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I Wandered Through An Ancient Ruin and Found A Nurse With Wound

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

Chapter 3 The sky was as thinly disguised as a patient, the temperature untaken. Ill fitting sunshine cloaked the waving grass, the wind hurtful and joyous, building, stronger, consummating. I had no camera to record this aperature of peace. I wouldn't have believed the picture anyway. Trinkets of smashed apples lay among the discarded blankets like dissected divas. No more picnics for the birds, they have all abandoned the air. I blew my nose again and took off my clothes the way doctors hand out prescriptions.

red pink Of course, that's when the sirens sounded. From the inside. With every frantic heartbeat they screamed even louder. The sound caused every muscle in my fragile body to tighten and pust every vein near bursting. My eyes felt as if they were being strangled by my very eyelids. Half- blind, I pushed on.

Sometimes I find myself thinking. I don't know why this is, but it certainly is an appealing situation. I wish I could find the time to put forth enough thought to bring myself into an evocation. However, my plans-- beautiful plans that they are-- never seem to come about in a thourough and justful manner. black sulking buckets full of glorified heads and disemboweled arms fill the room and i am watching in despair by what is represented. The universe is the nucleus of a cell in the atrophied muscle of a dog with mange that is lying lazily on a melting girder that had just fell on top of a dead monkey with cataracts. you can not govern the creative principle

Two small children giggled whilst eating some chocolate. They enjoyed the gooey brown bars and caramel flavoured centres, they washed the sugary delight from their sticky tounges with fizzy pop and lemon sorbet. Persephone un-screwed her new gleaming arm and rubbed her stump whilst pondering the delights of confectionery heaven. Yum yum yum. The evil dentist lay in the undergrowth counting stars awaiting the day the kiddies teeth would turn black. He laughed a sinister ortho-dontist laugh. Ha ha haheeeee. But then for a moment he tripped on the ideas so carelessly scattered upon the table by his colleague. "I have no eyes" he wailed to himself, completely failing to draw the attention that he sought. Every doughnut fades, unless "Reginald?" He spoke unsurely, then continued to play the flute. Babysitting crazy dogs was never an easy thing. Now who was taking care of who? was the bastard really crazy? Was the looney really a bastard? The lately diffused aroma of neurosis in M's head blurred the vision. It's common knowledge that elderly women dressed in tattered clothes are definite neurosis tests, so after this placebo of imbecillity passed by, M bit his verbal foreskin and went on. Doing what exactly? What followed was a 7 minute long performance of the dialectically epileptic mum's car. For the aforemaentioned span of time, M discovered the cycle virtues. Back and forth and back and forth again. Not for one or two but for the infinity of 7 green minutes. Was the neurosis there? And would the shampoo be effective this time? I envy Clarke Gable, nonchalantly wathing the frog's pond while Frankenstein sows terror in a monochrome version of "Gone with the wind". Would ceaser make M pay twice the taxes if he was proved to be schizophrenic? And what the heck is the duality of the brain for, if no-one of the two is able to give these elementary answers. Iscariot, sweet iscariot with the ugliest face to see on a table. Thou hast forsaken me. Why don't you kiss me anymore? Why don't you sell me anymore? why don't you flog me anymore? And why don't you buy me ice-cream anymore? Thou hast unleashed the spinach leeches on my hairy chest and crowded brain. Sizzling, topless blow of the cosmic slingshot cum back home with the hymn of joy begotten of procrastinated masturbation.
But that's what True Devotion is all about.
Iscariot, sweet iscariot with the ugliest face to see on a table. Thou hast forsaken me. Why don't you kiss me anymore? Why don't you sell me anymore? why don't you flog me anymore? And why don't you buy me ice-cream anymore? Thou hast unleashed the spinach leeches on my hairy chest and crowded brain. Sizzling, topless blow of the cosmic slingshot cum back home with the hymn of joy begotten of procrastinated masturbation. On the Mediterranean the sunlight reflects cerulean off the frigid water like the light in his eyes. He sips on something, containing alcohol, and thinks. The water laps at his toes, the sun ducks behind a cloud, the drink begins to eclipse reason, so he drops it in the sand and runs; runs away from what he knows he can’t run away from; runs alongside the water, his feet barely contacting the sand and the splintered shells and the oysters and the garbage and the seaweed and the broken glass; runs and thinks and ignores his feet which are blistering and bleeding from the hot, gray sand. And as the rain falls and he begins to cool off, he sinks back into memories that weren’t his, perhaps altered by the sugar compound that now mingles with his blood cells, perhaps altered by the stories told by old men whose breath turned to steam on a cold winter night in front of the blazing hearth, perhaps not... they were not like you said they were... they were different... they were not alive... not breathing thru the ever lasting lifeless buttox tubes that they once had!!! they were not bleeding thinly thru their eyes... they were very fucked up! -----snip----- cut cut cut... -----snip----- cut cut Scraaaape... -----snip----- "who are they???"..."I dont know, i havent seen them before!" -----Snip----- "what are those big grey things on their shoulders?" "I dont know...i never seen one before" -----Snip----- "look! observer! he moves like a bird...and...and" "and a SNAKE!!!!" "yes ...yes a snake!!! my god" -----Sniiip--- cut cut cut -----Snip----- it said..... The Exquisite Corpse .....The Exquisite Corpse .....The Exquisite Corpse .....The Exquisite Corpse it yelled......The Exquisite Corpse .....The Exquisite Corpse ..... -------snip-------- "look! it moves into the shadows" "yes i think it has seen us" ---snip----- The Exquisite Corpse .......The Exquisite Corpse...... ----snip---- being eaten by the eater you will eat death or maybe in some way the thirst lingers...for i am engorged already, and STAPELTON HAS NOT HELPED,laughing in mockery at his own excrement... or was it mine to start with. we may never know although lustful demons invite themselves inside me at any time they so choose, I am not in a position to fight for this is right and written. running through the corridors formed walls wailing and forsaken, bereft of proper buildings of any sort, he-or-another slips, teeth at the ready, snapping at the bad string that evades shadow and purpose,and finds now, the taking of space, how eases out and away, and one corpse after another finds its true vocation, clutter, now amongst the bluntest roses in the garden. bearing an acid etcing of the idlest eye, pares down and across the towers, blinking like stars, or the scabs of stars on strike, and fades to nought. not that this heart cares, pared away and permanent in the absence of cloth to fake out flesh, stick figures now at the ready, readymade forgetfulness. Well, being sub-contracter of these half-elvlings, I founded the quintissential being of nobody's business throughout the dwarf and elfling howl. Well, being sub-contracter of these half-elvlings, I founded the quintissential being of nobody's business throughout the dwarf and elfling howl.

So I jumped into my '57 Lesbian, drove past the Afghanistan banana stand, and then I saw it,...

