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the carnage of pop.
out of Context;
‘pop implies that a cataclysm of conformity will bake us inside of our skulls in a way that we shall never really recover from.’
streams experiment 1
but it is my highway the highway men the highway brood the highway stream the highway hypnotism mocking adjustments to mirrors and seats. of course you’ll be uncomfortable. it’s summer time on the coast and your AC sucks the gas out. alternate. take in the view. show the road you knew what you knew.
91798-31407
“Gentle (gentle) dew (sleep) as (lay) soft (straight) as (soft)
sleep (to wake)
A (that) sleep (silence) that (in) lasts (darkest)
forever (darkness)
In (dew) silence (as) and (tears) in (dripping)
darkness (out) lay (from)
To (that) wake (soul) up (the) is (fall) never (up)
Tears (never) that (lasts) fall (forever)
straight (in) from (a) the (hole) soul (from)
Become (the) the dew (sleep)
dripping (and) out (is) from (become)
the (as) darkest (the dew) hole…”
selective memory.
time is of the essence, but I remember nothing of being born again… the crude matter of getting home was tiring my thoughts beyond compare… a turn of the wheel later, and the sour moments drift away as the door closes behind me… the compounded feelings of satisfaction and sensory overload were consuming a place that I could not lie to, the part of me that was not yet dead, and the rhythm of my heart kicked in at gradual steps behind my movements… layers of clothing fell away as I began to reach at the knobs to the bathroom, to relax inside a warm bath, and house my hindered state into a watery mercy… it hurt to ache this bad wanting nothing more than to bathe away stressful sources of my own decay… my mind was feeling this …
the 666 words
out of Context;
‘the tunnel grows sharp as it inserts and asserts itself in the anatomy of gesturing symbols… they twist apart and leave their striking point in the conscious plane… it changes from mouth to mouth for a chance to stick somewhere that it has never been before… a furious freak out that we can’t see as deftly as we need… under the surface, it mates itself sparingly with torrential outpouring of restless emotions…’
the coundensing of rhyme. the riddle divine.
Nine times…nines times, I have fought for these threads. the clerk nodded, absentmindedly.
seemed to agree with every word I said at-large. clearing his throat, he calmly replied cautiously.
What trouble would you have, sir? my defiant stand made him quite clearly affected, a silent stand.
the lone vagrant diatribe cautiously relents into the darkness of his forgotten intellect, a swine standing. there where a man just stood, relenting against a painful system infecting him. his twisting made leaps into the insecure nature of impact, as the crutches fell away to the floor, and he faced thunderous approach into a concrete surface. the flames ignited through a human anger flew and spewed to the floor. the scream at the end left no doubt at the intrigue in the wake of the apparent. Did you like that, cripple? he was not afraid to …