Lamp Chains Everyone (An Antic Bruegel Bugel Fuguel)

In Quipu, the svelt secret of branching architecture sunned itself in the nude day sun, the naked braids of the odalisque could calculate by quantum sexy the complex infigurable debate on the distribution of inner within outer as a ratio of the distribution of outer within inner,

and all with a sort of 'wabi-sabi' elan of sawn and hacked off limbs..

the first enigma wall ink curtain prototypes were erected as art projects among the bikini islands,

later, these same tchniques would be used to control world population flows with stern, authorless, post-national enigmas.

In this early coin from Serpellonia, Le Bes, or Bas, is shown as a counter image for the mighty bull.

Notice how his elbow and crook make a lyre that is a weapon.

The labyrinth is made from soft metallic flesh extruded by a "pleasure animal"

deep inside a nut meat's big-bellied whistle blowing club.

Black Beard, always the object of romance, traded in poetic fame for success with high-seas Spanish sea-vixens like Consuelo, an elegant murderess, and divine angel above all laws and thought-forms, save absolute caprice. Black Beard found her wonderfully silly, and of course, she smelled much better than old Lucky, his worn out cabin boy.

Blacku Beardu Pinkku.

Knock Knock..

Come out crazy dispossessed alley writers

and psychotic visionary dingalings!

The happy crime boss has a proposition..

fuh youse bats..

Everyday my spirit moves further out to sea, where the horizon of death, if not comforting, at least gives some meager contour to the upsettingly ambiguous narrative of my tragic life.

She is my friend, my placenta, or text. When I make her talk, it is almost as if someone is here with me, talking to me, thought the proposition of that process grows dimmer every day.

I call her "Ms. Creem, the Abominable Snow Codex"

No one has fantasies about Gala anymore.

Oh Gala, I see you in an orange gondola of aged Gouda encrusted with black volcanic salt crystals,

playing your mummified platypus lyre, while Venice drowns,

The dandy-Kraakens smashing it about with huge stone tennis rackets.

Come into "an actual pub" called society. Receive an utterly subjective revelation from a discretely one sided epithet! Sad hats prevail for sore weather!

Old kidney pies look like striped shirts to a moccasin snaked jam and ginger hyperstrophe.

they listen in my hair, but finally I approach the master's secret garden,

my long iron pike dippsed in perfume. I'll scrawn an elboquant tank in X trouve sull.

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The young boy that showed up later was not the brother she had incested,

but he was poor, and slithely better looking. Sabina had just unknowing invented the hugely popular urban term "slithely" and housed it in her psycho's journal.

My name is Gay Talese, and I use 'rodent power'.

Another aspect of Conceptual Photography is its reticence to involve itself in Conceptual drawing masquerading as Conceptual Writing, thus, by an intervening Conceptual Geography masquerading as a mediating pun, CP is forced to COPULATE with CD in the body of CW... 

Henry Miller seems so ever much more epic and ironic these days, when whores and bidet's are about as common as the Ottoman empire's underwear styles.

Bugatti, now alone on the beach, unveils

his black jaguar, and begins

to touch himself

with the smooth exposed surfaces of an enormous

pink shell, or cochilodeon.

Blues for a prolapsed asswhole,

by Grinmama Moses

crossing the Red Sea

in a "Hair Gondola"..

It's hard to explain to people how I came to revered both John Ashbery, and Bjorn Borg,

and both of them, as a hole, like a tennis ball,

a yellow yin yang emblem

denuded of all contrast.

Mythic Neo-Campist Hyperbole'..

I had never noticed the old Giant's graveyard which had sprung up at the foot of the Internationalist style Burroughs Adding Machine Corp. building.

spring peas.

This is what no decorum looks like.

This is what absolute decorum looks like.

conic green fangs must

be idols for all.

I'd like to sing you a song:

My skin is warm and smooth.

I can make an apple move.

My eyeballs look like strawberries

arising out of milk.

I'm a Pythia of Nawlins'

NATALIE CZECH:

because inference is deluxe.

How que sigh?

Printing the Internet.

All of our dark abode

is being revealed

as wallpaper.

Gimme an X!

Gimme a P!

Gimme a laser bugel!

What's that smell?

 Radioactive Hermaphrite Sale!

If you dig it, you can blow it, dig?

An honestly begotten Armenian candor. Low pile.

Hey wait! Your stomach is already full of quarturds!

For the first and last time, The Infinite Jester's "Shadow Centaur" reveals itself

while Scheherazade to the dungeon.

And everyone can find the lamp chain

in the dark.