backa spittle from his wad of Levi Garret and his face creases up with a horrid old smile of jade fangs. Hell, It's old Koxinga. He laughs quietly, soft as an old Mandarin on the nod, then puckers his wrinkled up rectum of a left eye and squirts out a black pearl. It sits there glistening in the noon sun, and you can hear the old scorpion thrashing in some insect form of poisoned neuralgia down in the rusty cuspidor. He suddenly dies, the center of a primitive Mandala whose perimeter is 100% RDA choice cowgirl. There's a real conversion factor between information and lives. The mass nature of Wartime death is useful in many ways: It serves as spectacle, as diversion from the real movements of the war. The true war is a celebration of the markets. (Gravity's Rainbow P. 105) ...Idiot savant so far into an encounter... Hitler recalled Clausewitz with the words, "An honor stained by cowardly submission can

his story his words are wrapped in pinkglucose cotton. His eyes married to an internal medicine. As he lives he leaves behind the husk of his synthetic hide disguise costume on a rack of plastic bone. He whistles now, thinking of stone age parables, company cliche's intoned for salary purposes, "0 to be an Ollave of the King, a court p08 in the tower above tragedy, that is my true calling," he declares as his dreams sweep him under a rug of their own immensity. "This city-world shall offer up its riches, I am not a spineless hognewtwart with lengthened eyelashes and children's pink toenails. No, I am trained in everylanguage and my tongue with tooth and blade, and forthwith I shall triumph. His alarmclock rang as ususal the next morning.
 
 

The guardian of Hades/ Velvet-caped boys.
 
 

A humanoid hermaphrodite with black rodent fur stands knee deep in roaches/the velvet caped boys come out at night/ in a circularoom lost somewhere in the chaotic ruins of a former urban area/in the yellowyorange of reddy white alley glows their headlights flick on/ now reserved as border area between the upper and lower worlds./their motors rustle they depart for somnambulistic journeys of phantasmagoria/ It stands like a freakish living hood ornament growing from the hood of a teeming roachearse./they crave it the flowing intake of images/ It sings a mournful baleful song barely human/ like a smorgasszmboard~books divined for drinkinghoulsouls of real life the raw materials/ for the roaches are using its form as a speaker a pseudohuman vermin megaphone a hummclatterbuzzclicking surfricative /for their dreams escapist dreams bereft of beings and places just a flow of forms and the little symphonic gestures of emotion/ vowelabial boohissing oracle. 0 but inside the hearse is no ordinary corpse no crude cadaver in a humble casket/ they attach so as not to lose their respective selves which is all they have to cherishi moreover what lays therein submerged in the automorphic swarm of roaches, the roachearse is a cocoonlike sarcophagus of moist squirming

at bay -irrupting in a god's villa -handing the sword down -a thousand and thousand generations like straw dogs burned at the base of Inferno-fuji -official and cynical -the man who knew too much skipped smooth stones along the length of the ancient aquaducts -the knell of serenity -faraway colonies of the pleasure industry -full-moon-cut -fylfot spinning like a helicopter blade -shinto shadow-table seance -under a tattered kimono depicting herons enroute -video-Hideo -file acts as a source -and what could this be but my clubfeet -informatic voodoo chicken fight in the flickering hull of a burned out oil-tanker

-Gabahay -reconciled in a series of lewd paintings -rose in the rose colored moment before the hotel neon went dead -tangled networks and wrong numbers -the noir of panoptic presence -Let us not trust it -suburbs fondle the twilight -REM/Kool-Haus

-strips of goat-hide characteristic of Lupercalia -grabbing bongos and stained yellow nightshirts -Madame Tanna Tuva dancing in cobweb ballroom with the frail Queen Oceana -"the building is settling" -Mr. Hadid was working his way to "The Peak" -hills above the Hong Kong harbor/creakings in the basement-tunnel/jetty

-micological specimens ruined -Semi-parasitic Chamunda vine invades the labyrinthine camera where the dark begins -Cthonian resonance sets up a standing wave through zig-zagging fault-lines

