The Spider Beggar's Flamentula

oaf phages of the ages, if within these undersea p
eoples, we bursts of citizens akin to atomizations
of ballistic squirting cucumber, we dwarf mistleto
e seeds delivering glittery livery to undersea gro
tto become, if we become, iffy becomely, if ephebe
come a lee by churre, and if by churring the seaho
rse orchestras inhabit plankton beards as elevator
s, but not just elevators, but as egg showers. giv
e the human form its connotour, its notouration. a
nd when cubes of tender turquoise sperm make bridg
es into his unfinished half-spines, then all the m
ind's an ocean. if it were not clopf for detail's
cursling urges web, by wedding its soft ambrosial
skin to a turnepin of harrow, the or that tornado'
s bildy brot would rise even slower by the disguis
e of quiet size now oft a runabout laid with diamo
nd gridded tires so etchy in the baked flat mire o
f tribal utterance. what gives for a gift where of
t the fit is sagging with the grist of further ove
r-animals, high-spirited teapots that whistle the
slink of iphigenian folly. if it is genial, then b
rash loose cannons may go at a cluster an emuit, r
and clusters of kangaroolephonts go flat against t
he stones fall inward and display the canvassed ge
odes of fabulous wills across africa or even a the
atre whot, its before the production or after, whe
n the robot poerters lilt like candied monkey cloc
ks, kee-yanh he-piki-puyanh that little poo is a m
achinado of clock tiger peripules lozenged by sing
ed burlur haeirs or what notty give it a butler pa
rtially obscured by color-coded manta-ray shingles
or shemglish so that the predontrafters or "flakin
g paint oscilloscope" speach lounges correctly in
Vincent Price's SHRUNKEN HEAD MUSEUM from has boro
ugh will to unravel *note the top image of the eas
ter bunny I searched for "Heather Angel" thinking
it the common name for Geastrum Triplex, but inste
ad found an ACTUAL and proper Heather Angel taking
part in the triplex reality of "Geaster". I am for
ming a nonsensical assemblage, or if you like, a t
rans-skin-dont one. The species was first describe
d scientifically by German botanist Franz Wilhelm
Junghuhn as Geaster triplex in 1840. Here's a band
age for oaf if you need it. I do. I don't like bei
ng an oaf, but, well, a loaf isn't but a pinch bet
ter. I pinch little Poseidon on his inner bicept,
and then one of my bosses calls. "I need the exact
dates of your absence." So I tell him. My Absence
from the totality of non-ironic unity began on rou
ghly August 29, 1967 and has yet to complete its t
erm. As if a human life was a single graphemic ter
m a kind of live-stroke ideogram or zoepigraphy A
smoke of spores lets the spore be anything. Here i
t does. I can dig down and find my own lies. Like
how at one time I thought I had invented the hall
of snake-necked heads, but now I find a gallery of
heads in MANHUNTER #5 but you know, it could still
work out, like these heads could talk and hang in
a room, jewels set in latex, burning coals set in
iron ice chunks set in refridgerator coils It's we
ird I like the fact that MANHUNTER has no hero's i
nsignia. He's just blank, and he belongs to a secr
et society called the shan. But my brain, for some
reason puts a little star of david on his chest, a
nd then proceeds to put a french dandy's mustache
over the steel metal mask. Why does it do that? I
don't think these options are necessary in the oce
an. It's already like the 10th victim except peopl
e are trying to 'fuck each other up' instead of li
ke actual murdering. They use the oracular indexic
ality and amphibianism of being to slander and con
fuse each other, but the whole thing is already an
abomination, but I mean that in the kindest of way
s. It's sort of like religion and forgiving. Space
forgives because of its mute dimensionalty. This i
s the easiest method to show how all things are bo
th crime and religion made one. The unity of life'
s ironicality mirrors the unity of death's steely

geaster,
jester,
heather,
ether, or as bjorn always says~

"wreathus"