some venomics of waiting to get to gek poh

 

its raining like mosquitoes at three o three on a sabbath and long waits for the trains fill the spaces and here dawdle supernatural babblers alone lost illegal crushed on platform a and a sweltry smoke from the genocided sumatran forests worms through every orifice and violates the brain and ruptures language

shes sipping remnant herniaria lustanica tea and going to gek poh on the jrl and hes behind the steam to kembangan on the eastwest positioned like an awardwinning sculpture a tourist obliviously glimpses while transversing inzai on the 京成成田空港線

its the autism in everything she says the singular autism but worse the tribal autism i do everything i can to adapt but my own autism cant help but overwhelm the adaptation attempts to the other autisms and there we have it communications like a hipstered herpestid in glyptic relief

i live in fog and rain and bugs and bugs and rain and fog and try to create perambulating wonder that cant breathe in dimensional reality in closed clothed societies and if this deters me the deterrence itself i turn into wonder like some mage of akhetsnafus void and all would be disputed if any of this could be perceived in the senses of a race without end or shape

you sound like a bibulous putz she says and goes back to the tea with a passion unwarranted by the evidence in those selfhelp books you pick up while drunk at a populist bookstore if it still exists and read in gulps and bias in the pursuit of coitus but only end up passed out on your couch with the tv on and your genitalia splayed and pitiably gooey and simpsons reruns laughing at you in your oblivion we know you do it and she stares into the shrubbery as if it held enfolded within it the visage of a future deity that will nonchalantly destroy the world

you realize you can as much as youre inclined reify the protocols of your heritage but im under no obligation to accept those protocols or even more the reification both of which but particularly the latter are crimes against the spirit and while they go almost entirely unnoticed by your juvenescent courts of law are the chief testimony on scales so distant from your preoccupations they make earendel look like an alphagettus in the soup your face just fell in

your insults are bricks and mortar and im the internet and ive no interest or principal in the hefty mortgage of your words which will soon foreclose your soul leaving you homeless in the city of sublimity but though weve nothing in common but our having nothing in common and also that were waiters on lonely platforms conversing about loitering nothings why dont we while away your mimbo life and expose your package and shut up and do the business you were born for

the low odds of negotiating between the groundzero imperatives and agonies of the body and the commoditized rhetorics of persuasion fear envy guilt acquisition sacrifice the braindead megaphone of latecapitalism in hopes of locating an intimate ground of operation from which an authentic loving gesture might be launched lie shredded around the feet of these disastrous costelettes and he unzips and his tumiditys as a vatic vineyard in imaginations of those locust eating hebrew prophets and a cluster of plasticgrapes as youd find in a tawdry bagnio frequented by thieves and journalists pinned to his scrotum and she tenderly plucks a vitus and slides it in his mouth saying 

your turgescence reminds me of a meeting i had on the top floor of 547 west 159^th street with those hungarian interpreters you could peel the bombast off the walls and i thought then as i think now on platform a at jurong east about to engage in the apex ritual of the commons along with war the only unity of time under an almost southern moon this orderly repressed city state sleeping justified by pythons and interrogated by poets that the novel were ins at least a novel and has to be theres nothing else and if you say its a boring novel only notes for a novel the characters are undeveloped abstract monodimensional robotic theres no continuity not much sense its stylistically abstruse and anarchic i might say but this is life you work and sleep with whonyms like this every day your daysre like this and if you force an artificial clarity on them from insecurity and fear well thats your stupidity and she puts her left pinkie in his mouth with the plucked and her right hand around his tugor down to the cheap stilllife dangling swaying in the fuggy bugs and sqiggles out of her frock and goes to doggy on platform a and invites the polymer cluster to gustily slap against her thighs

but none of this he says

youre not allowed to talk

none of this is

your trains here in two hours we go from babelon to babelon the maps say sembawang this bugis that we say oh yes i went to venice how marvellous so many tourists i have homes in quepem and krško but its all just babelon and these trains were waiting for with your structure in my structure like a demented ouroboric polygyre for no reason other than this is what time and meat do these trains like our shoving serve only to give us the illusion grossly impressionable species that we are that were doing something moving moving anywhere at all but no all we dos stand absolutely still from life to death in one place in babelon and once we die thats when things start happening 

none of

talks a kind of train that goes nowhere and languages a system map to make us think we move

none

lifes become an abstraction so total we can know of nothing else literature ironically if irony hasnt died from excess still hasnt caught on to this stuck in homer a nostalgia of reality narrativity facticity meaning emotivity reason dont accept the compromise enter fully in let your abstract meat in mine mete times immobility and let each generation dispense the same punishments to those who fall far below and those who rise high above its middling standards and

and the first trains lights appear in the distance and he pulls out and shoots his cum clumsily on the platform and detaches the grapes and gives them to her in a remote gesture and puts it back inside zips up and boards the train and she sticky with love and sore with communication dons the frock and plunks across from the jem sign on the floor and her annihilated or to use the oldfashioned word exiled meat tangled and ungovernable and the sumatran smokes in language like a venom and she waits and waits for the jrl to gek poh