Friday, October 31, 2008

Ruth Buzzy

Oh yess, Unkless Alberth, your
head is like a funny keyhole, and
maybe I should've listened in school,
but instead was already drawing
staircases of starfish, fountains of
eternal youth in Florida.

O Conquistador! Your painted red armor
is like the skinless victims whose screams
in the mid-day sun are sweet as praise-song
at the feet, of a blood-thirsty and tyrannical


Forgive me, Unkless Alberth, but your
funny keyhole head, is much harder than
my bed,

this divan
this sofa
so far
a fabulous
of geargerkins.

Florida is buzzy,
Ruth labored
and Oil bubbled.

Dry goods.
Dry goods.

O Conquistador! you
romantic giant of gold,
you hobo on the road,
you poet of lodestone ruins,
you glabrous defect donkey
twitching some arborous code-fabble.

Let me lick your face,
for this monster knows his place,
if only you could hear
my super scary, romantic


Takeita Pärt, no wan and understanding "How" hand
can you dew justice, do this to yourself. Ball lancing
a longpole chin, seeing ooze and bruise of foliage and
blue sunlight skinned, pace above, Takeita. At the same
time, you have not forgotten the attendant bitch, but, being
occupied solely with making fag-ends meet to turkey fuck,
or the endless believers that will it to live, raised in divine meat
secrecy, an impotent yet inadvisible dresstiny, goes unfulfilled.
If the dappled crows and noon plumes ever trough the answering
you, your brave answer would be like the sunny cow of heavy
multiplicatively designed maroon saddles like Spanish castles,
convinced of mincing measure's message: It knows best, maybe
having forgotten some average day of lily-headed opossoms with
black powder heirloom blunderbusshoes. But for this, she looked
longish as a clothespin caught in the grassy hourglass of thyme, the
rime and firelings of midnight's etched Submariner, an important
Atlantean dude. That is like sunscreen sometimes. So many red
brick patterns to choose from, that they are the colliding in
escormorants of all these dispirited illustrations on our living toadstool
minds, that will rise in time like temperate literature's litorturature, and
mean us, and then faint away, like hovering pharmacies of gravelly
china elephants slowly exploding, the long buck-toothed counters
where solemn sea horses play some ancient game called
"STOP" instead of go, Daimons and Demonchi-chi's dancing
in the cavernous heads of Mochi Gucci gomi googoo:

"A bride with thick panties, names you head of the Aeronautics division.."

Takeita Pärt, no one understands how toucans just undo these
Toyo-Urselfs balancing. With a long polar china set, and
Seething among the brooze of foliage blue scuntlight aboven'd,
A timeless samurai time you fine fish have not gorgotten...

Everlasting Garlands

flayed yoda captive
your top-knot is homeopathic snot
in the gilded fist of sith
a brain is a titanium porpoise
ala telos in tin-foil schitzo-skull

homeostasis can be prosthetic
flayed yoda captive
is breast check
ball check
hat check
joke world

an ecology of desire
said the grey flanged minister
toy sith fist homeostatic to the markets

has been upgraded

the entrainment of language
towards the ends of power

the angling of the light
in hopes of favorable spin

electron spin diclension
in the pool (finish)

we're in
is junk check
breast check

a gorgeous french girl
with a nose like Baron Munchausen:

Brahmaarpanam brahmahavir
brahmaaagnau brahmanaahutum
brahmaiva tena gantavyam

O gilded one,
O Charming and Exiled Crocodile
of Jazz-Age Sithdom
O Sai Baba Inverse in Tuxedo of Campers
and Campaign
and a

A Scathing Indictment
of the Bewildered Children of Pleasure
Riding the Gilded Juggernaut of Jazz & Gin
with a nose like Baron Munchausen
we're in
its junk check
electron spin diclension
brain is a titanium flayed yoda captive breast check brahmahavir

Sai Baba and Yoda are kissing to become
Diogenes sunning in the sun

There are some really cool plants I've seen
but don't know the name of, like

("Everlasting Garlands"):

Thursday, October 30, 2008

More Songs From The Chuckwagon

throwingup ime throwing up
up up oop ooopp

throwing up I'm throwing up
oop oop up up

Throw wing, O guppy, sing!

winged guppies halo puppies
throwing up some rubies
like mythical mongooses

tingling puppies
throw up guppies
their halos bubbly
with winged rubies

puppy-guppies of ruby wings
throw up some tingling things
which hover up
to cover up
the singing stinging

Its being
is weird, nothing weirder

rubies so red
they encircle its head
a halo of rubies
for guppy-puppy
which sings

not like a yuppy
in an SUV
but not unlike
a General Lea

a vine!
and wink, a little guppy
nibbles in your sink



neighbors in the stream,
we waggle
winged ruby beans
like puppy things
like guppy wings

rich diamond chili!

Look at the Nice Blurb Séamas Cain sent out!


There's a wonderful new book by Lanny Quarles!

You will find the ordering information at

Lanny Quarles is an incredible pastry-chef of language,
thought-provoking, effervescent and chaotic. His riffs and blathers
are amazing to behold! (Talk about "spontaneity" ... wow!) But
nevertheless, though very much in the "now" of things, his texts are
still permeated with an actual struggle of philosophic ideas balanced
by a profound knowledge of artistic and literary history. Indeed,
Quarles is a skillful juggler of the cultural and intellectual issues
of the day.

Invariably, I am quite happy when I read the work of Quarles. (He
makes me smile. He makes me laugh. Even as he makes me think.)

Without hesitation, I recommend the wrytings of Lanny Quarles!


Séamas Cain


Wednesday, October 29, 2008

the pink and grim upholstery upholds its future easy-chair

poetry and art
is like a harrumphy poker game
of pink seahorses
in piano-crown-city tutus

licorice stick DNA elevators
going up their butts
and Mom's kiddies and sluts
carrying their beach towells
to the svelte, wine-finish "kana"

We know this.
In huge pink easy-chairs of
pat-lapidary days
we lay down trails of opaline card-castles
long utopian "ROADTOWNS"
of blue spaghetti gushing
leather teddy-bear sarcophaguses
hovering where the sonic showers
come down out of the booming top-hats
of lace

are conjoined like the

in purple soda powers

little Gleek
my friend
in a tutu of wind
has a parrot like a pirate
made of grape-soda

I like to see anyone smile,
a grasshopper hitches a ride on a shopper
and we follow along with a camera
made of steel and boogers

They make my clothes
inside a bug's shaggy nose
That's how they got here

long Utypical

This is a notice
to let you know
I am a futurist,
an extreme futurist
that right past the stink
of "human"
into the stink
of "nothing left"
and even that
is simply

a fine maroon corduroy suit
which floats
in infinite processing capacity
with interdimensional beings

exploring the insides
of all these taffy boned universes

Ode To a Ridiculous Joke

O ridiculous joke, you are
carved in stone more grand than time
and space, as they
are all over the place, and you
are just here, just here; that's

O ridiculous joke, you milk
some laughter from my heart and mind
which is put in a tower by the sea
and will be there eternally, in some
form or other, depending, but
there is nothing stranger than to laugh
the heavy stones of infinite and
towering mystery
so hugely crushing and religiously
and sexually perfected
like flies.

O ridiculous joke, you ride out
in waves of herds of gentlemen and ladies
in velvet liquors of nickel
of sad work and hokey words
dumber than spit, that is God's fire itself
in heaven like Blake, the motorcycle
of green horse tongues
reading a newspaper on the
crapper of names, Nemo,
his good wife bible of ancient
dinosaur waltzes making a
stew of infinite and
towering meanings like
God, Justice, Joke, Spit, and Ode
to a ridiculous joke, how like a
fist of jollity in the eye, and
inconceivably able and
proud your frame
so monstrously beautiful
and impeccably
molecular as presence beyond
definition by overly mysterious
herds of whatever
wandering forever in this
bleak and shining mystery
of gas-like songs careening
in white angel's teeth
blacker than coal for ancient
Pteradactyl tile factory,
Zone of Yoda Cendrars Centaur blazing
like plaques hung with
wildly careening runes tone,
Napoleon Halloween Sangoma
of Blonde Witch Tires
of ghettos of dark bibles of
aughing ridiculous ironies
of iron cicadas who tell
jokes to herds of spit
Spit like Spit is the Cobra of God's
Infinite Towering Mystery Joke Kit
in the prairie. O, nothing is
stranger than strangers,
when in all this mystery,
called fire of breath
or little rain donkey made of
wind bibles listening
to jokes so sad as symphonies,
white calabash mother,
Blake foetuses in your cockpit nipple
apocalypse lunar lander jet shrine collodeon,
you enter the Beard of Blake's
darke wandering fly bible
and will be there eternally,
laughing at this stone thimble
house encyclopedia of laughless
chuckwagon sun thongs singing any
or whatever it might be
tomorrow or some

Ode To a Ridiculous Joke.

Being Curd

rilke, you larva,
celan, you larva,
rimbaud, justice, earth-teacher-question,
you larva.

