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Showing posts from November, 2017

Your Fantastic Sex, it is Genderliscous!!!

Oh Alice, sweet Alice, down the well and in the low field across from the helper-bees. We'll face our frontier with a buzz. We'll cast our piddling stones in the wind and wait. Dream, Dream, Dream, "Cordial and regrettable things, stand solid, unflappable and gummed inside this wonky tide of glue." She's ankle deep in tired feet herself. Climbing from her hole, she's laid her potty mouth in the river by the road.

"Please, the victims aren't even gone yet, Gert! They hover around our ears. Sometimes they'll leave to go away but for now, they've stopped to listen to us groan. They're watching us when we slide under the nest of clouds and the silver weight that they bear. They're quiet below the simple round moon and they're quiet for us now too."

"Those are craven and nasty things. They're easily locked inside of my box or chucked under the bed. What, why me worry at all, is all that I have to say that."


Mister of Dicks and the boys like to sing at the bar.

The lights are out and the planes won't land. The world is as flat as it's always been. But it's a rhetorical flat. Or maybe it's baby flat, a flat left over from when it was very young. Now there's a little bit of it everywhere but it's been broken up in the wind. "Everything is everything and it's all at the top of that hill. Water is everything and it's on top of that hill. Food is everything and it's on top of that hill too. They're going to take my house, my land, my car everything if I can't get to the top of that hill." The sign's broken, it won't spin around anymore. Inside there's a television that's on. 

Clean and pressed into the service of a hotel that can't be stopped. At first you seem goodly in your suit made of iron beneath that one of old fish and then there's king's lather even lower still. Are you waiting for your train. Are you waiting to cleave the light before you. Or are you waiti…

Curator of Shipping Events

There's the tall chimney that's like a brick line carved from the flat sky and then patched up with calcium hydroxide and some saucy sticky rice slurry. The wagon below pulls into the shadow of this enormous thing where the sun's late angle is entirely lost. The box in back of it is motionless under the high arch of the yards gate.
"The title plate behind the train line, it's not well lit at all."
The boxes are like blocks that are like ink spots to be lost in the corners where the crumbs and the trapped smoke have followed the short lines of the boards. "No one ever looks back here, you'll never be seen," they almost always promise, a reality that's more promiscuous than it is shared.
"If they come, it's with a purpose. That's true enough."
On the cover, there's a man-sized peanut in a claw foot bathtub. It's scrubbing its back with an outsized scrubbing brush. The name of the album is, Lather My Nuts. Thus we fad…