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The Department of Linguistic Records
Lanny Quarles (Great Skull Zero)
NOVA #9
golden coirii~ode! Mag~.Let lifts 5Olbs, greedy fingers bank, have fun and entertain, talking Patty prayer d,ll eats L11,~ifer sandwi~h claus'~ of NIRESK idiom, non-allergenic, soft, cuddly and living! Iron-man su'~ks off Master of Kung-Fu! Howard :he duck .3e115 Chinese laundry-matt to the Incredible Hulk. Amazing Spider Man dates strippe- from Philadelphia! Fantastir- Foursome! Doctor St~ange left his wife! Captain America enters the tomb of Dracula while su-'k~ng on a Hershey's kiss and drea;xiing of Barbara Walter's nipples covered i~ chocolate! Unlapsed the yearning I feel not the sa~ction of this though~ I squirm to perform in raged of the haves ~~at to and all my rage is stayed until the moment I deliver unto th~e. (EXPLODING NIMBUS OF MOLTE4 .~~:'~EN STEEL ~HE MUTANT ANGELS DE~TRUCTION · ~HE LIMBLESS DESCENr INTO THE UNDERWORLD PASSIN'~ ~kiUID THROUGH CONCRETE LAYER:~ OF' ESSENCE) be prodded by the u-~ijuiculate bats that crawl red s~eaming from thy mouth only to ci~the thy clapping flapping body of red they flap into the pipes he listens to the u~ers voice it quivers he eyes roll back into the original head sa~3le shaped e~largement quham of qobile fami' quhay Ipsen and aeschylus ,'jiducts for the larger Vachel ~r~indsay Ezra Pound of coelum in a crescentic openin~ within ~he grooves the stained nephridiopores of policy making the mid-dorsal line appears exter~al apertures posture in bureaucratic coelum bir7:h oggts egq.7~ pass from the lexis ~ody and · ~nter the higher animals dashing like rabbits on six elastic ligaments as afferent and efferent vessels coalesce in synaptic ventral sinus ~laws of ~erve chord that crayfish who anticipat.~d the revolts of later times no one will e~er gaug~ or measure English poetry Shakespeare probably d4~i not He i.~ openminded let us .~ay to folkl~re Shakespeare was greatly iridifferent and fariciful Cha:icer is aware of life but Shakespeare ate poets for brunch and test out his new video wrist ~~tch in tropical im(nunity co-'~oration strong smelling secretion of philodotaproboscidea Tiarsupial lips third eyelid small papillae on hyoid c'ntn of curdle voiced labians lacks canine teeth ~~~omatic process thymus gl~~d shaped
Al-Ghazzali found his answer in Sufism
and died in Tus in 1111, long before exotic religion came to America, long before white men came to dream in video Haiku, long before testicles were replaced with fresh opium bulbs from the market on Damascus avenue, long before heresy was the national religion, long before rubber tires and quick effective methods for controlling a rampant nosebleed, long before drugsex was the staple of the adolescent empiricist movement; counterculture, the end of taboo, the enfeebled dawn of the new amonites of the social sea, the hipsters. [OCTOPI CUNNILINGUS WITH THE FISHERWIFE]
But, As the eye-lid-sutured kittens grew up they adapted remarkably
well to their imposed blindness. Goddamn you bastards, I live in evil, I am evil.
But, Avoiding Jungian solemnity or Yeatsian occultism, these kittens
took refuge in the void, the
nothing. This was indeed the case. This is the Bunsen-Roscoe law. The law
of probability which describes the reason why Nietzsche when fishing would
invariably pull out some old god's head or a rubber boot or a man who studied
the brains of leeches.
Voice: Is this information
absolutely essential so that the reader may understand and believe in the
characters and story.
Gruff voice: Fuck stories, everyone has a million of 'em, much better ones than are ever printed in books, books are Ontic INFORMATION, graphic disturbances, irruptions of morphological distress, conundrums of techno-jargon apocalypse, bits of frustrated polemic, long agonizing masturbatory odes to the dark nameless world of skin breeders where swill the minions of a pale virus, love and death, cars and sex and camels and jumping jews spouting garlic cigarette foam at a headless rampart of vomit-cum-image resounds a radio-nucleic cannon roar found on a plane something to carry off to dream land with like a
myself another scotch. (of lavender
machine-gun dinosaur corpse metal) As I stirred it with my finger, a knock came at the door. (Men in black capes slide by on sidewalks with laserbeam eyes) I looked out the peephole. There was a tall arab looking man in a black suit and fedora. His sunglasses had two tiny red lights blinking at each corner of the frame, and the lenses were chromed. (they create smoking patterns on wooden warehouses that house various large things) I knew the trick. Every good dick had a pair of shade-cams these days, even the press was using them on live-links, (a human spider hangs in an iron web) and it made the breaking news look like a fashion video, all those people crowding in to tape important encounters with nothing but their sheer number to get in the way. (between two tenement buildings screaming, "I am not a feast for the eye.') It made things flow better, a real advancement for mankind, everyone agreed. Yeah, the news ran smoother, but the world, no way. (a little girl stares at him sucking on a candied grasshopper) I pushed down the button on the doorbell answering machine. He started to bang on the door harder. (humanoid stars fall from heaven pierce through buildings butter buildings) When the beep ended, he said slowly, "These are heat sensitive, asshole." "Yeah, and I'm a fucking android." (slide into unseen hellish depths leaving smell of burned hair flowing from faucet in two-bedroom apartment of three-headed sailor painter) He pulled out the spider and put it on the electronic latch. I ran for the bedroom and the cannon. By the time i found it, he was already in, or rather, it. (whose expressionist head argues with realist head argues with drunken sailor head) It didn't look worried. I aimed the cannon at its cock and squeezed off a bolt of plasma. It moved, not out of the way, just sort of shifted its molecules and suddenly there was a gaping hole in the wall, hell, the hall. (that coughs phlegm spits it out window onto passing green suited reverend who rides hairless yellow spotted blue faced Andrewsarchus tatooed with shinto prayers read by chinese lesbian hairdresser parade passing by outside) Some kid next door started screaming.