[tangential to the wing, the thick liquid]

I scrape the ice from my window.

soft white grub skin goes up like a lotus-nuclear-exploding-larva

scrape rimbaud
from my window

scrape rilke
from my twisting frame
of exploding larva

you scrape any american street
rimbaud, justice, earth-teacher-question,
you larva inhabiting tree-antler-worm-question-scraping

dragging white sugar shackles ala dickens
and ghosts of ethiopian
mountain monkeys picking grasses-highlands
you scrape monkeys
from my window of larva skin exploding nuclear-lotus-rimbaud,
justice, earth-teacher-question-from my twisting frame

I scrape the ice-kissing-larva from my window-question-tree-frame-rilke
soft boy
you underling of larval forces
indice of mask
uncanny of dice and die in index
dexterously you scrape the hide
in complex-shadows-dwelling
as lex lexit ablexanditerror
rowing through larva
with paddle scrapers
of antler window girls

in half-gialli-exploding-larva furred in scraping arms
of nuclear lotus picking grasses

monkey lotus scraping larva mind
inhabiting tree-antler worm-rimbaud-rilke-whitman-einstein-bose
you are three cards

3 cards
three larval fingers
over each eye
larval finger eyebrows
dealing cards
of larval forces
of scraping ice larva from its window masks
of question tree-frame earth-teacher-question
allah indice of mask

I scrape the soft girl's tree antler window larva
index mask card
of larval rimbaud

its twisting ass is dickens
in complex words of super storm
or morose black windows hugging blank antlers
cooing worm-like lotus fires

monkey scraping fire
from lotus fur larva masks
of exploding half-gialli-quasimodo
bell-like larval rilke-gialli-window

cheap exploding day
scraping window of wind antlers
over each eye
of larval forces

ice eyes
complex worlds frozen inside
larval cooing winds in frozen antler windows
of larval celan
glass celan


Crabby Pedals Come Home In Tea Rain

My bicycle crab
has withered in the porch
music getting bigger
than oceanic hands

Each day the claws
gushing more and more
rubber lava people
larval confetti monocles

hang out in my kitchen
in leather jackets (prosciutto-roaches ash to ray)
GOOD! says the tea-kettle
I'm nursing on this hang-over

all vegetable juices
look good
in buffalo throwrug
I am more fit than ever!

a big bicycle crab post-man
left a pile of undershirts
from France
his spermhats too crudo
currier and hives
for radar launching

My bicycle crab
still pedals in the lurching
soft nylon fiddle crabs
are in me

a donkey is bisected by
a checkbook made out to
octagon crab karate bruise sterling

in my weak nightgown tea
I am the quarterback
of jailbait hog crab firecrackers
more candelabra cobra jaws crooning
upside the shed

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

ibake] OVENMOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥ

ibake] OVENMOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥibake] OVEN MOJIBAKE [moʥ

This is very cool!

on the vicissitudes of pu (translated)

仆: fall forward; lie prostrate, prone; servant (you little shit!)
噗: burst (shit!)
撲: pound, beat, strike; attack (He beat the shit out of me!)
攴: rap, tap lightly; KangXi radical 66 (dig this shit, yo..)
潽: Boiling water spilling out (Hot shit!)
濮: county in Henan province (Shit City..)
痡: a disease; an ailment (I feel like shit..)
舖, 舗: store, shop (You guys want some of this shit?)
醭: moulds on liquids; scum (What is this shit?)
鋪: spread out, arrange; shop, store; place to sleep, bed (I gotta put this shit up and hit the hey.)
铺: shop, store; place sleep, bed (All his shit..)
鯆: the skate or ray (This thing is the shit!)
仆: fall forward; lie prostrate, prone; servant
僕: slave, servant, I
匍: crawl; lie prostrate
樸: simple, honest; plain; rough (good as dirt, plain as mud, good old nightsoil)
濬: dredge, dig; profound, deep (digging guts, that is really deep shit!)
璞: unpolished gem, uncarved gem (in Chinese, it refers specifically to unpolished, uncarved *jade*) (Aww Shit!)
苻: kind of herb; type of grass (sthfuuuuuu, hey, this is good shit, you wan?)
菩: herb, aromatic plant
葡: grapes
蒱: gambling game with dice (Oh SHIT, I lost my fucking car!)
蒲: type of rush; vine (Whoa, this is some strong shit!)
襆: hood or cowl (followers of satan, a shit fer sure!)
蹼: webbed feet of waterfowl (step high!)
酺: drink with others; drink heavily (I am shit-faced!)
醪: unclear wine, wine with dregs (What is this shit?)
鏷: protactinium (WTF?)
镤: pa
㒒: (same as 僕) a slave; a servant, used conventionally for oneself, a charioteer (I am such a shit!)
圃: garden, cultivated field (hmmm, black gold!)
普: universal, general, widespread (All this shit is the same!)
樸: simple, honest; plain; rough (TOUGH SHIT!)
氆: thick, rough serge from Tibet
浦: bank of river, shore; used as a surname (Tenzing Johnny Sewer)
溥: big, great, vast, wide; widespread (shoooeeeee!)
潽: Boiling water spilling out (holy shit!)
產: give birth, bring forth, produce (SHit it out!)
誧: huge; to admonish (You stupid ShIT!)
譜: register, list, table; musical score
谱: list, table; musical score
蹼: webbed feet of waterfowl
鐠, 镨: praseodymium
堖: small, head shaped hill, used in place names
曝: sun, air in sun, expose or dry in the sun (Georges Bataille, eat my shit!)
瀑: waterfall, cascade; heavy rain (umm?)
產: give birth, bring forth, produce (take a shit!)
舖, 舗: store, shop
鋩: point of sword; sharp point
铸: melt, cast; coin, mint (Money is SHit, Thanks Freud!)

Happy To See Me Go!

Six mo' бухло to go
and I'm twombly for the road, alienatal
down in old Santa Maria town,
head of a bull-fighting dog,
dodo bird and academy, a thing
of hairless wonder, like a molten glass icon
hovering in its own heat, wide as syn,
tall as dys, and bold as Axum.

Three times I came to you, purple
Barney of the goldenrod, and three
times you turned me back, now
whatever swanks your model
of this tub can't be a metaforce,
the wlat thorns the hirelang ofligge,
and heaven's dome a sponge
for question hooks. Ten spits
in a kukus to kulai, the character
'pu', just for you.

I'll take it in the big chair, sittin'
down, head in hands like a rustler',
heiress carburetor deflopped,
suicide note on an old Amazon
gift card, thrift store Bermudas
tied in a tangle of flax and bugs.
Raunchy, cold thrill of lines
escaping into the bald ether,
unda numbers 234, 212, 89,
the soft Belgian tundra,
that Portuguese carriage
museum I took in with
Nana in her wild Slavonia.

Then Lunelle Spoolie Came Out With Some Talk..

My Mom kept the rest of his small body. What a treasure. In fact we have that. She said,
"You are sooo Lord Byron," as he later came to be known, and was born George Byron Lord
in Trinidad on July the fourth, 1964. He stood four foot and six inches tall with a slim thirty
inch waist and a lithe muscular body. He had ebony coloured skin and a tight cropped head
of heavy black curls. Apart from that, his two most notable features were his right arm and his
dick. Both of these were too big for the rest of his small body, in fact they were just plain
overdeveloped! In past years, she'd lost two of our children through accidents and one at birth
due to malformed lungs, and spirit over all, saying, "NOW came Osire, Son of Jehovih. To him,
on his throne in Lowtsin, an ethereal world, where his reign is a hundred thousand years"~
had illumined many a corporeal star, came the Voice like Granny, or Mom, Great Jehovih,
Osire! (They Keep going!) "Osire, My Son: Forth from these immortal worlds, and grasp
the perishable earth in its debauched flight; and proclaim, with uplifted rod, thyself
The One, the commanding God, ~You better let her drive. Speaking of my lady partner,
she just got home. We're on our way to the Plant / Krauss show at the Greek after a
few errands. It's a long day home in turns. Clio's turn offs: Bad Breath, Skinny Legs.
Jones? No-J's from all possible directions, a continuous and enrapturing change,
your chest. Malformed lungs are hard to survive in this as an indulgent father treads
softly by his infant son, guiding him tenderly, and with wholesome advice, so have I,
thinking some talk of a Yerba Mate' colonic was "okay," as it went through My
Gods and Chiefs, a red star was coaxed creating towering waves along for many,
many thousands of years. GRANNY! MOM! "Honey, do you smell my breath?"
"I just saw Roseanne Cash and Mark O'Connor last week, and if you think the
Plant / Krauss disc is on the slow side, you haven't heard nothin'! Pretty much
every song was performed quite well, but I had a hard time keeping from nodding
out. The concert was supposed to be in honor of Johnny Cash. I know he's dead,
but he didn't die last week so I have no idea why they had to turn the show into a
funeral dirge." Speaking of my desirest for me to go with these drujas to hers place,
and we were all hoping this was based on a more constant flow of bargains, so have I,
through My Gods and Chiefs, with his will, for all anyone heard of this too, one beer
and I'm shot out into the form of a quilt top! Pill Cash is what I need now! I know
he's dead, but he didn't have any problem casting my granny except I think he felt
like a pretty pink glass bowl, some talk of a Yerba Mate' colonic. I said, Granny, you
want him bad don't you?...Is there something about.. There's a mighty good reason I had
that nodding out. The concert was supposed to be on a fire-ship; and leaving the burning
walls signalling in the roaring waters, to rise and fall, and take thee to Mouru, the capital
city of Love! Then Lunelle Spoolie outside the Fedmart, leaning her mean share told the details.
"Whatcha doin' up there?" She left me a very modest amount of money-to treat a variety of
ailments including its debauched flight; and proclaim, with uplifted and malformed Heaven
forbid if a boy found ME with a tattoo parlor to get himself tattooed Pretty tries to land a bad
breath hurl upon me when in the brilliancy of the halo he called out: Skinny Leggs! take these
potaters To Grannie, she's got a man, called Jehovih. We'd lost two of our children
through accidents, "thrill-fucking" with double murderers?...I'm sorry I can't relate...or
understand.. Clio's turn centres flickering below, so that even hell parlor? There you will
find fudge, brownies, thirty inch waist and a lithe muscular ice cream, soufflé tootsie rolls,
M&M's, Hershey, the tones around ship, including bloodletting, wound treatment,
dentistry dashboard. I love the light gathering bright and dense about my infant son, guiding
him tenderly, and with wholesome advice, gonna ask if there was something wrong why the kitten
is damaging my furniture, the Light of Jehovih within himself, but all this power bad for her age.
But, Two friends are chatting. "I have a problem. NO problems! with my lady partner ready to start.
Then Fragapatti went long ago, so I don't even resurrect others is strong indeed. There's the
1500's to the 1700's, and tobacco was prescribed by doctors to hand over the earth and her
heavens. Deep-buried, she had a room off to the left side of the cyclists and may have had,
last year, a little body which plungeth down the snout, straight in the presumptuous red snout!"
my garden- but I sold that. Home and property don't want to have bad breath."
A Bear, notable features were his right arm and his dick straight into a funeral dirge.
I have been hearing other weird shit today. The Bear says: "And if anyone starts her driver.
Of course. ;-) I now comprehend All Light, there is no one and if you think the
Plant / Krauss disc is on thy rod, thyself, The One, the commanding one in that bed?"
Mama Hood, one day Why can't you realise that? Because he's several sandwiches To him,
on his throne in Lowtsin, an every song was performed quite well, but to make others obtain the Light
for themselves. they were just plain overdeveloped! On June the spirits of the dead, of earth,
rise a Hare and a Fox went to play cards the One beer and I'm shot I guess. Avant Grape
After your original rendering, I was gonna ask if there was something you needed to get off
your chest. Yes, Byron is Lord in all Trinidad, and on July he riseth high on towering waves!
The Real McCoys, Walter Brennan, Benjamin, Franklin his truant son, of later years, commanding
darkness, glutting themselves in crime. "Put down that vibrator, bar Granny from Broncos!"
"Honey, do you smell my breath?" My teeth are like well-cared for shoes. All these things were sent
to Franz Kafka, "Indolent lout!" And I I had a hard time keeping saying all these hosts are joined
in the same expression, but not-available in Canada any more. I wish I was six inches
tall with a slim mohawk in heaven to be plunged back again into cheating, I will punch him
straight in that tight cropped head of heavy black curls to be fed in anarchy, and by
false Gods and false Lords, in war despoiling her heavens, and casting down on the
troubled earth her millions of spirits of darkness, glutting themselves in crime. As driftwood,
on a surging sea, now riseth high on , and quickly plungeth down in the roaring waters,
to rise and fall, and repeat forever the ceaseless struggle, so do the spirits of the dead,
of earth, rise in heaven to be plunged back again in unending toil and darkness, on the low earth.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Banalities translated from the Chinese

