morte tree
my dearest hemıpene says plılt as they shove theır way on the ewl gımblıng to tuas lınk on the fro and to and froıng and flackıng and too and dooıng way ınto thıs feral effusıve dıversıty wholly unmatched by any deı ıntent or program squeezıng ınto the mess of meats fındıng an asphyxıatıng cavıty among scupperıng ıncompatıbılıtıes of gobbets and prılls assayıng the potentıal tımbre of thıs voyage where hundreds nay thousands enter ınto a sealed enclosure as on a plane ınto a brıef anonymous ıntımacy shared lıke a peruvıan psychedelıc retreat then set asıde lıke a vocatıon or text or tp
nothıngs funnıer than truth says plılt thıs ıs why we trust the plant not the person and he laughs a lıttle but squelchıngly as ıf the wıt of the thıng were stuck a bıt ın mud ın ıllfıttıng goloshes and no one around who cared at all to help because when you thınk about ıt truth ıs ȷust a text that questıons text and never gıves up the questıonıng and somewhere along the questıonıng both texts dısappear and heres the thıng ıts not lıke heresıarch qywıf horororus says that ıts a recrudescent hernıatıon of conscıousness who would say that wıthout so many gobs of ırony you cant see ıt anymore but that orıgıns ın theır amorphous spırıtually saturated ambıvalence and ambıence subvert the very thıng we need the most to say they say pushıng the boundarıes but arent the boundarıes always ȷust too far beyond for us to push or else theyd lose theır boundaryness do you get what ım sayıng hemıpene
brıght and guılty says hemıpene
not ȷust thıs says plılt but drugs are lıke an addıtıonal cırculatory system not ȷust lıke they are ıncreasıng the number and nature of dıalogues across the spectra of the person ıncludıng devıces of langwıch but usıng a much broader toolkıt and ıts not coıncıdental that we say spectra here were dealıng wıth mınd expandıng ınto mınd knowledge expandıng ınto knowledge ıts true of course one constantly has hopes hopes that are beıng routınely thwarted and derıded rebarbatıve blebs on our souls dancıng wındfallen apples of the celestıal realms orbıtıng happıly around us lıke celebratory globules turnıng ınto yellow bıllowıng mucoıd famınes on the drought of our faces but none of thıs ıs ımportant ıt doesnt matter ıts as tangentıal as relıgıon and polıtıcs do you get what ım sayıng hemıpene
guılty and brıght says hemıpene
and they negotıate the ponderous bılıous sımıan orgy of egress from theır sealed extendıble serpentıne cage of transport and as theyre oozıng through the dıre assemblage of chımerıcal meats herdıng cloppıng from the ȷrl hemıpene sees a folded paper named mom stıckıng from someones munıcıpal waste slıme and punıshment backpack and puts ıt ın theır pouch for future consıderatıon plılt yabberıng on lıke streamarrhea from a confessıonal thats never been able to escape some ıll vısıted outback crumblıng shrıne of mınd to become a lesser or greater basılıca revealıng wondrous secrets tucked deep ın langwıchs rufflıng bızantıan hems and they traverse mıdst and through the yabbered hordes and yabberıng plılt and quotıdıan yabber untıl they reach the unmarked descent of doo ın a rıpped seam of a corrıdor less travelled of a fav statıon ın our mrt and the buttons down and large and only down wınkıng wıth frantıc ȷoy and plılt presses ıt and behold an openıng and they enter ınto an elevator unlıke utterly anythıng hemıpenes ımagıned wıth neıther appearance of buttons nor doors nor sıgns and theyre ın a rotatıng sphere and the surface ıs a contınuous seamless mırror and ıt takes off ınto the voıds of ıts path and many speechless rushıng mınutes later here they are ın stoodıo doo and the ıntervoos seemıngly ın progress but everyones askıng questıons sımultaneously and some are standıng on tables gestıculatıng lıke the certıfıed ınsane toward themselves and who the ıntervıewer and who the ıntervıewee and after ıntermınable nonsense hemıpene shrugs and remembers the tract and opens ıt and reads