-yes -a strange alphabet is discovered and averted to other lines -A Habibi Ouajee T'Allel Allaiya -the daughter is copper-smelling swan -The gods send disasters to mortals who go looking for Catachresis under the sea -goes on to black Persia -on monstrous music ships bearing the flag of Circe and Madonna (Soma-Sema) -dancing about the night in dutched bangles making boundless bloodless prosopopoia -working their electronic cannibal rattles -fear working like a rutting escape woman -Me no trabajo, me Puta -a bald Medusa delivering her speed to the battle -"The world is turning upside down soon. I'll kill one-hundred, even two-hundred men, then I'll have done the most to turn the world upside down." -long ago fastening text to these ambiguous hides -as death is always a film, subject to polyphonic interpretation -wrapping its victim as it glows

rises in a geyser of rhinoscerous shit and with a crown of gorilla intestines screams, "The proper form of homogeneity becomes this time for real- existence for itself, by denying itself: it becomes absorbed by heterogeneity and destroys itself as strictly homogenous from the fat that having become the negation of the principle of utility, it refuses all subordination." Although profoundly penetrated by the reason of the state, the King nevertheless does not identify with the latter: he wholly maintains the separate character of divine supremacy. He is exempt from the specific principle of homogeneity, the King's rights are unconditional. Thus the global God-King composed of a cyberstocracy of neuro-linked skintellectuals. Perhaps a little far fetched. It could be based on the lottery system. But a homogenous reduction might develop, both as an element of destruction and foundation, to the benefit of the royal greatness. But this is only a mutilated perversion of other texts, themselves much too inscrutable to draw upon. Broken cups submerged in an elaborate dish-washing sauce are resting inertly below in the silent grey ooze. Rafts of bleating souls survive the storm. Bermuda triangle rif-raf talk phwibulating out into the troposphere. The ghost of Werner Von Braun approaches an audience of spirit swingers at an astral big band bash. Erskine Hawkins wails into the illuminated green emptiness of the Solipsis. Not far away, one can see the swankly cool, red flaming spirit of Sigmund Freud bopping within his smiling spook-coterie of fat-breasted psycho-anal-ist ghosts, tugging lightly at the ectoplasmic juices of a crysalis cigar, wearing a three piece suit of Einsteinium gas, the latest fashion of the nuveau-dead. The original board of inquiry is an absolute in these constructed perspectives, a kind of conspiracy of grace, the ontolog of common assumptions. Lucien never knew what he did in the night. It has been said that man is the sum of his fantasies. You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such an evil foreboding. The most cursory study of the dream-life and visions of the insane shows that ideas

living wine snake of the valley of the snow leopards, the incense bearer of the nine saviors, the healer of gods and demons, the bender of Tao, the gatherer of mutant-herm shadows. He who builds a shadow table shall be the call to thee, electricked trees! GO downward splaying hands like rays of light, golden antennae in the midst of fantastic swarms of nameless flying nanospirits.
 
 

Pillars of Salt surround a huge stone bowl on an island surrounded by a shaggling breathing swamp moat hive of piranha-wasps that carry gelatinous bubble figurines from deep below into the air and set them down, each bubble figure on its individual pillar pedestal. Six red-skinned winged feathered amphibiuous dolphin shamans flyswim serenely within the bowl itself within the foaming blue narcotic soda and channel their trance-visions into the myriad psychic-screen facets of the bubble figurines who foam bubble flame dance mutate into compressed chemical messages that act as stimuli packets of kenetic will power for the acrobatic spectators whose feats of skill are said to be admired by the eyes in the stars, the watchers above.
 
 

Mazzini had been an archeologist then. He had stolen the Dolphin shaman bowl, covered it with his beard and disappeared in a blinding thundering cyclasm of hoofbeat history vehicles. He had brought them to his jungle, jailed the winged dolphin shamans in an underwater bamboo labyrinth where the snorkling jade buddha faced penguinbots calm them with serenity holograms. "Now these rare Dolphin creatures will change the world into a flipping changing acrobatic circus of constant kinetic rapture. [this section subconsciously refers to the joy of athletics in transference to autopian conclusion] He thought it all out. His television ratings would be up. No longer would his television show be called "Freakmaster of Serenity". Now he would be "Dolphin Shaman Weilding Ringleader of the World Circus.
 