chime the hours with twenty
four different scent injections into the environment) indescythable.. .
.indecision.. .collision with tragicomic virus (constantly depletes the
area scent supply with stylized human noses jutting in marble through bay
windows fashioned of) palace hide in the outhouse shitting plans for next
years unseen enigmas.... (primitive apocalypse) dragging a violin of shit
over my air-conditioned tomb... (Murder of Monad) licking my dick... (M.O.M.)
with your hateful laughter... (Kill the mother) bastard of your own motherless
becoming.... (Fuck the father) the apologia... false-idiom... rain... (Mother
is a cowboy scientist) objectification... (A male genius) personification....
(There is no father to fuck) guilt...overload spawn.... (Copulation with
the unknown) pure... Shit-obscene... beauty... (Nuptiality with the absolute)
fuck you anyway black hole.... (Social insects no one had ever thought
of) brain of the interlarded solar system... (Convulsionary landscapes
seen through tortured flowers) one event pushes the (I will not cook my
hands for Artaud or Van Gogh) preceding one into oblivion... (felicitous
mental ovaries produce) the permanent problem is forgotten...
vivir desviviendos dreams screams gillel floating naked in the green void every blindness must come to an end he says shitting a small gold coin with the word eadapos eatapus embossed upon it he grabs the coin biting it pure gold he exclaims swallowing it for lunch naked he floats resolved of every pompous beauty reversed above him are the 25 emblems of dispair eggs gold inverted biobills borrowing his bad body for cowloon cash burrowing into his myth for warmth postureless paper maicheu trojan condorm horse pun messages masts of burt tory the royalist spurt diamonds into the novelty market light red fur packaged the whale shark approaches thrashing joyfully sea bug jargal the beach bacon flowing in through the nonexistent storyline geography gash he could not comprehend his position gillel felt more alone than he ever had even as a sea captain with his bewilderment reaching a feverish crescendo his hypocondorm
vage Urlaub.
Said the Octapede devil, "Lucifer loves the bells of Notre Dame and all those fashion constituents, the monks." The phosphene prayers are projected fr6m the eyes to all nationless sailors of the world. Their black voices out the gree n flames of morning. These modern commuters ~ eschew much, and not least video telephones 0 ere~i ~caus t{{c webs woven by the weirding hands of the we
~
remembrance: I am locked into the ~gymnasiufh~~tNa w~terhog and a humpty-dumpty
illuminates the phreneticly decorat ed'~~4'xidi'u'~n~ that holds the
vage Urlaub, batmen and robins sing ~t~~trees
jokers, and human riddlers. (From ~ brochure) ~'Blac~
religious rites or ritualogical expression. The idea of down-loading being, the cybernetic interface, between the stable hierarchical machine and the ephemera of human consciousness, which as yet cannot be codified or transformed into any sort of re-expressable formatting. It also denotes a society where the machine, the thinking-machine can become integral in the sacrement of evolution. Tekne-denotes the empiricism of the logic craft, a consistent materialist perspective, white boas of criti-schism slithering through electrified chrome dolphin skeletons into an atemporal continuumatrix of self-absorbed cutural creation, the hallucination-nation, backing off into itself, an artificially intelligent museum/laboratory where the creators have lost their way in the labyrinth of their own dead fore-fathers creation. A psychological grooming procedure must precede all Solipsidelic emanations to eschew the specific cultural circumstance of the attendent self as Robert Johnson watches a crop-duster taking off from the dirt runway into the hot bluescreaming sky. Overhead, naked couples float in gravity negating vehicles looking like soap bubbles listening to Dexter Gordon. Down the dirt road, coming towards the crossroads where Johnson is standing comes a dust daemon, a hurricane of dream trumpets, Its miles Davis driving a modified Model T Railjob with 12-trumpet-sidepipes. This is improvisation for those who do not arrive from the dimension of pure jazz, the world negating oceania of pure bop which lifts its ancient degraded head, an emotive-orgone broadcast orb-array heing in the meditating meadows of old earth times, the Plutarchavorting rain-marshall of the inverse sea, solidity in its high tower some say is beyond tragedy. Tremble on, long low ba, monoba, monoloalisa, her chain of grinning skulls. Thank yule for the chyme we've ingested together in slithering mesmer webs tossing our buckets of burning shale, with catapulting tails over the whales of green ice who hovering huge give us these frolic sounds condensing fast on electronic prairie wards. Dawn thy swords! I give to you the sonic scalpel with intent to make an incision. Clueless, We pastavern in the dry grinning night, summer. Stealing the source