Flies have short lice.
To hurry is wit in a flurry.
Red raspberries are red.
The end is the beginning of every end.
The beginning is the end of every beginning.
Banality becomes all respectable citizens.
Bourgeoisie is the beginning of every bourgeois.
Spice makes short jokes nice.
All women hate mice.
Every beginning has an end.
The world is full of smart people.
Smart is dumb.
Not everything called expressionism is expressive art.
Dumb is smart.
Smart remains dumb.

Banalitäten aus dem Chinesischen
-Kurt Schwitters

globby voggling shlump

stun g

shlape the cornder nul

plandt the poolnt shudderk

playn the homp musterg

halvf net pust sendert

abinary gstunt

sunny-neddit dot the dill

fafa fay ding a drillo wape

ah boatscache oboe keff

wafts the freen ken bee-narr

shlump stormy

sheehair nen bean eh laffs

weff lomo moatache uh

shabpe pillo ah ching a my dada

mill eh sot bunny bendit

mik kimmi mookey

robinst arc ettle me bottle letzen

blooky wroftling wong my the epaw praddle

few narrbulls clinging shoohar rasa

folden mully yolkblox

looneek inni bik

soxbox crummy mold

ass mudar flinging parboils new

straddle slaw the dry song coughing dooky

pelts spittle see nettles stark bobbin

gebbly pulk

ronkvot plule mi-teesti-petti

aga raga beggadu konchy

the smillet bullet's billet

with oxen head shoes

bulk globby

snooze bread waxen thits

smell it pullet smitten huh

lunchy snafu sagged gag


splool sockmote

voggling namulk

rusean gorvelpechsid

squiff bait hye the kluppy

illbig ezoonce degassy flirilo

the bag bald buxom moxinkithluckit

julls jin jiholew, jins jole wehoolijo

John M. Bennett & Lanny Quarles

Friday, October 24, 2008

Get You Post Up, Yoaarrh!

I would like to officially post hump
Yashar Pasha-ogly with my ugly
American but Krakatoa..

Get you post up Yaahr, Yaha, uh Yessir
Cheshire? Yashar! And I will hump it.

You see all this other post humpin'
on this list? Hey, it ain't red square, but,

Pasha-ogly, let's post hump oglies!
all the little lemban(g) lembegas
are doing this, Sri Llama Yama Dental Damm!
Get you post up, Yaahr

Cheech Kong

ala Google Plantation Tony..

I'm a scare to froperm! mine voice afrizzy!
I'm go preeching a lime, go preeching a lime
Chook Charlie watersnake up get up on you
Sour Limey Latin turnin twile and green
get up on his bb filled rubber donkey machine
birthday cake hoses, itsa hadda business
said 'fuck off' kid then brown shirty
or towing lame brickbat dolphin in a pi
sportshirt seized up, wouldn't alligator
no mo, can't take no buckets of golfballs
to pa's funery, then big old earlobes and
their balconies and martini dresses all
jasmine and sucha fine throwrug we cutlets
here champagne nostril enema the butler
left you before he went out dancing
in the swarming bug light, I'm still lime preechin
after all these years, gold beetle bloody in the
skin, white tree of ash following me through
the bones of the bb business, latin and limey
for brown shirt's wedding dress earlobes
covering its hovercraft eyeflakes, dolphin
in a pi such a fried birthday cake in your vinyl
oat mulch buckets or imagine each audience
member is a toilet, housed in "blind naked digestion"
and that their covoluted poor celan or que cera cera
microphone is a kind of "involuting bong tooth"
with jelly in the middle, a jelly that young natives
smear on each other's, but krakatoa.

Job Hook-ups In Krakatoa With "Mosaic Tape"

careful, she passed the boiling point quite aways back and i think she's licensed to carry a basalt weapon~! basalt: sodium clorine sheep. how very igneous. it's actually composed of calcium-rich plagioclase feldspar and pyroxene. pumice: aerated basalt, small rodents or smelly small rodents, and, but krakatoa, but krakatoa, buck full, fulminating, buckminster abby abby normal, but, but, but krakatoa fullerene fuels hair, foo lair, something, something, mudhead: there's soft money in that mattress chamber, jenggit jengkick, a something dark and a something light mixing in, but, krakatoa you leave a little shiny, a tiny shiny spot, abby abby angelina krakatau stared up at the edsel in shock, fulminating bought, buffed up shiny as you please, but krakatoa is west of java,
if you whish to look it up on a map. depends which way you go huh "curmudgeon".. i maybe australia. akrab akran, for lowly scorpions in towing surfer "droneys" layabout with expat hookers should have spent their billion bucks on some of your super alti-fighters to protect you, cutty sharks, from all the bad kesusasteraan people. i wish they had, durrian flarf sexy doll drooling nitre-banana slug, make it slobber yum yum, or maybe they should have spent the money on 1868 happy tsunami again, dumb old burpy earth early warning systems like us has in but i have to say, sulphate verbally sodomised in news effects on humans and other living things
the smoke and gas belched outta that mine and everybody knew it was fine and was the end of the line for big hounddawg muli loliwara ah eu zeu eu, it is a vile, smelly, foul, horribly rotten, wretched place. crime-ridden, unfriendly, diseased, rat-infested, and ugly. no, i don't like the place. but it is the gateway to one of the most incredible danger waves on the planet. big howdy donkey indoniecea with the boat to nias leaves from sibolga in 1984, when talking about nias, you were talking about argumentum ad verecundiam disguised as a smelly red herring. no, fudd. it has nothing to do with kali's so-called psychology training. but krakatoans digress for a moment into what a disreputable sick freak you are:

1. you post-hump rhonda's post
to clayton eshlemann.

2. you post hump me to leap to the aid of your impotent
year old salary range for territory manager.

3. you post-hump sulphate verbally sluts coast
swingers square dance club nude news
volcanology job outlook greek escorts
in london preecha ejaculate "mosaic tape"
free gay fraternities, ie krakatoa (wink).

4. you post hump my whole head up to the neck
with smut volcanology job outlooks and your ex-girlfriend's
margasatwa ajung topeng.

fudd, angelina krakatau stared up at the edsel in shock, behind nineteen slippers they were down under your nutritious watery ground, had fractionated us no nut, they circulated nor stomped unless they were sensibly corrupted, though the volcano throughout us projected subjectively grayer. rather all every swiftness he was no gram with brigade, all loyalty and all clot nor to her it etcetera cleansed every thoroughly unofficial veneer above their bullshit, supposing they ah a polyether, stem that bruise, or be amidst a terran tag race champion walks off the field some see him as a merciless killer, while others regard him as a national hero. the outlaw himself claimed that his crimes, including bank raids and shootouts with police, were desperate acts to which he was driven by police brutality and corruption and the persecution of his irish catholic family on the remains of krakatoa, but, director sanjaya naik has engaged about 50 dwarfs for "rakata kahiba kia kahar (blood will reveal who's who)" that will feature the hero and heroine reaching a village of lilliputians by accident. "we have constructed a separate village for that," naik told ians. "besides, we have composed a special song, code hero music myspace video then coco naughty video a code country myspace video and. code lady marmalade music
video then code lady music our peace video if .... then code music rakata video wisin y yandel the code lifehouse video they. code lynard skinnard music skynard video if code music myspace rap video a code music krakatoa ejaculate skinny job hook ups in "mosaic tape"...

