“if we wait for a smoking gun, we'll have a mushroom cloud.” --Dick Cheney.Coming fourth by day, the Sun awake Azum, Today we seen ❍ sir heiress, up there the scriptures the resurrection and the coming fourth by day, by yoga by goodness gracious me, by you, by your wonderful energy. in the wright place under a new moo-name, in the written past tents, pitched perfect six octave jazz note theory, i'm like a Timothy Theary and McLenna gone barmy. A psychopharmo pom-pom-pom. Come they told me perruperrump pa pimp plot. Collective narrative between us, i'm not from Mars but i grow there, ask Nasa they seen us. Taxonomists tried to cover this with a specific longwinge or timewage ↵ pressed my boobs in their groins and threw rouge dribble "Splashing" right back into their faces.
KNU houses of understanding maybe built around us, the wordsmiths, the rebell ringing poets DJ's, sex workers, drummers, judges, text message sleuths for peace-full change for a change, not engaged in clandestine warfare or stealth operations - as far as i can tell so far. An equation ↕ a Bridge between nations. No sentence can stop us cuz now we jump pages, jump ages and escape grey cages with a calendar-seal-starship (our trip) my mushroom mind engaged in YOUR word world war in bits and pieces. Ampex tapes? Arrows and paintBrushes? high and heraldry. Butter step off if your slipping. if they hope to profit from having any affinity with the creatures, plants, trees and animals on their shields they better see the world as ALiVE. Bee poetry or loose your head in the mirage mirror age.
My poems red all over itself. Bright and burning. Seeds of light. End war with questions and flows, in-putty playtime, feedbacktofront to my own DNAND languaging its.elf serpent dec❁de thems.elves. inside spilling in through my ears. Funny how some woids repeat themselves while i describe my experience - "Fenollosa" and "76" for example. The cyrillick'd exhibit n' peace. Sour shower to awake, like a pickle with your Golden corn flakes. indus-tree Born thinking at breakfast-time-space. Breath awake. Awake. Dreaming spunky words. hazy. Unrevealed vortex oozing with glitter Gold purple wizzdom. Sturch discovery, and Breath and sing aloud i am my everlasting warm touch. edit. Wed 26th. 3:54 P.M. 6005.
$100 billion U.$.Krusade abroad. Cherry coke death, or was this war for Herons? join up with the U.S Navy: Accelerate your life!" WTF! Choose to continue military violence abroad and continue the breakdown of society at home-grown zero due to arms expenditure. ARMS killingry often very expensive. VERY EXPENSIVE. Set keel to breakers and put away your world-police warpens of Miss disscryption. Cooperate with humanity, not just your corporate buddy. Humans united for a more peaceful world of "Natural" abundance for ALL, and justice for humanity. All scentient beans. Today. Might-makes a right policy abroad; right bunch of bollox. Full of testossterome. Will we have poor social services, no healthcare, poor education, higher crime rates, higher suicide rates, more incentive for Corruption, paranoid spooks and hangry hot and pissed off critters on the brink of violence? Will we if we go on the offensive? Pull down thy vanity. Sincerely, Stephan.
Tao maybe in the dung, Tao maybe in the drug. i lie. Tao probably in nothing i guess. Butter the process! The process piss process Pee Pee Pee must follow. Stay awake steve, don't sleep till Brooklyn. Get un-pissed off by poverty and war, want to settle the score, make enemies friends? Rolling it like dung beetle. On it although slightly off the planet. Cult of the Golden sign and Androlocleese and Sinta Class will tease us until wee discover our own song, to sing silently while pissing. Growing silently in dung a song. Loud as King Kung. Eureka hits from the Bellbong. Re-read the words i flung, we need you and your tongue, your spittle. Religion grows from corpsManure. CorpseManure.
The absurd overcomes metaphysical linguistical bindings type findings, DEATH is absurd! he-man pulls up his kitchen bindings, and starts cooking up records with a special potato glue gun, a spew gab to bind and act with a bag full of bindings and a Pist Doctorate Thesis. Unruly groundbreaking findings bound-up to happen in Hemp plastic recycled hoop-bindings, sealed with a special Ayahuasca sauce tincture to open the seal. Peach page contains RNA/DNA sequences from naturally psychoactive and secret agents in nature. if it rains it stays dry from a protective acrillic gloss. "How's that grab yer" he said, while the O☠fnord Professor sat scratching his bald head.
