Friday, January 23, 2015

DON'T BEAK A GIFT HEARSE IN THE MOUNT!


what original mind
would say that a line
that caused so much feeling
should suffer

when you suffer not
the complainte of meaning
then and only then
will the yodeling protoctistan mirror saints
attend your 
champaigne barmitzva scrotum table cloth
with their houndstooth
tongue butler roman sandal biscuit
romance


a large heavy rock
will certainly put an end
to your brother's supernatural whining
which should quiet your dreams enough
to see the transparent capricorn fish's
nicotine vagina horn
dogs wearing mink stoles
backpackers in jeopardy
and transsexuals being birthed
from fallen goat rugs

now be a good lad
and play your sword flute
for old Jambidvupta


Most excellent granny,
Penelope's many suitors
are wrestling in the plaza.

Serve them poisoned gruel
and we'll have dog food 
for the winter.

Yes Granny.


TV said if I did drugs
I'd be stuck at home
doing nothing in my pyjamas.
I'm glad I turned out to be a drug
stuck at home
doing nothing in my pyjamas


a car lighter
sheeps
the sheffield green
grey


ideologies
are demons
that inhabit
the post-classical
mutation space

bardo-beasts
of the mirrored picasso hell humanism paradox

true human time
ended
in the classical periods.


these sheep drift
into the shadow of cerberus
whose third head
is a hops flower
hung low
on a lute string


i can't bear my monstrous shadow anymore
if I quiet my mind enough maybe I can see the transparent capricorn fish's
nicotine vagina horn


Samuel Beckett
changed
into
an Elephant.


as satan
my lonely yodeling
bounds through space
in a windy gristle

in spring
the butterflies will return


there's nothing left for me anymore here
except infinite potential
on an immortal plain of inconceivable joy


AGENTS OF THE CLASSIC
UNITE!


You should be an agent of the Classics, Robothi!


Every proportion is designated
by a divine transcendent principle.
Thomas Pynchon
is Mercury's Jack-o-Lantern


In life I was the preface
to a yodeling manual,
and in death
I yodel.


I told you to sign in at the desk before you visited the skull gallery!


In in any event, the human image itself, like God,
HAS driven man insane, which if not exactly proving the existence of God,
at least proves the divinity of man,
for Satan yodeling in the Classical period
through a transparent nicotine vagina horn.


If Syntaxis is the body of the divine syntagma,
I need to be ever vigilant
to maintain my cells!


What the fuck is it?
Can't tell. I think it may be a giant unthinking post-classical mutation zone,
or a robotic cigarette vagina.


I think you look a little more Kurt Vonnegut playing Abdul Alhazred in a post-classical nicotine patch called BELIAL!


gritty
1970's
conceptualism
was the last gasp
of the classical.


and then a fiery spermatazooon
replaced the flower emblem
that the yodelling satan clone had made
on the surface of the milk lake
high on mount sumeru


I'm spraying my photons
all over you.


DON'T BEAK A GIFT HEARSE IN THE MOUNT!