Playing the flute was never a problem until the lips dissolved in a violent paroxysm of spittle and shrapnel. Screaming, always screaming silently in a depthless morass of self pity and rusty toolboxes. Where dwelleth the octopus? Who eateth the mollusk? Wandering, wondering, fluting. The silvery flute floated several feet above his head. He stared at it, as it gleamed thoughtfully. Reaching out, he found his hand vaporized as it came into contact with the effulgent instrument. Egad! Gorn, said Henry and was shot.It is not an unusual thing to loose ones life this way nowadays. Still Ybenheiner wished he'd resisted faith and warned him. Being of no more use at the scene of the crime, Ybenheiner made haste towards the Milke Shoppe where Kate waited. On his way he passed the adrenaline shop and therefore spat onto the hat of the man who just crossed his path. Ybenheiner was horny, really horny.If only Kate had not stretched her pussy again today. He hated it if she did that before they had sex.Ybenheiners mood darkend, when he found out that Kate had taken another customer before him. Great, he thought, now her pussy will stink. He sat down on the Milke Shoppe waiting bench, took a magazine from the shelf and started to read.. It was some strange article a guy named Henry Matheson Henry had written about a cow which exploded after listening to satanic rock n roll music. Ybenheiner put down the magazine and went outside for a pee. There he met the alien. Not the extraterestrial that is, but the alien. The alien was a Bong Buddhist, a high priest of the Bong Buddhists. Over the years he his head had morphed to a somewhat oval form, his eyes, always red, looked asian. Oh the fucking sun, the alien said. It's after sundown Ybenheiner replied. Fuck you, the alien said and went. Finally the other customer had gone, and Ybenheiner fucked Kate hard. Real hard. Fortunately the other customer had taken her anal, so her pussy was not stretched. Ybenheiner knew that Kate hated anal sex. He quietly enjoyed the thought of her getting assfucked. He himself didn't like it as well. He was a vagina - fetishist. He couldn't get enough pussy. So he had made the deal to have Henry killed. If he had Henry killed he would get Kate's pussy for free. Everyday a year. Every year of his lifetime... She seemed to leave the building in a big disarray, not knowing where she was or how she got there. Then she remembered the ring, that glowing beautiful. The ring itself was a bluish green which seemed to glow from the inside out. Then, I looked toward the sky and saw an intricate, carpet-like pattern superimposed over the clouds. The pattern seemed to be glowing a goldish-yellow color. "I mean that you are dogs, I mean that you bark in the streets and refuse to understand." I then thought to myself, WE MUST FIND A REASON FOR LIVING. She watched as the coral beams of starlight fluttered through the crispy stillness. The sun is made up of 21% daylight; the rest is just forest. Life is like wandering through a thick dark forest. Apartment buildings in fall. After daylight, the streetlights turn on. The park at night. Memories that appear out of nowhere. Thunder and a storm that shows you everything in life. Under the soil there is blood. The walls of the hacienda show this. I already feel as if I'm an old man, as if everything is becoming quiet and still. I could get more things done if night didn't arrive so quickly. There are certain people who simply don't think. They accept life as it goes along and they don't save any time for reflection or introspection. The moon is incredible. Life is inexpressable. ... like sweet, sugar-coated sweat leeching off of their spinal colums... stinging at each minutely descriptive pore. sometimes, their smiles were false and made of thin sheets of ice, but other times, their smiles revealed something truley terrible. some of them had cavities and gum soars, and others had wings. wings of sharp, crusted frost... and, yes, indeed, when they flew too close to the sun, they screamed as they fell. "was that the way it went?" questioned an old, tired vocal. his voice sounded as tthough it had been recorded on some manner of degraded tape that squeeked and hissed as it spun... (round and round we go). "I thought it was the other... could have sworn it was the other." A tiny girl, from deep inside and ionside his pocket rose her voice; a pleasant chirp. "hullo, there." she winked at her giant. "you were right the first time... it was the other way. umm... that way. left." the old man pointed left."no... wait... west... yes, it was west. and then, after a while, you walk east, and then you'll find it." "find... find what? my pretty little darling." "your sanity, of course. is that ot what you once lost, and are now seeking?" the old man nodded, and then he wept. he remembered the children eating ice cream... or was that iced-cream? the tiny girl hid inside of the man's pocket just before he began to swell... into a balloon? with his one rake thin arm, he waved to all the children, and as he did so, he shouted: "bye, you horrible, horrible monsters! go fuck yourselves!" and he was as happy as he had ever been. But he had never been very happy, so in other words, he was depressed. The leeches slowly edged toward a hallway made of frontal columns. Frontal columns that never seem to crumble, but are always gazing at the sea.... the sea where she danced, the sea where shells can be found, shells that whisper disturbig things into your ears. The groung is made of ears and elephant tusks that are coated with yellow, silver balloon-eggs. there, standing before the glistening cock was a package of devine grace and exquisite sheen. "perhaps more rufies, inspector? or would you care for some of my anal sweetness?" the leper grinned. Time is something made of dust that cracks in the wind. A book larger than life itself can be found under the nest of black widow spiders. Spiders aren't commonly found by the road, although the sunny corners of beaten wooden plums are always stronger than your brick-red lips. Lips are longer than motionless beings, and seem to always be above the sky, in a place where only sea dragons are found, a place where horses are swifter than farmland. Dogs are made of liquid embers that drip down dark, wide stairs. Stairs that only have been climbed by concrete catarpillars with brown stripes on their incredibly limp legs that skip along the tops of subway trains . "more for your sister or mother? Have you forgotten about the time we rolled around in the dust and the glass ate truffles?" Paper letter seals eat bubbles. personification is for the waker than molten lava moonbeams across the shinless day lilies that uncurl to reaveal eggshell ivy- what with the swelling and all. I decided that enough was enough and I went to get it checked out, but the look was perfunctory and I was still unhappy. Meanwhile, inside the barn, the deviant had stolen my pumpkin, and my pride. i turned off the tv and went to sleep.


Ybenheiner left the Milke Shoppe and ran into the alien again. The alien had just smoked another bong at Stapleton's and was therefore in a slightly better mood. Wanna come with me and listen to some old King Tubby records I recently bought? Yeah, YBenheiner said. He sniffed a nose of coke and swallowed a ticket. Now I'm gonna enjoy this. And what a day it was. First he had farted into his brothers face in right in the morning. Then he had this strange dinner with the mad Russian Konstructivist and his girl, who he did on the restaurants toilet. Then he had Henry killed and he'd fucked Kate. And even better: Kate had been assbanged before. And now he was going to stay with the alien and listen to some King Tubby. When they passed the old bridge, the alien tossed a cart carrying three schoolboys off the bridge. They both stood and watched them struglling to reach land. They all reached land, which Ybenheiner resented. When Ybenheiner and the Alien arrived at the Aliens home, they were surprised to find Ybenheiners brother waitng there. They were soon to find out that he had come there because he had found a mushroom, growing in a dead nurse's pussy. They ate the mushroom and, aided by King Tubby, they soon passed the dimension shift. Red skeletons started to play the funeral drums. The Shaldon-catheter is in a very good position,so the nurse has a bloodflood of 300 ml/h for the haemofiltration.The BLOOD is circulating for 4h,bloodpressure is going up und down,sometimes upside down?The BLOOD is sucked out of the halfdead body by the dialysemaschine,blood quickly through the vinyl- or pvc-system,how many coagulations in here? dreams awake screaming, kalidescopically gnashing thier own imagery, as the room fades to black. Exploding draining leeches incubating frost melting popicicle tattered green orifice macroscopic ene-me? pangalactic locust swirl marching on infant droning choking clogging fuck it... As she was walking down the avenue, thinking about what had been said and done in the past few hours, the music finally began to have an effect on her. The world seemed to slow down, and her thought processes sped up, until finally she realized that she was no longer where she thought that she had been, but rather where she always wanted to be. Upon this realization, it all began to change even more. Back in his own place Ybenheiner took the rotting rat out of the fridge and started the reanimation sequence. The rat, half decayed lived for about 23 seconds before it re-died in agony. Content with this semi-success Ybenheiner went to sleep. The next morning, Ybenheiner repeated his reanimation experiment, but this time he failed. So he set out a couple of new rat-traps. It was only then, that he realised that he had slept for three days. No wonder, he thought, I've been awake for five days, so why not sleep some time as well. He felt really rested and really horny, so he decided to go fuck Kate at the Milke Shoppe. Before he left the house he called the alien. He wanted him to also come to the Milke Shoppe so that they could double penetrate Kate. Ybenheiner knew Kate would hate this. Still she had no choice. Ybenheiner had arranged´for Henry's death, so Kate was indebted to him. The Alien was not at home, which really pissed Ybenheiner off. So he decided to go down to the sea instead to catch some fish. He liked to catch fish and then let them slowly suffocate. At the shore Ybenheiners attention was caught by an islamic marching band who played old Ravi Shankar tunes on their bagpipes. They seemingly exploded one by one, yet no - one of them seemed to care. Ybenheiner watched this spectaacle for about three hours, before he decided to finally head for the Milke Shoppe and give Kate a good fuck. What the hell is going on ? I just met aa couple of born again loosers who tried to explain the law of relativity to me. I, of course, inserted a time-bomb into their anuses and sent them off. out came a anteater spider, with a mouth full of hair. ...try and respond,snap it off with lewd gestures rich in the fragrance of aardvark juice the flatness of flattened flatness me i you they superimposed on it The getaway proved fruitless as the unknown became known. soy hitler en tu cabeza A spherical pod made of purple perspex was needed to re-open the childrens sanitarium. Judith was searching for the said orb five miles from where it lay, was all futile? was all in vain? would she find it and release all the tearful kiddies from the hellish hospital? Judith scanned the bleak barren horizon upon her grey horse. The binoculars were not much good and the light was fading. But what was that in the far distance, a gleaming shimmering light, a purple hue...could it be the key, the orb of destiny. No it was a mere boiled sweet that Toad Boy held in front of the binoculars, offering Judith some sugary solace. The dentists waited in the forest, they laughed wildly at all the children whos teeth continued to rot. "Ha ha hee heeeeeeee give us Satanic denistry, causing agony is our destiny"...the evil dentists giggled. go, go, the badger cried if in the and then, after long contemplation, the knife was struk home hurriedly the dentist left the room...his guilt smothered him like Scorpio creeping up his spine. 23 minutes later, the next patient arrived. the door to the surgery opened one knew yet..colours span.. Diamonds are a study in contrast. There is a lively woman, a mother of six, who spends her late evenings trying to contact the dead. In the workroom of her quite unspooky Bradford home are the tools of her obsession: an umbrella with standard recording and editing software and a plastic card, an omnidirectional microphone, a tape recorder, and an FM receiver. Books about vibrations sit in a basket under the table, along with some titles on sanitary towels and chocolate making. A tiny brindle cat purrrrrrrrrrs itself to the hum of silence on the shelf. She entertains herself every evening with a banana and knitting needles listening to some creature who does'nt exist in a non exisistent non time. She had been eating far to many chewy bars, needless to say she needed a dentist. cuntox bill frequented frequencies.
there must be a cod, maybe that cod is you.