 
 
 

Ed's young wife fell in love with a man her own age, a dashing pipe-smoking archeologist named Jim. He was a prehistoric lama dung expert and drove a plush black convertible roadster. Jim an Ed had attended taxidermy classes together when Jim was just a kid. Now Jim was planning to kill Ed for his plush convertible red-head wife whose tits stuck out like cannons. He dreamed of making love with her dressed as Incas on a pyramid of fossilized lama dung. But Ed was no dummy, he saw the look of the leopard in Jim's eyes the night he introduced the two. So Ed had a plan of his own and it was pure art. One night Sheila and Jim were making love in a local motel and Ed had followed them with his equipment. He took the cannisters of his new experimental Taxidermigas and stuck the hose under the door and turned on the nozzel. Within seconds the nerve clenching gas took effect paralyzing and robbing the climaxing contorted couple of life and their after sex cigarette. He loaded them naked into his taxidermist van and injected them with his patented embalming fixative and drove to Jim's house where he forged a letter and took 25 crates of Jim's dung samples.

That night Jim and Sheila made timeless and lifeless love atop a pyramid of petrified lama dung, taxidermally lifted up the rungs of the ladder of abstraction from copulating adulterers to the realm of erotic sculpture. Ed, being so delighted in his triumph, danced around dressed in traditional Inca costume with John Lee Hooker's "I'm in the mood" blaring into the backyard. The next month Ed married Jim's widowed mother after having met her at the memorial funeral after the couples disappearance....

God is a blue leach attached to my jugular vein. Although this item, God, may actually be a leach, it seems as if it may be a coccoon, a crysalis from which some new animal may emerge. But I do sense its gestation period is longer than my individual life. Perhaps this leach-god is perennial in the Monadic sense. This is poor discription. At the lowest plane of existence:humanity, God is a l;~ch on m~₀₁£~L;~a~ vein. Through

more and more of the consci~~m~n~ ~ into the unconscious

god-leach until finally y a ~

are the same size and like poi~t t,~e c' i ate

twin~~o ~

in the future you will be ~ ~

in this corridor is numb and red and we shall have no trouble finding ourselves once we are in. A green and purple, plaid plastic curtain activated by a compact system of electric pulleys is the only barrier between this room and the outside world, the street a distant five floors down. We are drawn to the edge of this manufactured vantage point, but we are allowed no futher. This is the essential problem. A plastic curtain, a window, and the distance to the ground; these are the barriers we must surpass if we are to escape by the shortest and easiest

In each room the atmosphere is essentially similiar, chilling. Low pile carpet stretching from a single, heavy, wooden door,to a single, sliding, glass window that is locked, with a key held by a stranger who wears the white frock uniform of this hospital; this dumping ground of the scorched, and of the obsolete. These are the human components of the technological machine. This is where I have landed, and this is what we've all become, momentary flesh codes in a cybernetic bedlam. OVER, COPY. OPERATION CYBURRR-NET-ITCH-BED-LAMBS...having forrest of giant negro Yule Brennar heads singing,"Swing low sweet cherryacht, rowing for to carry me home...Swinging Caesar George with powdered wig and bold American chestplate wears the jeweled dalinian eyepatch of freemasonry and a synthetic eagle on each shoulder and his genitals have been transubstantiated into solid gold and he urinates the maddening elixir of youth and jissoms

to a point where solid becomes liquid and liquid becomes. There is a pedestal in this room, a liquid pedestal sustained by the heat of the other's will, by the other's blackness, cliche', flesh. Here is where an object exists, mutely changing to unseen rhythms, and unheard shapes. A figurative gesture of some material or another, matter, cliche', flesh, word. And on this pedestal is the description without the object, the description become object, and traces of self, image, blackness, movement.

¶ It cannot be reached, and cannot be touched. To see it, "It" must be cognizant of seeing. The blackness must be cognizant and the red glow must be willing to glow. If not, then the story will end before it begins, and I will cease to be an image separate from the blackness and become the red light that sustains the darkness. Called Chordata Noir cannot be reached, spine image emanating blackness, willing to glow, long, live the new flesh; changing to, unseen; rhythms speeding up to a point where a liquid pedestal sustained by the heat-only a faint reddish tint emanating from louvered walls-must be cognizant of seeing-continues the doors, becomes willing to glow. liquid.

