some final words on conscious consciousness

unconsciously dabbed paintings under the dog bowl

i am consciously imitating you but

i have no idea what consciously means anymore

or even to what effect consciously does

i'm seriously ex-machina vincent van gogh

laid out consciously unconsciously

beneath the starry vault of heaven

action figure under dog bowl rotunda

ear plastered on dabbed in double dog

bowl universe imitation

creamy paintings of data's mother

live in hawaii neat to hula

creamy hula paintings live

near volcanos and volcano observatories

where the dog bowl of lava

is laid open the great and severed ear

consciously i wander 

feathered and dancing

to the knowledge of our complete failure

of understanding the arrangement

of trying to arrange

alongside the ancient lava tubes

i imagine these processions long after

which are slow processions through

the lava tubes they are not incalculable

but really moreover

like polynesian versions

of new orleans funeral dirges

for consciousness

feathered top hats

and grass skirts

and failed understanding 

consciousness

in these funereal fantasies

is the last kamehameha

but neither man nor woman

neither alive nor dead

consciousness is a secret object

of mana

a powerful and poison object

of glory

which is also just sort of annoying

because in minimal shifts

it works rather well

for different things

like fiction or dogbowls

consciousness is a secret object

of mana \ a feathered yophalloni

it's a tiki monster with a racheting

diamond toothed mobius mouth

according to ksanfomaliti of venus

certain conscious objects resemble 

a disk a black flapjack and a scorpion 

which emerge fluctuate and disappear

under extreme duress 

all these dabbed things

that consciously has 

"hover sofano" idea of what

consciousness means anymore

it certainly isn't the rational

hegel-hula-vincent green data rimbaud

-mae west

or the spherical funeral jazz

of dabbed in star jungles

in my painted fantasies

the death of consciousness

is polynesian

and since consciousness

was never conscious

the whole dirge-like

happy romance

when it turned up beat

was insane

it was a feathered tiki

with bloody snapping 

steel teeth its was jane fonda

playing vincent van dogbowl

in outerspace

and laughter

casting some syllables

to the clowns

who were all kids

in a creamy painting

of the lava procession