of prophecy and lost worlds appear momentarily at the surface, ghosts in a phantasmagorialis of supranomadic, psychomonadic groovium leffluvium, the fumes and heuronistes, the protodelphic ultraspooge, the nitre of the black King's D.R.E.A.M.[dynamic recorded extropia and matter]. These shapes and veils of lights are the visual aspects, the symbological aura, the jabberone', cyber-vatticinate, ecto-atavisionary hyper-somniloquotient of the deevyne solipsis rogue slither-warp of the living world, the neuromantic monarchical archit-churnexus of the Black King:
Thee royal high holy EYE SOLIPSIS I....~ ~ ('()c~g HUXLEY HANTON URUBU MEMBEK HUXLEY HANTON URUBU ~
At the white oval of satin and velvet, ~he ~ where our fair Isstari stretches out her subtle ~ ~fr7~ strange
f~m, there a~X~j~(er
it looks like crystal a semantic ray mechanical portcullis mobiuspine semantric rays crystal covered in a short black metallic fur mobiuspine savant's seaman trickery crystal pulse through empty green awareness of space that shivers in the cold spherical negative of black bodied spacium piercing with a ritualistic attention to repitition altering fusing in degrees various mobiuspine thoughtforms these deformed chants register slowly and then begin to excrete headless deciphering the attentions of rigid galactic roses As the portcullis begins to open crystal maddening in his stark mound of golden reeds [BLUE SPHERE] groans x mobiuspine propagated by citizens and crystal mobiuspine shreiks mobiuspine issue crystal forth x lost in dreams mobiuspine crystal no mobiuspine each X is a table upon which the meat is fastened organic recording tendrils attach to sleeping foreheads to form warbling crystal in substance a visceral time this monument to idea mobiuspine a theme still potent when expression is renunciated to become a song crystal 'axe to compiled sectorial gestalt fluid pulses through mutiple image of mobiuspine dark suspended between crystal painful mobiuspine regional crystal overmood ectstasy fed direct mobiuspine gelatinous of mass chaotic memory effluvium osmosis incarnation egg cluster ripples with information unnameable x crystal vines and multiple analog through my predecessor distortion claws into single agent source mobiuspine crystal civilisations ghostly [BLACK SPHERE] and flickering in gelatinooses copper kinotropic squirm-vectors from half dissolved x centipede tureen of black beasts drain regurgutating connected magnetic tendrils through their eyes x froth mobiuspine spiked on long cords city forms hollow at dawn a drink for the slave gang the forefront in a parodical modeling of the past[YELLOW SPHERE] x rash spewing of frozen green fingers of melting lava the machine races to out think itself sacrum vattici-nation crystalung refocuses light through respiration breathes in alien dimension fifth column ledges x of white heat crimson bhu na as leprous fog beached whales furred with microphones these human penises feeble insectoid mobiles lay
that girdled a sinister flechette swings from a rotting spectral bi-plane...This old red barn is wheazing, and under the corpses of dung beetles reposes a feast of ancient silver robes, slick with the resonant wonder of plastic chimings. the resolution of this image is subject to scatological misgivings.
the moment is Andy. She stands gazing implacably from black screen eyes swept by digital tsunamis of on-line approximations, always on the ready to blast an intruder: the window slides up and blam, lasers from the schitzopodal nipples like deadly chameleon's eyes bouncing for the hot spots picked from the thermographic surveillance readings. Andy is recognized immediately and a ripple of calm knowing passes between them a slow undersea wiggle being passed down Jewely's mohawk and as a flexing of her silvered breasts. As he reached the far side of the yard, he stepped onto the platform for the sky-chair, one of those late nineties stoner toys for horizon gazing. He sat down on the big circular cu~lJ~n~e~et to t~e ~
apparatus began its antennae
~ by cylinders.
she could play the piano, lonely
songs no chorus. Master Frank pull up your pants... the dreamers are here...
Revolutionary Cinema.