.and liquid becomes... .reached spine image emanating blackness and the red solemn guardians of stone create a recurring spherical room where lounge the thoughts that pierce the blackness to insect rhythms and the liquid movements of larval captives in silken crimson crysalises whose liquid becomes spinal image cogealing in soft crackling hisses and farts, sounds not unlike tensile mettaloids twisting in a fatigued "ne ' ne¹¹' agony and unfolding into a quiet "MNVsquared" humm that finally focuses beyond the boundries of the tense straining coccoon of solemn red cliche', a metallicrystalline pulsing through the severed recording device of self; the substance of cliche', the solipsibud is the erogenous matter-node of the sensory imagination, the tactile value in a sythetic coordinate intersecting narrative where moments of blackness leave off.

¶ Seeing continues; vertebrate narrative continues.. .undefined, the words appear on a screen that hangs on wall "A" that separates this room(TAB HERE) from the next door. A huge muscular

principle He was a ~ optical with no raincoat an albino Absolut Landmark ~ castrated at birth before the fall of Troy by an evil condom grandmother Headlights seen through stained glass dragonfly wings the shopping mine gives me a 3ft tall solid glass the recuperated significance of transparence oak tree steaming LUXO covered in green 3 inch long THC army ants limitation has become commutation the interchangeability of actions and positions filled to the brim a bartender launching the balance of terror into a tirade about toilet manufacturing 2 boys drinking gin in the hydraulic model a black jeep covered in manuals on gout and syphilis the swiftness of exterminating engines the musings of the young pool-playing hindu 0 Ganesh make it go in the corner pocket Leroi showed me how is it worth all the hullabalbo.. Rustle me up some grub Plato damn four eyed mongrel slobbering injustice Captain Future who suffered from a softening of the brain wonderful deviant rodent women Bangladesh sly sly radios playing from clear plastic stomach womb windows of pregnant women who lounge in plantean plaza remorseless chastizing unrewarded nakedness that has announced its own superficiality before the all our hair down for the sun does he carress us goodness no he better not Paris tittilates Rome with drinks and good manners it relegates the protocol of physical access as well as the necessity of an effective presence to a secondary plane flies over Mediterranean tuna tables My bilboards on Gib have been shortcircuited by this infernal rain My feet I want to pressure them as if they were two women making picture language on tortoise shells says a hairlipped boxer with stained mood underwear his shifty job association had come to a head with no shoulders. Where is the head that seeks enlightenment? Is this a world for barbershops and broken hotel signs and these bass fiddles they are immoral god-like vases of synesthetic rhetoric, flowers. "My mummies" the King alone in his stinkingthroneroom clothed in decaying hospitals body parts pouring out the windows into the furred immortal below. Speach like a witch babby crocodile lips quivering for flesh for a trumpet Authority is not the same thing as pure power/ One of its most striking peculiarities is

unlistening to trigonometric dialogues that deconstructed smoke-biscuit anal-djinn, hump-free Man lam a tellinye pristinity pure clearness is the way unfold the paper matador of higher physics into the genesis of gravity flow control techniques so that like the strong and the weak make the feeble terra stronger and the couch of the sun is rested upon by man and the seven hydras of evolution come to shave the fuzz of the peach of immortality with jade razor dragon peach of immortality I model you in my mind holographically floating above my head like a spherical female ass symbol of male creative fecundity wobbling spherical female human buttocks of perfection and immortal desire of cloven realities to tittilate the philosofurred penis brain... construct miniature vastness within which clarities may copulate, singing void, breathing music, graphi-delux open the car-door man let's go shut up huh ok yeah never mind you ring the bell I don't know em alright ding dong YES come on in its a wailin party Architechure students smoke Jugoslavian party girl's joint and drink free keg beer black people dancing on hardwood floor ghost of Bill Danforth discussing Europe and Kerouac while blonde haired blue-eyed queasy tied architecht D.J. loads yello cassette untidy engineer tries to discuss bauhaus architechure with ego-maniac drunk architechures flat roofs flat heads the engineer screams as he squeals away in SS nissan pickup truck with hitlerian comment smoke pouring from all art chimneys, Breton will make me the new Avida dollars of pop-taboo art, samurai behead bottel of cocaine lizards MC lite beer dead clams lounge in greasy silence flat beer flat chest dalifly land on imaginary vagina pictures with earthquake of masturbating magazine editors, language monkeys decline all bills of borrow the cash steal to 9's if necessary but do not give in to female gash drain only if your married will you receive sex after skateboarding... Monoclese, Its been quiet here all day. Unshaven yard good home for unseen insects ego contemplation replaced with id idiom electrification built in vanity clauses (clawsies) female sexy talk vernacular of intelligent word machines always appeal in a land of