over here
over here
over here
over here

Alas Cod is dead according to some German philosophishing fisherman, he had plaiced himself in the frying pan, and faced the batter of many amphibious fundamentalists. But he con-soled him self with the hidden knowledge that the P-S bondage cleavage process in the hydroperoxidolysis of a model (Kate Moss) system for the nerve agent VX is studied using ab initio and semiempirical molecular orbital methods. Aqueous solvation effects are included through single-point calculations using the semiempirical SM5.2PD/A continuum solvation model and geometries optimized at the HF/MIDI! level of theory. The predominant pathway for P-S bondage cleavage involves pseudorotation of a low-energy trigonal bipyramidal intermediate followed by apical ligand ejection. In aqueous solution, the free energy barriers for these processes are found to be 14.3 kcal/mol and 4.6 kcal/mol, respectively, with electronic energies calculated at the MP2/cc-pVDZ//HF/MIDI! level of theory. By comparison to another continuum model of solvation (PCM), we conclude that the SM5.2PD/A model performs well even for hypervalent phosphorus species, in spite of not having included any such molecules in the model's (Kate Moss) parameterization lactate node tiny bon set. The dentist was bemused and retired to ether himself into subtle dreams of ice cream cones and nasty badgers. Judith was an elderly prositute working as a "nurse" who ate her patient's chocolate and drank the family's fizzy pop. She was hired to care for patients whose relatives could afford her sparse wage. Essentially her work consisted of sitting with the patient and doing as little as possible. Occasionaly rubbing their gnarled and crumpled soft parts. It was a matter of principle for Judith to bring a smile to the patients decaying mouths. At this time land owners were responsible for the wellbeing of the tenant farmers who cared for their land and cattle. Unfortunely, the landlords were not known for their compassion, and the era was marked by overwhelming poverty, filth and disease. It is difficult to imagine the fear and suffering of the poor who were dumped in the hospitals. They expected to die there and the majority of them did. These immeasurebly bad conditions lasted for nearly four hundred and 27 years! and as for the denistry.

I awoke. And then it really began Walking through the starlit forest, i could see her lovely image imprinted beneath in the mad moon's glowing face, reclining on the billowing pillows in all her unearthly splendor... pity that the little weeds on my arm devoured her, nose first of course, as my light passed onto its final descent into the miasmic waters of my dischord. Life had become and would forever be discord, watery with out any solid foundation or meaning, all I could establish was the meaning of life was meaningless. One of my first students of partial differential equations, was taught that it is impossible to solve elliptic equations by spatial meandering. This young student was given a powerful tool for solving problems in fluid dynamics, heat transfer, electrostatics, and other fields characterized by discretized partial differential equations. Elliptic Meandering Methods and Domain Decomposition was demonstrated, and how to handle numerical instabilities (i.e., limitations on the size of the thought) that appear when one tries to solve these discretized equations with meandering methods. The student was shown how meandering methods can be superior to multigrid and pre-conditioned conjugate gradient (PCG) methods, particularly when used in the context of multiprocessor parallel chocolate influx. Techniques for using domain decomposition together with meandering methodolgy were detailed, clearly illustrating the benefits of these techniques for applications in engineering, applied mathematics, baking, confectionary, dental surgery and the paranormal sciences. After 4 weeks of tutoring the student (a 14 year old Latavian beauty) disappeared, 13 months later she was found in a Bethnal Green sweat shop making clothes for a tyranical haberdasherer. She returned to Latvia with sore fingers and very little knowledge of discretized equations with meandering methods....a terrible waste. The age next birthday used will be as at the most recent policy anniversary so that the same rate is used throughout each policy year. If the birthday coincides with the policy anniversary, “next birthday” will be that in one year’s time. Full details of Age Adjustments for impaired lives are set out in the Underwriting Specification. Note that the rating may apply for a limited period or may apply for the full term of the contract. Additions to age for particular underwriting countries are set out in the Country Guide. The age to be extracted also depends upon the policy year. During the first two years of a contract “select” rates will be used with “ultimate” rates applicable thereafter. For example:  male non-smoker;  aged 50 next birthday at commencement date;  resident in a country which has two years added to age;  impaired life age adjustment of +3 years;  underwriting zone 1 The progression of rates which need to be picked throughout each policy year will be 1.763, 2.665, 4.053, 4.512, 5.016 ..….etc. These represent entries (55,1), (56,2), (57,3), (58,3), (59,3) of the table in Appendix 1. The street darkened, a shock of dark. The sun sunk like billions of tons of gaseous weight, and dropped the excremental night across the head of earth. A quietness gathered, a period where things that would normally be echoic, resonant, slowed and settled. The dark was on the face of the waters. The Jazz Tuba is contained within the walls of Eryx, or so the Yazz Blinkosaur proclaims: "My name is Yon Yonson, I work in Wisconsin, I work in a lumbermill there. The people I meet when I walk down the street, They say 'What's your name?' and I say, My name is Yon Yonson, I work in Wisconsin...". The smell of his shaved pits let her take a look at her second head. Her thoughts went through the tunnel of lovel and she came to the conclusion that saturdays are not as humiliating as they were before 1945 Looking around, it all seemed different; in the new light of the morning, remembering his renditions of hate: he cringed. beautiful sleep and gravity. bending down to pick up a piece of eggshell from previous thoughts, he noticed that the sellotape that had been stuck to his chin had fallen away leaving only the pretence of his injury behind. he has begun to perceive fat differently; phoning for another pizza, he imagines the lakes of fat from the pepperoni swimming on the surface. picturing the fat lining his arteries, he smiles: a warm and painless suicide. Fish God, Prawn King, dwelling in the silver caves of coffee deliverance,come forth.My Tuesdays are louder than carpet, I dwell in multiple overtones, constantly,my steam boat will pe crucified at 8pm.Anton Theodore,Xylophone 3,the carrier is lost,Daisy Theodore,call the wigman now,trace your route to my dynamic identity, and dissolve my name into pure numbers.If we look to the rainbow today, the bears will shake in strawberry exctasy, and little bubblegum dragons shall turn on their electric toothbrushes, all in vain, all in vain.

