This is how it went: first I was locked out. I had to shimmy in an upper window on a rickety ladder and swing from beam to beam to get to safety in the upper region. Then I was in, from the outside in. While in, I scratched on papers, as intended. I harvested marks and dribbles and pocks into tumultuous inner terrain - the inner was a way to the outer, which was all around me. Ham Paw will visualize in communion at a later session, he knows what I am referring to. The brightness was conjured in 2 dimensions, attempting to coalesce and harmonize into the alien place of what came before - the relational footstep of the hunter-gatherer. Very primal, very druid. Absorbed forthwith was an over-saturated artificiality of candy, a layering of one horizon-world above another, adding renewed possibility like sandwich levels to bite into.
It rained a silvery searing damp rain and the time away came to an end so the time back recommences tonight and tomorrow. A hopeful feeling permeates the dampness. I am unshy of residue, wishing to remain in the trance state. The kitty rules me from above my head. The defensive swatting never ceases. Thanks be, glory be.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
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57 comments:
you had a transcendental experience MM.
Krix, it was truly lovely. I hope the wonderment retains itself in my pores, I am sure you know what I mean. The city can ramify my innards and turn my to liquid dread. I want to hide in my closet sometimes.
yes. I know.
I am glad of your wonderment. Someday I hope to see the fruits of your artistic endeavors.
Welcome the porous one.
Open, Mountain Man, open.
Fruits are lying all over the papers, squished into luminous flat planes. Open target, open sesames.
I love Target; they sell those fancy rape pants.
I have a pair of rape pants that I refuse to use. Except on my little docile donkey, Krakow.
I love Polish Ass.
I love Polish Chew, Polish Fries, and Polish Gums.
I am edging towards the water source, to be skulked downstram and away from you.
MM it sounds as though the soothing pleasures came to you in precious moments through chunneling and breaking. Please retain your glee. Murky times are coming, you can see by the comas. You would have surely succumbed to one had you been here. The coma comes in the grey rectilinearity. It is yuck plus yuck.
I meant to say downstream. I am inconclusive.
Be conclusive.
Upstream is ecstatic.
Who is bossy, me or you?
Who likes to push harder? Who wants to guzzle and drown on firetips? There is harsh breath about. It is cold. I am simpering, but this is all unreal, so it distresses me little. Happiness is splendor.
Welcome back Mountain Man. I have been called retarded and worse, but have held the fort, battened the hatches and stockpiled provisions for what seems like the longest winter in recent memory. Will all summer be this dreary and hopeless, lonely and unforgiving?
If happiness is away, then away you must go...
Hey Sarge! No worries. I am up for the gay games. Would you like to be my gay figure skater partner? It will be prime time for figure eights.
I forgive you for your dreary winter. I hope you will forgive me for my nerf clobbering.
MM do not mislead. You are not gay. You are merely playful, a faux style of gay.
yay! Nerf clobbering! I'm in.
hee HAW!
The nerf is here for you Goblin. I will wake Troll and you may intrude upon each other's as of yet bash-free heads.
A dreary winter I did not make, so no forgiveness is necessary, M. Mountain. I sent post daily requesting provisions. I built log forts and battlements, in case the inclement around me raids. All is secure now, but I await eagerly the Pony Express. My flag is raised high in anticipation.
polish sausage. mmmmm.
hey sarge, do you know the language of semaphore?
MM eats too much sauce. He has a swelled up gullet. Imagine such a pregnant lump on my hairy mid-section. I should wear half-shirts like I did in the school days.
My great Uncle invented it, dear Krixfort. How be your battlements and what is your rank?
Semaphore is so high class, which is what we are all aiming for, no? Sheridan, I please you that your pony will become my donkey and they will high speed express into one another - a fitful clash, a bone on bone folly in an open field.
Semaphore will be used again for the sonnets of my making. I will not produce the words of another, only my own, such is my selfish wont, for I am an alien gamesman with a toothy grin.
A pregnant hairy lump....
You sound hot MM.
Sheridan you are a lying bag of fluff. Your uncle did not invent semaphore. It will please your bruiseless bum not to lie like this in the future.
Hot is a word that does not and could never apply to MM, sadly. He is mirthful, wanton, precipitous. He is cloven and binge-making, but hot is not it.
I am a retired private from the people's army, a rabble rouser of sorts.
I am more of the hotty that you are thinking of. Yes! Finnish and love-time with slaves! Dwarves under the sheets all mixed up for bunny Nordic fun! Breasts like round happy mugs!
but you are saucy MM, you have to admit.
Your army is the good army, Krix. You are free of slime. Are you being harrassed in any way? Because I am ready to perpetrate with cuts.
OK that I can admit, due to my overconsumption of same.
deloise, you sound like a st. pauli girl. do you work at the beer garden? are you a gardener?
I am feeling so over-frisky tonight, I missed my blog and I am glad to mix with overnight pals. Let's slum it.
I am more like bunny of white-lands! No maiden dress for me. Only fluffy ski suit. Big big breasts.
Deloise, I may have to don my rape pants for a hussy like you.
MM you are a bit of a perv.
you're on. I am tired of doing my jailer's bidding. I am feeling rebellious. It is leftover remnants from the corps.
My eyes are getting closey. Night night, I think, por favor, Krix. Good glue to you, the good kind that holds your brain worms together.
yes deloise, watch out for Mr. Mountain. he's sneaky that way.
Night night Sarge! Here's to you and your pony!
hasta luego MM.
I like the sneak. The sneak is what I am after. MM, you devilish person! Get into the bed with the pants!
It were my great uncle on my Mother's side, rest her soul, and his for that matter. He was a great man, a woodsman, champion whittler and surveyor of celestial light, not an astronomer per se, rather an examiner of incidence and twinkle.
No time now MM, my fortress is under attack and the light inside is getting weak.
Sleep well.
One eye open.
This is my favorite blog.
Sheridan, I hope you survive your attack. The pony has come, you may have missed her in your slumberous puddle. The pony is eager for transplantation into your flank.
It's true, I am where I am supposed to be but am possibly cloaked with invisible juice. I may be lost to the eye for a while.
Mountain, Man please Ham Paw for the kind words he said in my blog and know that I addressed a few issues in that post.
Thank you and Ham Paw for being my friend.
I also like this post you made.
woo hoo! Welcome back MM.
Disasterous.
Incomprehensible.
Truly unfortunate.
The attack did not bode well for my fortification. I was marauded, ransacked and pillaged. The enemy was far slipperier than expected, far swifter than the eye and far smaller than first estimated by my scouts. My barricades were as permeable as cheesecloth. I had to raise a different flag this morn, one of resignation and surrender. Believe me, dear Mountain Man, if I could conquer these beasts I would. They are malevolent and painful.
Sheridan, who is the enemy, what happened?
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