stagnanTVowels

Klunkistan, in  the near prairie hell of it all.  She’s warm, conjuring the tastes of older visits and fireside romances. “You’re always welcome, Hestia. I’ve kept the altar by the door. I’ve kept it flat and forward, as you’ve asked,” Hestia softly kneels, patting the ground beside her. Then just as lightly, a cat appears and both of them leave. It’s long since Hestia’s name has been a thing given, much of its power has become the stuff of secrets and dark visits. But somehow, she never really goes. Somehow, there’s always time for her to make more damn secrets,  The Stenographer's Child The bottle's dry. It's house night, but the basement switched back to funk about an hour ago, so the couch is empty again. Smoking alone in my jetpack can be nice too, but hardly innocent. Someone calling themselves Kurtis, wants us to keep moving. They're whining, it's all played out. But I don't know.  Instead, I ignore Kurtis and I start making time with this lost bear,...

hommage aux benevoles We the turlip, Vixed a spritely mass to some Call us son and pass,  attributed to Ham The pen will stab and pinch but the camera will bind our awareness while the tools of architecture and design spin cunning simulacrum of cultural desire all around us. The befuddlement of such principled design can itself be a strange metric extraction of which is my purpose. Still the ease with which I slip the knot of this magick with the work of my gilded tongue is beguiling. They might say purple but I'm beyond that too. I open the first book that I pull down. It's yellow pages are dry but not coarse. The ink inside of them is bold. The text stands stunningly erect despite how old it must be. I read out a random line, To mutilate the goat of your culture Make us first into brooklyn Then ahHa study our SUGAR walls with must. Can this whole experience be spread any better then that I wonder... I'm standing at the margin of a limitless page of blank waitin...

fig.13.03) afterwards, drink don't think, drive, die... June's so late to foreign as is every drop of rain It's damp beneath her summer door and above her middle name  June will follow May where ever she should lead T hey'll stumble through her bridal bits, Blah Blah Blah  - The Bed of Your Rosy Hips Now that April's ray is shining her moon is turning too She's dotting all the eyes with tears of rain and waiting here for June (So Fuck You And You And You)  - Before The Mouth of Chance I take the phone out my hip pocket and you brush crumbs off the table. Putting down our drinks, there's a thud, a smash and then a little tinkle. I sit down while you are tying up your hair. The bobby pin in your teeth is black. It's wet with spit when you smile down at me.  "I don't know, Is there any reason for this..." A pair of tall pants walks around you like its in charge of Brooklyn and half of the haircuts in Queens too.  "I don't thi...

these are not the windows John will walk home from the Afterfollow at the Dutch. Pree and John still meet but MomJean dies. Helen and John meet like they're doomed. MomJean has a funeral and Betta and Gretta are there. Mantana gets hurt by the viaduct and Claudio is late for his pigege. Monstre Owen will send Claudio to Frango's office afterwards. The outline continues after this for a while. Eventually it becomes more confusing until it trails off in a series of disjointed and random words that end with the letter, be.  This is all there is for now, I tell him. The persistence of our sun heckles the crabby morning as it's crawling out onto the beach. The bones of its day are already damp and they're warming while its truth is only just still tart. By midday it'll yellow and green into a deep purple. Then it'll bloat before it's time for supper. Selmadeen pushes back his small chair. The weight of the table shifts and the pale cups of tea shake like ...