taken
from the lies of life by an ölder oped
we’re
all sitting in the prostomium of one of those darling chalets you see in
picture books and travel brochures and social medea porn and chatting
pleasantly the way matricians and patricians do in minds that if they were
twigged to different dipswitches and the engineer – if she isn’t fooling around
with the assembly line robots in the doom closet – were paying attention instead
of eliminating the money system would be debating the debaucheries of djuna’s
solfeggio
we’re
squished actually. those of us who wait. the baroness and lucky and simone and the
billy quotes buff and maybe you if you weren’t so incarcerated in the privilege
of the solitary confinement of your necrocoprophilia shoes
and
the lady rot dohy no witt writes to the lord clamberpoo saying one of the many themes running through the
play is the desire of two old tramps continually to relieve themselves. such a dramatisation
of lavatory necessities is offensive and against all sense of british decency. all
decency she says like slaughtering
things from afar and using the blood to paint our teacups. all decency she
says like regnal whippings in the Name of
the Omintopent Ilghatmy. all decency she says like exterminating everything that doesn’t smell like my 38EE AR15 powderpuffs
or pay for my 38EE AR15 powderpuffs and providing us citizens with these pretty
pretty biscuits and ittybitty polkadotty pretty pretty cakes, my love
it
says to i when i’m at madison and chicken
waiting for a cab to take me to the game or rather if we’re speaking honestly
for once to another game a game came up to me and says – do you aim to blame the
game on james, the dame or names? it’s not the same game i play a lame tame
game. hah it says i can tell you’re one of those who’s done a voyage around your
pataroom. lala. here’s your jab to take you to the turing hearse but
only seen on chicken is a holdaring walking rope of witches, acephalous and
grim, feet frenulum of fireflies, hands aristeia of uncharing crosses, gonads
like dark virtue rousing the dead to floss their udders
i
do not share with those in the foyer with me. all we have in common is our
waiting and waiting is a language that does not need a speaking, only doing
does the speaking and speaking’s peaking like this heat
