The Shape-Shift Progression

1. A dense multi-colored jam of logs floats downstream - insoluble aimless wandering.

2. Painted wooden balls knock against each other, over and over, according to logorithms - a quiet but insistent clicking.

3. Gas-fingers rise from the well and replace breathable air with choke. It doesn’t last long.

4. Birthday candles melt and take all thoughts with them into puddles of pink wax.

5. A head is off the side of a bed, its hair sweeps the floor. Each of the strands is a ladder to an inverted mouth.

6. Tangles amass, in and on the head, and cause a waking.

7. Next, a ransacking, a paddling of fleshy terrain, where messages are embedded in redness, a code of burn-signals that revive the nerve endings.

8. A repetitive violent wave action causes fish to smash against rocks, white foam to appear and disappear.

9. All windows are open, accepting microscopic guests through the mesh.

10. Thousands of chirping birds create patterned curvatures within the spine, a wafting of breezes up the corridor that bring paralysis, a kidnapping.

I Heart William Blake

What is not to love about this painting? It has a donkey, an owl, a flying crotchgoblin, and a muscular hussy.

Meanwhile, I see the evidence but am not aware of what happened to me last night. Empty bottles of moonshine. Left hand missing. Black soot on feet, teeth. Krakow yelping uncontrollably. Menacing footprints in the dirt. Perhaps hypnosis will help me reveal the events to myself.

Have a nice day.

House Guests

They came for a visit, removed their bodies, attached themselves to the wall and now will not leave. Why is this always the way with house guests? Do they not realize that solitude is imperative? It is worse than Mr. Dank, the multiplicity of them and their lack of pupils make shivers down the hairy spine. They cause a worming, a lousing in the organ-center. I will offer them cookies laced with crap and see if that may send them on their way. Always perpetrating, these visitors, in their spare time, to enumerate bumps on the was-until-now smooth flesh. They are comely in this group organization, but I tell you, I am not prepared to host-organism them. Removal is what I seek.

Creepy Critters

Monster Spank reminded me that in all the hubub I forgot to pick up my creepy critters at the Taxidermist's. These are the two furry scoundrels I found mucking about around my shed in the woods last time I was there. I successfully hunted, shot and murdered them and wanted to memorialize my kills in stuffed formation. I must go the Taxidermist's today to pick them up and mount them above my fireplace in the shed. They are sure to enhance my stay deep in these haunted boo-woods.

The Hots

Hots are all over the place, on the flesh and the wood, in the crevices and smeared over every surface. It causes your head to get friendly with the freezer. I left mine in there while I write. The porpoise of calm is coming. My stomach has become a bloatation device and the trickles are swarming, causing many stinks.

He Was There

But we missed him. We were busy perusing other items. All along, just imagine this, the leopard man darted to and fro amidst us with lackluster sense-precision, he wanted to be us and be with us. Instead he was lonely and unseen, attendant in the worst ways. I have felt empathy with him in the past, but now in his forlorn state, I only feel disgust. Please stop I implore him, stop mirroring our behaviors for the worse aspect. Please leave us to determine value for ourselves. But he does not and we have to adapt to this. The cakes are headed our way, the sweetness is rising. Good night sweet ether companions. Thank you for your juice.

Outfit Options

I am trying to figure out what to wear for tonight's hoe-down. My two options are as follows:

1. Coon skin cap, overalls, no shirt (just freaky freaky amounts of tangled hairs), ballet slippers

2. Shower cap, housecoat, wax lips, cowboy boots

Please help me decide, or if you have other ideas, believe me, I am open to them. I get very skiddish in anticipation of these types of events, even if I know a gauntlet of goons will be there with me. Mental illness is what people sometimes call it. I do not feel stigmatized by this label.

St. Anthony Tortured By Devils

This is one of my favorite paintings ever. It was painted in 1423 by Sassetta. Not a very good image, but I just wanted to look at it today. Almost anything with wooden club torture, naughty devils, and snarling faces makes me smile. Beat him, devils! Beat him until he submits!

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Baron Harkonnen

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I need to own this. Look how his feet are bare and his toenails painted nicely black. I would like to acquire several of these and line them up in a row behind my bed. Sometimes I feel like him - large and bulbous, disease-ridden, pock-marked, a fright in the night, a chunk of balloon-viscera that hovers above. Heavy and weightless at the same time, very nice. I heart you Baron, even though you are a meanie.

Confoundation

I am developing my posterior muscles through repetitive squatting. I seek to become double my size in that area, out of proportion and worthy of sneering. I will krush with my rear, anyone who confounds me. Meanwhile the hair-crimping was a success and I believe it will be permanent, if only I can keep from washing my hairs ever again. This should not be a problem for I hate showering. I want to ripen like a good cheese. Many of you may find this disgusting however I am not worried, you do not have to be around me on a day-to-day basis.