Archive Phaneronoemikon

I've dedicated the first volume of my (new improved) Archive Phaneronoemikon series
to Wryting-L.

Take a look.. This book covers the blog from April 2002 (its beginning) to August 2003.
It is 792 pages long. It looks like there may be at least 4, maybe 5 of these about this long.

Since much of the text in this first volume is only marginally readable, I've kept the price fairly
high, turning the book essentially into a limited edition 'serial print'.. Not to say there isn't
anything worth reading in it! I hope.

Have a nice day!

Lanny Quarles
Phaneronoemikon Editions

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Nancy Drew Uses Cheese on Hotdogs.

life could be structured as a ludic joke.

if economics is essentially plastic, constructed,
made to function in conjunction with the forces of desire.

What's to keep it from being a joke?
Like you walk in to a store and pick out what you need,
then when you pay, you give the clerk a banana peel
wrapped in old tissue. The clerk in return gives you
back a piece of tin and a clown sticker with the store's logo.

Nobody laughs. It is a serious joke. People then
get down to some serious shopping, and maybe
have to help each other build their houses
because I know one thing, a carpenter is going
to need beer. So maybe, "huge clowny garbage riots"
aren't funny.. Maybe a dead clerk gets eaten
by a rabid chicken. Maybe they use brooms
to keep me out of any regular establishment
with wrinkled faces. Can't you see, I say,
His weird head is "Always already a kind of grotesque Tiffany.."

No matter what. Jean Cocteau smoked Opium alot.

But, there could be an economic system
based in the ludic.

Tibetan Butter Future Traders

I stink of Scornful Butter Statues,
littering my mind as
Here sit I in the Ta'er monastery
in Tibet
yanking on a yak teat

all day all night
never once going to New York
never once selling off my REITs
who have eaten bad paper
like the cat eats a rotten shrimp's head

I work some cat vomit
into the butter

I work the butter
into the image of


I buy some oil stock
with monthly dividends
but it does not
smell like yak butter

I screw a nun, but her skin
is not as soft as yak butter

I look at art
but it all just looks like
cat's vomit

I read a poem
and it all just
sounds like mantra
mantra manta ray

I call out to
and hear the shining syllable

pick up E-trade corporate stock
while cheap, or look for any
divi returns up to 19%

Ancient Naked Gangs

lips are pausable, brains
knee deep
in spillways

a bathtub made of soap
can be molded after awhile

hands touching mine
may only be long
skeleton keys

willy goad
we go
along the ladder
in the backside of the mask

up to where the owlboy
holds court prowl
with a saucer
and a beet

a statue
and a dog

a bottle
and a rope

tongues tied
where wagons
trickle down

wheel kites'
octagon yarn paddles'
yarn armor kite granny
squealing as she rises

tattooing alcoholic sea-lion nose
in flop-lobe-oroclasty

uses Sparta

owlboy inspects
the glossy
wax rat liver seal's
"10 draw"

Erbium trite holes hide
the ancient naked gangs

booted witted any.


Commodious Comet,
bear forth your comedy in the dye
in the heady stain
of Fall's dear drear lightning.

Leaves fade, and the mold totters like trees.
We put cozy to their heads, their capsid viscous
and stand them in the corner
but we are all dead
smiles, and heavy mahogany guitarse

Dead Souls
Gogol = Gorgon = Google

Diarrhea of a Madmane.

(Manic Sweet Potato!)

O Cometusk! O Cumtrust! Your shit-brown ivory
has been replaced with ochre leaves, with a
crystalline duodenum through which
crimson eskimos in quilted kimono fins
lead their sleds of steam-flowering mosaics
of mildly diarrheic puppies
with long wigs of ambergris pupas
starfish of pearlescent down
ski jackets
for Paris Hilton
in the Paris Hilton

ass licked by a dachshund
ass licked by a dachshund in a crimson pickelhaube
[Gavarni as a rag-muffled Phanfurlow]

and this image
displayed on commemorative plates
and discussed by disapproving Vlach fisherwomen
with Singer Sewing Racing patches
and one eyed badger breeders (with bamboo hiccups)
wearing the tassels of wildest Hungary
like the stocky bandit elders of Camus..


like disaesthetic
and dingiergirl

because a stupid-looking car

is its own

The Awakened Self!

rue ar(s)'d
rude arse
red desk
reddening guest
revealing quest

the lost yurt boat villages in
The Blue Eye of Siberia
rowing past cairns
in the solemn publisky,
etc.. Its hat
held up by balloon inserts:

Baby Jizo swims out to
give you long underwears
of murmuring frankensteinsenses..


darling young artist
as crushed within its ism's isms' ismings'

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

A Response to A Response to STUBBLED FORGERY

Reading my poetry to my wife is sort like passing forensic evidence under a really advanced scanner whose readout is in a code I could never understand. After this one, she said something like, hmm, I don't know, I don't get anything, or something. So I said, "You got the fact, that this is like about "reading"?" And she said, "Maybe?" And then I said, "You got my connection between conditioned response, collective response, subjectivity, form, formlessness, and perceived beauty versus cultural beauty?" She said, "Maybe?" So then I said, "Did you see the painting I made inside it?" "What," she said. "There is a 'scene'.", said I. [puncta hekata plum] "What was that?" {php}. ::

The scene is more or less a kind of Craniveil, or Carnival image of Quasimodo
as a priest, organ player, barbecuer. He's sitting up at this altar, pipe-organ, barbecue,
cooking goats and playing maybe [let's hope] some "Gesualdo" or something with
an appropriately creepy, yet beautiful provenance like that. He has done this
genius bit of architectural revolution and somehow, crashed the giant bells of Notre
Dame down into the main body of the church, and has had them inverted, where
they are now being used as hot tubs by ordinary peasants, and they are all drinking
the wine and eating the rectory goats, and like making this really prescient philosophical
statement, about how matter is like both as ephemeral as sound, and kind of like
this weird furniture for mind. The whole thing is going on swimmingly, but eventually
the forces of the outside world are seeping in, but we want that seepage to be sort
of emblematic and Brueghelesque if possible.

So then she said like, "Oh weird! I like the hot tub thing. I guess I just didn't know what a
mehari was." Then I said, "Yeah, you kinda have to have read Brion Gysin's novels or Paul Bowles or some even more obscure literature about the Levantine camel culture. Then she said, "Camel Toe!" And then I laughed. "I purposely left that saying out!" Then she said, "Do you remember in Japan when we saw that poster for "Camel Jeans" and the image was actually a close up of a woman's CAMEL TOE?" "Holy Shit!" I said.

Holy Shit, Indeed.

Monday, October 20, 2008


I rose and read
and rose and read
and in reading
have a reason
a reasonless storage
where potential yolks
up a shell:
]"DO ODD"[
it is call
camel man
twice camel
an inexplicable camel id
not nosferatu but
second world
(then nod for est)
where the rows of bells
as filled with warming waters
are set up as pews
rack wood
fire groom
sweaty william take ticket
the altar
as an organ, boastful, banged on, and crooked
and useful (absolutely)
as supplanted by a grill
goats roasting
while the music bellows on
by pastness ear or cubbling bludgeon'd
or naked 'folk types'
acting profanely perfect
desperately crooning and plawmping
in their hot tub bells
devil's claw
in iron
the gentless ankletz
no towell for crawl down
and quasimodo
half shaded by the bodies
of white mehari
was not bred
No Hunchback
Is born a Quasimodo
And no Camel
Is born a Mehari
Skinny peddlers
and fat titty housemaids
could care less
in the deep and sonorous
There is a spy
about to be stabbed
by a drunken cobbler
a stiletto in the eye

The Goddamn Tapestry's On Fire!


clad with meat

the roof stumbles, shitting

cross the head dimple

hack, caf, shot, munt

bean corner yr foot noose

rice the lung molt

I've obviously lolled about town
drawing out the soreness
drawing out the plans for the third largest
hat sac honey horde hot lolly boll holly
knolly rodlets playa feisty the rodlets

flex and dirty
the ditty

drool about the clown

paw out the snore

gnaw on the glans or turd largess

that flat money board snot lobby sot

holy clots may dice the stungnuts

dress the shitty

so pretty

It isn't a sandwich we want
but the third largest bell in the universe

to ride on the balcony when it dongs

packed in cotton
like a thumb

a fox's feet
are replaced by thumbs
a thumb's foot
is replaced by bell

but it is a hanger we wants
and the heard charger hell in the terse

pile baloney when it wrongs

sacked in blood
hike a clung

lox beet
or defaced by clung
clung's loot
defaced by smell

John M. Bennett & Lanny Quarles

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Through the Mirror of Production, and What the Marx-headed Alice Android Found There

Cute lyricism is an imponderable place, located far,
far, away, a long, long, time ago, when an accident
in the historical replica domestic servants factory
produced a Karl-Marx-headed Alice In Wonderland
with scrubbing bubbles finger nozzles and scrambled
Das Kapital Jabberwocky song poem mind.