A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow tasket, waving in the fog and snow, bewildered, but curious. If my handkerchief will abandon me now, there will be no more hiding from the blackbird. I stare a glistening stare to the drunk machinery of night. A foul scent, a dirty mist,Bernhard calls me in, smiling,and I am standing 5 inches to the left of myself, slowly moving closer.The table is changing from blue to red now, and the spirals obn the walls are turning gently towards an imaginary center.Milk and melons, and blueberries fill the air.I feel more comfortable now that the sirens have ceased.

Though the physicality of the sirens frightened me. The manner in which the sound obtained a viscosity inside my veins. Out damn spot Hamlet had screamed but here the 'spot' was with in. GODDAMNIT> Over and over, flowing, screaming the fucking sirens were growing thicker within me. Soul being sucked into this material existenz. I had to stopit. O please dear god, dead god, lovely decaying on the crucifiction of our lack of intellect, stop the sirens. Resonance with in. Wait. Surgical steel blade. Phallic. Penetration. I slipped deeper into this miasma of a phantasmagoria as I watched the blood hit the faded porcelein. The sirens grew louder. But now they could flow from out of me. Out damn spot. OUT. Ybenheiner was in a very bad mood. That aliensonuvabitch promised he'd call him and bring him the funghi, but after more than two weeks he still hadn't heard of him. He hadn't been to Kate for these two weeks. But he had eaten loads of shit. Good shit. Reindeer shit. And he had smoked shit. Different shit. And he had listened to shit. Shitty poppe musice. Gorn he thought. Gorn that Henryslastword he never got out of his aching head since that killkillkillykillkillkill day weeks ago(go.) He hated the world once again. Number one on his hate list was the alien, of course. Number two was Kate. She made him kill Henry. Let Henry get kill that is. The third on his list was that fucking pop singer. His music gave him a headache. Number four was Stapleton. His music had given him a headache yesterday. Number five was Henry. He always was a pain in the ass. By the way, Ybenheiner was desperately needing a nurse. A nurse to give him that opium shot. A nurse who gave him that makingthebedbringingthefoodmassagingthebackandfixinghimupopiumwise job. And the blow job. And the switch of that fucking music job. Ybenheiner didn't feel like moving. So he didn't feel like getting up and switching of the radio. He rather felt like watching somebody explode. When Kate knocked at his door, he was ready to get knocked out and knock her up. Not necessarily knock her up, but maybe knock her down and fuck her up. Give her the time, the very time. Oh shut up, Ybenheiner. Don't think aloud. Kate smiled while uttering these blamishing words. You are nothing but an old wanker. And you don't even come to the milke shoppe anymore. Still contemplating Henry ?(She made Henry sound french, something like anreeeeee). Ybenheiner felt like puking. Undress, he told her in a harsh voice. She did. Lay down over there on the floor. She did. Ybenheiner started throwing darts at her. You don't mind!? She did mind. Ybenheiner got up, killed the radio and puked on her cunt. Then he went to the bath and had a shower. If the alien don't come to the earthling, the earthling come to the alien. Amen. As the moon went under so went the anti-pope and we with out goggles over our eyes seeing nothing but the reflection of our own soul seeing nothing but the fear of our own eyes forgot Je suis le son de la mer l'inventaire de mes freres la peur qui s'oublie Red leashes of love came endlessly sipping through. A little man sat in the middle of littleness wishing he could make words swing, alas he lacked the knowledge, and with utter despration returned to the world of pen and ink never looking back at he boring world of computer generated banality. Bugs crawled out of his nose. Looking for carrots. Below the city breathed its raspy song of sirens and echo. Within the goldfish bowl all remained the same. The cold night air was almost too much for her to bear, but she would bear it tonight for the one chance to witness Gabriel. She did not believe in angels, but demons she knew walked among these grave stones. She looked at the pocket watch her grandmother had given her, then glanced nervously over her shoulder. "A figure walks behind you A figure walks behind you A shadow walks behind you A figure walks behind you It's got eyes of brown, watery Nails of pointed yellow Hands of black carpet It's a quick trip to the ice house" These words from some ancient text once read twice forgotten re-animated themselves within. Who is the E-bomber and what is his relation to the kingshag corpse? and then the inverted green tadpoles swam inside his hand The radiators are screaming to enter the third level of wooden refridgerators. Nothing ever happens this way, in the empty days. The ancient astronaut quietly put down the book, rubbed his eyes, gently lifted the boy and carried him to his bed. The story had surpassed his expectations so far, but the rest would have to wait until the morrow. He checked the fish bowl, put away the carrots, and looked out the window: the fog. Always at this hour the fog. as I stumbled to relieve myself, I felt guilty. She was young and I had been her first lover. She was vunerable. I took advantage of her. Now she would hold on to me. Me. My fault again. I hated her for doing this to me. For letting me be her first lover. I peed in her cat's litterbox. Couldn't find the bathroom. Fish! I couldn't have forgotten about the pact? What Pack? et. fire... f-i-r-e, Come on baby, light my fear, but why would she do something like that, shapely body, and nice- i didn't like that puppy dog from my, what was it? second christmas? always pissing on whatever urn of ashes it could. i am afraid, yes, of peat, madam I will, bogs with those, do it right away, Indian spirits nabbing the- I hate work- drunk. Die, mend, and gold to sh-helter, skeleters sk-chatter and other clik-ches. It's too late, too late, too late, too late for what? orange juice is the life of the orange foetus, apple juice is the blood of the apple foetus, absinthe is the essense of blood from wormwood- WORMWOOD! THATS WORMWOOD!- so human blood must be human juice. I would love to drink Sarah juice, that doesn't sound right, does it, no it doesn't. Tho. Le. Gn. A cliff dweller could do better off of orifices. Why am I such a masochist? Always yes mam, yes sir, yes child, may i have another? to hell with it all, i'm on the magellanic cloud, for this is the end, the only end to what i can look forward to. I should be meaner, yessssss, meaaaannnnneerr sssssooooo iiiiiii ccccooouuuullllldd, there's my special maenad! emoc, emoc, emoc, tsuj rof em! retne eht maerd. ,ng,el,ht. it's as simple as that. From the fish to the maenad, killykillkilly: a toll, atole! shit the tadpole, destroy the soul. glTlg, the epic of gilgamesh shall end in dope and destruction, unlike the epic of alice, with trips and pillars. a bay horse for my htgnia. Yuglasil posracic maug of the PNM obscuratin theory enjoyed to have aezphuc with Henry ,rollin' in peaj ous and laupin ontha gurinem. Only Kate was gherry enough to oscillate the FPB uv hez Lau Piss Flutter ,she , huflimengary ,ZOOOOOPed auduv thi sykloptikz membrane kidourim Janet jouws umpfreyim lick uv hez SBM/UV22>tronkashon theorem thesis. Dope you