I dreamed of an eyesore, more lovely than the sun..

the last transgression, and probably the one that's least fun, might be something like a math equation in which ontology is rendered as an infinite plane with zero dimensions..

the last transgression, and probably the one that's most fun, might be something like a math equation in which ontology is rendered as an infinite plane with zero dimensions..

now let's move on

from this entertaining chiasmuy muchizismass

before our ondolero

lays down to the agated bands

of our faun strabyssimuss

trees stand like quills

of smoke

against the scrim

of our unfinite can'tsciousness

icebergs

aren't the only blood lettuce

with deep undercarriages

this epicurean age

wears many masques

What if words were the only true punctuation,

and the rest

set up to force the piano

to longing

I'm bound

to reach the bottom of this

if only I keep on moving

and I can't quite quit

the quietude of its seeking mi

for if the oracle is a heel

what wound her

aboriginally?

you know what they say about the snake charmer;

it isn't the notes,

but the swaying

of the sword-piped scrivener.

that's like saying that

every view of the impersonal

is in itself

the revealing of a collective

personality

If only I could

catch up with yourself

but I can't, yourself

is catching.

Once upon a time,

in an abstract and compositional

forced piano-fugue

of foregoing

a xylocodeon was borne

its name-fate-desire

to comprise a pile

so how whas

Ptah compromised

exactly

in the end?

I'm waiting

(ziggurat)

"figurative"

How many times

are you just going to stand there

in the yen-faun-nevus

to double doors?

at least we can agree on something

Wait!

something is happening!!

the pile is speaking!

you'll excuse me,

I'm going down there to find out

whats.

(Don't red these)

"Can't)

it's just about time

our emblematics grew some.

From this day florid,

our schitzopodal octopi

should give a repeating sigil!

NO REPETITION IS POSSIBLE!

(over and over and over)

candlelights

have soured my balloons,

but undaunted

I ascend

the collossus

of roads.

sometimes

to make an omelette

you've got a lay

a few eggs.

lemon-coloured

and filled with sake'

and smelling of banana

all the while..

ever since he replaced his leg

with a ball point pen

he's been able to cross the enemy lines

with impunnity.

it's leprachaun magic!

i would gladly trade

the love you found

in doubled doors

with the statuary

of my longing consciousness

 Now let's see:

If (statuary = consciousness)

=

snake;

then (longing = syntaxis)

= snakecharmer,

or is it the other way

around

the doubled doors?

That's like saying

Buddha = Minstrel?

grid for plain.

I'm tired of your constant supposition!

(fine)

I'm tired of your kunstant composition!

leave what's unfinished

finished,

so what is done

can't be borne.

So that means

if Jesus Christ was really God,

then Marcel Duchamp

must be Ptah!

(i'd like you two to paddle my bottom

rapidly like this)

I give up..

(Time for a break)

with reason.

When the daily life of ontology is not approached

through the hot and cold doors

of Nietzschean idealism,

surely atavism

must take root.

I'm weaving the roots into a text!

DO YOU MIND!

a ghost is only as relevant

as its language.

DO YOU MIND!

I see the smoke

but no fires..

I see the trees,

but no writers!

what a funny place to find

a paper and pencil..

The muse is hidden

on every side

of every argument,

and even from itself,

yourself.