Tuesday, May 20, 2014


But this isn't a cautionarry tale atoll!

and there is a formula which describes it:

Foo = the furious capacity for combinations as encoded as autorefractive mythologem = dragon = fool.
Goo = materiality's absolute denouement as the ground of combination, or loss = paradise lost = combination faile, or combination succeed to the detriment
of other combinatory follishnessies.

This is a FUGU alert!
Furious jelly
is a foot.

so here i go:
i bask and basilisque
in the wild fury,
and as i open my wings, it opens
its nictitating paddle arrays
replete with illuminated speaker organs.

this was once a furious icon of revolting display.
now it seems as if 
the ceramic copula
has been subsumed by its own
crazed surface?
I'll be the savior of objects.

all matter is poetry,
all circumstance
sacred drama.
get the fuck off my stank-neck,
daddio GOMBDURR.

even the fairest flame
must partake
in the red and oval cattle
which fill the flayed flute
of Marcy's ass.

this is a dove wing made of boiling nacred foo-putti

potential sprinting
along the fitness corridowse
in the great and yellow green temporal esophagus
the lightcone as fate=calculand

got a shovel?
there's a road of solid gold 
just beneathe the mud.
got a cigarette?
we just got robbed
of our growing habits.

mysticism always consists
of replacing the other with a cosmic eid, but what if
all the other is other and the eid is marching,
Caesar vidied a seizure,
and I am a seizure,
searching for an eye
in the mist.

at the center of the most excellent
and final poem of hermetics
was the history
of blue furniture.

you won't find fugu
in a pit of boiling dabloons..
I beg to differ.
All is fugu.
and foogoo is moot,
and mute, though its tyrant scream
is absolute,
and lutening
with lightening.

We'vre abolished all colour themes here on planet Earth, but welcome
to Marcy's ass.

and so at 3 pm everyday, the foogoo bell would sound,
and the great cake arch sprout luminous blue putti recliners...

what is the square root of blind masseur clones
divided the round root of umbrella times granny over baby white caps?
bamboo growing beside the beach.

let it be known dear, that the TRUFUGU
is a wry witlessness giving birth eternally
to its own witnesses (jigega, nude deskinding a sereclase)

and helping friends
down off the battlefield
back to the bar

once again.
look dreeply onto my eids,
for the oval of red cattle
descends into the pupil
via a shadow
of absex.

only in passing
do we mention
the conquering sprout
of the informe',
but it isn't coffee.

See, Eid myself id become
a somatic prouncinull,
an incipient hiss,
a gladness
smeared with dinarrliums.

my head exploded
my great armor roams
like a cooing
and heroic
gasm asque.

This is what the universe looks like on string-theory.

and so, as sweet spring approaches the twin blank obsidian pages of the window book, its surface is overcome by the identity of the semiotic playing.
plainsong opens the debate with boredom,
but wabi-sabi counters
with both wild and abject hermeneusis
combined by hoary-gomi.

measuring orangutang tongue takes time,
but it doesn't give much
unless you consider
the fair celadon perrukes
of torrential termagents
as the approach
the herodial mass
to reveal their amulets
of negative ressentiment.

i mow this goddamn fugu down to size!

the great vehicle
is always followed by blue furniture
and neither ideology nor aesthesis
can ever changue-langue that.l.

like a murky drift i peer from
attempting to surmize
the weird path
of foogoo

she found the invisible staircase.
too bad it never existed.

i didn't turn into a pillar of salt
when i looked back at fugu
but the dream god bacchus
poised before a sea of blue wine
my ultimate divan of dream.

what is the red oval?
the red oval is a rogue gibletext.

a skizzard
which welcomes
back into its own body.

a weirdo's jelly
basilisking in the sun
on lips of pale grey fire

you will live for ten thousand years
with a black plum
hovering in a cube of frozen black snow
made of iron cricket tongue legs..

Vulcan was young and handsome then,
so make note of these VULGARD

I'm about to slow down into runic fnords before I caliban the junction with watered silk pillow book buildings.

I roux
the dei.

that my currtune school
stretched out its helmet hand 
in a wish for bliss..

for every time i desired and grabbed
i got some of its bliss and some of its hiss
we make green stucco with absinthe

at night
i coum
like a bat
like a gnat
my transmission

is the genius
of witlessness
as form
this is my mantra
this is my gold

as a ceramic shoe
for bees
in a flowerless

Is that Don Quixote'?

just the two hands of sanchmo panzer
and the great jellyroll revue.

die cast metel.

fugu alert: let these fields drift forever, groaning and growing, gorling, and gorillapedia.

I would like to take this moment to thank all miniature statuary who live inside the etherneal pluroma of wild fugu..


No I don't want to hear another Pinocchio joke!

It's time the world knew.
Weird fetishes will all converge
on blue velvet furniture
and calm library daze at homme.

has trapped us in blue velvet.

to weird massage
but the crane is blind
and dances

this is a FOOGOO ALERT!