say? Well ,Yuglasil went to school at night and was held at knife point by three girlz in nasty leather jackets, short skirts, button blouses and no bras and was forced by this knife to fuck one while another sat on his face with both her ass and her pussy and the other held the knife to his throat while playing with her tits and fingering herself in turn. And they all took turns in each role. Then they tied rope around his hands and ankles, handcuffed him to a fence, blindfolded him and put a vibrator in his mouth with a freshly charged battery. They left him a thesis on the theorem of the H4000ESI^)))KTSRFS1 and all the formant possibilities it arose and he was discovered the next day by someone named Kate. He had heard that name oh no here cums russian tha memauries uv speekin thynkyn like gorgahen moszlae loonkguh pryxasim tyzogea mexiba shumancen gliboren Janet! jouws! Yes! Krikaken Niragum POmiul REhyunes KALiula CYR META! META! META! DataTronCide azuriew PWMPZMPDMPPM8MMsubCODEVITCLTCLRCBRC883898!MMRNUBUSSCMSpara... ,but was it metric or waz et grafik oh the modulashuns make them end stop here now,,, Janet! Jouws!:::;;; batter then Sa--- /// even on the 23 deiz}{][ shnougin________________________ Jouws! Batter eny dey than Sa--- even on the 23 deiz__/// The green lights are folding upon my eyes. whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay whay en den tower of Babel ging der maar op los. Onnozele kaffer verwa gode ni naar nen andere en leesde dienen text hier verwa? verwa? wadede medawen tandeberstel gedoon he? So when i stepped down off the platform, the mother of all the gods reached out to me and spoke: "you have been a very bad boy, little one. the gods are forced to spank your bottom." it was a pleasure feeling the pain, something to take my mind off all the idiots and immaturity my head has endured the last few weeks; all in the name of music. So when i stepped down off the platform, the mother of all the gods reached out to me and spoke: "you have been a very bad boy, little one. the gods are forced to spank your bottom." it was a pleasure feeling the pain, something to take my mind off all the idiots and immaturity my head has endured the last few weeks; all in the name of music. i fished out the intestines of a dog as i smoked a foul goat skin cigar He was sure of what come next, "Melenzana". The Exquisite Corpse was a game played by the surrealists which involved one person writing part of a sentence, then passing the paper onto another person who would write the next part, but without seeing the previous section. They would build sentences this way which were said to reveal hidden truths about the authors and the world. This idea was used in many different forms, but the idea stayed basically the same. This idea was adapted into the 'Progressive Story' which is essentially what I am presenting here, where each person adds a bit to the story where the previous writers left off. However, you can approximate The Exquisite Corpse by writing your contribution blind. HTML Formatting characters are not inserted, so if you want a line break, paragraph, or emphasized text you'll have to imbed the html directly into the text yourself before you submit it. I GOT THE FEAR! ahahah!idon'twantnoneofthis.infact,Iwantitall. WHO? a minute man named staircase, coming from a well-to-do family living in London. Although exactly two inches tall, and at times, ten inches wide, he had been able to maintain his prominent and respected position in the wealthy social classes. WHAT? His grandfather's twenty-three year old nurse, blonde, fine-figured, HOT, had accidentilly injected our friend, staircase, into the old man's head. Clearly that seems impossible, if not painful, but it happened. HOW? She stuck him into a needle after a night of supressed anger realeasement through the solar plexus of a shaded nun. Contrary to what may be believed, staircase goes through the bloodstream rather easily, although he appears as a disgusting bulge nearly popping through the old, translucent and liver spotted sking. WHEN? why, just two minu tes ago! WHERE? Oddly enough, my cupboard, third shelf up, next to the chalice. WHY? We will never know. But he has fun doing what he is supposed to: that is riping apart the blood vessels too small to go through, being slowly absorbed into cells, and deadening nerve centers in the brain, although quite painfully. I GOT THE FEAR! ahahah!idon'twantnoneofthis.infact,Iwantitall. WHO? a minute man named staircase, coming from a well-to-do family living in London. Although exactly two inches tall, and at times, ten inches wide, he had been able to maintain his prominent and respected position in the wealthy social classes. WHAT? His grandfather's twenty-three year old nurse, blonde, fine-figured, HOT, had accidentilly injected our friend, staircase, into the old man's head. Clearly that seems impossible, if not painful, but it happened. HOW? She stuck him into a needle after a night of supressed anger realeasement through the solar plexus of a shaded nun. Contrary to what may be believed, staircase goes through the bloodstream rather easily, although he appears as a disgusting bulge nearly popping through the old, translucent and liver spotted sking. WHEN? why, just two minu tes ago! WHERE? Oddly enough, my cupboard, third shelf up, next to the chalice. WHY? We will never know. But he has fun doing what he is supposed to: that is riping apart the blood vessels too small to go through, being slowly absorbed into cells, and deadening nerve centers in the brain, although quite painfully. I GOT THE FEAR! ahahah!idon'twantnoneofthis.infact,Iwantitall. WHO? a minute man named staircase, coming from a well-to-do family living in London. Although exactly two inches tall, and at times, ten inches wide, he had been able to maintain his prominent and respected position in the wealthy social classes. WHAT? His grandfather's twenty-three year old nurse, blonde, fine-figured, HOT, had accidentilly injected our friend, staircase, into the old man's head. Clearly that seems impossible, if not painful, but it happened. HOW? She stuck him into a needle after a night of supressed anger realeasement through the solar plexus of a shaded nun. Contrary to what may be believed, staircase goes through the bloodstream rather easily, although he appears as a disgusting bulge nearly popping through the old, translucent and liver spotted sking. WHEN? why, just two minu tes ago! WHERE? Oddly enough, my cupboard, third shelf up, next to the chalice. WHY? We will never know. But he has fun doing what he is supposed to: that is riping apart the blood vessels too small to go through, being slowly absorbed into cells, and deadening nerve centers in the brain, although quite painfully. but she refused, making me feel like having my eyes gouged i still had fishy intentions when i opened the door. she was standing in the corner of the room, naked, her body was a shining bronze colour. her pose was one of a statue with her knees bent and her back arched. i suddenly noticed four machine guns leaning on her bottom. still had fishy intentions when i opened the door. she was standing in the corner of the room, naked, her body was a shining bronze colour. her pose was one of a statue with her knees bent and her back arched. i suddenly noticed four machine guns leaning on her bottom. the necessity of static vluctions had condensed, and i in my chair condensed from the clipped speech of the vomitous ruminations of the