Taffy went putty-colour when i mentioned Zaharoff (1914) - Ezra Pound, Canto XCIII.
Moving toward a final post, blog, boast dinner, truth tape tale spinner, ribbon and RNA, stockings bonds and DNA. Spiral ribbon riffs, like smoke from pure weed spliffs. A vinyl theory. My last post, goodbye [i whisper] like a lost poet with a last breath, last joint. A last know it all. Know it sombunall. My last post on Psychic internot. Web deW its the only way to show my solidarity with the rest of humanica. My flower talk maybe fleshless, but give some credit for the freshness. Non-science and non-sanity invade my sensi from Tavistock CNNBBCI. Attracting twisting petals out of the industrial sewage. Overkill writing, too much too often, too soon. Too total. Language trapped in concrete zoo's. Such things as such and such? too much writing too much posting, Oi. My finger cracked and full of arthurwritus.
Where do i swing in between these ➁ lips? scribbling my name for this final post, dancing around the may pole flashing my badger, swinging in-between two posts. ➀ Posting ➁ Writing. 1. publishing. 2. talking about being published. Big mouthful of air. Hot air. Translated into images. Virgin! i'm a talker, talk talk and walk with a limp, my poem took my leg. Phantom preacher of limbic systems. Trying to reach y'all, gut feeling you. Making and baking you up in my own head, based on just a few interactions. Forgive me. Bedfordshire dreaming. An impossible California dream, to really touch this screen. Lick and taste the pixels. i keep looking behind the screen hoping to find YOU there smiling. Like psychic T.V i want immedia-sea. Tangible poems. A rice bowl of laughs. A cherry-tree's hairy stone me. Cluster air-roamer to make gourmet food from instant e-mental trash heap of dud-lungwage. Silver streaks blowing past like jazz, whizzing past pist pust - like skimming hairy-stone traces on lake Tahoe.
Deep blue tide. American. That's my Δmerica. Not the one from T.V! Feeling hooked on blue tied lines, in my guts sentences paragraphs all remerge, annonermush mess. Connoisseur and wyrd demolisher. Like Fred Dibnah. Oscillating between chaos of meaning and meaning of COW-sense stimuli. Horse-sense. To make it simple with my quotes - to the source. The Tao maybe in the drug in the dung in the song. Where do your thoughts go when you stink of them? quotes act as a crutch it seems, a crutch for my diabolical grammar. i dedicate this to my irish Grandpa. Fresh Diorama comes out my mouth like yeah, oh how - coo, coo - like yeah way cool, like diarrhea acrilliQ kriss. Stinking diary notes posted, published and re-roasted. Critics have fallen from my cutting edge.
No time for editors. Have i become ill and sick with commenting on everywhoam! every'man, throwing up all day and night, i feel sick. Am i becoming the monsters and demons that plague me? my OX has left me on the farm alone, heaving smoldering corpses of war. i am i'm! the broken voice of a dead ghost. Your host. Silent but Dudlei. Today i want to give you a bouquet of divine fl❁wers. They fell from the sky. They did! To disperse 'emselves into the wind. Grandpa calls you petal. Grandma spore. To send word with mouth rather than virtual moth balls of text. Pft. Perpetually looking for my voice everywhere everywhen. Histarry may not be my story, my story seems more hairyfairy really. Less fat but free range.
Like a special transmission inside a bunch of cyberfl✾wers without words, christandyrmums, i feel nothing in this world woid. Avoid the void. Ask the teacher what the lesson was about, she looked right through me, looked right through me. No matter how much eye try i cannot teach with silence upon a keyboard can i ‽ Poetry Poetry rest. Riddim at least. Rhymazone and pun. The rest describe details.
Predictability got bosst'd up into Shannonymous bits and bites. And this very same predictability might be the foundation of science, reliance. The appliance. Repeatability. Respectability. Look and see-ability. Nurture your art and grow. You grow and do it like tha'. And now your here in my poetic pajamas. Digging up foundations old bones n' love litters. Popper opened methodological historicism for us. LΘΘK.
"There is a strong connection between soma and the calendar - the year, the month's, the meter's, the measures of time. -- Hakim Bey.Turn em all over meme "Bit" by bit theory. Small bites of theory. Plenty agnostiq brew. 12' st December 1220. To bring further questions and queries to you my deAries, dairy to the exquisite variety of self-preservation. Relijelf preservation society" Strawberry jam preserve. Sciencelf-preservation society" The self-helpcelf preservation society" Secretself-preservation society. To me today outside the Tubetan Plato ghosts are feeding - making more desire for material pleasures. Historical materialism and such phantoms. Prove my theory wrong. Or write. To write of time needs chainjizz.
Nu-jazz M-bop changes, phase shifts to to release people from chains and cages, caves and factories. Tumble into my alternative current council popper state of mynd, dumpster-funk diving for new litters, dumpster-funk jiving with the jitters. A long lost letter from the uddergrind. Heavy heady metals leaking into our water supply, tear eye knee-jerking. Stuck in spacetime like Billy Pilgrim stuckin' tymespice. Preparing to write off to other planets. Praise Sun Ra. Yeah baby. acrillicked the stamp, its still damp. And thus nut-language holds the key's to freedom. Buzzworlds. Phase shift. Synchro-mesh. Liberation from enslavement from eternal moving. Extra suffering and insanity to those stuck in time. Those out of time. insanity being the polar opposite of sanity. And Antarctica drilled for OiL. Pound wrote: "How can the civilization stand it with a painted paradise at the end of it Without a painted paradise at the end of it" How do they distribute the paintings. Who.
YOU standing it Sitting for it. Lookout Meme about terrorg. Doublethink. XX your shaman and shawomen with a case of memoria gain. Oh, the pain of knowing. But it never really left us. Civilization crippled by dud language, spoken by rich corpses, abused by a tyrannical bunch of mafia eunvlinguists, classicists and bloody silicon thought police. A minority deal in armaments death and w☠r machinery. industrial war machines somehow running the engineers it seems? We need a few wars to keep unemployment rates down. Some continue hacking up documents with contrary evidence to their schemes. War $chemes. Contraries are cured by contraries. Stockmarket schemes. Marketing schemes.
metaphorical w☠r schemes. One goal: domination and mono℗oly all around the planet, damn it! Burning poems and burning poets and their print machine. Melt together, a shout from the highway. Read Bucky Fuller and discover your a millionaire and all your friends too. Forget Chis Tarrant, make a novel bit torrent. One reason you may not have the survival tickets in your palms today approximates into meaning to me that your being blockked from exchanging any real wealth--your share of the earth when split between roughly 6 Billion people--fixed trade laws, monopoly games, w☠r-games going on and on and on. One reason called by R. Buckminster Fuller the great pirates.
The great gambling stiff superpowers. Now here sir. Mr. into the showers. What on earth do NASA mean by their term water-ice? a question the author asked upon the Hitchhikers guide to currency class with Bob. Hard times, cracking new year, resurrected Easter 08. High summer blogsformation. Dispossessed spaces. Bad government make bad money out of good old nothing. Some powerful magic huh. Themes from the imperial man driven back into his heart and mind, the paddy-wagon van now steels our grocery and medicine, oh man! Tax my shadow now why don't ya. Turn me into mad-maximess credit/debt. EVERYMAN AND EVERYWOMEN IS A ZPORE
(Dream Time Unknown) 22:7:99. Relaxing with friends in a marble mosaic patterned bath at a local health center. Stumbling towards the steam room i spot an old plastic ice box full of old toys from my childhood. Evil kinneval bike, Kojack golden brown cadillac?, A red Ferrari Testorrosa, Silver Porshe 911 turbo and a silver "James Bond" Aston Martin DB5, several green and grey plastic tanks, a bumble bee colored TONKA truck some action-man accessories--like a plastic rifle, some plastic binoculars and a plastic knife--there was also six grapefruit sized balls and six strange utensils which were a bizarre cross between rackets, cues and hyper-dimensional worm tubes.
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