human/ danger in the air/ raises its arm/ sacred clown assasin/ will be ajoy to war with/ ripped from the womb/ crossbow strapped/ before they had developed properly/ alien slithering/ womb of the ocean/ andy could feel/ frightened more by his own/ anything that might happen/ snakes the size of trains/ he relaxed a bit/ accoutrement-ensemble/ opponent will be a joy/ black of the anodized/ to war with/ if he did not come/ amphibious prisoners screaming/ and indeed / customized of the clown/ before they had/ black manta making poisonous/ total effect/ war with andy/ the butchershop/ attack screaches/ integrate perfectly/.. Andy could feel the danger in the air. It hung there like a black manta making poisonous attack screaches. Andy Paxton, the hottest property in the record industry/ was a sere wasteland/ was a nice/ riven by stark gashes/ guy/ intolerant and sadistic god/ cloud shadows reached out/ married to a beautifull veiw of the world/ story of unexpected turns/ building clinging to the rocks/ chilling suspense/ it with a flail of lightning/ and his child forms the denouement/ no vegetationi appeared to have every thing/ prisoner in a prisoni in beverly hills/ huddled by the narrow window/ inside the strange tinsel world/ thick massing of clouds/ adulation of his large entourage/ nothing but the broken rock/ some point/ hold on to even a scrap/ world of popular entertainment/ reflected the heat of sun blaze/ deserted by his fansi by pitiless wind and weather/ a man must be a man/ intolerant and sadistic god/ evil come, evil gol look through anodi'zed/ to war with/ if he did not come/ amphibious prisoners screaming/ and indeed / customized of the clowni before they had/ black manta making poisonous/ total effect/ war with andy/ the butchershop/ attack screaches/ integrate perfectly/.. Andy the/ hollywood star/ sometimes he dreamed/ father of a young soni crouched awaiting some annihilating blow/ living in luxuryl gray, green, purple or blue,/ the young singer was adored/ uglier than the wasteland/ by teen-agers/ in a prison he understood/ then trajedy/ why had he come here/ a murder, a kidnapping/ into the next stultifying day/ a suicide struck/a dim belief/ the paxton family/ though he tried/ uncertain of

begrudgingly remoded to accept a fragile assembly of femineity, housed in an occluded, occidental penal male fortification.

STATEMENT: EYE=SUN+GRAVITY+VISION=I: A SYNONYM EXISTS, IT IS NOT CREATED. FIRE, AND FLAME CAN BE APPROXIMATED BY ARCHITECHURE.

Our description ends at a multiplex and redundant taxonomical continuum of contortionistic ambiguity, or let us say a contravallation hedged with crossectional analysis, because we are here, at the beginning of our physical exploration, and we are here, at the beginning of this helicoidal, historical surface.

BECAUSE WE ARE ALONE IN THE UNIVERSE, THE UNIVERSE IS BEING, AND WE ARE THE FRONTIER OF THE ANCIENT STRUGGLE AGAINST NON-BEING. WE ARE THE DECANTED MEMORY OF A VAST SLOW DEATH.

We are primarily alone here, alone with our organic tautologies, our heidelberg jaw-line, our insouciant, solipsistic species of insoluble tautonymic nostomania, grinding slowly machinic, idiom-carving the nostalgic heir-apparent nostos, the "notobene" of a freshly scrutinized observation on the nature of the algos, the idee' fixe surrounding the duality of gender, or rather the political discourse engendered by gender complexity.

AS VELOCITY DESTROYS THE DIMENSION OF SPACE, SO TOO, DOES DIMENSIONALITY INHIBIT VELOCITY, TO THE EFFECT OF ENGENDERING SPACE OR TIME WHICH IS A SUBJECT ONLY BECAUSE OF DEATH.

Slowly the contours of the individual's "nosce te ipsum" congeal to metred leit-motifs of historical metis-angst-overtures wrought in a tasimetric post-somnial haecceity in stratovision, a plastron of meta-delirium that amplifies the plasticity of translatable cognizance, the expressibles of a nonsectarian cyber-hafiz-o-plasty, a radiant gemut-viscount of nomadic ancestry, familiar with the ambulant sciences of war, and the decalque' of secular ideologues.