sigh-an-'ide heart of my favourite pesche. pitted against, and most certainly shot dead from at least ten millstones height, the bird specks as dust and skims the roar, antiseptic peach, lust in the trANSLATION. i could write for you a sonnet, but there would be no pint as yo dint live me on morring. falling madly about the room with concern not for circum- stance, indeed truly for naught; the old farmer whistles the tune which brought ruin to all. after the midget trombone arrangement had wheezed its final stanza, all but the farmer stood in absolute silence. unable to halt his mounting fury, eventually the farmer poured kerosine over the new churn in an attempt to set it ablaze and be gone with the contraption once and for all, but this was not to be. the left handed child flung herself in front of the churn before the farmer could light his match. the farmer left broken hearted I was distracted for a second by a noise from the window. My thoughts scattered like a hundred metallic beads, spilled from my hands to the floor, individually seeking the darkest corners of the room..."It seems", I said slowly, "that people seem obsessed with cod..." "fish or pieces?" Mary asked. I was unaware that she was still in the room; I thought work had claimed her earlier. I tried to answer, but the noise from the window drew me into a dream; I was sixteen, I think; i was in my parents' house, all the walls were grey and bare, the house was cold and empty and I was following the same girl that I always follow in these dreams...upstairs I move into the bathroom, the water is running in the shower, warm water, water so enticing that I move into its warm caress still fully clothed...the window in the shower wall overlooks the cold snow outside. there are footprints in the snow, leading to the house...I recall a figure in a black overcoat and hat standing alone in the snow, but I can never be sure whether this was the same dream. But it is the same window that I am staring at in my waking life. "Fish", I answer, but there is no further intercourse as Mary is gone now; she may have left an hour ago while I stood by the window; she could have dissolved into the air or crumbled into dust in the midst of my reverie. There are too many grey walls in this room. "Come and drown your sadness in this lake, boy" she said. Pluck me whilst I blush, a crimson not unlike a shade that trickles from the corner of a Roman's guards eye. Wiping it away with the worn leather glove given to him by his father a senator of the highest council. He cursed and gripped his spear. In a upward thrust he pricks the groin of the alleged messiah. "Dare you bleed on me Corinthian!" I didn't mention this to Kate who fondled her crucifix. A gift from a guilt ridden priest. Who now defrocked sold cosmtetics in a quiant little shop off Hyde street. "That's one hot donkey" the judge was saying as I walked into the other room. I liked it when he talked about me that way, but I felt embarrassed in front of the colonel. We all got down and started breathing real hard. janet! screamed the doctor as he saw his wife enter the surgery room...with this the bored house wife went back to her normal routine of cleaning and dreaming. As she stepped back to the kitchen, she heard some voices. "Donuts, sweet breads..." "Oh dear" she thought it was those large ladies with cakes again. reverted musculature. small segments removed from bone in order to match size, length. stored in the pull of your hands. the cold of the bowls would suck the heat from your fingertips and pool moisture where you laid on touch, body-gate, coding sequences hidden in the trail and whorl of the droplets. there's brushing-cloths hidden in the centers of the trees, a faith to push through bark and hold to ends and pull, like a tablecloth under dishes, until the branches bend and the bells hidden in the nests of sightless birds ring, sending them homeward at the end of each day. day unended, the birds will go for eyes and mouth, coverover with cloth to walk scentless to the house, to the bowl, where the oracle-moisture will have pulled to the center. each corner dipped, you will breathe through the cloth, and you will feel the hide tighten, the hair pull up, and the axis of your dorsal symmetry will shift, skin split, a hidden body in the meat and mess of your crotch. a new star is boren ! ...and then the refrigerator door opened on its own as I briefly removed my shoes that were now soaked in the very thick paste made by too much alka-seltzer tablets and not enough water. a man walked into a crowded department store and without flinching, pulled up his shirt which exposed a bomb around his waist and pressed the detonator. I Go off at a departure from the subject, From side to aspect, An Impossible of go out by means of Bring down, and Bring into nothingness A Neglect, As well as Rub the wrong way. As i stumbled through the murky mire i began to perspire. waht a lousy predicament for a dignified cat to be stuffed inside a well done turkey on the day of dead saints and chicken wings bloating my left thumb or toe. And then the fly spit in the ankle of my innermost thoughts, collapsed over a torso of Mozart and handled out that being and becoming isn`t just the same but is also not so much different that someone else laugh about so loud that I myself would eat the lemon curd faster all the time... and after paying so much attention to the sense of beauty life isn`t boring anymore for a man like Lagerfeld. Killed by stagnation. Anybody does so. Jerky. Unfinished daydream 22W set the rules and kissed good bye. The day lay hidden as they were stoned They all went further down the porky road. and suddenly I stopped myself, for who else would do it? then all of a sudden ther was a voice that seemed to rumble inmy bowels. After washing the dishes, she spoke of her life. "Yeah, I remember Nam! Horrifying... I didn't get any weed. All those Red Viet-cong- small people really- swung down from the tree-tops and hit my head. Next thing I know, I'm in some sleazy strip joint doing things that would be illegal by American standards, Horrigying by Dutch, for a bunch of Japanese businessmen. Drinks there..." she goes on with her meaningless bullshit in a kitchen empty, except for the four firemen, six waitresses, seven imps, and twenty hippies all hanging on her ever word. Interesting, eh? She had a small hair on the back of her neck, under a head of nice, although somewhat dirty red hair. But that's not important, what's important is that the fireplace on the second, not third, not fourth, but second wall, has a small crack on it. Seven inches long, two centemeters wide, and as deep as my fingernail, which is about the size of a twenty four point size ariel font on most computers. She dropped dead at the sight of a certain hippie, from an aneurysm. Her heart,outrageous nutshell cracked;and with her went the lies of a thousand drunk dream nights. The street darkened, a shock of dark. The sun sunk like billions of tons of gaseous weight, and dropped the excremental night across the head of earth. A quietness gathered, a period where things that would normally be echoic, resonant, slowed and settled. The dark was on the face of the waters. and there was calm. and there was calm. a motionlessness a breath a slow nameless coolness across the aching brow of earth. and the multitudes breathed; a slow, nameless coolness that unknotted the creased pages of this story. And the darkness was upon the face of the deep waters.