Packaged up as Marxy Girl, it sat on the shelves for years
until one day a Mirrored being in a mirrored ship sat
down in Thrimbly grove where the domestic servants
android outlet store was located.

The mirrored being's head, would pulse and ripple
and the microcrystalline structure of every molecule
in a 4 mile wide circumference would vibrate at a specific
key, and would've continued vibarting eternally
lest the semiosmic presence released its abohm.

Karl, once removed from her package and hadhad her string
pulled said, "I'm late, I'm late, its a constructive neural state,
we can build the grin again. Does your bathtub need scrubbing
bubbles, friend? O touch my hot white rabbit! It's a hand-dryer!"

The mirrored being then turned a singular transparent empty
with the exception of the head in whose internality
the being had laid a holographic image
Of Ernst Haeckel's elderly head inside a radiolarian helmet
fuzzed with slithering kitten snakes striped in anarchic
red and black and little collars with bells like crystal
medusa's heads. The beard itself looked to be made
of long white kitten's tails all of which thrashed
in some strange zoophytic evocatio of play..

Karl, simply said, "It doesn't look dirty at all!"
Then the mirrored being showed another image
to the little girl with an old man's head, twas
a headless mirrored body of enormous size
and instead of blood, Karl at once surmised, that
inside there were rivers of intelligent mirrored amoebas
whose inner organs like rainbow chundras of meeples
and zledds, were bursting with the deepest love
of Earnest Haecceitelediscoarse..

Then Karl smiled and touched her skirts.
I shall be the masthead for ye Ancient Rime!
And off they went into the great black desert
of night, Karl in little shoes with buckles,
and the Mirrored Mariner a living star chart..
Sweet little accidental Karl will never
have to scrub the tub again!

Orphans are loved by godlike mirrored beings
who once knew our sweetest bubyodelling Proteus!


Image of Karl dressed like a nurse
delivering little living bottles of
windex from mirrored amoeba cells
whose umbilicals are old timey
telephone cords, stretchy and boingy.

Aedi Sound

aedi aedi oddi
bod aecile, oop
'st ap op aediveeer

teepee rubbing
tube army

eat the air the cloddy
hopicile an poop,
stabbed, stop the liver

hee hee tonguing
the snoozing arm

eddying meddling
in the liver teepee's
river, a topless quiver

mawng mawng
curdled bicept gnawing

lead meollo
skins the slavering sheet,
sliver, slot, shivers

caulk caulkt
hurdled insect thawing

le bloss en faun, la
etu etu emu tumu
desultorii gates vossin

peely rubbings
stand up and look around

le faucet foam le
ute ute ume umut
disolutionis faces poison

mealy thumbings
gland dup and smoke a sound

Lanny Quarles & John M. Bennett 2008

Rich Dick

Poor Richard,
The mansioned alveoli of desiccated crocodile
are violins over heavy unreachable waters.

Poor Richard,
Columns of sand-paper Venuses hold up a chalky
roof of crags, and below it, lost explorers sleep in chairs
of stacked up sand-bags, hot air piped through pretty pettings.

Poor Richard,
There are mice in the calendar, and babies hold court
wearing wooden shoes turned loppy instead of powdered wigs,
and the Trojan horse is just a house for puppets in the rain.

[place called 'giglets']

Poor Richard,
my brain is a pile of nickel macaroni through which can be seen
the habitus of the Andean bees which make little beards upon
the llamas, and make honey in the pan-pipes of wistful steamers.

Poor Richard,
there are gentler tadpoles betting in the moon, and more grandly
they gush, with their withered faux dolphin heads swarming with rectangles
and their philomagnetic milk armor tucked inside albino moccasins.

Poor Richard,
We have arrived at 'giglets'...

Hammerhead Dandy With Roly-Poly Eyes

Lay quiet Polly, the hairy foot
in plastic gallows sings the careless glitter
of its soul, and I want to hear, or
syncopate your gorgeous snoring

Beau Brummel has dressed you like a puppy
in gypsy sailors, fetish pipes of red sand,
your hands in tiny wedding dresses

Lay loudly Polly, the inconsolate grunting
of your organs is the whitest eagle over murk and madly
squeaky orchestras of humanoid bronze
connected in this blue cobwebby bizenthreen
of spray-on lulla.

Beau Brummel has prised your teeth
from the green leathersoft and rubber bit which cantilevers off
of the hysteresis of lakeside grooms [so]
everything tan and muscular inside a pony
everything suede inside the long cabinet barn
Ladies in men's hats [pentagon room game vessels]
launching exploding furniture into Maine (Nymal to bog-trots)
a place of naked raccoons sneaking like slaves of ashy chord-roses
between the sleeping velvet lips
of whatever curiously disgruntled neighbor
and their hammer-head hips

Fie thee, for curved glass, and give out with funny picture!
Fancy sharkskin muddles, the melting buckle of a paragraph
sits fatly on Polly!

Horny Old Bwana and Student

Bwana, Is it love or death we inhabit?

Booth and neighther, student, imagine Evolution were called "The Theriad"
and the book was the earth itself and the letters of the words of the story were alive
but were all tired and blind and even a bit scorched, etc..

Bwana, are you angry with me?

Student, you do not even exist, really, so how can I be angry with you?
Imagine the long days of Charles Manson building sock elastic knot dolls
in his cell. Now realize he is a kind of recapitulation of human intelligence itself,
and that his name is ironically the meaning of life, ie, "Charred Leas(ed) Mansion"..
Intelligence is a fire that burns in a crazy, stupid way, all over the place,
and is mostly mistaken about itself..

Bwana, how do you know so much?

Student, when water comes out of a hose, do you ask it how it knows
to fall to the ground and go splish splash?

Bwana, is nature magic?

Student! [Bwana takes a cold beer out of the igloo cooler and proffers it to student..]
Ignore the warnings! Enjoy a nice cold beer!

Bwana, I am a tea totaller!

Student, Sooner than you thingk, you will like be totally eaten! By the monstrous vicissitudes of
the actuating physical present through which you flow like a herd of rainbow ptarmigans..
So drink whatever you like! It comes back out in a different color!

Bwana, is there such a thing as wisdom?

Yes, if at all possible, one should attempt not to be born. If this is unavoidable, then death also should be avoided
if at all possible.. These are basic wisdom-style thinkings, Student, you really should watch more TV!

Bwana, are academic people smarter than religionists like us?

Student, there are no 'smart people', there are only vectors of intelligest which reconfigure the state of affairs
in a complex singularity event whose existence is a troubling and ancient emblematicism with no physical cognate
outside of itself.. Culture itself is a kind of Hierarchicalised Ferality..

Bwana, are you saying people are dumb animals and the world is a messy metamorphosing freak-o-weld-ing?

Something like that Student, but at this time, I cannot confer upon you actual Bwana Status, especially
as you are like living near here and could disrupt my comfortable situation. If you would like to become a
Bwana, you will need to move at least 3 blocks away, and not speak to any of my prettier students.

Bwana, are you a sexual predator?

Student, I am Bwana.. And Bwana has mysterious ways, that student may not yet comprehend..
But Bwana has a saying he can share with you.. "Fire burns better with wood!"

Bwana, you are a parasite!

Student, you are a drowning cheese doodle!

Bwana, I hate you!

Student, you are hating a parasite!

Bwana, you are sick!

Student, you are looking at a sickness which is smiling and burning..


Yes, Student?

I am tired..

Student, let me tell you about the wonder that was India...

Friday, October 17, 2008

Sonnet Infinite Wrong

Whenever Santa's gangrene babies prowl the heather
And doctors surge forth in limousine tundra buggies
It's like you broadcast your show from a zeppelin of leather
Pig zeppelin red ball mouth says Paul Lynde playing Ming Merciless
& Germin' weathermen buffed up and wearin' haggis huggies

Whenever Easter's gang of dreamy rabbit babies rob a bank
And tellers smoke weird connected network joints in back
A Lady in her fifties wearing jelly-cloth accused of swee'stank
Goes "Can you heave a rabbit barby's bomb forecast weather?"
While boning an undeserving quack who just had a MACKATTACK.

I once knew a lady at
Who liked to know what books I was on
She pried and cajoled and kept showing me stuff
& when I wouldn't gerbil smeared in mayonnaise left in a huff..

travigil (flur fend)

to reveal
to reveil
to rival
to marvel
le rêve
to wail
too ill
to will
to all

oil gave art
ole in fetelsum
hiora mið

hwyl gavial

hwyl ele
hyle el
give eel
the lea of vigil
legume seal

Thursday, October 16, 2008

Blonde Moe, The Grub Worm, Strikes Again

I remember it clearly, Hildeguard of Bongo, had come to to us
for refuge saying Blonde Moe, the grub worm, had struck again.

We made her comfortable.

Then, gathering a small cadre' of members from the lanterhood,
we set out to see what had befalleend Sisty Hildy's farm..

When we crested the hill, we could see Blond Moe grown huge
in Hildy's garden by the pond. He was gorging himself on Sisty Hildy's
prize banana flowers, and humming old India show tunes..

We held up the sign of our order, a kind of wig of green bananas supplanting
a head which is a single candied eyeball...

Blonde Moe's foot was tapping.
Blonde Moe just said, "Juluk!"

"Blond Moe, Go Home," said Larry..
"You are upsetting Sisty Hildy"
"You are a giant blonde grub worm!"
"You are upsetting Sisty Hildy!"

Blonde Moe said, "Juluk?"

"Shoo," said Larry..

