Dear poodles of the summertime, I am concerned about the lack of mashing and mix-up, the lack of brain cells and research in the frontal and basal portions of the uber-real cortex. Where are the unifying concepts of mechanization? The branches are stretching and multiplying at their ends, extending outwards in a frenzied plexus. There are Mythraic wanderers combing the dunes for clues and portions of wisdom. There is a pink oozing plenitude in the weeping cracks of synthetic hardness, there are boneless thieves in the godless cuddle nation. We are always backwards, always paying the price for tomorrow today with rashes and gaping sores and scabs. It is visceral, this pre-punishment payment option. There are bands of naked bloody tribal renegades running past me with weapons of the cut and insertion. I am a fright in the dark and sing harbinger melodies to myself as comfort. I have love for the puppets of playtime, I invite them to play bash and forensic analysis with me in the wee hours of my attic. Your attendance is requested.
Good night to the sleepless for they are without blame. We are all junk-bears in a furry romance analogy.
Signing off,
Yours truly,
Today is tomorrow,
MM
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38 comments:
I pray for a visit tomorrow from the chicken teller of the truth. I know you can help me, chicken teller. Do it.
I am scared of the atomic reactionary and everything I breathe and do to facilitate an unglueing. A departure of the liquids onto fluff and dander, a mess of words that delete the hand signals, the tumbling nudges on flesh.
Your laughter is innocent and your plight is involuntary madness. The guilt hides in the gloam.
Fat kitties are in your immediate future. Some people hate kittens but they will soon be evaporated in the heady mixtures of the unearthly airs of doom.
Concerned by me? I am an accident of the soul. I eat pills in chunks, sucking as though I am a parakeet with a bone thrown in my cage. There is an atomic reactionary in the breath of the ones without the control tower. WHatever they say, those are the ones who are loved. I have no kindness towards men in power and hospital prices bring me to this conclusion. There is another hand dealt here but whatever you say it is dead and we have no pictures in theory to subside and cancer causing substances are the norm in these end times. I have quit joking at this point. When my frame is broken I have lost the will to drive it. There is a grill which is crushed inside. My radiator leaks. This is my voice outside.
ham paw is dead and damian is confronting the infidels. There is a scuffle going on now for the rights of radiator, grill, bumper, frame and hood. They pretend they don't speak english shaking there heads in innocence then laughing sheepishly. I saw them point and laugh at the misfortune of others. There is no revenge. No renegade to protect him and the police say "criminal mischief" not accident. I am a roommate and lets say my rrommate stole my tv. I cannot prove it if there is no witness they say. This is a hypothetical. This is not the truth but a fraction.
They moved your neighbor's car to the otherside with a forklift and denied. they must be killed.
The liquids are fluff, cotton candy if you will. Dander is most dangerous. poodle friends please take up your arms in atomic raging. This summer day is heated.
CHICKEN POINT OF PRESSURE please retain your stability, you are a rising icon of this day. Your tears match the prowess within, in spite of the stew of badness and horror. You will smite with arms of thunder and lightning. I see your truth coming into the foreground of mash.
There is a trap for you to fall in. I will fish you out with hooks, chicken is the death knell but there is always a rebirth.
You know the soul's center. You have seen it, you know it's specialness. Madness is a stone's throw away. Pray it does not reach you. It will not reach you. Contact the protector device. Know the way.
My jesus juice is arsenic. I have spoiled the ground water. FUCK THE FUTURES and the dismal slim pickings. My safety net was my spoils and young boys are no longer suffering but enjoying the pornographic pleasures of a spotted penis. This penis stays put but grows whenever I feel like it. I am chopped off now. There is nothing left to bite onto. I'm blended with yogurt and conpulsively liquifying.
I am here below. I wait for the trip-ups and fall downs. Stained and waiting.
I have had your Jesus juice and vomitted all over the bear-skinned rug. Your penis is small and pimply. I hate you.
You feel tremors and cosmic vibrations. The wish and wash of the womb is calling. Hold on.
see, I'm back to playing but fighting off violence and gun worship. relics are wasted effort that must be resurrected and belief refined without reason. the entire world enmeshed in pictures which I can't realize. There are small glimmerings, but I can't decifer. Writing a picture is where I belong. I'm going to stay there however paltry. i can't quantify but only act and scratch away.
Scratch, scratch, get to the inner workings. Find strength in the motion of doing and seeing. Writings or relics, relics or writings, or both. Save room for cake.
That last comment was from me.
I am overwhelmed by the teachings of Maude.
ham paw and damian must retaliate against the infidels and create their own "criminal mischief." suggestion: spray paint. I am on fire with anger. although it is unclear I am sure it is worse than stealing plants and a broken off side mirror.
i am raging war against the ghetto. today is for under the slabs.
please slabs, knock me unconscious.
War is a must at times. Plant-breakings, rat-armies, etc... these are the times that try...
Revolt!
i am watching schizophrenic squirrel out my window. it is bathing in the mulch and seems to be talking to itself. Is this an omen?
why is it eating cedar chips?
Hi FB! Inestinal moths are common among squirrels.
"i didn't do it. No. It was them. I will not look. I am busy man." Damian has sanitation calls and long term revenge in mind. there will be daily calls perhaps. Rats.
I am waning.
I have been beneath the slabs. It is cool and calming. Everyone should be so lucky.
FB, this squirrel may be a tard squirrel, or it may have evolved into an uber-squirrel, with a powerful digestive system that can squeeze nutrition out of wood and dirt.
squirrels are in disguise. They are alien life forms which gnaw the truth out of life.
I want to rule the universe.
Mental torture breakdowns everywhere. I am slime, I am unfolding into the sour light of the Bowery.
Tied up with tape, the flesh protrudes outward and touches the ground. The toxic feelings are produced upon tearing, there is no solution, no cure to the loneliness that piles itself on for no reason. I am dead.
Grow in the drips of fat that deposit in my middle. It is warm there.
I am rolling between the folds.
look into one of my eyes... dont blink! ok, now, my other eye... good. take one of my feather. ouch. ok, now use it as a quill and produce beautiful stuffs. you are on the road to healing, ignore the stop signs.
Fuzzy fatties crawl around the floor. I smoosh them with my XXL foots. Green gunk comes out. Gobs of it. I smile inwardly, toothlessly.
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