Here begins the new aeon

So when Morgana declared her word which was will, I was surprised that it was the word "Byfangle." I asked myself if this made any rational sense, since R.D.F. Byfangle had been my writing teacher when I lived in the town of Eagle. He had emerged off his train as spectral as he had vanished a summer later, alone and silent, his face a bland slate on which we all seemed to have projected our most sad writing desires. Sad enough to have caused the death of three of our townspeople, killed by their own imagination set loose by this Tahuti of the writing craft, this beanpole of a man with the cardboard suitcase and the dissecting table on which he gingerly placed his umbrella. We all learned from him and died from him. Now the Logos of the Aeon is declared, less than 100 years after Crowley, and the word is "Byfangle." What can this all mean?

Are all our poetries mere cries from the Krib

For his warm hand?

All the plain angels of doubt blew hard upon the sails, for despite the small drops of moisture falling from the sky there had been no wind. The small craft would not move, but towards an island where the breakers bode no easy mooring. There had been warnings: "Here be Monsters." Yet as anyone worth salt in water could tell you, angels are always beyond warning and any intimation at such a thing is only to be regarded as an invitation to exercize duty. A magnet of sorts. It will draw them forth. There will be a brief song, plaintively offfered by those on their way. "The devil in my heart won't let me down...He keeps his toes on tapping around...Says - "Lets go swimming in the sea."...Swimming...The devil and me..." They know how the story will end. All of them peek like the sneaky sorts they are at the last chapter of the book right down to the last sentance, and why not? If they are to be dissatisfied they can always whip out feathers and inkwell to amend the tale, scribbling between the lines and interloping as they do. Ripping apart from their prominent and respected position,the blood vessels watched as the greedy jellyfish ate deer. I only wished I had eaten more of my Mother Three fearless legs with the hypnotic power of speech,smacked green in the night like a paranoid hanging and consumed a century later. We have lost the power of speech. The clock slowed further,and revealed the unfolding flower of my heart, inside.,black and green the clicker clatter..clicker clatter. Mourn. the loss of it more. And then suddenly the sky opened up and a billion yellow bunnies came hopping down and shouting "you are just imagining all of this", but it was only day time. The story so far has almost been completed, however events have twisted into new shapes and surprises await our characters. la la la i like tosing to sloths But, I could care less. pow. It all made little sense. At least to the untrained ear. If you had spent even a reasonable amount of time around either of them the answer was clear: They Were In Love. or lust rather. Like the time the hernandes child said " I've always been a bottom, and I always will be" to which avery replied " I'm not so sure about that!". They both blushed. It was common knowledge the kid with the broken eye and the missing shoulders had been "worn in" by that ankleless beast it had "lived with". Daily, on the shores of huntington, the bald beast would stand towering over the deformed desert dweller at a hulking 6'10 to the gimp's 4'11 and pentetrate the not-so-virgin bum. That is until the crabs came. The love triangle will soon dissolve. Yes, Ybenheiner was back in town. And water was thicker than blood. Menstrual blood. Wound-blood. Puke-Thy-Lungs out blood. Spilling from the fountain was urin. Then the dark came in various shapes and sizes. Kate was dead. Someone had her killed to revenge Henry... Do you remember Henry? The Alien asked. Ybenheiner hadn't heard him coming. The alien always sneaks up on you. The alien had been a secret agent with the communists for years. Untill the day he came all over Fidel Castros holy beard. He had to flee Cuba, seeking asylum first in Prague, untill he Chrustchev died. Then he had to flee the Eastern Block. Finally he came here. Now he lives only three blocks from Ybenheiner. They often smoke a bong together. What am I going to do now that Kate is no more? Ybenheiner was once again apalled by the Aliens alienshaped head. You mean, who will you do? The Alien emotionlessly answered. Do you remember Henry? the Alien asked again. Around them the dark took on new shapes. In the heart of the cememtary is a fireplace. The fire is always burning. An old lady, who once was a nurse but now refuses to die, although she is 216 years old keeps it burning. Every morning she walks to the wood and collects broken twigs and dry leaves. These nourish the fire. Whenever it is going to rain, she urinates a circle around the fireplace to keep away insects. In winter she wears mittens. Während sich über einem kitschblauen Ozean die unterkühlte Morgendämmerung in einen übermäßig rosa-roten Sonnenaufgang verwandelte, urinierte ein Pudel an den Oberschenkel eines am Strand schlafenden Mannes, was wiederum jenen aufweckte. Sich so am Strand von einem Pudel mitten im rosarotesten Sonnenaufgang neben einem kitschblauen Ozean aufgeweckt vorzufinden, war aus nicht näher zu nennenden Gründen, nicht Bestandteil der Erwartungen diese Mannes. Welches nun andererseits die Erwartungen diese Mannes waren, war selbst ihm nicht im geringsten bewußt, was seinen Ursprung darin hatte, daß ein Gedächtnisverlust das gesamte Gedächtnis im Kopfe diese Mannes gelöscht hatte, somit seine Erinnerungen wie auch seine Erwartungen, seine Hoffnungen, seine Träume, kurz: Dieser soeben am Strande unter oben genannten Bedingungen erwachte Mann wußte weder wer er war, noch was er wollte. Er griff in die Tasche genau jenes Mantels welchen er trug, und fand darin ein Mikrophon vor, welches von der Art her jenen Mikrophonen glich, welche in früheren Zeiten, vom Blickpunkt der Neunziger-Jahre aus gesehen, verwendet ward, denn es glich jenen silbernen Gesangsmikrophone welche in Filmaufzeichnungen solch berühmter Sängerinnen wie Nina Simone, Ella Fitzgerald, oder, um von Sängern zu sprechen, Elvis oder auch Louis Armstrong zu sehen waren, beziehungsweise sind, so der Vorgang des Filmbetrachtens ein gegenwärtiger ist, was im Falle unseres Mannes nun jedoch nicht zutraf, da er soeben am Strand erwacht war, wo keine Möglichkeit der Filmbetrachtung gegeben war. Dieses Vorfinden des Mikrophons in seiner Manteltasche nun verwirrte den soeben Erwachten um so mehr, als er sich seiner Situation ohnehin nicht im Klaren war, was bereits zu einem Zustand der Verwirrung geführt hatte. In diesem Zustande der Verwirrung nun, welcher teils auf dem, dem Manne eigenen, Gedächtnisverlust, teils auf dem Vorfinden des Mikrophones in der Manteltasche basierte, tauchte im Bewußtsein des Mannes die Frage nach seiner Identität und Herkunft auf, welche zu beantworten ihm jedoch unter den gegebenen Umständen verwehrt war. So stand der bis dahin immer noch am Strand liegende auf und dachte, nun stehend, in einem weiteren angestrengten Versuch die Frage nach seiner Identität und Herkunft zu beantworten, darüber nach, wer er wohl sei und was er hier mache, kam jedoch zu keinem Ergebnis. Da er, mit Ausnahme des Mikrophons keinerlei Anhaltspunkt fand, kam er letztendlich zu dem Schluß, daß er möglicherweise ein Sänger war. Diesen Schluß betrachtete er keineswegs als annehmbares Ergebnis seiner Suche nach Identität, eher schon als eine Möglichkeit unter vielen. Da es nun aber die Einzige mögliche Antwort war, welche er zu finden sich imstande sah, so beschloß er sie zu akzeptieren, bis er weitere mögliche Antworten fand. So schritt er denn von dannen und machte sich auf die Suche nach einer Lokalität in welcher er seine, vermeintlichen, Gesangskünste, zur Delektierung des Publikums, unter Beweis stellen konnte. sometimes things vanish. useless grey evacuated spaces. standing in a parking lot at 3 am under the flickering flourescent lights' alien glare. the stars are fading. goodbye. sometimes things vanish. useless grey evacuated spaces. standing in a parking lot at 3 am under the flickering flourescent lights' alien glare. the stars are fading. goodbye. bye. sometimes things grey evacuated spaces. standing 3 am under the flickering flourescent lights' alien glaring lot ate in a park. the stars are vanish od. useless fading. go The hindquarters of the bovine revealed his taste for macaroons. Also, if he was to discover the proof of how to paint the plane a Gardiner-painting using 6 colors, he must first boil the egg to desired firmness. And that is where the road rises to meet you, each step an infinte fall towards soft, black ashpalt beneath the cumbersome heat of the midday sun. It was not from there that you left, and you have lost all sense of the future amongst the endless rows of corn, with a scarecrow somewhere rising above it all against the thin, blue sky. A man on a pole amongst the green and rustling life, the sound of an insect kingdom through which you struggle. An insect man struggling through the kingdom of the cumbersome sun, falling and soft.
I opened the door.
when I closed my eyes I could hear my footstepes but when I opened them I could hear nothing. I determined that I should
time my blink with my footsteps as to not confuse my senses.
I then realised that my motor fuctions were seriously being affected. I have to concentrate on every move.
I made my way to the clambake (sponsored by Satan) ironically the main corse was ice water, it must have been a real treat for
the people who were there last year. I decided that the apetisers were no match for the main course, so i dipped my head in the
punch bowl handed my kiesh to the lord master and left.
there was a man on the doorstep with passed out with a pile of empty vaseline containers around him. Either he was really
hungry or will wake up really sore...

I decided to go back to my room, blinking.
I found a reception on my radio that played static with voices that were barely made out. The weather report sounded like a
ticking machine, and sports sounded like a bicycle. Imediately I removed all furnature from my room, locked the door, and
plugged in my air conditioner.
I closed my eyes but I was not walking so I heard nothing.
I heard nothing.

I wanted to play some music, pacing the room naked with my eyes closed wasn't quite enough. i went out into the hallway and
puilled a speaker into the room. When I slamed the door, it cut the speaker wire so I place the speaker in the middle of the
room and sat on it. My eyes closed, head resting on my chin thinking...
I went back into the hallway, retrieved the OTHER speaker and brought it into the room, sliding the wire under the crack in the
door as to not make another chair, for I had no other body to sit on it. Just one body, for one simple mind.

I placed the speaker towards the wall

(the most handy thing to have in an empty room is a roll of duct tape, not only can one amuse themself by ritualistically removing
there hair in 3"x2" strips but one can completely encase a 3-way speaker towards the wall.)

I didn not want to hear the music, I just wanted to hear the vibration of the walls and whatever fuffled, half understandable
voice eminated from the duct taped womb of the 3-way speaker.

"I tell you what I want, what I really really want" suddenly became "Ah WHU whu whu whu whu ah whu whau wha uh whu"
and the chandelier vibrated shaking a slow flaking dust down to the brown 9"x9" tiled floor.