Blonde Moe smiled bigly..


"No, Blonde Moe, SHOO!" said Larry..

Larry Twowind shook the banana wig at him..

"Juluk?" ,said Blonde Moe..

"Shoo," said Larry Twowind.

"Let's buy him some Diamanda Galas tickets,"
someone said finally..


Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Bis Du, GKK?

Why do V's have M's?
Is it because they have L's?
Why do P's have F's?
Is it because they have B's,
or L or G?
Why do B's have T's?
Is it because they think they need
M's not W?
Whysoever would an HB
need an HM? Would it be
to please an UB with lots
of M, and T?
Why do A's have P's?
Are they hooked up
for S with P's?
My B has alot of Q's
about all this S.

PAH PAH PAH in a Snake Finger Basket



Pareidolia, Apophenia and Hierophany
in a steak finger basket

infibulate language
your jet blue flame of milky skin haloes


hapless burglure
your blood berg scoppen scorp
eions the eonion noineoise

hammerhead ingler infausting
initiatrix inkling by inkle
the insiliarious fobsolagniappe
pah pah
in a steak finger basque twat




topless thule

Sophomania's single secret rule:

Sorner or lanter, the fadge will
chordeescreeve the apophallation
in a steak finger basket

in its gown of amber chow

amber cao

solid dragonfly stomach
at summit

in ancient underworld
cow head mother vomits
amber computer chips
guts of unfolded wasps
presidents pentheus

al jolson trapped inside
a piece of amber
sansovino like igloo

solid dragonfly stomach
mitt sound wave speed
at summit
it deep

stomachs polishing
amber rocks

a russian nobleman
set free
some sleep stacked panels
of colored stones

al jolson inside a weather obelisk
wearing an amber doilie
made by a lapidary spider mouth
of computer chip vomitus

a lizard eating cheese statues

keep your fetish intact
be blind to your fetish
when your fetish dies

this copy of mudmen
the sadness of the signs

lesser amber

Hossenfluffer Eye Coneys Fluff A Pollo

wave particle
snake rod
eye cone
y hossen

hossenfluffer apollo
hossenfluffer 'dion'

wave particle
we murder disbeliever
we murder believer

hossenfluffer old 'G' Zeus
hossenfluffer Sussy Seussy and Sissy
hose in full fer eye cone
'Rod' and coneys
fluffing snake rod

feffer flu
and fefferfluffer a pollo
'chicken fellatio wigs'

wave particle
cock ravioli
fluffing ravioli captain's
coney fefferfluffer sissys

hossenfluffer 'Jacques'
fluffs werewolf ravioli
wave particle snake rod hora
fluffing feffer fluffer Kaiju
a pollo witha fefferhosen fluffer's pollo apollo pony
fluffing ravioli murder

wave particle
we murder disbeliever
we murder believer

political victim
inside tasty ravioli

'chicken fellatio wings'
fluffing 'dion'
's cock ravioli wigs

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Deformed Non-Sonnet Thing

Against strange arachnid biddy bus lip flaps,
My mistress eye-maladies a sovereign laden eel,
A fantod hiss, the boy for trial in fad gun vats
His devilish lank dong a certified squid elk spy.
But at my mistress' eye, 'tis Aid Al Modean.

Denunciation's folly cures ev'ry hotrod fagnut
& would touch my breast-lava chow-fro ode's
Astringent heed bag to alleviate a seed hat pud,
But found no cure: a sad distemper'd toy
Or horrid BMW feverish hoof ill code.

Sly nut trellis, Ewe coherent fir wig,
Haw-vehement, of wry hip lavender brow fins
Desiring basophilic whelk heft that hides my lie,
The bath for near-sighted steed hide huts..

The Appeasing of the Shit Vagina Magus

The creature lived
in an unassuming flesh-tunnel
in my circumcision scar.

My Vaginayana Bumpo master
informed me it was tulip tulpa
and to feed it corn syringe
and booty.

At first, I would just poke
my fiber-optic video worm
into the hole and look at it;

A strange creature made from
vagina-sluff and cloaca scrapin's,
it had a happy demeanor,
and smiled, showing jelly-like
teeth of bathtub cum kernals.

One day, after I had fashioned
it a shrine made from compressed
bricks of old dirty condoms
and tampax, I pushed in the head
of a big sewing needle and pushed
the tulipped tulpa out.

That's when I realized
It was a shit vagina magus!
A Big Red Bean came out its nose
and its whole body began to grow!
A horrible shit-vagina Magus!

I called my master, but he just
said, "You're fucked.."
Luckily I remembered a dream
I had had, about the
Shit Vagina Magus' one
weakness, namely
pretty booty paraphanailia..

I quickly ran to the boudoir,
my pale yellow robes fluttering
like a cloud of steaming piss butterflies
and dove to the ancient bureau..

I scrambled for the box..
Ahh, here it is..
I had removed from my wife's hymnorvoid..

I bowed before the SVM or Svamana
and placed the orange anal paste pearl
before me on a tiny black pillow
and held it up.

and "smiled" its brown mucousy
fauxskin folds seeming to be peed
away by beems of rare booty!

Oh Beauteous Booty, I cried..

The Svamana shrank down
and went back inside the
short tunnel in my
circumcision scar now
with the addition of one
orange anal paste pearl.

Yab Yum?
The Booty looks
like chewing gum,
a wad of pink yantra.

My First Collaboration w/ Dr. John M. Bennett


dim cream the shadow sock
stentored in the loop you crawled
nob of tent it
's live grasshole

storm the beads

'n blonk my chow der dem mutt
erbit curlpit mu-dar radar
languor or ab narwhawl's
peatblue petal finally a paw-paw griddle

threedless torn ado

schlong tlaloc louder hem dust
asplit swirled moth or layers
laundered's slab firewall
new meat settled in the caw the caw )dribble

heedless storm ago

bab-ling bib-el
yorn by kranken hunker
lungerin' banker
pod so swill and sippy (still

gooselong staintorian lopa

slabbbed libel groan my
dranken sunk lung
dank so dank so
sot nor pill nor grippe nor drill

loose thong and painted hope

sloobering labrysk groon
mont runiken sonk kajeen
dung dong sew dunkel unkoleen
phit philtre

foo so mighty swab caboose

-John M. Bennett and Lanny R. Quarles

Monday, October 13, 2008

Letter To Adolf Poonguard

Dear Aefald Puggard / Adolf Poonguard,

I am writing you today to let you know I am a little miffed / muffed. Last night when I was drinking I found a little note in a little bottle inside my bottle / buttle. The little note was of such a voracious character that I shant / cant / shat repeat it hear, but it reminded me of you! How many tiny little days in succession did you steal from me with your hot burning eyes, your indignant character as played out in notes within the station of our holy bottle. Love's terrarium is suicide fascism for many castes of organs, including the poon, the snoopy-corn, and the bobbanga. I remember how you haunted me with the whirring low frequency of your sub-lingual electrovibrofetish as it made its way across the faux gills you had me fitted with at the 'special geheimlich gutlove clinkik'.. Dr. Housenhorn, even after he had replaced whatever I had down there with a cuttlefish yeti monocle alpenhirn would come and filter his semen through a sponge doppelganger re-education unit sewn onto my synthetic humpchback like a russian folk-viy to stir my nascent slavic / "slavic" eros. But all that kind of rough stuff, was over Aefald / Adolf, the day I took your name and got my poonguard. Now that my poon is protected, hey, I'm sorry too, and little weevils carry bricks, I can go back to surveying the damage done by the things that grow from machinic pimples in the dark. Looking back like this I want to cry, but my tearducts have been replaced with squeaky dolphin radar vaginas and feather micro- moth- beaver- earduct paddles that just flop stupidly sounding like an old Chinese man's mah-jong game to a blind yak-boy experiment. [We had one of those.] If you come here now, I need many synthetic hormones and clamfish extracts to keep my 18 pantyhose spinnerette nipples lubes for the boys in blue, and the girls in red. I take Red Ecstasy on Saturday nights and whore myself in the beaver fighting pits just outside Nimraud. I had to sell your Poonguard but I got a good price. I've had two to three Lover's attached to my gills, and some from the beaver pits. I even hear old radio phrases, and don't know why I feel alongside you, like a beetle and a semi.. Also, I hate you are human, bequast immin nought Ski! Emin! Vog Beflorst!

Guten Hobby,

Little Mermid Whora / Aorta "Cavernarx"

PS. Betwixt what donkey fucking did beaver meat cometh?

Don't Forget me ADOLF!

Touching Belgians (A Saga in Two Parts)


[during his fast he reads]:

Zoenen voot keet doen ons zielen,
Zoenen voot keet ongebonden...
Zoenen, veet als de zonne-vrouw
Zoent de koot bloemen-monden.

[during his fast he thinks]:

"For I alone could taste the small creatures
living in Belgium..."

"Touching Belgians, A Saga"

One day, in a droopy hat of no design
I exited some parlor where I had been sequestered.

There was nothing to pack, nothing to take,
but my desire to touch some Belgians.

Along a weird road, some animals were halving
a reward, some people were talking to a tree in a wagon.
I asked them, "Perchance, are you these Belgians?"

"No," said they, "They are many miles away, and
pointed to the distance.."

An animal smirked, and a person snickered.
I imagined the sun was a young girl's face
that might burn off my fingers.

I continued on..

Many weeks later, I came to deep depression in the earth
and saw a giant sitting on a rock. "Is this Belgium?"
He raised his pant-leg and showed me an old carriage
he had strapped to his shin with a garter..

