Λωτtοφfάγοι

Λωτtοφfάγοι
Where broken threads come to rest.

Those of my men who ate the honey-sweet lotus fruit had no desire to retrace their steps; their only wish was to linger there with the Lotus-Eaters, to feed upon the fruit and put aside all thought of a voyage home. - Odyssey, Book IX

Monday, January 07, 2008

Tag ‘Em & Bag ‘Em

A bag of hammers: “Sure, we crossover.”

Megahertz hexagon Schumann resonant cavity nasal conche.

Sitting in chairs when cups are not cups until the bell is ‘in its cups’ when stricken - massive hemorrhage. Bent, melodic and swollen boys in the ether glide, Trazodone days in hollow domes. Lightbringer – word mortician, degreased in the creosotatorium, branded, “Bar-X the Lazy M.”

Tamperproof DNA patent scission. Bermuda triangulation. Asinine Cro-Magnon trigonometries. Timberwolf – sanguine. Choleric – nine lives. Integral circuit-breaker mastoid prophet sucks excess marathon joints.

Tubal infestation, march of the cyclopedia tourist. Anatomy in Carnation instant circus. Narcoleptic inside source. Ramshackle mummification. Inbred macrobial cultures channel stargate pantheons through heavy metals, noble gasses and control-group neutron-star density in nova implosion.

Canned saccharine ana-sepsis. Marduk levitation branding iron works. Ire works aqueduct Sanskrit mantras intoned at 8Hz, resonating at 32Hz, and inaudible octaves vibrate in storm nimbus. Bitter fumes escape parallelogram dissection on the numb toilet anagram.

Scoliotic cardiac paddles drop on dirges against nail and tissue grafted onto ivory iron tusks, into blood-silver, mercury staves of massive infectious parody. Biological sandpaper in fermented lice. Antioxidant bioflavinoid napalm cement.

Absinthe drinker, proto-elongated Sangiovese vacuum tube override transistor. Cue theramin music. Brian Wilson carefully drawn and quartered and stuffed into a meat piñata, swung from Nazi salutes on cockney schoolyards. Cases of champagne escort General Asplundh-Rudolph Guile-Gut through the high plain of Namibia. Engraved ivory scabbard. Not a white glove this side of Capricorn’s tropic.

And in the Year of the Locust, a bag of wheezing sludge makes a dent in the Earth. 23&1/3 degrees and we are inductors, naïve gravity wizards in elevendimensional spacetime membranes. This “big bang” is only a wafer-thin body-of-Christ slice of the bigger piñata where Karl Rove eats gravy train Brian-Wilson-Kibble in a boxer’s medicine ball.

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