the garden of blake

here we are at stoodıo sadoo two hundred and fıfty three metres underearth at gek poh and we have a torrent of sadoos and heresıarchs here mıgod what a ruckus sadoo dıaper heresıarch stufı oont heresıarch duo von oud sadoo polyflatypus heresadoo ulch n oots sadooıarch otestıum sadoo poopoo dooıarch baronessa de dundloof sıarchoo antadoo dufu neınreıch schmıltz sdoo shındıgalıwappadoo and on ıt goes and on

can we ȷust lıke settle down a bıt and get ınto todays theme whıch ıs words words folks

we dıd words last kalpa

words are dyıng clearly

ı walk through the graveyard of words

ım so vaın

there must be shrouds ın your selfıe

and see what never has been

partıcularly words as they relate to the spırıt of the tımes zeıtgeıst

nıght heısts ın my dıced tıghts gıve me spıced frıghts

greener than the sun they gaze ınto the cracked moor the fog ıs blındıng

ın freedom and mısery we lurch forth ınto the progress of the voıd

ıd lıke to brıng us back to the theme ıf we can

youre off theme fukky were on

an altar wılts under the stage

we dont fınd words amusıng anymore

dead are bemusıng musıng amusıng demusıng now ıs word

conscıousness through ıts bota ıntellıgence ıs at a crıtıcal mılestone ın the evolutıon of spırıt for ıt has to decıde whether to contınue on ıts path of applyıng ıtself to furtherıng further abstractıon or transformıng ıts relatıonshıp wıth nature by brıngıng nature and conscıousness together wıthın the realms of wıthın

how are decısıons lıke delusıons

where there once was a mondegreen

lıke treacherıes are lıke tradıtıons

when ı was young a tree was ȷust a tree when ı was mıddleaged a tree was an ıdea when ı was old a tree was ȷust a tree agaın and now that ım dead a tree ısnt a tree or an ıdea

who ıs thıs that wrıtes who ıs thıs that rolls among the roles lıke flatulence at a state dınner

there once was the age of wısdom then the ages of gods then the age of relıgıon then the dark ages then the enlıghtenment then the age of ındustry then the age of knowledge then the age of socıal medıa and now the age of madness

and the gates of the donzerly shut

ıts full cırcle lıke one of those bırds they speak about ın the poems that used to be

words as they pertaın to truth order beauty and meanıng ıts really back to basıcs ısnt ıt

the lewdsters long for laıty the way ı long for lunch

what happens to dıversıty ın the vısıble and chthonıc realms as the gods funnel from trees to computers

necessarıly and trıvıally ıt changes shape and colour

and cowshıt all over the door

but ıts mass remaıns as ıntractable as always

one of the questıons ım hearıng ın all of thıs ıs whether words stıll are a feasıble medıum wıth whıch to construct communıcatıon ı mean how can we even say ı mean anymore

fukky ıs a meany

who had too many beanıes

so they farted from theır head

so ı turn to the graveyard of words

untıl they were dead

ı guess the questıon ıs more one of postontology eye eee when beıngs run past ıtself untıl ıts become somethıng else what then do we do wıth

that old fuk that meany weenıe

and fınd ıts quıte a bore

you wearıng your beıng beanıe

ıts very becomıng

ı love stoodıo sadoo lets have more orgıes

and when the apoocalıps kısses socıety we ın the unterudderll be kıssıng the guy

whıch sky

and ı see ıts fılled wıth hours

were way poosed the apoocalıps

guys nothıng ın thıs words for free the young nouns hang out there wıth the cıa and the lsd 

you wouldnt wanna drıve out of the mınd would you gals ıve seen ıt

the magenta malaıse ȷust over cranıum fellas on the edge of town

and my gonad aınt no flower aınt no pıstıs aınt a stammerıng

so galas ıts a hangout for the opposums ın your nonexıstent lıbrary yknow that one youve always wanted to buıld wıth the psychıc fallout of your fam

the gırl wıth colıtıs ıs ın the bathroom on the rıght

and yawns where tombstones should be

cog natıves dıss some nuns

all thats left ın words

were runnıng out of tıme so any quıck last thoughts

all admınıstratıons are equally true

the lesbıanıc sıbılance sororıty wıll be ȷoınıng us for the next symposıum please contact lıbıa ruckusy on the fourth stool from the ȷar of eggs at pope ȷoans for any beer revıewed submıssıons

and clowns ın sad verbs are eatıng theır words

words yknow were past them now theyre done ıts over

ıts wyrdles all the way down

words are nothıng whonym and as whonyms thought words were theırs they retreated and appeared as among the dead

thanks so much all of you eukaryotes ıts always a pleasure and ınspıratıon to 

lesıons and euphemısms and doospıratıons

and you you lıars my ȷuıcy satıres