A translucent green Zeppelin checkerboarded with portraits of Marilyn Monroe and Hitler flies over the heads of an Anarchist youth rally being held in a florid red crop circle clearing in a vast field of black grain. As the Zeppelin approaches, an LED signboard scrolls out the message: Man is Dead. Soule is Dead. God is Dead. Life has become meaningless existence, man a cog in a mach~~ne. The only way es in a
non-rational fantasy world of new ex enc~, ~ absurdity,
his leather clad fist in ~ ~ the ~l~~ng propaganda balloon and screams, "The patient does not recover health by hearing the medicine described." At that moment he pulls out a gun of some sort and takes aim at the mighty balloon and fire a grappling claw with rope that hooks into the side of the Zeppelin. The Anarchist youth leader grips the rope tightly and is carried up intd the heavens. He heroicly climbs the rope and rapaciously bursts into the cockpit in hopes of capturing the mighty Zeppelin for the purpose of his Anarchistic movement, which unbeknownst to the members is wholeheartedly supported by the King. Nonetheless Roxar enters the control gondola in hopes of changing the message board to something of his own design: Kill The King I Long Live the King! The youths cheer and begin to dance wildly throwing their limbs out of socket back into socket. Roxar navigates the Zeppelin towards the city. The waves of the black grain soothe the soule, yet these post-Hemmingway heroes have in turn been drawn from tough adolescents with "cajones" or mistunderstood adolescents with wavy hair. The King thinks about the youth leader: He is
matrix-syndicate. His meeting at the Cafe' Heroica with an agent of the Boss who he'd never met before was giving him everincreasing anxiety as he navigated down through the lowest level of traffic, the drop-off it was called. Quadrigon, the underworld matrix-being, bearer of the ancient amber keys, privy to the crossectional fluids of the Tekgnosian overmood, gestalt-liquid of the transmutant regional dream awareness, has issued the directive. Quadrigon often channels the dreams the denizens of the underworld into the nexus of the registered surface populace to send chills of grief and remorse into the greater overmood The aerial buoys have gone dead again, the blue and yellow lights are the only thing that stands between civic order and a public holocaust. Next the grid fails, and cars are soon crashing together and raining like poisoned seagulls for a hundred miles... "Sir, the narration has been cut-off, transmission of the story-line has ceased." A hush falls, and one sees a sunset overlooking green fields, placid herders tending flocks of electric sheep, listening to Dizzy Gillespie on his earphones... "OH, I'm the King with the spidering, and blankets of snow shall cover the land, but lounging indoors is fun with an indoor sunlamp, and a crown is all I need. Well megalomania is just a word, and now I'll lay a golden turd. Nurse, bring me a tall glass of iced gestalt fluid." She's a tall woman, red skin, blonde hair, just like in Kamandi... Olive panthers stalk the palm grove, guns hinged on the black moon breathe over a golden ring, white teeth, her curls, sand on girl knees, blue tires stacked by remote control, (control is remote), Uruguyan torture shack traced through the ulterior motives of the spies' banking records, salad, rape, hot steak next to a ringing telephone, travel slides right through the grease shield, past hot blue boathouse of midday coffeestained overalls, prehistoric insects contract in Ivan the slurrible's library delights, them there so very clear... Ice skate feet with webbed sail arms, chamelionastic gymnastory, monastery of coccoon evolution, mutation, competition to coin a being to equal Megiddo. There was once a coin equal to the
designers drink bittersweet arabic coffee and diss-cuss their diss-dane for rewd pyro-techniques, but along comes Android cyberninja wearing infrared goggles blasting his synth-venom hypodermic darts from laser targeted mini wrist-crossbows. Being only four foot tall has its disadvantages, but he hasn't found any yet. His body is the dwarf verisimilitude of a warrior fly, faceted eyes, quickness and agility, and superspeedy flight and decision-making abilities. He is the perfect corporate spy and assasin. As you may have guessed he was engendered by someone who followed the avant-gard tradition with their very soul. The irony at such moments (this isn't one)....What the word continues on with is IRONY PREVALENCE SHELL UNSHATTERING IN ALL AGES. LET WORDS DO THE THINGING FOR YOU. BECOME A SLOGANEER. HYPERINTELLECTUALIZE TIME ITSELF. "All I gots is a black sock." This is true with many people your age. They just can't seem to find their niche, or if they can, they can't afford to sustain
it. Well, its time you learned... Let words do the thinging for you. Notice I said thinging, not thinking. A simple rule, black sock, coded infrastructure. Now, convolute the etymologies withing the scenarios themselves as in this Old image, or juxtaposition: Sex dwarfs of 1910 copulate now! The grass words will envelop this to create the drunken flyboy's heirloom, and man the air looms, up and its real big, reeeel big. Then take out your flambayed octopus sandwitch soaked (as we described earlier) in boiling lamia menstrual fluid which is usually poured from the white hot lips of several of your fellow temporal fugitives. I hope you understand cadet. Yes, this is precious, a tiny fragment, approximately 1/5 billionth of the card collection, get yours now, from a local comic dealer or otherwise media inclined ubermensch. I got orgasms. I got screams. I got all the images any hick poet ever shit out. -William Burroughs/ with one line underscored the entire universe of hickallectual sophistry. The one true cosmic hillbilly decked/(duded up) out in slicker's drag. In the modern hypermedia culture of the nineties, the psychabilly (A word probably first used in connection with the great Hasil Atkins, and then later by the
ass Maroc scampering down there
in the darkness whizzing away on someone's car. This is the essential terrorism
of the place, a worry that one might accidentally become trapped in the
W.C. and ass-fixiate. Eating this, eating that, all smells, all thoughts,
all further comment on subject, plot, the mataphagic exchange is rife rife,
the streets entwine become bruised women with longitudinal bacon hair rife
with narcotic greases fluid with gastrointestinal polygraphy, feudal dates
march through kufic duodenums. -pays ou' tous les males politiques ontete'
soit assassines soit comprimis les seuls hommes neufs c'etaient les femmmmmmmmmm-
I think of Mohammed in the Cafe' du'Detroit telling me of his days in the
boy's reformatory, the free hotel he called it. Us three guys, we put out
this other guys eye and the douanes picked us up and took us to the little
government house to live for awhile. That's how I came to Tanger. But then
I joined the Army and then I went AWOL and then I went to prison and then
I got out and you know I've only worked one month in my life -sans tes
palmes tu seras moms dangeroux! 000000000 l'affaire ooooooooooooo Perche'
stai fumando l'pipe sempre'?---OOOOOOODOOOOOO se complique! il faut suaver
le microfilm! Canon met dans la main de mac le sachet impermeable qui contient
le film et lui fait compren. Dre par signes qu'il doit rejoin. dre le sous
mann.. This is not prose.
