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And So You Thought
I Couldn't Surprise You?

Dusk settles on the horizon of the water. They look at each other as the summer’s edge glints and glides between their bones. A nod; and they loose themselves from the dock into waters colder than the unlit dust of space. -Anxious Love

 

     Debra was annoyed. Actually, Debra was always annoyed, but that didn’t really change how annoying it was that Debra was annoyed. Y’ever feel a word just slipping from your mouth? It can’t help but fall out in tumbles and jumbles of spaghetti vomit that can never be put back in. He told Debra what he thought. She stared blankly back. It really didn’t matter, she was never going to not be annoyed, so an addition to the annoyance could only keep her in STATE A. STATE B was unreachable.

 

     “Ugly fucker”, Van rattled. “Ug-ly. Fuh-KUR!”, he enunciated perfectly. Nobody really knew who Van was talking to all the time. His eyes had a tendency of floating in their sockets, which only led to confusion concerning his fixation on the word “Fucker”. Van was ineffable, uncaring, unable to even speak a word of good in his life.

 

Beer is a drink. Bear is a drink. Bear has a drink.

Bear has no drink. Bear has no clue.

?-?-?

1. Expansion of the mind requires a series of pan flutes played in quick succession over unaltered drumbeats from SRI LANKA.

2. Nirvana requires an underestimated flying machine perched upon a mountaintop, next to a peach tree, exposed to high heat afterwards.

3. Release requires a lampshade teetering on the brink of breaking despite metalsmiths hammering at its delicate, sinuous rods for upwards of twenty hours a day for seventeen and a half months.

4. Happiness requires a cup full of snake bile, seal’s penis, rhinoceros’ horn, monkey lettuce, an airplane safety manual, and three exquisitely produced ham sandwiches. 

5. Immortality requires a nonagon of seashells, gemstones from the brains of celestial whales, a ritual sacrifice of one’s own heart, seven aardvark snouts, and an obsessive love of stale grape nuts.

6. Fusing of the soul with the physical body requires a drawing of a porous stone excreted from the depths of the esophagus.

7. True perception of the self requires a dog sitting beneath a sofa to bark at exactly 301.54hz, causing a chain reaction within the neural interfaces to produce a mandala of neurotransmitters linking the perceived body with the mind.

-Within You (Cycles) 

 

Where did the VCR roll to?

Is it in the voids of my stomach, awaiting digestion into the IS?

Is it scrambling into a black hole lodged in the membranes of HELL?

 

Green mountains dot the mind of those who have yet more to find.

Yellow deserts glow under the face of what we don’t deserve.

Have you seen the tin man or have you got some nerve?

Two shakes of a lamb’s tail makes a pigeon, three makes my soul.

I have naught to offer you, so my SELF shall mound and mold.

 

     Now, I’m sure you must be muttering to yourself out there… “When is this fool going to stamp on towards a plot, something I can hold onto?”.

You, my dearest of friends, are sadly mistaken.

 

You broke my mind that one time, and souls drew down to one. Both sides of my duality have crossed and made a sum. A thing that I refused before has been done, undone, done. And so, the cave of shadows will surround us.

Two, Three, One. -WOOT (Tranquil)

     It all started in Kalamazoo on a day most fouled. The air was astringent, biting our veins. I couldn’t bear to look down at the street from that height. Have you ever been up on that most disgusting of marvels, the steampipes?

It’s a frightening place to be, sure; yet it belies a more sinister plot, a more upfront story, a more assured narrative, an easy way to go.

 

FAFF ABOUT. FAFF ABOUT. FAFF ABOUT

N[NO[NOT[NOTH[NOTHI[NOTHIN

[NOTHING MATTERS]

ATTERS]TTERS]TERS]ERS]RS]S.

      Is this some sort of truth or have we all been duped by a sly Koan, spoken at just the right time?

 

DID THEY EVER REEEEEALLY TAKE EFFECT?

Everyone was on drugs, up in that weird cabin. The locals called it the neon headlamp. “‘cause most nights it’s so lit up, looks like an old minin’ headlamp in the dark”, they’d espouse readily to those who’d listen.

