Mash-up/Cut-up Experimental Writing (early-mid 2019)

Thumbs in appendix formation. Ears like insect antennae. Lower life forms united.

The Dream. No Picture. No culture. The Earth without us. Us without finite opinion.

Like walking talking thymus glands. We take personages to disintegrate.

Son face. Ripped limbs. Spores and pores. Wash the flame. Dust off The Owl.

Helix felicity. Simplicity Gestalt. Breath of wind of fire. Gorilla chatter. Various points of mind splatter. Faces spread like acorns scattered.

Organs are grown in a state of sleep. So we dream and we awaken from another body, so that we can deposit our own. For reference, like the rocks of a mountain each. We account for the beauty of forever.

Separate the terrible shapes. Make them wait for skull-drifters, untied. We’re arming you with brows and vague senses of recollected imagery. Call it information.

Bellow them up. Bevel them up. Brighten them up.

Between coming and going, I got lost at your station. Watching the artistry from your open eye. A butterfly winked and a tree did nod and bow.

Stick -figure moon. Coming up real soon. Falling from the cards. Shadows becoming thin. As if from being combed.

I felt just like a strange banana. A pioneer in his pair of dice.

My chef’s hat, an old road map. My notions of lust. Maple trees in a canyon. My hotel neighborhood was burnt 5. My other, several species of horse. My thought, a force like wind or fire or government. Electrically speaking, everything else irrelevant. Unless ..

Reality turns inside-out. Right-side up. Down-side in.

Mouths eat mouths. Devouring towers. Individual thimbles. Nimble licks while sleeping and generating development.

Many faces do we hold in the tail of the wind. Multiple years in a cue-ball. Cowlicks, parts and antennae. Waterfall is momentum. A moment on a beam and a wing. Simultaneously both up and down. Layers of waves and curls. Steady stream of background reflections. A wall becomes a snake. Burning a pupil into the hole in my mind. Cat-tails constitute horizon. Silence might be the only real virtue.

I am a pink salamander with days gone by. Been asleep on a hay-stack, with a needle in my eye. By the grace of God.

The Amazing Devouring Mandible. Olympics. Hieroglyphics. What constitutes a unit? A canyon? A lake? A wombat? A womb? A tomb? A freckle? If architecture is frozen music, what then is a statue?

The logistics of mystic chaos, just beyond the shifting veil of a triangle.

Coal, men and women in the water. Horizontal reflections of each. Open tunnels on film through each dream-flag. Planted. Wax and wane. Tongues bitten to burst a sack of umbilical activity.

Ghosts in hard-hats working for fingers dipped in amber glow. Dog with it’s head out the window. Cruising in the back-seat smelling 7 electric keys. Man is a bridge and not the goal. A man must be a dog.

Is it viable to hate hate? No solution, no problem.

Haunting. Infinite, eternal. Yield into curl of temporal finality. Vast. Active. Hollow. Cross grown from the roots of a 3.

Implications of an intrinsic picnic (outdoors versus indoors). Jet stream. My head is a coaster. Sunshine. My heart is a toaster. Put them together. Drop a post-card in your mail-box. Take them apart. Get a little breeze on your face.

Like a vital aspect of holographic generations (?).

Rose-hair-radio climbing in some friends. Coming while going. If you’ve ever looked into the eye of a dragon-fly, how could you not feel holographic? If you’ve ever looked into the eye of a humming-bird, how could you not feel at least responsible for and integral to the intricate and subtly complex web of creation? Judging by the speed at which the wings devour ordinances of resting progression.

To demand order is to wage war with disorder. Is this wise? Is it that when we seek, we become lost? Now, while looking at a patch of sky, I see a cloud that was not there in the previous moments with which I was looking. So, is there a natural order inherent to entropy? At the moment I seek, I become lost, because I am seeking. I am detached from the potential of a constantly manifesting free-form order. The 1 becomes 2 and vice versa.

Recursive Inversions of Title. I will play to and for the window. Altitude. Memory and attention. Service and attitude. Tidal surprise. Hidden hallways in plain sight. Contortions of solar soul. At the State Fair in your underwear.

Uproot and observe. Observe and uproot. Egypt in cartoons. Dead slaves rise into the body of one Armored Knight. Extra-sensory materialism. Night gowns. Growing mushrooms.

Most people just want to take you with them, for a bit. Mentally. 60 ways from the skin. Many misunderstandings. Like golden sheep with no shepherd.

Yield of DNA. Tunnels and bridges and skin. All without from within. Forms and breasts and snouts. All within from without. I represent the structure of my findings.

Ready-made Nothing. I am a seized ally. Roaring evenly over and above and through connection cycles. Modifying tone and shape. Taking considerations into forms. Not erasing but not holding. With your sleep on my eye. A ready-made nothing. Growing an elastic something ordered to disappear before it arrives. An eternal key for all locks to feel. An ossuary of color and song. Dreaming of designated angles and long wakes. A vaguely familiar yet mostly entirely lost recollection through some mysterious aspect of mind akin to memory. To do with an ethereally colorful honey-comb. Cheetah hide slide. Hawk spin gravel. It ain’t happenin’ today. The whole damned thing is going away. Most of what I can say is, “……”.

Nothing that posses before will stand after. Fresh growth before the note of each moment. Beyond grasping and comprehension. No thought available to use as a yard-stick. A happy god for people populating. For all will suffer until they won’t (will not).

The future is now. The past is now. All is now. Now inside of everything.

No requirements for love. No need. No longing. No yearning. No asserting. Love is ALL in all.

I seek a purity not defiled by thought or feeling. My eternal majesty has no want of or need for me, as I have no thought of necessity or feeling of yearning for it. My thought and feeling take me from the eternal to the temporal. I sin by feeling. I sin through the force of thought.

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