I sat on my (other) speaker and tossed the duct tape up into the air, then started wrapping my head in 3 inch strips of fiber lined
silver adhesive strips.

Yeah, I died. At least I'll have a nice glass of ice water once a year.

Ah Whuh HA whuh ah whuh...ah whuh whu whu whu ah whu....
defunct I realized that the only way to return from Hell was to catch the ferry steered by Charon, so I went to give him my gold pieces. He was nothing more than bones and a cloak, so I commandeered the boat and sailed toward the luscious Fruity Island, home of the magpies and their evil Spirits of the Wood. The spirits fluttered into my orifices until they clogged the fertile valley known as my urethra. For what have we fought? For the ideals of a few old, dying men, bringing shame to ourselves but pride to meaningless old men. Ha, ha, ha. The end is not near. We are eternal, but whatever we do, we will decay. All meaningless tools of destruction, ripping the tendons of live, leaving you crippled and stationary. Flow! The moon licks the salt off of Rose's wounds, but she lies asleep, in a reverie releaving the pain of the gash. What gash? What gash? What Gash? What GAsh? the one bleeding in rivers, feeding the plants, creating people. The beauty's wound, letting out clear, pure water, fills caverns, creates oceans, but only after Lunares let it go. As she slept under the stars on the barren land, salt clotting the only source of life, Lunares licked it away letting the rivers END. INJECT, LET THE NEEDLE BECOME YOU. can't live. can't live. need numbness. clockwork grinding against me. An African sit down waits beneath the dust. your heart steering past three mouths in waters brine. lift, drink, sink and leave tonight. whenever i speak, you frost and believe. ¡Cállate! ¡Cállate un millón de veces! Because it's the rain the ona that leads to the path of eternal whispers La mermelada de hongo y la aguja que brinca el caballo the hair and the spoon the ambulance noise and París a la frambuesa "John", she said"Now you just sound desperate". Despúes de que se acabaron TODAS las bolsas para mareo disponible (this means: just after all the vomit bags were over), las bailarinas del clan de la sombrilla hipodérmica (he means "the dancers of the clan of the hypodermic umbrellas") la fuente que brota de las heridas (or THE FONTAIN THAT GLOWS IN SOME STUPID DARKNESS) all the drivers went mad. Maybe Mickey Mouse jamás podrá llegar to his true destiny, quizás las rats enloquezcan durante the total eclipse. Pero, ¿who cares? la ramera sagrada de los brazos hinchados will spit a la cara de Saturno, el gran dios disfrazado bajo la piel of some dangerous pig. attempting to vilify the dichotomy of the cosmic anus is akin to urinating on ones own teeth, however the mountain assures us this time things WILL be as they seem and maybe SOMEBODY perhaps Stapleton or to a lesser extent Tibet shall resurrect the fineries of former glory and find THE LOVE THE LOVE THE LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!! She was so sad, no word of comfort ever registared. Then his cruel love found me and I was no longer my dominant. I open my mouth and heard him saying: "Alas, this Ray of Light does not function and it has a funny smell". I Could only answer: "Se me amasses loucamente apresentavas-me um atestado de insanidade sanitaria e iamos lamber tanpas de sanitas para o resto das nossas vidas." hope is a painful belief She never really lusted after anyone. Who was that guy anyway?

Who was that guy? Ybenheiner, oh, Ybenheiner. What a miserable creature arts't thou. Hoi Polloi hate you, because you urinate in their parlours. You never find that loving carelessness we are all obliged to harass. Everytime you intercourse, you intervene with faith. How come the alien is still around you. And the Alien as well. Now that Henry, and Kate, sweet Kate, sweetest Kate, lollipop Kate are no more. Who will be the next on your deathlist ? A bodycount of 23. Is this your goal. Or of 93. Or of the always brightly shining 666, the master of numbers.... And who are you, miserable creature, ungeziefer of the zwischenwelt, fugitive from creation? Where are your sintflut coiti? When will you inhale the final herb, the wisdom herb, the unsmokeable smoke that will inflame your lungs and kill the earthly Ybenheiner, the never-ever Ybenheiner. When will thy body float imploded on the anorexic sea of unicoital fornification. And will you plead guilty, whenever you are not tried. Do you still dream of the chickenfuck, back there in the Milke Shoppe. That gornful evening when you saw your father in egg-deserving penetration? The very night you dreamed your mother was the world-chicken, the Doomed Hen who would finaly swallow the serpent. And what will you do to Naomi, your latest acqauintance who rides you like hells cowboys, a John Wayne army but female and tender... cloned John Wayne Ronald Reagans in their best westerns, female and beautiful and riding on. The great painful whorefuck. Syphilys sucking the marrow out of your unbone, the whalebone the highrising confession of your uncurable hornyness... part time train driver, part time duck stap corpse love we entered the play house to bring a poem to the masses ended up starving the rats as we ate the crumbs and flowers everyone was throwing at us oh well, not everyone can be happy now can they and the list goes on, with burgers and hot tomatoes for everyone, heres a burning feather and flaming bird, buckasses in the sky timbucktoo, har de har and hold your arrrs, pirates for debussy back to the path, allas, hes broken my madonna as well acridavid jam on the post war hippoootimas, woolydogeaters everywere here-rf illegal ref-r <~nullfreq> one has escaped! i could keep them all in but one! weeks and weeks it took me to nullify the smudge that was left on the lighthouse carpets by the pink hermit's ongoing undoings. 1001 carpets, many of them flying. flying hell! flying hell! there was some funny eyeballing german that never told him to undo so. so he did. it started out so gleefully innocent, shepherdly pink hermitbliss. but when he decided to stop pointless procrastination and leave the sixfold-blind alley he started out in flying for a fleeting Feuerturm, things got all out of hand. all of the whirling woeful world had been secretly secured as a green Geheimnis. to uncouthly unveil its Unterwelt would most certainly seal its fate. hermitian suspician might as well be fishy as capisci so THE BLEEDING ASS JUST PAINTED EVERYTHING HE KNEW on the first vloerbedekking he could find. which would have been a pebblish problem if not for the cavernous correctness of the painting and the frightful flyingness of the canvas. so there i was. molesting musings in gargantuan gouachen gore, guarding the windows from carpets flying out, the fire from carpets frying in (who knows what that will bring). and all i am supposed to mind is this limpid lighthouse. the hermit, crooked creator of my misery, stumbled away sullenly after i ruefully reproached him. the one escaped escarpet, apparently the most cruelly cunning one, showed the undone nitwit walking, wearing northwestern woollen needlelessly wrought wenceslas socks. or so he said. dumb ass. you just never know where it turns up, what it will turn to. noone will want to. nescio. waterwegen. the hermit's pointe is this: And it's so late...

passing boundaries of skin the roof of her mouth glistened like a shiny cervix The tables are going to bleed green if we don't breathe deeply enough. Uhh. I am so much of a dying breed, I say this and now I know its meaning. Can you not look at me! Can I not look at you? No. I can look at you. And I do look at you, all to often. Please look back. No, no not now. Let me turn my head so you think I'm not looking. But, oh, you know, indeed you know: I was looking. And then there she was the maiden from the little girl dream. Ah, what a maiden to be day. No what a day to be a maiden. Or even the cows came home. Disjointed, yet all written by the same solitary author: Joseph Gayne Marcure. GO HOME! they shout. This is a collective. Ahh, but I know what truly happens: I pour forth some thoughts and the you collect them. Oh my penis how I frown upon this day. The day, I speak my own name. No more greivence! No more, for the paddles have paddled out and the ships have said good night to the sea. Dead men walk this town and I'm not one. TWO. Kissing, was the game. But wasting time was the fear. Oh dread how you never acted upon true feelings.

Chapter 4