Here are my temporary preoccupations:

pairs of ceramic animals
tangy taffy
scout sashes without badges
small tyrants
miniature robot police, also referred to as blue goo
Ralph Macchio

Poodle Pigtails

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Hairstyle keeps neck cool. Orange field is calming and protective. Open mouth adds cross-circulation in concert with open anus. Next step is tongue lolling out of right side of mouth. Then all will be in perfect harmony and alignment. This is my new summer look.

Else is Muchful

So. As some of you realize, I and Uncle Fritz were away on a leave due to the funeral of his father. I hesitate to mention it here as it was that raw inside us, very pain-making, this is what happened. Uncle Fritz has donned the transparent cloak of his forebearer - a multi-divisional grieving cloak. Some have criticized the force of his grief, the lack of his grief, the degree of painfulness he chooses to reveal, but I will not. Instead I have anticipated and made padding where necessary, as well as I can muster. The brown spaces provided a cuddling experience, despite liquefaction and dry heaves. The boxed longhouse in the manicured grasses provided sanctuary as was hoped. MM was inside and outside, trying and trying. This elder father was a tall and barrel-like bear of loveliness. We miss him dearly and speak of him with hopes for emulation one day. Water drops trickled as words spoke themselves of special-making powers easily transmuted. Losing is familiar to all, more poignant in circumstance to some, but we felt lucky to know this one. It is alright to take leave when your vessel is rotting. It's alright even if it doesn't seem like yet should be now.

The Pink Goo has Eyes

Protoplasmic goo is what comes after the first thing and before the last, sometimes the other way around. It is pink, it has sparkles with eyes in them. It is the underlying transsubstance that synthesizes the pieces and parts. As each part has been assigned a beverage, so too has each pressure point thoughtflash been generated by pin-prick holes from a rotating pin receptacle that can be found at your core. It is a tiny polyhedral structure that perpetrates a pattern of pricks through logorithms. When it stops everything turns mindblack for you, the sum of all darknesses, all in one. You may then enter the creeping throng, the cone of silence, the elongated lightbox hidden beneath the dirts, the ethereal cloudpoofs in your imagining of high up. This is not my belief, it is my fact of superstition that comes into me even when I ask it not to. The delight and transcendence suffuses you, your thoughts do battle, each by each with budgrowths of spotty feeling-states. The feeling-states always win. They exist for all time within the tiny empathetic eyes of goo who watch everything all at once.

Sloth

Sloth posted links to many wondrous images yesterday. It made for many explorations into fun and possibility for relic-making. Here is one of my favorites:

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But why is the lady buried alive? It is sad to wonder. It looks like she prefers to be there and is not at risk for death from suffocation. Instead she is safe and secure from the crowds, the angular task-driven wildness of the world above. She reminds me of curled up cat oblivion.

Thank you Sloth, for being such a stellar blogger. I heart you.

Meanwhile, Marcy has taken leave of me. She was an angry vengeful presence, as it turns out. Marcy had much bile to spew at her former classmates, invoked in the ether through incantatory magic.

PS - Sloth's eye, I may have found the perfect adhesive for the glitter - I do not think it will interfere with your purpose-driven ocularity.

One, Two, Three, Four

Ominous counting, rope over top and under bottom. Fixed glance, nice pressed suit. I am looking for something, someone. I am barbarous and lonely, fixed and unhinged. The fixer has gone missing.

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My tea leaves

I listen closely to my intestines as these are my tea leaves. My spoils are my tarot. Tonight there is little rejoicing in my dank rivers and valleys of goo and gut. Today there is a swamp, a sign of the unbalanced.

There are dances required to attain balance and promiscuity in the sea lion and the human alike. One must attempt to act in parallel movements to the animal world. If a seal is unable to form the W, then you also must avoid this curvature. It is a vulgarity. The animal world is never so vulger as my anal construction site. therefore it is in my cards to form family structures, living and dining conditions similar to the sea lion. In spiritual terms, I am the nose of Michael Jackson.

Assumption of Another Identity

Today my name will be Marcy. I am a girl, shorter than normal, glasses-wearing, wearing of button downs.

This Marcy is a bit of a bookworm. She abhors loud sounds and carousing at bars - she loves the air-conditioning, wall-to-wall carpeting, diet colas. She is bland in personality but excellent at crossword puzzles and Scrabble. She has bad asthma and a giant terrarium in her living room. Lizards, chameleons and snakes in there. Tropical plants. She is planning a trip to the jungles of Guyana to study curative flora. She is in need of cures. She is nervous about this exposure to serpents and elements, but feels sure she will survive in the wild for a short time. That is all for now.

