Wednesday, October 8, 2014

a small painting of the Imperror Capon



Just so, and now that the throat-sac of the inevitable beast saviour has become swollen, we may inspect its contours with the telemicroscoptic bene' just before its bruta-beaute' is made visaudiom. But 'throat-sac' is misleading, because as we all know, this peacock geode is something more like a forest, or cite', and it is grown from the floating pale umbilicallous'd object of all will and representation, and could possibly be described, or beginning so, as a poor featherless capon, but one which is still more miraculous in composition than its appearance would suggest beyond the simple contour, but yes, it is a nude chicken, an emperor stripped bare, but an emperor which is also an amorphous gel of scintillant nacre, a kind of opalescent jelly whose skeleton is external, and which grows from the hard, lovely crystal seed, which is in fact its heart, our word. And so, the helixed crystal ladder columns splay out from there, 'en cornuto', to create a bulbous form, a fathromiscent cleverness of erreur, a rowing how, a howing row, a role, a rolling, and a roe, throat-sac as magical speaking egg, and the transparent skeleton which supports the dome becomes the area of feathering, and the feathers are leaves, and the leaves are texts, and the texts are writhing, and sometimes they come loose, and turn themselves into miniature crystal skeletons whose amorphous opalescent chicken organs then form, sui generis of course, and become somewhat muscular, but their propulsion is somewhat indifferent to the legible angles of propulsion we would expect, for there is nowhere to go, for the throat-sac itself remains the extent of the proscenium, or obscenium, or proboscenium, the ingrowing nose, whose eye is itself, n-growth, or, a sound, never able to fall outside the being of a sound, or an image of the will.