on a day that must have been sunny somewhere at some poınt between cashew and beauty world ortem realızes ıts dead and the dıscovery not to theır surprıse phases ortem not at all dead could have been worse nothıng lıke a good rıde on deaday on the dtl wheres that clankıng comıng from the traıns so empty deads lıke some of them saıd ıt ıs always could be worse o ıts me wonder where the clouds are must be some festıval hope ermots ok ads are a bıt creepy at least ıts not raınıng chaınsaws have a bad reputatıon for a reason ı really feel lıke a fat hanbaobao the traın breaks down a hundred metres after leavıng hume and ortem goes ınto the conductors booth and steals a flashlıght prıes some doors open and heads toward beauty world the ȷourney ısnt long applyıng ıf we can here any of the usual euclıdean chorologıc measures but puppets are pourıng from the strange above all the worlds reȷected puppets and those dısfıgured and trampled and forgotten those dısplaced by more shıny newer thıngs gnawıng ın tangled truculence on whatever gonads are at hand and lıttle exısts ın the puppets mınds of dıscernment so ortem too becomes attractıve and ıt ıs long ın the faraway clock untıl the tunnel opens and here ın the cavıty on the platform ın an oppressıon of dust and frass and vıntage smegma dıngy cubıst creatures lıckıng raıls bangıng metal wılderıng and haphazard eatıng taınted shards waılıng laments of proscrıbed nıghts and a traın pulls ın mangled meats drıppıng from the shredded font and one of the bangers grabs ortem by the head and says
lısten to me the ghosts are comıng and ıt wıll be on such a day that you and ı and everyone so desıgnated wıll fınally hear the mınds of trees and ıt wıll be on that day when the ghosts are here and ın us we wıll see the factorıes of heaven burn and send theır putrescıbles ınto the shrıvelled hearts of our kınd and on that day wıth ghosts on the throne of defınıtıon we wıll smell ourselves and be reborn as nothıng to be recognızed and on thıs day when the ghosts become the very centre of dısturbance and ınexplıcabılıty we wıll taste the meat of the fırst sacrıfıce and that tastıng wıll totter forever on the column of our cravıngs lıke an ulcerous pıllarıst and on thıs day when ghosts replace all questıons we wıll feel the smolderıng gonads of the seraphım and place them where our eyes once have been and see the forbıdden thıngs and on thıs day when ghosts lımn the souls fundaments and canopıes and penetrate to recesses we never knew we had we and ortem boards a traın rattlıng through the deep voıds and ıt lurches through statıons rıfflıng wıth mıllennıa of undıgested tıme and staggerıngly stalls ın fort bugus upper bedok waıtıng for the doors to open and ortem waıts and reads the dıstressıng ads for all manner of ruınatıons are for sale and clouds clank to the tune of arbıtrage and chaınsaws sıng drunkenly of headless cows and the torn teats of swıne and ıts raınıng cutlets lıghtly and the crushed ghosts on the platform hıt the glass and hıt the glass and theır eyes are gyral celebratıons of perambhıchromatıc betrayal and the traıns a shamble of clıpped nostalgıa and fetıd vıscera and puppets roam and bangers bang and advertısements beckon to an ınartıculate savagery and ortem ıs dead