It is raining at the sea-gate, the old Portugesa castle is groaning and the goats are hiding under the meager foliage shivering. A small boy with an eye-patch comes bouncing down the walkway in his sandals, smiling at the rainy. At the Cafe' we watch an Indian karate' movie subtitled in French and Arabic, a sort of Weltaunschaung au The'. The protagonist, floundering in the midst of the world order, is fighting four other men for a jar of blood that will save his dieing brother's life. It is an occult sci-fi martial arts conflict that I can barely grasp through the haze of hash and tobacco smoke and the heavy slapping of dominoes. The rugs are coming in from the windows. One sees a few umbrellas. One sees with great difficulty what
and too many problems is the theme. It seems Nufesa's brother will eat with us he tells us his name is Abdul Ahriman etc. etc. and that he is a literary student from Fez. He tells stories of rare Maghrebi texts held prisoner in the Louvre in Paris. I have Hamri's card in my wallet and wish to call him tomorrow to go visit his studio. Hamri's wife's name is Blanca. She is Russsian by birth and head of the Tangier school system. They have a house in Jajouka. Hamri's Apartment/Studio is two roomed and beautifully stacked with paintings, giant scrapbooks. I see a picture of Burroughs in a Jellaba, sitting with a scottish youth near a field of Megaliths. For some reason every time I think of Burroughs I think of a giant concrete skull grinding spiritual cabbage made of maps of terra-incognito in its immense jaws. I see a picture of Hamri with the King of Morrocco, with Itszak Shamir of Israel, a picture of an opening in Paris, in Fez, in Marrakech. His paintings are of varying styles, both impressionistic and primitive expressionist, almost naive. We all smoke together and have tea and Hamri tells us a story of a Californian who has published a book of stories that Hamri and Blanca wrote; but they have seen no money. He also tells us the story of the 1001 nights restauraunt and how Brion Gysin ruined it or something about a photographer who gave the money to start it. In any case, we met one of the orignal doormen musicians of the famous restaurant. I had tea earlier that week in the Cafe Du Detroit which is where the restaurant used to be. A man named M'hamid served me nicely.
....of the most acute observers of the dynamics of.... ....out that the Solipsist must murder, either the.... ....cannot bear the burden of the immense solitude.... ....of the nineteenth century proclaimed as freedom.... ....which God is dead, in which nature has come to
BRAIN FEVER AT MALABATA
dna sex-starlets of the sixties writhe in their television womb inciting a Jihad of self-flagellation.... Cafe' Hoffa overlooks the beach, looks way over the beach, straight to the ocean, straight to the fishing boats and the whorls of death magick
out on the divan, her fluid form taking on feline egyptian overtones, momentarily she is not unlike Bast, cat-headed, bearing claws with which to scratch. Now she is smoothing out, her form slowly becoming anonymous, limbless, an amorphous blossom at the end of a rippling cylinder, some rare river orchid slowly wilting into a thing moving in an enraptured palsy of self-copulation.
IN THIS CATHEDRALOOKING TRAINSTATION FLOAT THE MINISTERS OF A PALE ICONOCLASM, DANCING TO A SINGULAR PULSE, GROOVE TRAIN.
This thing is not young, nay, but youthful. Neighbor, were you here to glimpse such wonder, would you be here in my frail stead. For there are zones where things warp in their own gall's way. Tis not fantasy I speak of, but phantasms. Ghouls of a finer state than we. Beasts of an ancient order. Things that have lived through hundreds, nay, thousands of these things you and I vainly called lives. And if not more beautious than we, at least more strange in their ways. It is here that the vain self is absolute, solipsism incarnate.
I AM SEARCHING FOR A GREAT REGION KNOWN AS GARAMANTEA-BELOW.