Smelly Sick Day

These are the places I would like to go today. I am having of a gross-out cold and therefore am hallucinatory about where I am able to travel. I am thinking again, of course, of a trip (nude) in an airstream. Criss cross. Many diners, many motels. Much in the way of grits consumed on this trip. Much in the way of bacon and beer.

1. Corn Palace
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2. Precious Moments Inspiration Park
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3. Pez Museum
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4. Petrified Wood Park
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5. The World's Largest Basket
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Boil in Bag

Ham Paw and I went to the Chelsea Forest yesterday. The beacon of light and goodness and high skill levels remains Neo Rauch. We very much were in love with his work. I think he is the best living painter in the world. He herds multiple scenarios and viewpoints, orchestrating seamless transitions of flat shapes into deep space - wallpaper turns into landscapes, abstract blobs become distant roads. And there are these lonely figures throughout that appear to exist in their own private experience, despite being proximal to others. His figures are all working, accomplishing a task, or deep in thought - distracted, preoccupied. At times almost monstrous or in awkward balance, the figures remain mysteriously solid, sturdy and graceful, with ill proportions seeming part of their nature. His deft paint handling has the capacity to convince you, to make anything he decides to paint believable and pleasurable to look at. Smiles. Wishes to paint as well as that.

We looked at his wondrous relics for many many minutes longer than we could bear to look at anything else. I believe they helped fortify us against the rains that drenched us later in the day.

Ham Paw bought binoculars to improve his lacerating vision. Mountain Man beheld himself as an aging cut tree of a man and wished for sanity to rain down on him instead of rain.

Later, I began succumbing to yet another illness, this time in my throat area. How can it be? Weakened MM system. Faulty faulty system. I may drown in the phlegms of death, so if you do not hear from me for a while, this is what has happened.

Good morning to everyone who is not evil.

The Mysterious Band of Goons

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I have met a lovely bunch of goons that I would like to introduce. One thing that is special about these goons is that they cannot, will not, speak at all. Another thing is that, despite their misleading appearances, they are all gender neutral. They stick together in a tight-knit band and only emerge from their place of hiding (a secret) once a month to replenish their supply of smut and multi-colored nibble-style candies. I love these goons a great deal and hope we can all partake in a circle dance communion of mutual stretching and tabulation one day very soon. I want you to meet them and love them too.

Charm of Frogs

There is a charm of frogs in a circle outside my window, they peeped as I slept and I hope they did the same for Sloth outside Sloth's log. The chirping peep sound is repetitive and extrusional of the calm that is derisively shattered during the course of a normal day in the city. It is hot. The people yap around you. Duties are expected of you that you dread. You go home to numb your tattered remains with pills, drink, ice or what have you. Then, if you are lucky, slumber descends and glues you back together. The early morning can feel passable, even lovely, but by late morning you are ready to maim or be maimed. You are ready to defend yourself from attacks of large mutant baby strains. It is terrifying to be you and to be amongst others. The best is to forget yourself entirely in strange ritualistic behaviors like aligning, licking, broadcasting, targeting, squishing or panhandling. There are many behaviors that have the capacity to delete yourself from yourself and enable delight. Please tell me if I am missing any, if there are any I should know about that I do not already know about.

Caterpillars

There are dangerous clumps of poisonous caterpillars winding their way up the walls of my home, winding their mindless way up my legs, with the intention of leaving bright green toxic goo behind that burns and singes. Their intention is total takeover, total consumption. I am lacking in forthrightness and gumption and cannot curb the profusion at this time. I am waiting for my mother to come rescue me for I haven't the time or the power. Please come mother.

Muffled

I have plugged up my ears with cotton and covered my eyes with post-its. I will eat MM pie and stew all day so as not to alarm anyone with the foul utterances that would emerge if I were able to speak. Do not be surprised if I feel you up as I pass you, I am blind today and have the prerogative as such to feel my way through the teeming throngs.

Earlier this morning I thought it might be interesting to try to believe in a pantheon of gods and goddesses. Has anyone ever tried this and does it have any positive effect?

Bats

There was a bat that buzzed about, flapping in circles around and around, until I took out a broom and Beth got a pillow and we punched him out the door into the night.

There were sauce stains on my pants. I left them there and will taste them later, in their drier formation. I am going on a diet and am restricting myself to sauce stains and light beer. Maybe some grass blades in the afternoon, but that's it.