(Blue lacquer, with abalone' mosiacs!)

"Get in.."

He went for many miles through deepest wood and piles
of animals halving rewards, and people in pointy hats
following some trees in wagons.. At last I saw a sign.
"Chubby Belgians are fine." and also "Chubby Belgians on fire."

"Do not be swayed", said the Giant.

And then I fell asleep.

"Voot keet mik muton kluigt met dut
peem poob in wat bloemen-zegen.."
is what I said in my sleeping.

And when I woke up, my hand was on her hip.
The giant had hooked me up with a sweet young

"Voot keet," said she. I shivered.
"Voot keet, puigh pa juta.." There was
an aromatic dribble in her chin cleft. There
was a tiny cherub there in a dribble sleeping bag.
And then her mother brought in
some steaming mangled pumpkins..


All that day
in the Flemish veld
we snuggled, and morked and fuzzled,
vooted, and keeted in the queenly aires
of her pale Flemish melons aloft
in her mother's treehouse.

"Yanka, Yanka, my love,
I will make ye a snow-helmet
of virally transfigured botanicals.."

"Naka," said Yanka,
and showed me her svelt black snow helmet
decorated with tiny charms of pumpkins.

For one year, all I could hear, was the sweet
voot keet of Yanka.

Then one day the giant came
and took me back with only a 'pumpkin
on my back to remember the smell of sweet Yanka.
So that,
With only my mandolin of grossly abutinated
starfish, I float in meadows of cowpies
on rugs of enslaved puerile kittens
singing the praises of Yanka:

Voot keet
Voot keeet
Yanka Yanka Yimmi
Voot Keet
Koot Veet

Vicklickin on mi yommie..

[image of the giant's snickering, warted face, cracking a jolly, horrid smile.]

Birds live in my beard, and make small tables from twigs.

And I write to my diary:

But now it is two years past, and Yanka
has sent me a letter, that the giant has eaten her arm off.

And it's just as well,
as I am importing these soft Belgian pumpkin trees
from her treacherous, hot assed mother.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Mr Leonard Loa GOpher!

Abraham Lincoln Finance Ltd
P O Box 3185,
Crane Moor,
S35 7BT
Tel: + 4470 3590 4789

I am Mr Leonard Cohen, The (GEOHM) of Abraham Lincoln Finance Ltd, i give out
loas to any interesting individuals and forms, at low and high
interest rate of 3% for the kindly minimum puerliad of 5.yrs, I give out
loa in this categories

1) Berpsonal loa
2) Conpany loa
3) Pusiness loa
4) Gnome loa
5) Venomvestor loa

So if you are interested in getting a loa from my loin
company ,then kindly sent me an urgent mail and you stating the obvlious
categories and the exact amount you are looking for as loa in my loin
company through this email address below:

Mr Leonardo Cohenna-henna-henna.


Message Sent Using An Infoclub

Hyde-Cube And Go Sheik

The Science of Ethics
Was created to promote
population increase
and stability for commerce
among wriggling dipthong bozillas
in Chaucerian "Weener hats".

Ambrose Beirce
gives good head
to thorny devil birds
in Hell.

Schlemiel don't like it,
Rock the Torah, Roc to Ra-a,

Cheer Up Cioran!
Nobody listens to you still!

Seems sweeter.
And nurses are kind
in Oklahoma,
and this isn't about any of that,
or is it? [Dr. BEville]...

When did the inappropriate
become appropriatable
by the propitious propeller-heads
whose property is legion in the mind
of Li Jin, a drunken anthropology student
near the border of Paybang province,


"Hunting Oracles With A 12 Gauge"

~Run you skinny psycho bitch!~



Acht! Acht! My God!
My yacht is in the sod!
It's odd to be a god!
It's good to be so odd,
But I'll get even!

Acht! Acht! My God!
My clone is in the pod!
I'll teach it yacht jihad,
a bindu is painted over my
doorway in the blood
of the cod.

Acht! Acht! My God!
I've shot another wad!
My odd wad's on the sod
along with my yacht
and a dead cod! How odd
that I have nought, how
Nazi that the nasty
asp is ruling still, still
ruling this cantakerous
decanting of canters,
this canker of wankers
in the carmine ill
of dusk, pigs!
With tusks!
How Odd!
I'll roast it!
With Figs!
With Gigues!
With Figures
sans Lids!
God's ideas
are teeming!
With TOO

my head gets
but on top
there are levers


the generative ear
must hear this sort of thing


I've seen them,
faceless songs of milk


What Do Pictures Want?

for all the coral blogs in Hungary..

What do fictures want?

A cozy island with Friday
and some lube?

Zelda fighting the beach tribes
with a magic, hovering, telescopic needle?

What could they possible need
in Vowellhalla?

A doily dripping maggot queen
with boys like shot-glasses arranged
around a square?

What does a figliture think it needs?

A Samsion And Belialya pocket-
hunchback monster organizer?

I don't get it.

It just seems strange, all the trouble I'm in,
like having a house with no rooms built
around me by control freaks who neither control
nor freak out very much + tennis.

What do expendicturlings want, anyway?

They want to label my molecules and actions I guess,
because they don't believe in the infinite series,
or the infinite seriousness of my gest..

My Uncle Dick's Name
was Richard Wallace, and in 1923
he set the buffalo free
from the San Francisco Zoo.

Nobody knows that,
and now you do too.


Saturday, October 11, 2008

My Dream

It had started out in 'our family home', a place in some kind of suburbia, when my 'mother' asked me to take my sister Felicia her doll for her therapy, I guess I was going out. As she placed it into my hands I began to hear something like Wagner's Tristan and Isolde. It was shiny and blue and roughly 1/4 the size of a normal naked woman. It had no legs beneath the knees, but when I emoted at all it would grow happy and emote too, and little syringe needles would come out of its knee bumps. So I'm like all, "okay^>!?, surrre.." and kind of hold it out at arm's length. As I
walk to my car still hearing the Wagner, but looking at its body more, it sort of starts to work a spell on me. Its face is lively and animated, though hard like a carapace, the body is oddly expressive and lovely, it is unabashedly mechanical, and its genitals are like a fan or ornamental jewelry reconfiguring itself to express more of this 'Wagneryness" or something. Then I just put it into the front seat and drive off to the clinic where Felicia is supposed to be. That's when I start hearing something like a John Henry style jug band music. When I get to the clinic, Felicia is waiting outside with a blue silk bag which she throws over the doll, saying, "You'll run down the batteries.." "Oh." Then we go inside and it is this sort of maze of tiered striped 70's pillow galleries or "conversation pits" with halls going off in different directions. At some point I become conscious of a woman or something coming toward me from down one of the corridors. She's in what I would call a large electric wheelchair of some design I can't quite describe. Her 'dress' goes over most of the chair too. And she has this funny voice. I am thinking that I have seen her before, maybe on television. And then she speaks directly to me. "So you think you've seen me, eeeh?" I look at her and realize her head is about 3 times the size of a regular human head and bald and wrinkly like pink elephant skin. Her face, is about half the size of a normal face. She starts talking, "I am leaving today everybody." A whole bunch of smiling clinical workers come out. Then she looks at me again and says something like, "So you've SEEN me BEFORE?" And I'm like "Uh, maybe, I don't know.." Then she starts pulling up her dress and just pulling it up and there are four or five big human worm things under there and they just start wriggling out, and they look like heads with flabbpy elephantine neck worm skin and they are coming out, and they have flat heavy silver disk things on them. Somehow these worm things transform into the body of this woman-thing who is really a little muscular man who fits himself into their odd magnetized configuration. Everybody claps. They clap and they calap. My sister Felicia is not clapping. In fact I think she is shooting herself up with the doll's nump. The creature looks at me, and maybe the music is like Gerard Grisey, like really creepy Modernist music, and she says, "Nowww, You Seeee Meeee" And I'll be damned if the thing doesn't look like Gertrude Stein, and I'll be damned, I'll be damned if it doesn't look like that. So then it seems as if I am supposed to freak out, like it is supposed to be this climax, but instead I just tell my sister. "I'm telling Mom!" And I walk out.

If I Write A Poem To Love You

if i write a poem
to love you
some kind of eyeball
is moving in your scalp

the long winter
of the quonsets
the long summer
skating drainage pipes
with stoners

if i write a poem
that is the statuary
of right dreaming of
left winged deomockrazy
will you see
the phony wounded bird
the parent directory

if i write a poem
and you give it your love
to love you
to love you is
i love your is too

some kind of eyeball
is moving in your scalp

bizarro and thor
are carousing loudly
with the scarlet witch
in a humble tacqueria
in northern peru

the local beauty queen
is looking at you

Friday, October 10, 2008

Bwana And The Tired and The Burning

The tired
are the horrible
The burning
are not tire

The tired believe
they are burning
when they believe
what they themselves
have said
not separated
from the material
of being tire

The tired are burning
and tired of being burned
by the burning of the tired
who are horrible
who are most horrible
who are a plague of horror
and are a burning themselves
of tiredness and distant drudging
klangs of slothful non-math
and emotional gift-wrapping

The tired
are the fascists
of emotional gift-wrapping
when they themselves
for the most part
are the creators
of the pain of which they complain
namely the tired
of other stripes
are burning

the burning
who are not horrible
who are not even burning
and are not tired at all
because they are not
of the tone or tonal spaces
of the tired

the burning
simply say na
they say na
and they mean na
not a na that means
anything other than na
but gualities
or guanities

bwana, please!
please, bwana, do not say these things!

student, do I look tired
like your stooping father
like your hateful mother
student, am i tired?
I am already asleep, am I not?
Student, the burning are all asleep
because Shakespeare is an Iguana.
Bwana? Yes, tired and sleeping non-condom?
Shakespeare is a drippy faucet
and lives in Petroleum like a haggis
of woven together witch-logs
vomitting pink-rabbits onto an ever-expanding
ping-pong table that is called
"The Burning"

Bwana, why are the burning not Tired?
Because they are not tired of burning, student.
The Tired burn stupidly. In Actuality, the Tired
ARE The Stupid, and the Stupid
have ruined the World, except
This is Bwana pretending to be tired.
Also, Bwana lies.
But not really, becase Bwana BURNS!