DEATH IS A POINT. SPACE IS A QUESTION. TIME IS A DISEASE. DISEASE IS A LINE THAT EXISTS IN SPACE TO CREATE DEATH.

Possibly a guild leader, or an oracle of fabulous suprametabolic weaponry, the image-form is deceptive, pseudo-quantifiable; therefore fractal and nodous. A platiniridium helmet appears,
 
 
 
 

In the trainstation the Island Monarch has stripped the girl and given her a hypodermic. She passes out with her face in a grimace of joy. He places her inside the sarcophagus and closes the lid. On the lid there is a keyboard. He punches out maybe a sentences worth. It is a petroglyph keyboard. The machine tomb "crysalis" begins to humm. A porter places the sarcophagus on the baggage car. The polynesian gets aboard the passenger car as the train begins to move off where he is confronted by a 15 yr old Vichy-french officer: Where ist der girl you polynesian swine. The Island King begins cursing wildly in Swahili broken with Egyptian and digging furiously in a sack tied to his belt produces a shrunken head and a large syringe. Brutally he grabs the Vichy youth and shoves the cephalo-morsel into the boy's grinding jaws which instantly pulverizes the tiny head and bursts a packet of green gel inside which begins to catalyze and foam and calcify the boy's flesh. The Polynesian jams in the syringe at the base of the young officer's skull and presses the plunger home speeding the process of rigidification. He flings the body out the door where it breaks like a cheap ceramic nic-nac on the steel platform. The Polynesian sighs and takes a seat next to a Sumo wrestler who begins to play a dour and melancholy song on his clarinet as the train pulls out past the end of the station bound for the network of underwater Island linkages heading for the Corfu region. Slowly the sarcophagus metamorphosizes the young girl into an odalisque of blue-red carbuncle.....
 
 

Plots rubbing asses in the dark.
 
 

"Saluto, are you willing to die for your country?" The Frenchman must have recognized my crimson Fokker! It is rumored that the Sheik's harem used this very tub for their baths. I'll make a note of that. I've waited a long time for this. (Those deadly whirling wrist-blades of his are too dangerous!) Money Talks.

dark suit enters the room carrying a chromed spheroid and a leather satchel. He is wearing a stethoscope and his hands are coated in an airtight polymer, or perhaps he is latex himself. It is hard to tell. He places the globe and the satchel down on the table. He opens the satchel and pulls out a black rubber suction cup and puts it on the table. One suction cup faces down, grips the table, another faces up to grip the spheroid that the man places upon it. The man grips the globe and at the threaded equator there is movement. When the upper hemisphere is removed... Transmission ends, or rather changes abruptly to some old political propaganda from a first world time-loop. The image is reminiscent of the beginning sequence of Patton where George C. Scott is pacing back and forth in front of the American Flag, but in this scene it isn't an American flag. Its the flag of the Solipsicorps, a black sun on a white field. Dr. Monad paces back in forth in his black lizard suit, tiny crystalline skull medals glinting in the spotlights. "Genetic Science should esconce itself, or rather, unfold itself into a nomadic science, an incommunicado group with exteriority and fluid contours, a war machine independent of the ethics of the "State", or political states into which it is suffused in its various experimental capacities. Utilizing modern forms of telecommunication this "Experimental genetic war machine" would not become an opaque device of evolutionary critique, but a dispersed forum for the free commerce of ideas and acceptance of commercial donations for the purpose of experimentation into the hybridity and extended longevity (immortality) of the posthuman organism/creation-art. The experimental model of the War machine operating with exteriority to the ethical state as a dispersed non-opaque multi-ethnic corps of thinkers would then keep its findings in a componentially coded form." Microfiche files of old newspapers appear: Dr. Monad leads the human-hydra war machine against the fascist infrastructure of modern research ethics. Cut off one head and three more grow to replace it. "Heaven for climate, but hell for society," says a Mark Mephistopheles Twaindroid from an Egyptian barge sliding