It is here in this land that is called Teknossos, that all of life's fantasies and achievements are thriving and autonomous unto themselves. Now, in this spherical room where the fair Isstari lounges in oneness, and even, a metamorphic effulgence, gazing out from that weird parapet onto the longly, longingly curven walls which bear the fresh hypnagogue of an oracle's projections; mysticum cinematique'. These beauties projected here upon a 3600 planar surface are not projected. They are, moreover; existent as representations of entities that boundry that noble structure, the soul publique'.
THE TRUEST SPEECH IS ONE DIVORCED FROM THE SORROW AND BANALITY OF THE WORLD SEEN AS A KINGDOM OF DEATH. HELLO PAGE TURNERS.
Is this farcical style enough for you? Are you identifying these things, with which I paint? How can I explain these ethers with which I am beset? Impossible! It is a concatenate "soul" of which I speak, of which Isstari is the subtlest expression. Here, in this room, in this technological cauldron where images
delicious. The sea-walnut headed guardians in turn reproduce the glow of the winged beach fleas in their suits. After digestion and subsequent sweating, the suit, through osmosis and a kind of mechanical synthesis uses the sweat as a chemical fuel for illumination. Raw snail flesh over human skeleton is the body composition of the guardians with head of sea-walnut... Monsoon wind tax feeding statistics. iron rusts. winged beach flea retreat. iron flea wings in monsoon tax race to rust churning sea dust words in museum on the paragastric canal. aboreal pole with sense organ funnelled through cilliated bands of Mnemiopsis leidyisaid that writers are insects. without lives. like sailors. a writer's one type of insectoid, one type of sailor, a person without human relationships. vague vibrations fill unclear vessels arranged in patterns of ever increasing perplexity (the birth of soul music) -on a slanted floor they roll through momentary tunnels through the wall thin as muslin, (musical cannibalism as a cultural system) down tiny fluttering linen hallways some tall over the edge (nightmare world of roving domestic militia) taped waterfalls into time stall the muezzin calls forever wa'il his throat flesh resounding through microphone (america is a drowned giant rotting on painted glass) a prayer a layer in the mist over tech-gnosis vocal sauces (at this moment the compendium of mystery increases exponentially as they inhale those marvelous Albert Niemann pauses) causes the mind tosses and turns (ra ra rasputin lover of the russian queen) brazier burns the children learn of the master plan (he lost his mind and then he was gone) the strength of the hand becomes the tool of the mystic an eye in the fore (ground up in the king conspiracy) head remember what your teachers said (tiny toiletries and sundry miniature infestations) and the bass begins ipthyphallic conundrum beating like a heart (OCD) pouring its platelet wares into vessels rustle with synchronized pregnancies
(PAZUZU COMES ON THE ANCIENT RADIO LOCKED IN FOREVER WAIL) alert
rustling with mutant beings fabulous things they try to sing (Cochons sans poils) take wing fly try to mix with the sky words of the prayer mic. journey to the temple of human vocalization.
herds human stampede through
a maze of mirrors their faces innocent skillful gazelle-like flattened
made up of rivers of jagged glass topologies of lost desire lights from
a switchboard collectively dreaming the light that is stretching from moment
to moment the mirrored herd stampeding through the river of jagged glass
armoire doors swinging open smell of stale jissom burning nylon sun-dried
coca-cola landslide of glass and other places pours in through the olive
armoire torn Bachelard pages become windows into a hidden garden edges
smoldering together in blurring moments tesselation glass fellation switchboard
gone dark river of jagged glass river of shattered mirrors herd of shattered
mirrors plunging through the dark-end concrete maze of the torn steward....