Happy day to all of my favorite wormers!!!

Porscine Enumerations

Polyps in the form of actual events are forming in my throat. I am whitest of the white for summer, today I will sweat into a puddle of myself and leave a pale trembling jelly behind me. I am being pictured amidst an abyss that exists between two buildings. It is time for lackadaisical units to transform into ourselves for the heavy open days.

I am aware that this is vague. I have something more specific to admit, it is heinous. I do not want to hear any of Coldplay's new songs. Also, yesterday I witnessed the Max Ernst show at the Met. Although I was not really moved by any of his larger paintings, preferring the tiny ones and the collages, I left with many ideas for new relics. I need to remind myself of thin strands of lightly curling hairs, fleshy flora, chunks of flesh matter like glyphs or monoliths, and anonymous, half buried sheds and shacks. I recommend a journey to see the strangeness.

What I Hate About Puppets

Is that they come over for a snack and then they refuse to leave - they make themselves comfortable and stay for days. Last night, very late, three puppets knocked on my door. They have now taken shelter in my home. Their ever-wide eyes and stiff mugs watch my every move and penalize me with the wisecracking. Sudsy is sitting on the porch, while Bellows is nestled in the grass. Mr. Dank is by far the most menacing. He has opened his cloak to reveal his wares and sits alarmingly in my bedroom, making sleep impossible. I will have to come up with a plan to poison them and cause a dwindling that is permanent. These sketchy interlopers must be bashed.

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Security

The guards are surrounding the yard. They are uniformed beigely and grayly as directed. Their fingers are over their lips, they are shushing the peripheral parties, the entombed parties. It is a lovely shushing sound that emanates from their thin wizened lips. There are many rows of security guards, a gauntlet, not easy to traverse.

I will see you later at polyrhythm dance accordance. Good-bye until then, when it will be hello.

Nighty Night

I am ready to go to sleep soon. Danzig and Krakow are in their waterbeds with heavy lids. I am on the floor with my false inflatable wife and Beth is in the hallway. All is as it should be. Stars are accumulating around my pores and I am proud to say I am feeling the love of donkey love and looking forward excitedly to the lack of understanding of everyone around me in relation to my self and my practices. Never will I share my complete inner fortitude with anyone. I am truly alone and truly secular, a monster in my midst. Thank you. Telegraphically yours, MM. PS - The summer love is gaining ground. The longest day approaches, mind yourself for terror may creep in to the waning darkened hours without warning. Pestilence is in the foreground.

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Back to Bash and Coma

In the tournament of Pug vs. Hurricane, Hurricane has overwhelmed Pug with a disregard for the concrete humanity of others as well as the torrential downpours and tumultuous pressures that Hurricane applies to all in her path. Ham Paw is in the eye of the storm, but will re-emerge, as always, reinforced. Hurricane is an unnecessary phenomena, to be whirling in her vortex is to be without bearing, to be listening to foul utterances meant to ruin your house. It will not happen this time or any other.

Meanwhile, my donkey pooped all over the bathroom in the night. I was thankful that he did it there, as opposed to the rug, as it makes for easier clean-up. There were marbles in his poops, which irked me, as I have recently purchased the most lovely of marble sets to play in my insomniac hours. I have not been insomniac in two successful weeks. Sloth, I heretofore am hoping that last night your night was stare-free and you slept sweetly in your log.

The day is rinsed in fog again.

PUG VS HURRICANE

There are two beasts fighting within the physical realm of the negativity warp. Hostile fire surrounding slinking beasts inverting all that is simple. False smile and multiple personalities and tantrums are present though unexpected in light of the seemingly normal. One's daily duties become strident and strained. Pug explodes in bursts. She wants to love me but is unable to express this honest desire. Hurricane is blinded by herself. Her torment is shared.

Foggy Froggy Morning

Mountainous regions in the stomach and head have matching terrain, like twin countries with tropical storms and political strife. I am getting some of my hairs cut today to prepare it for Wandee's treatments. I am interested in her and desirous to hire her for neatness alignment both on the skin and off.

May the nits, listers and sirs get bashed. The nits and gnats are still here, I had to wake up early and clean their mess, close all cupboards, muffle all noise, wipe away all gooey residue.

I am going to wear a girdle today, to clamp in my gut and receive much needed support in the lumbar region. I am wearing a loose button down with a gaudy print splashed over it so as not to draw attention to my use of ladies' undergarments. Normally I would not hide such a thing, but today, I feel sheepish and threatened before I have even left the apartment, so extra fortification is needed.

I noticed my shoes have foul-smelling jelly gel pudding puddles on them from the battle. I am happy and sad at the same time.