Thursday, April 25, 2013

FINISH LINE (A NEW BEGINNING)



"A RAMSGATE QUOTIENT":
"THE"


Mona is getting married, Anne is making her wedding dress. They are bosom friends, but someone has come between them. Anne's lover, the mysterious Dr. Lack. As the others head on into town, Anne leaves them without an explanation. The champagne is zinging around in Mona"s head. She is hurt. She knows that Anne is just going home to have sex. She decides to follow her and find out just who this Dr. Lack is. She finds his surgery. She steps into the vast hall. It is hot. She is dizzy. She goes up the staircase and slips into his apartment.




Disturbed drug induced games are played and ghost stories are told, but Dr. Lack retains his composer; starting first with a Hindi-Bateau-Hrougeti inflected fugue, then a devilish howl, then a poem about some leather retraints for a doll of gelatin infused with hypnotized snakes which each wear a tiny transponder and slither into letters and puff perfumed smoke, and whose scales, each one of them is an advanced city of nubile gyrating Veevos. Mona's face is covered with a bat. Dr. Lack smiles, "Welcome to the world of Politics!" Harvard Robot Men.

"My dear Mona, Candor masks a vast machinic plain which isn't beyond representation in full, but which is fairly insurmountable to draw by in degrease. Trancendance is a line of blind dancers in a rustic foff of ovaline," said Dr. Lack, his eyes floating loosely on their luminous tethers, tiny bubbles corruscating the threads each etched with barely visible texts of flipping and rotating letterforms unknown to Mona, Anne, or Dr. Lack.


Dr. Lack is the sea to every conversation whose letters bob in invisibility like stark drowners gravid with hairs around a storm.


Dr. Lack suggests a game of Chess with his Leverman Goalie Ohm.
Mona says, "Asswhipe." High energy pipe organ begins to play.
It is the feeling of a smile, of April without end.
"In the dark of my life," says Dr. Lack.
Feet are coal in Spring..
"Asswipe!)))Outwright!(((("


Mona build a glans of honey in the forethought of her room.
Gamm meets.


Dr. Lack gazes upon the hole of unreality,
and finds it lacking, in reality.
Pan-sonic. Epi-sonic.
Om.


Anne apologizes for being so upbeat, but Anne clandestinely regains her meaning's pregnancy.
She looks deep into the flames of the rubbadubb, and says "Clandestime Clement-lime."
Dr. Lack shows the eye in his knee to Mona.
"Rectumlunier." "Lumiere."


"Oh Kenneth, Replicants are so passe'.."
Mona's two front teeth begin to rotate.
Dr. Lack shines a light into her mouth, "La passat de questeria ko nove'?"
Anne thinks of a whole world of yellow chairs.
Mountains and seas, of that same yellow chair.
A yellow chair on
Broadway.


An old picture of Dr. Lack in his youth had appeared by a low night table.
"Bronchio" was all the old man said.
Anne sniffed hopefully.
Potpourri goat hats.
For. Rasputin PUTIN.
put it in.
your.


The outside world flew by. Time Magazine. Time Magazine.
Time Mazagine. Time's amazing vagina.
Vagina. Vagina.
Gnome. Time is all politics, because
space is handicapped:
BY WHAT? Anne yelled.
Mood. said. Doctor. Mona. Lack.
"Like a shiny gold coin on bLACK velvet."


"I'd like to show you the back of my head," said The Leverman,
"I Compani Extended La Dolce Vita slow, or Il Duca di Württemberg."
Anne compared the image silently to a poemogranite.
Jojo and Gyro.


It was at preschisely that moment that Dr. Topor Lack revealed the true world, "This present you feel is but a kind of surface. In our future, which is actually the present, hyperadvanced Nautilids live in an interconnected metaverse like neurons in a brain. Their odd conversational artifice is our so-called world." Mona began to touch herself with an octopurse.
"Cabbage crates."


On the radio: "I am the mage mage mega-squid of the 45th century. Jacqueline Blisset ex Nihiho."
A line to the wrist.
Instead of Lion's paw arm-rests.
Hooded clittoreal SAINTS.


Anne and Mona said, "We will contemplate this in second level.."
Dr. Lack returned to his chess cylinder.


-leaving only the Leverman to contend
with the giant leopard crab, and his own
very "Alice the Goon" in WONDERLAND.
rubble-rubble-rubble.
(the end)


In the same way you are not interested in me, I am not interested in Identity politics, but rather
various extensions of elemental conflict bordering on, entering, or leaving, beauty, and to live, to live rigorously with the strate-fired continuum of the moment, with the ochre of farraginous dreams, with the vitriol of no always no never - blind to my own dimensions but determined to not misknow what sets me outside myself, Cro-Magnon Asmat Xochipilli opened by the sun to view the manticities of the AUTHRUMM relvit a sproutning out of the ipomoeic eclosion in its
Pan chromatic coccsoon.
POABERNX!