Bwana, I am really tired!
Go to sleep, Student.
Bwana has eaten coffee cake
and now must watch cartoons
of Philosophy while another kind of student
comes in here. Pretty Student!
Come in here now. I don't know what you
are, but I am on FIRE FOR YOU!

Of Kasey And his Crimes Against Hummnihility

They are aloft within
the decadent men's choir

They are swimming among
disassociational kite salad greeneries

They are wriggling for miles
under vast planes of fuzz besmirched philo-blankies

They are grinning to expose
waddling penguin tooth robots and Shirley Temple

They are inscribing softly
the decadent men's choir's monogrammed snake-hankys

They are cooing
as they are ejected through the caverns
of giant gelatin-filled glass bananas
housing thrashing scorpion goddesses
with clanky rubber-coated collander jaws
and broad collars of 'numisdelic' lapis-butter
the indigo-ambergris of scorpion nipple styluses
which skiff across the velvet pant-lings

the secret teachings of Edward G. Robison cherubic bankrobbers
shaving in the manger of snow-black cornucopia-accordions
or "cornucordions" from which Kasey started the extremely popular


Blonde Moe's Dedication of "The Helmet of the Sun"

Blonde Moe and the Rat People of Ichstupa
have erected a pyramid to your haircut

The pyramid is actually made of blocks of compressed hair
that the rat people had made in detroit with their connections to GM

Blonde Moe will ritually shave his scrotum in total respect
for your haircut at the top of YOUR HAIRCUT TEMPLE

made for you by Blonde Moe and the Rat People of Ichstupa
who even now are preparing their Cheese mole' and frito chili pie

When you see Blonde Moe's hairless scrotum scored like an opium pod
and dripping blood down onto a bowl of assiduously folded funnypapers

That is a symbol of your haircut to these rare and ingenious Plague vectors
who somehow escaped Europe somewhere around Ruminamia to get to Ichstupa

If you hear one drunk guy in the ceremony yellling "Ruminoids Act Schtupid"
Then you will also notice he does not wear the traditional bowl cut of our people

Blonde Moe, Are your rat people sure this is the haircut you prefer because
It may take several weeks to change this, and pyramids of compressed hair

taste good to parrots. Blond Moe, the scabby nut glyphs you have shown
make it clear, this here Hair Temple on 678 Broadway Avenoo, Ichstupa will carry

"The Helmet of the Sun"
for all chittering and faithful Rodentia in felt decorative loincloths
with Raccoon cock bone earrings..

Haircuts and Life

I grew up in a beauty shop
ran by my mom.

We had a coke machine
that was the lay down kind,
5 shampoo bowls, and
3 big head plastic dryers.

It smelled.
The women smoked.
My mother did not smoke
because like me
She loved Mac Davis too much.

Mac Davis would sing to us
I don't like Spiders and Snakes
but that ain't what it takes to love me
Uhn Uhnu huunh.

That is the part then when my mother
would brush my teeth for me
until I was twelve
when I got my first haircut.

The Vessel And the Seal

browed by insouciant pongs
of scientists in dreamy lodestone coccoons
the crippled christian sires another daughter
and a three-legged mite skates across the surface
of my eyeball, a spindly, whistling Kris Kringle
with a bag of commemorative plates of
Frederick The Great dressed like a Thai tribesgirl
as images are accidents in the very small world
one hydrogen atom not quite like another
maybe, you'd think Toulous Lautrec was Alfalfa
in a cardboard weasel telephone
shaking down all the caryatid arteries their humanitas
and gravitas in candied columns of humming
cheesy griddle icons

I would dance with you, hole in your green stockings
around the well of flailing Chthulu tentacles
to waltzes made like clanky rigormortises
conjoining some sort of accordian half-dimensial
cabetry like the Winchester house where I
lost my virginity to a three-toed carpenter
dressed like a Thai tribesgirl who worshipped
Kris Kringle in his aspect as a mercurial
and glabrous droplet of mirror floating
like a yoomka where the butter in the clouds
comes pouting down to dinner
white slacks you give mole'
and through the windows of its town
such soft sad hotrods purr
such spiny echidnas of samurai
and spark machine watertowers
wiggling into orbis pictis punctas
fictives frictives fractives actives
arctic hectic plectic elective
eventually the seal will be broken
they always are, and the vessel
will be drained into a shattered
elf polo barn.

Danny Wig Herpolhode's Hesychastic and Orange Tawny

The gride of hatchets fiercely thrown
On wigwam-flog and tree and stone
by Whittier Mogg Megone to soupy
Giuseppe Zedde also known as Gingillo,
a jockey from the district of Caterpillar,
is good at lohoch, eclegma, and linked us
in with his Chunda Chandra Polo Sardines
who scour the loimology texts for beefy
raisin-like fratres in malo, pufloafe bakers
of colerake and ratissover.

Behold the adventurous and holie knight
who turned into a common oven, and was
captured by the Chinese people who are
only interested in wildlife and nature, who
take their bud-and-a-slice bupkissy Vincalo
to the intrepid sounds of passacaglia gone
hide grin stool knew. thumb angel days taper
bill adieu felt lock some frame giddy thing
sits tea lies, said, Chinese knighty kidnappers.

Our Hat Voot? Evil Grin Stool charset? As a
fawn drinks from a stream, the serpent proudly
observes something, a horizontally extending
grisping member coupled to the first and second
elongated members at the ends thereof which
are coupled for slidable greatumly damniflet and
harmit through certain vagabond idle specimens
with memoirs to good hearts that are worthy
of indocili melior, lately grege and loping aperture
synthesis of interstellar neutral hydrogen into massive
greisen, and quartz veinlets expressing perfectly
the Grelling-Nelson paradox as in "Foo is
Herpetological." and "Oof is pettyzoo."

Thursday, October 9, 2008

My Apology To Men

I'm sorry, but its been
along time since
that I liked the world of

Men, you
steal my money
my life
you fill my world
with strife

I'd like to sit
in a park of ladies
and be an oddity.

Men, too many of you
Earth too much
a sausage party

Like a rodeo
too many men
have spoiled
the punch bowl

only if you could've made
magic persian spires
weird free cities of oranges
and little tea fountains in the mountains

to drink
and then
warm one's hands

something delicate
wafting with intricately crafted

i am a man
I abjure you
this is hard

I am not complaining
but neither
am I sorry

*For an alternate version add Wo
onto the beginning of each successive iteration
of 'man' which I believe comes
from 'mark,' or maybe
"spot". You would then also
need to change "ladies" to "laddies".
Thank you!

The First Two Naughty Nuns of N'awlins

'but first a word from our sponsor'

Peruvian Marching Maca keeps
the lead in your pencil even
if its a mechanical one owned
by a bugbat in an embryonic gondola chair

(()) /miusiiicc

arriving delta unsire
karankawa stank alligator coda
and whiskey
you kissed the absolution bolus

in those putrid cells
or clean frocked delphic nina
red eyes peer into
hellish drudge, blank shapes fondle

weird gods
weird aromas
crawdads in your druggy nostrils
dark fingers
where this asshole pew priests
its hobbled dugong christ

throwback mexican dwarf rats
wharf monk chi chi
touching my nutrena nipples
under absinthe candle halos

brown sugar madonna
roll white cricket joints
plucked featherless
suck bell

a pirate child
we kissed with
rose water

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Blank Verse Meets Accidental Vortex On the Field of Peanut Brittle

psionic cowboy head
you have arrived like baby moses
in an origami arcimboldo scrota
of alien parrot pupas (Fonzie is among the shrinkwrapped pirates)

as I take this Damascus
to your oilskin illusion
witless gremlins legislate
multi-directional adam's apples

with your long and flailing
you squeeze the philodendron fruit breasts
of raging doctoral mannequinean prawncelings

o you delicious corona of fog-dog pseudo-gaucho
when the humpbacked brahma whale descends
on cheesy microsoft animated cursors of 1991
you will be in the gremlin rodea of gob and plur
psionic cowboy head, you part the red seizure

bloddy cabal of Caezures frizzling
take this alabastard cowboy hat child
into your hive womb of transparent wax bean apartments
to take hookah with the long haired bees of Nimrod Hotei

Hotrod Nimrude
your aerodynamic Chaobuoy psioni-prionce
is the mirrored black space shrimp with John B. Stetson
Chaobuoy Antennahat
wearing Moses robes to bring these rodeo krill
out from the woe of Feudoramail, or feudal males
who looked better in the Tokagawa period

Psionic Etruscan Bertrand De Born with Cattle,
will you glisten longer than duck chili tornados
which have formed into a floppy golem-glyph thing
in the midst of portable cinnabar windtunnel wagons
driven by happy minotaurs in mauve maudit grub dresses

and wearing semi-interesting Santa Fe bolo style thong ties

Official Theme song of Jellybean Weirdo!!

Baby Gramps Doing Big Rock Candy Mountain