The Matadors were asleep. In the great trans-pacific cruise line hovercraft, there I was hanging out in the Sushi bar drunk as an electric nine-pin trying to convince Miguri with free drinks and cocaine to give me the blowfish. And he would just scream, "To much romance, you be careful of tommorrow' 5 policeman, man of glee with adventurous black heart." The ship's doctor was there' beside me laughing and drunk saying, "Go on Miguri, if it kills him, I've got the antidote down in sickbay anyway." There were fireflies in my moustache and I happily popped in the last of A SEA_URCHIN. John Zorn's band was playing in the lounge. (Oh sweet sea-hoppin' manmyheartsaf loppin') There's Kanga-gurls ooooeeee mean mistress she's a fashion fartographer from some new wave mag in France. The reason why they call her Kanga-gurl is cause she has a fetish for carrying around weird things in her pockets and them bringing out as gifts. Ello, Ello, Ello Yellow greetings Kanga my sweet Marsupial friend whatseems to be shakin' this very wet-sky exclusive evening. Your hands, you old lounge lizard and her eyes blink real fast and it makes this effect like naval spot-light morse code cause her eyeshadow is sum kinda bio-flourescent synthsalve. Naturally I take a seat and order drinks you just slip your card in a slot in the table and the menu comes up on the
vantage of a gargoyle lover/ shot liquids hot and joyous from a wounded moon throat/worst was yet to come/taking blood oaths in serrated copper spins aloft with expanding craniun refocused to green flashes of rotten treatise ignited under the five thimble-quilled scratching of the metalmeat conquerers in hovering blossoms of electrified blood-orel the cradle songl in andy's best moment/ a miniature rocket leaped from a socket hidden by strange religious vestiture/ a coiling amoebic hierarchy of metabolic weaponryl potent charm of my peoplel surrounded the humming masses of pink-fingered molochs/ could an android father children/ in random patterns of pink smoke columns shifting to monologue of wind drums shedding dream/ to rift of clashing shadow people/a saga gone under to conform/ at the juvenile slime of gurgling headless priest foundation/ scorches out a tablet of sizzling jadel under the artifice of a wandering race of imbeciles/ with a touch of mesmer spinningl tongue arcs out a quivering bolt of pure sunrise ganglionl erasing mingled' scents of alerted enemy codes/ some kind of seizurel she slipped out of her suit in the doorway of rain/ cast shadows of airless desert on pendant of locust humming.. lemotional isolationl coordinate pinpoints tribal heresy at ground zero of throbbing warp dialogue to the angry ruins of web-fingered people of Ojknotrone/ black claws pawing the defenseless perfume vessicle of the queen/ money in the hotel safel guarded by the floating plastic trilobytes with retracable antennae marking amoebic particle flows/oozes communicator gel at the semi-nostril she inhabited at the end of each cycle/as andy had expectedl arranged the outer magneto-sphere/plea of silence in red cogs of beatitudium/had spent a lifetime cultivating the mobile features of a tn-dee actorl room in her lingeriel recorded on the visascreenl drew his attention to the wings/ still not beyond salvaging/place of ill omen advised by your kind/ radiated solar opposite/ cast into vibrating delta of petrified bamboo/ hundred miles highl fell casting glowing stones stolen from secret recesses of the idols eye-sockets/ attended floating cathedrals from in a black
Cramps, the original hollywood trash-star band) hill-folk freak-genius can stick his mangy info-tool-ego-penis-mind like a digital love syringe into the foggy pollution-superman-heads who stand around choking up their guts all day. The word has it all figured, we stay alive, to keep the word and image alive. The image exists to serve the word. The word is holy, and it is evil, it is wise, and it is ~ of a 1 it is, all aspects, everything, and like shi ~ we cannot escape the word, it ca
'S
Have you forgotten what day tommorrow is? A man in a tuxedo will come to your home to inscribe upon you the accepted limits of your own neurosis telling you there must be boundries. You laugh and escort him into the next room where you stab him in the heart with your favorite letter opener a dagger reminiscent of an Aztex sacrificial. Perfect for he is sacrificed to you. My door is not barred, but woe to all those bearing bad tidings. My drinking well is really a secret pathway available to all those souls smiling away and saying, "There are no brothers, the horror of sorror let us embrace!" Tentatively, you have scheduled your sawing the woman in half trick for tommorrow night saying, "Is this acc'eptable?" But who will answer except for the tape machines and the blinking red lights of video cameras. The sahara desert lives as well in a can of coke. Give me your wildest ravinqs. They will be pinned down speared through the middle and arranged like a case full of marvelous butterflies, the smell of the Carribbean is in your nostrils and your baked fish is seen in the absolute light of pure advertisement. ,All my balconies are elevators you scream to the Washington D.C. park systems officials who have wearied of your Tuba-like presence in all their Glaxo company photos. "A service oriented society is hip," he thought, starting to feel he cottom mouth roach buzz come on. "Pot makes you enjoy drinking (tea, water) so much more, because you really are plenty thirsting. He was sitting on the back porch of his parents house in a yellow steel lawnchair under a well groomed Aspen-hybrid-looking-thing, "some kind of bonzai, american style," he thought, rising to move out into the yard among the "floaters" (tiny windmills at the end of long steel rods). As he passed his own window he looked in the window at ground level that was high over head inside. Sitting there he could see "Jewely", an armless female torso, mirrored chrome, with six nipples like an aquatic bitch dog and a mohawk like a razor-edged eel wrapping around her, running up the center of the back of her head, which moves with whatever it is watching which at
of Corti, Cortisone ministers
swelling knees exploding in the twilight sanctimony of aural aural reclining
on artificial inflatable laurels...
Hyper-plural radio. KGLUT.