flintstones in their cell furnished in stone-age decor. Outside on the parapets the beautiful guards dance the swim and aquavelva-vulva to the B-52's. A white velvet covered convertible Mercer pulls up at the front gate. Its the warden, a Joan Collins android. She honks the horn, the famous tarzan yell. The gold and stained glass french doors of the executive parking lot open and she drives in. Doves fly down and place a wreathe of olive branches on her beautiful 25 yr. old synth-head. She smiles and winks coyly at one of the guards, then salutes another and speeds into the underground parking garage where she is met by Illsa the Wer-she-wolf newly appointed head of the agency of internal orgasmoloch-tech. The two women deftly slide each other's hands into the slick electified vaginas in a sort of Orgasmasonic hand-to-cunt-shake, exchanging secret information by a series of binary coded orgasm charges. As they kiss they fall rolling in a hot empassioned embrace down a corkscrew ramp and under the prison to the hive of Lesbos Utopicus, hyperfine interface of immortal sex droids narcotic menthol perfumed multiorificial gasp squad orgy assembly languages linked into the all fee-male orgasmiasma on-line hook-hanging substrata. Joan is a hot tribad hollywood hooker. She flips out her smooth red caruncle throbbing ringed in Dylithium crystals resonating at 300 mg-hz/sec. Her Cthonian instrument panel suggests she was built a thousand years before the dinosaurs raised their head from the mire but of course that is a long time from now. Slirely, Joan smoothly inserts her mentulatic clitoris into the mumbling grind-sucking vagina-slurpedentata of Illsa the she=wolf stroking deeply and inserting the anal-capacitor linking in with the Lesbos sympathic nerve database to release predetermined synergistic android hormones into the bloodstreams. Hot lubricants squirt profusely from their priapic nipples. Nipples throb and are shaped like tiny penises. Joan goes sucking them, loosening their fruity evanescent vapors. A huge gash opens up on Joans torso running from between her breasts down to just above her cunt. Illsa's breasts harden and the

that the inverse equivalence is often found at a mythological level in the theme of the vagina dentata.
 
 

Giggling hick-voice: Does at meen dat hers pussie is got dentures?
 
 

A protracted silence ensues...
 
 

Setting: A building George Orwell once called the Hotel X, now a shabby dirty hostel for artistes and hoods of every persuasion:

~ ~~'Aartful Aryans with rings of steel ~ alligator

belts, six armed cancerous Canary ~ Sul~hurous

drinking Pernod from pig-skin bottles, quakin radiof ied Heroin-smoking Cambodian poets c~&~ in the pattern of a hex. Rats with silk tuxedoes drive their wind-up battleships through the perfumed sewers while nearby Turkish monkeys with white goatees drink whiskey from opaque black bottles with Lenin's picture emblazoned on them while swinging from crystal chandiliers above a naked 13 yr old native Parisian girl, Abhor, who poses erotically for a group of lascivious grandmothers with Minolta Pentax third eye child porn shutter bug devices as the spry little nymph shows her soft little puckered bung portal.
 
 

Suddenly a group of black midgets surrounds the girl and wraps her in brown paper and carries her to the Gothicathedralooking train station where they are met by a Hawaiian prince clothed in Royal Polynesian attire not unlike King Kamehameha. He takes the girl and puts her in a strange looking sarcophagus. He gives the midgets each a triangular gold coin and sends them on their way. "Salut" they say and go dancing on their way and wherever they pass a man hole a ladder pops up and another midget joins

smooth opaque hollow Anda, in which the mistresses may reannoit Indra with oil of Guna encapsulated within the kalasas. Floating at the center of the Anda is the newest incarnation of Indra, a hairless six-armed, three-eyed, crimson skinned male persona, sleeping corpse-like with the three pairs of arms crossed over the enormous chest. Relaxing in the lotiform crysalis bed, the nymphs approach him and begin to carress and rub the oil of Guna into his flesh rejoining him with the world of created form. "Where I am," he says, enjoying the playful yet reverently amorous awakening. "Journeying we are to a feast, marvelous Indra," whisper-giggle the Apsaras. "Bharhut thought I, this was, fabulous refuge, mine. "You are Bharhut, my lord, your body wrought anew by the technicians of Krishna." "Good, I am hungry enough to devour the bull of Siva himself, teeth hooves hair horns and all..." "Siva would not like that, you old

I, I,

Makara... 'Come my lovers, delight me, you do so
 
 
 
 

The transhuman fetish is made ready fetish-mansion.... Its humanity, the its animality, is atavism

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A rumble from the underworld, Quadrigon shelves books in a fiery catacomb hearth deep beneathe the surface of Tech-gnosis: