(no subject)
I asked the stones to speak and instead i recieved this silence:
Who dares shake from evenings anchor this melody?
This rumbling belly mystery is the meandering of cat-men inside of a round toy marble.
Who's laughter I hear inside the spiral vortices of an earlobes collective tide pool, what pearls will be my trove of stolen purses?
Drip your nectared voice across my tounge, the flame of candled love does beckon forth...
I have heard your jester tales: stories of spook natural wanderings, haunted story times an ageless camfire ruse, this script was burnt but the actors seemed to lose themselves in the soupy madness improv lost its form and new creations were unearthed in the aftermath of Consonant's and Vowell's.
It's narative was a cough, which left your trachea ,three days ago, a spirit that was restless for a hungry meal of understoods; wore chains of dead languages, and alien utterance for its loin cloth and bathrobed body, fashion sense out the window...
no intellegible words came out, but really all that was a lie to hide the meaning of import: a black statue encasing the galaxies that clothe it, brake it open and you will find the dust of your ansestors, break their bones apart and you will find the screen of eternity playing thumb wars with chimpanzees and charles darwin's marrow...
We all talk in code right now, we all speak in riddles of unbroken threads, move beyond the sounds of smacking lips, these words are only the messenger of shadows playing with adumbration's puppets on a stage of black space, wearing nothing but shards of time for a body stocking dressed down in the fabric of smoke and vapor's mathematics.
the message is found in the silent wings of expanding grace, and the pleadings of Galilleo that our earth bound flathead screw driver might need a new twist to turn ourselves about, so hand me a philips head over there, beyond here lies a six pointed sunbeam, this talisman of ingenuity screams the names of our galaxy in its elongated neck, this is all there is, extra parts are the fears of a company of perfect strangers that have all heard the dread word friend for the first time and are fearful that there existence is no longer valid as an archetypal character in the plot of the dictionary...
I need to be defined, hand me the flash light so i can look about for the stopping point of my threaded body in sequins of atomic baubles.
Together we will follow the trail back beyond the trick the eye has blinked into being. this globe that is too slow to remain unscathed in the continual bar brawl of solidity, I watch the physics fight it out and all they do is spiral around each others law-like fists.
This lighted path is found inside the folding of the creases, the wicks of voices and the beating of metronomes.
What nonsense we speak in the typed word of pherenome, or the unraveling of musical notes?
Is not the painting singing to us?
Does the meal of a labored love not become just as great as all the dead works of precious art galleries?
Where is the secret of the universe held?
I hold my heart as a coin, immersing myself in it's double nature.
This treasure-map is really a coal waiting to play with driftwood. And Incan symbologies.
Only those with eyes that see the knots of space can see its origins, a kipu is the re-telling of the same tale of solid shapes all having a can can try-tryout in curvitured chaos of waltzes in the same cramped space.
The knots are the beckonings of bony fingers to unravel, you read the words but dont feel the braille hidden beneath them.
We are all blind mechanics searching for a new mechinism to tinker with, all the time we are aching for a playmate who is tapping our left shoulder and squeeling I found you...
It is god playing hide and seek with our leporsy, it is car horns singing lullybuys in the form of a traffic jam inside a grocery storehouse. she has heard our gossiping harpsichord, he has seen the sun shine down upon our naked skin. This is the metal of our collective dream breaking through the parachute of opur floating nightmares.
It is time for the final chapter of our deaths so that life can free fall from its chrysalis.
"Steel" the breath back from this place called "the remembering coma."
We are all thiefs of the past and the future.
Let us remember the abundunt pickpocket of the present.
This one that is shouting from the rooftops and the street corners.
Remake us in the rippling silence, that is where you will find the irridesent unfolding of an indescribable origami creature, this is the rotoscoping of the centuries old tale, the condensing of all that is known into a single sylable.
Re make the languages of civilization in the sand beneath you, this is the dawning of the gaping mouth that hungers of abandon it's warm colors in the gullet.
The only belly we exist in is the forms of flame that take solid form even this soidity has hidden meaning,even this is the story of a waving kerchief in the winds of hollywood makeup.
They are getting ready off stage for the layers of the onions mask to reveal its true form, even these hide away from it's search party.
They are hidden further from cheeks of stone, even the coldness of the slate holds the heat in, even this has the song of its true origin as a river of returning, who is not spinning inside themselves?
Show me this one and they will show you non existence...
Even the dead are cork screws going into lifes winebottle even the beggar is the bowl breaking the seal of grapes. break the bottle and you will find the ocean, embrace me in the grains of eternity.
Right now I long for marble embrace the kind that breaks through the artist hands Sculpter of the keenest eyes of hurricanes, the camel and the needle wed and form a more perfect enterouge. They parade around me and scream "release yourself from this curtain of far scapes, there is a gift that awaits."
Give me the chisel of your fingernails
hand me the pressure of your earhten mouth, a molten furnace
I too can become like the works of Michealangelo.
I too can breathe pores into rock
all I need is for you to come
pour your radiant burning breath into my crown of thorns,
I will wear your words like roses of star-fire
i will be crucified by your thoughts and all the gaseous dust,
leave me dead and hanging like ravens of one eyed men
Norse gods of wisdom who circle the sky for lovers and for mortals and for luminent fibers that thread themselves between ourselves and the future emenations...
I want to be the savior of your fingerprints, the special snowflake that drifts with unique pattern blankets and afghan comforters melts into the oneness of fuzzy ocean needles, the puzzle peice your souls agent has been missing, the language that only we (this us) recited as an infant. That telepathic conversation we both have been having with each other since sleeping in our seperate mothers wombs.
The eternal slumber of ourselves is broken in memory:
I remember you before I was born, when I hung out in the libraries of electron-spins, the rooms of perfume and agate catolouged lifetimes the junction of time that met up withthe conjuction of space at a bus station having coffee ...the amber frozen lakes of gluey ant freeze frames- antiquities hiccup and the burpings of knowledge.
I will rest my body in a grave made from your bones, we will mourn my death together, and in the end when this is spoken of we will utter symbols in the languages of birds awoken for breakfast and nesting high above us.
The dissocaiation is crumbling our bodies, there is no I to gaze upon, there is a white walled room, there is a court of cards in weeks of 52 pick up, a lit cigerette and a bottle of booze which one is the rightful metaphor for this burning ?
Even the saints have sanctified the prostitutes.
The whole shebang is hidden in the smallest crack, look in the seam and you will see me gazing back at your skeleton...shebang is a code for the kingdom, kingdom is a code for frozen music, everyting is singing you just have to understand the melody that is being intoned, sometimes only dogs can hear the music it still sorounds the luminous form. This is An x-ray sentence that holds the whole orchard of the novel. A rainbow that hands out a pot of gold for all that gaze upon it in clear laminate, a drivers license that claims that you can now hover freely above the ground forget about what you thought was a vehicle.
What willing hands would carve out the ice from the fire?
What frozen sea creatures would break the ocean in half, and burn the molecules into new forms?
This is simply the aqueous land that has been dreaming of its tide, this is simply the secret that is heard around the world because it is screaming to itself. "Find me find me, I am here for you, here I am beneath the seeming autonomy."
All you have to do is embrace me in your arms, freedom is the sensual emtiness ofa bear hug with god...
All is the ocean listening to itself inside a nautilus all is the relationship of shell to earlobe...
Who dares shake from evenings anchor this melody?
This rumbling belly mystery is the meandering of cat-men inside of a round toy marble.
Who's laughter I hear inside the spiral vortices of an earlobes collective tide pool, what pearls will be my trove of stolen purses?
Drip your nectared voice across my tounge, the flame of candled love does beckon forth...
I have heard your jester tales: stories of spook natural wanderings, haunted story times an ageless camfire ruse, this script was burnt but the actors seemed to lose themselves in the soupy madness improv lost its form and new creations were unearthed in the aftermath of Consonant's and Vowell's.
It's narative was a cough, which left your trachea ,three days ago, a spirit that was restless for a hungry meal of understoods; wore chains of dead languages, and alien utterance for its loin cloth and bathrobed body, fashion sense out the window...
no intellegible words came out, but really all that was a lie to hide the meaning of import: a black statue encasing the galaxies that clothe it, brake it open and you will find the dust of your ansestors, break their bones apart and you will find the screen of eternity playing thumb wars with chimpanzees and charles darwin's marrow...
We all talk in code right now, we all speak in riddles of unbroken threads, move beyond the sounds of smacking lips, these words are only the messenger of shadows playing with adumbration's puppets on a stage of black space, wearing nothing but shards of time for a body stocking dressed down in the fabric of smoke and vapor's mathematics.
the message is found in the silent wings of expanding grace, and the pleadings of Galilleo that our earth bound flathead screw driver might need a new twist to turn ourselves about, so hand me a philips head over there, beyond here lies a six pointed sunbeam, this talisman of ingenuity screams the names of our galaxy in its elongated neck, this is all there is, extra parts are the fears of a company of perfect strangers that have all heard the dread word friend for the first time and are fearful that there existence is no longer valid as an archetypal character in the plot of the dictionary...
I need to be defined, hand me the flash light so i can look about for the stopping point of my threaded body in sequins of atomic baubles.
Together we will follow the trail back beyond the trick the eye has blinked into being. this globe that is too slow to remain unscathed in the continual bar brawl of solidity, I watch the physics fight it out and all they do is spiral around each others law-like fists.
This lighted path is found inside the folding of the creases, the wicks of voices and the beating of metronomes.
What nonsense we speak in the typed word of pherenome, or the unraveling of musical notes?
Is not the painting singing to us?
Does the meal of a labored love not become just as great as all the dead works of precious art galleries?
Where is the secret of the universe held?
I hold my heart as a coin, immersing myself in it's double nature.
This treasure-map is really a coal waiting to play with driftwood. And Incan symbologies.
Only those with eyes that see the knots of space can see its origins, a kipu is the re-telling of the same tale of solid shapes all having a can can try-tryout in curvitured chaos of waltzes in the same cramped space.
The knots are the beckonings of bony fingers to unravel, you read the words but dont feel the braille hidden beneath them.
We are all blind mechanics searching for a new mechinism to tinker with, all the time we are aching for a playmate who is tapping our left shoulder and squeeling I found you...
It is god playing hide and seek with our leporsy, it is car horns singing lullybuys in the form of a traffic jam inside a grocery storehouse. she has heard our gossiping harpsichord, he has seen the sun shine down upon our naked skin. This is the metal of our collective dream breaking through the parachute of opur floating nightmares.
It is time for the final chapter of our deaths so that life can free fall from its chrysalis.
"Steel" the breath back from this place called "the remembering coma."
We are all thiefs of the past and the future.
Let us remember the abundunt pickpocket of the present.
This one that is shouting from the rooftops and the street corners.
Remake us in the rippling silence, that is where you will find the irridesent unfolding of an indescribable origami creature, this is the rotoscoping of the centuries old tale, the condensing of all that is known into a single sylable.
Re make the languages of civilization in the sand beneath you, this is the dawning of the gaping mouth that hungers of abandon it's warm colors in the gullet.
The only belly we exist in is the forms of flame that take solid form even this soidity has hidden meaning,even this is the story of a waving kerchief in the winds of hollywood makeup.
They are getting ready off stage for the layers of the onions mask to reveal its true form, even these hide away from it's search party.
They are hidden further from cheeks of stone, even the coldness of the slate holds the heat in, even this has the song of its true origin as a river of returning, who is not spinning inside themselves?
Show me this one and they will show you non existence...
Even the dead are cork screws going into lifes winebottle even the beggar is the bowl breaking the seal of grapes. break the bottle and you will find the ocean, embrace me in the grains of eternity.
Right now I long for marble embrace the kind that breaks through the artist hands Sculpter of the keenest eyes of hurricanes, the camel and the needle wed and form a more perfect enterouge. They parade around me and scream "release yourself from this curtain of far scapes, there is a gift that awaits."
Give me the chisel of your fingernails
hand me the pressure of your earhten mouth, a molten furnace
I too can become like the works of Michealangelo.
I too can breathe pores into rock
all I need is for you to come
pour your radiant burning breath into my crown of thorns,
I will wear your words like roses of star-fire
i will be crucified by your thoughts and all the gaseous dust,
leave me dead and hanging like ravens of one eyed men
Norse gods of wisdom who circle the sky for lovers and for mortals and for luminent fibers that thread themselves between ourselves and the future emenations...
I want to be the savior of your fingerprints, the special snowflake that drifts with unique pattern blankets and afghan comforters melts into the oneness of fuzzy ocean needles, the puzzle peice your souls agent has been missing, the language that only we (this us) recited as an infant. That telepathic conversation we both have been having with each other since sleeping in our seperate mothers wombs.
The eternal slumber of ourselves is broken in memory:
I remember you before I was born, when I hung out in the libraries of electron-spins, the rooms of perfume and agate catolouged lifetimes the junction of time that met up withthe conjuction of space at a bus station having coffee ...the amber frozen lakes of gluey ant freeze frames- antiquities hiccup and the burpings of knowledge.
I will rest my body in a grave made from your bones, we will mourn my death together, and in the end when this is spoken of we will utter symbols in the languages of birds awoken for breakfast and nesting high above us.
The dissocaiation is crumbling our bodies, there is no I to gaze upon, there is a white walled room, there is a court of cards in weeks of 52 pick up, a lit cigerette and a bottle of booze which one is the rightful metaphor for this burning ?
Even the saints have sanctified the prostitutes.
The whole shebang is hidden in the smallest crack, look in the seam and you will see me gazing back at your skeleton...shebang is a code for the kingdom, kingdom is a code for frozen music, everyting is singing you just have to understand the melody that is being intoned, sometimes only dogs can hear the music it still sorounds the luminous form. This is An x-ray sentence that holds the whole orchard of the novel. A rainbow that hands out a pot of gold for all that gaze upon it in clear laminate, a drivers license that claims that you can now hover freely above the ground forget about what you thought was a vehicle.
What willing hands would carve out the ice from the fire?
What frozen sea creatures would break the ocean in half, and burn the molecules into new forms?
This is simply the aqueous land that has been dreaming of its tide, this is simply the secret that is heard around the world because it is screaming to itself. "Find me find me, I am here for you, here I am beneath the seeming autonomy."
All you have to do is embrace me in your arms, freedom is the sensual emtiness ofa bear hug with god...
All is the ocean listening to itself inside a nautilus all is the relationship of shell to earlobe...