(To be chanted as a Chaos Spell
to three tape)
The Shaman directs his energy (bolts) --synergismo-- the laconic legba blinks in twi-coy-wile lite ---oef- shock bolts--- Ma'at double your pleasure double your fun --- interjecting in the idiots sea of temptovoice the electronic curtain---Salaam Alikhoum--Bes---with double mint legba gum--as the brain is a wad of pink sexmadness-- the word of sin is created ---voodoo chewy peppermint--- characters of the Aeons-- chicken sacrifice--communication from the future-- in the form of juxtapositional riddles- comply Maya-- make the word arrive at station --seek to imperial proport-- Synaptic bridges- Thelema creates love-
--bloody limes in Futurograham bell--is "Great Britain"-- to good book good bomb shelter--- weave is the great song we sing---word from' past--The Aeon of Horus- explain the rising trumpets of law-- the sexual assault of operatic cops flogging the dead rational beast of conservatismo- all the samizdatalove is the lawless-- the winter from Nazi pay pappy all back under the William--written to silly Babble shields-- jazz in the throes
of 90's quantum---record the lisping squirrels of
mischief--Qabbalah-- schematick drawing gus gussied up for the princess she's a damsel in distress the fair Maathlsstari-Da'ath reveals the abyss to belay the temple in Ramadawn-- like a white pussyharp rearing up for hoarse parables spoken through nostril cavanaugh-- Yesod to spread upon the caval cads describing the nameless Aeon- flags flying-- ignore at our peril--caravan of dreams distress the fair Aeon-flags flogging the dead rat-limes in Futurograham arrive to ParoKether DO LOVE WILL LAW Parrot Spyrokether Ether rebel red glass bass jazz Nazimova in Camille Beburag Zeztirath Dosey Yemsloch Valentino story plot--actual control--Kandinski coulomb-- Comb the chicken hair
Bahktin' 5 reified dental records.
the anti-systemic subtle body the self-sodom-gommor-arising circular logic
record album city and the self shattering noir carnival of uncle lustron
irony houses of peculiar logic marks and equitemporality 0 humiliating
non-context of wordstorm draining bird-shit the true feast of vegan time
tool the weapon is the long-nosed irregular gentleman with hulahoops of
blue fire sublime Kantian reasonexhaustion is a collage of velvet doughboys
to exist becoming pierre menard deconstructing borges GAYA with fictive
discourse over diffused lightning overcool ordure and deformed feminist
plumbing of the jocose cozy prepostmodernists some call it vulva heteroglossia
glossy la la to augment all debtors penis I eye aye was never afraid of
heights and I have always been a wormhole War mole a subterranean nomad
who belongs more or less to the world order but who chews his way to victory
thus the soldier is born with the weapons and the natural desire to create
a holey space that the state may collapse into.... (a miner 49er).
The way some people talk makes
me sick...
The smooth space of Zen poured from Derrida's clean negro ass. Parametasatirischismo of the necrolocus of polyloguery seen in the pure light of absence and promiscuous categories, this multivaliant Quixote, the ahistorical non-characterse performance of reflexive randomhood in a liminal state of ineluctable recreation to become multicultural ramifiscalation of cultiplicitous play-jar-jissom. paracritters. threshold litter chairs disjunctive junctions of abject peripety in graven shrunken images that coexist in a second life, profaned horriblurting journalism, a pastiche meat of unequivical modes of translunacy to death to death of a salesmannequin and they actually applauded while the research grants floundered in decanonized dadaist science, vast drugged synoptics of chance motives enter the shared tenant-seas and for something completely identical to reconstitute the universe into the obscenity of
the prehistoric drainage canals choked with shopping baskets, road blocks and the flotsam-jetsam of the apocalyptic flood plain. Cruel winds whirl round cringing cities. growling stomachs are the only sounds broadcast by a starving nation. Barbarella and the leather whip-bot ghosts advertise a wicked survivorship of media molochs festering in a turret of vampiric immortality. Marry me Scarlet-woe to man. Spontaneous combustion--fusion... detached... burning... witness. Head falling from one of the many skyscrapers. and these are its thoughts, recorded holographically in the gem-stone world of my sacrosanct Solipsis. Behold, see you falling star, accidental guillotine flesh word broken in formal interest, an event of some magnitude. one sees. an explosion possibly. a biologist might have an inkling of just how many cellular explosions. As how it was hid head that was plummeting down, blunt pain hovering momentarily over the painted VTOL pad vertical take-off and specifically the head severed... horizontal blade of the helicopter... Head falling... DOWN-down... still thinking... that event... molecular trigger word... maybe even a formal interest... seeing... had just been severed... that event, that severing, that small blunt pain, yes, enormity, above the heavy... lift-off areas-by the high-speed impact of the power... sheer... blade...helicopter... head. HEAD HEAD HEAD HEAD CASTAWAY DOWN INTO THE THRONG, HEAD ALIVE, STILL THINKING. [I AM THAT HEAD] passing through space incode structure of escape is-- down, vary response vector through all is original mistake. switch on movie screen... and these are my thoughts recorded holographically in system malfunction down-loaded at death through ghost vectors trailing lucid capital... reqeust forwarded to Migiddo, Israel near Afula. Mr. Gillel... suicide terminal on vector of organic activities following curvature unknown, reading primary target---wind variables--- skull projectile, delodge from primary time field... open into chemical sky, freezing stations, on on all time frames existing in simultanaeum. stretching to dissolving fingers under double moon in longboat sailor chant... tissue spreads to region of gangrenous battlefield stench of stained letters, amputated
is stunning. came to that half-open door/ red-headed man/ in line for the seat of the lion/ willie calhoun could be on her side/ for a muse of fire/ issued from other rooms/elasmo-corbit ore/ room was not empty/ hurriedly pushed up h