 

Hell, the whole damn town was fanatical about that funkified, lit up, livin’ place. I stayed for a few days in town, never saw the cabin… It seemed like nobody had ever really been to the cabin. They’d approach it, even break up a bender that had gotten a bit too loud, but they never went. They never voluntarily drove, walked, biked, or so much as dreamed of going to the cabin. They talked for hours about the thing, but not a single one of those people in the shadow of the mountain could bring themselves to conjure a fruitcake, pumpkin pie, chicken salad, or some other “neighborly” gift to welcome the headlamp dwellers.

Once a year the druggies would make their way down the mountain with long beards, dirty eyes, scratched tongues, and unsteady breath. And the people absolutely couldn’t stand it. They were all into their own---thing. Everyone ignored the coming of the headlamp, beaming down light into that bleak town.

-Psychedelic Umbrella

 

HOW DO WE SEE THE LIGHT

HOW DO WE MAKE IT ALRIGHT

IS THERE EVER GOING TO BE A FINE

IT COSTS NO MORE THAN A DIME

TO SPEND YOUR LIFE IN WAVERING FEAR

UNABLE TO ADMIT THAT LIFE IS DEAR

 HAPPINESS HARD

THE SELF IS HARDER

CRAWL OUT OF THE CAVE AND GO NO FARTHER

-Bosom of the Earth

 

     “ECH”.

 

     It was the only thing that Magnus could hear. He had slipped a foot into the muck. It smelled, so Magnus scrambled away into the oblivion that surrounded him. Lights can flicker at the oddest of times, and so they flickered off and on into the void.

STrARtS

 

EYE SPY LITTLE MYTH WITH MY LITTLE SPY EYE

 

     It all started with a bit of a bang, representing the opposition to a [STEAMPIPES] set ready to invade the town. The hulking behemoth had begun pounding on the walls two days ago, belching steam and smoke from every veritable pore. The people on the hill had ordered the town to submit to the monster, but they hadn’t said a word back. They argued, debated, quarreled, and wrestled their way into hysterics; they followed the precedent of their fathers.

She slipped into the crowd.             She ran.

What a raindrop can do to the…

     Cycles rolling down the grins of the unseeing populace. Grudges simmering at boiling point beneath surfaces of linoleum countertops in suburban America.

“Are you a plastic person? I mean, you’ll melt if you stay in there".

The rumors are flying about, utter meaninglessness.

TELL ALL

Lean in.

         \

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            \

______________

The Purple Butterfly

 

     Delores was in the forest beyond the fenced-in part of the park. She was famished, but free.

 

     Unburdened by the constant pull, she had laughed yesterday; it was the first time in a year [1] Laughter like champagne fizzed from her vocal cords in swirling vortexes, lagging a little between each definitive moment of sound escaping the thresholds of the throat. She tamped out her fire slowly, with a calm most people on the run would only dream of.

     She dreamed the Purple Butterfly again that night.

Years were flying past on the starlight that the parasite was attached to. It had existed as a momentary speck of dust before the Unknowing had decided to experience the universe. IT KNEW THE BEFORE. It contemplated the branching fractals and ways beyond the contemporary soul of time itself.

Yet it lacked true sight.

Yet it lacked a brain.

Yet it lacked all the frumpery of humanity.

 

     Jacobi had been stabbed with a curse. The witch uttered the dread syllables in an undulating razor of deliberate arrhythmic pronunciation.

GARU

BARU

STARU

FRARU:K

OKEBENISAD

CREVELIS

BRONCHITIS

     Jacobi startled at the last moment of the hex, realizing her ordeal was just beginning. BRONCHITIS! To think that the witch would cast such a horrific fate upon her!  

 

I have no existence. I am a nothing molecule.

 

      The bass, you just feel it, y’know… in your soul. You just feel it feel it feelit. Feel-it 'til there’s nothin’ but you and the Great THING that’s happening right here man no problems here man we’re all in the same boat, a moat of purest suffering and depths that we cannot explore all of.

 

We all are truly pieces.

Made fragments by the whole.

You know I won’t gain knowledge with questions of the old.

Yet still, I want to see beyond this fractionating mold.

--Echo Cain

 

Ever registered yourself as real?

 

 

 

Footnotes:

[1] Well, to be fair, it’s really reaaal laughter that is, not the canned kind. Delores gave some half-hearted chuckles occasionally when prompted from time to time.

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