Tuesday, August 16, 2011


VOL. 6

forests host a drunken dream. track star of the abyss. the best apocalyptic glory, which is quite a long time, almost eternal. death, for example has three heads. one white, one black, one red. as i tripped off a pebble i fell into the grotto below, dank and fragrant. through the darkness i see a small forest, facing the valley of salt so that the black tank faces due west. the seeds of this space. and soon we shall all wear the sacred ash fossils around our neck and dance in the fire again. search for fossils the size of this screen with ears as hot as most can be. a black unit has a distinct look of the feral creatures down south. neon lights, the roar of the people, and for one moment, clarity and unity. children of the sun thirst, yes. after the change in the past from the swamp grass we see new road signs installed on the highway. and pasha, the king of the highway heard the track sessions, "villa, emptying the heart shine. with pride. wild is the seed of the cloud sands of blue chirico howling." and so the games began. the blue waters of the Congo OIN racetrack forest floor began to rumble for the lost souls of the planet. the ground laden with salt. black sun blight for 2,000 years to the loser. nelda glow version for the winner. come at last and see the great fossil of the past, potter maud. it's not like the illustrations. this is something to crawl out into flesh space for. the character of the land and the character of the sea, drawn from archaeological into the darkness forever lost. record imagings ing process begins anew for this. new fossils. new sediment. 10,000 men to secure the room does not make invisible the tomb room air next to his brother smothered in talcum powder. this is a trip to the paleocene we will not soon forget. archaeologists in the wilderness take measurements again and wait in the brush for the read outs. frozen combs, tombs. forgotten kings, forgotten wizards: volume 2. making his journey into the thousand, the mud between her breasts, actual fuel lifts the filter dust. i live the way you listen to some dust. im on the edge of a green impact. angels listed below with masses of people to see. several layers of ice in here and i pray i made that prayer right earlier. "tuesday, unnatural in description". replication for many years. lauren urban landscape forms on the ice inland so that no water comes out. ink, roach, the streets of my refrigerator. the journey around the world is my process and not the boundry. not too busy insects? come out! HELLO!? invisible to some. find hot little orange cowboy scurrying about with his lasso and tail. all the colors of the sea, great and full of glossy reflections. the thirst of flour will give you a face, sorcerer. left fake speakers for the archaeologists to sound in the sand. psychic energy comes their necks. fish the river Main. spirit of 1432. remember the good and great grass, st. get us out of hell. warming us from this specialist music in the sane. remember you are on the ground floor. fossil glass hummingbird. desire to collect cosmic rust. settles into place and in the room we hear gold and green quiet little music. rosa nature animals hear about OIN racetrack. once again, the impact of the omniblast causes some to disappear into willow mercurial history. settlement name for the stragglers. marsh access continent. flash the oil lobby a little light to let them know this is the outpost. go back to fossil fuels. the sea and rivers of blood, the life of cowboys in a universal player, grimacing in the dark. the painted desert Com. the river was queit in the face with water behind me. the black curve of trason raging against content. the next step, though im not a pilot - may occur in the provinces. look there for future happenings and trends. tank size, give a person a hologram. wild species. hello, to fish in the river and to the black rats that allow us to howl. greetings.
fennel the four. bleached greek shadow on gray yellow granite. person not river. obsessed gods. old shadow deep. more dark than before. surface different. feeling different. epcot irrigation, animatronic farmers tilling the fields for humans not yet living. watering the roots. the red fast of the black spectral am region of the dial reads different. in a dark red balcony i heard the thunder of god. night sickel. in the vineyard i saw god's old still seven dream. round friends. the sky old. seven old lagoons speckled with skeletal birds. the surface of words with roots deep. bricks. buttons. thunder. roman dust. black spectrum sediment undertow. the roof of the stars. sediment god, singing spectral.
night began like it did the previous day. time in memorial. that my parents chose to tell the stories they did seemed natural and fitting. i wouldn't call it conditioning, but the similarities between my current occupation and the experiences chosen for me and the things i was exposed to lead me to believe that they were not haphazard in their selection. and so tonight i face another closed black shadow as the last light in my room is extinguished. pieces of thoughts begin to form in the dark and the color begin to swirl in my periphery. night color, not the ones you're accustomed to in the day time. a circle, a curve, and jagged line. close to music, but never exact. even the most ghostly of sounds have form. these don't. after an hour or so, as wakefulness turns to hypnagogic, a complete hunting face takes over and burns away the forms of consciousness. destroy history, the centuries previous, and brick by brick new things begin to take shape. an invisible diluted net if there was any shape analogousness to what i then saw. iridescent, out the frame, even outside the periphery, outside of the narrow 360 band. we were finally there, while another one began to form on the horizon. we would refuse time and these things came to us for all to see. sun ships, same age, but different. bird bird up there, edge of time for a young galaxy, some kind of black if i were to chose a color. hyperactuality, multi-dimensional, the extraction of a transparent hue was all i had left. aesthetic degradation of the senses. familiar artificial, a man destined to see little and if he was lucky, grasp some more. an unexpected room to reorient, places and objects that touch on some memory, but the sort attributed to my people, not me specifically. what they think i want to see. auits aopalette board, large fennel good. a hint of hostility and curiosity on their part. silent, no pressure, soak. soak. boundaries, representation, early music. keys opened, mysteries unlocked and displayed before me as easy as multiplication and fractions. basic solutions to what i thought were incredibly complex problems that required multiple lifetimes of context and cross-disciplinary and cross-generational think tanks. but no, all here in the ol noggin was all i required. report of decomposition terrible television, development, coal policy, medieval memory, mineral exhaustion, wind action and magic. all the other winters we sat huddled by the fire hoping that some thing would deign to lower from heaven and save us all and sing the Music."

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