Sick of this bunch of goddamn characters from GOTHIC NOVELS. Just go
cracking a few million more MORBID JOKES about worms and disease and
death, obsession with DECAY and IMPROPER ADVANCES Jumping Space
Barnacles that stuff is hundreds of years old for FUCK'S SAKE and I'm
not talking about WHEN the Originals occured, I'm talking about RIGHT NOW
How It Feels, FUCK'S SAKE a little variation would be nice WHY can't
SOMEONE get a 17th Century obsession and START SPEWING on about
hermaphrodites and MONSTROSITIES OF THE HUMAN FORM or terrifying
emotional cataclysms that are topped off by a triple wedding or Something
preferably something a little bit more LUSTY? like that SOMETHING that
just SHOWS a little bit of FRUGGering VariBLOODYation. Hole Me This, I
don't want to BE IN RECEIPT of a Whole Bunch of NONSENSE produced by
freaking VATHEK GROUPIES. Your Retromanticism, Your Hebegenerative
Augmentation produced by the careful Positioning of a Few Handy
Skulls, a couple of Dung Beetles, a Worm Gnawing Upon a Corpse Bloated
With The Gas of Decay, and similar ORNAMENTATIONS that are OVERLY
FAMILIAR, TRITE and PITIFUL is beggining to Get Me
Down. Imitationality, the very Image of Itself and you can't tell me
that a whole shagging parade of people in fringe uniforms is any more
of a GOOD THING than Men In Design Uniform advancing towards each
other in a quite efficacious attempt to BLOW THEIR BRAINS OUT but you
don't care, you Romance-Feeling that those VERY Ornaments become MORE
IMPORTANT than the Original Message NO, it's not WHAT you convey it's
the way you convey what you're trying to say. And if that is ALL then
the BIG ZERO of your locked down, buttoned up, Trapped little mind
SCREAMING up and down little bleak corridors under the Mansion, is
BURIED ALIVE there is NO hope for anyone when this No It Doesn't
Matter Because I Don't Care WHERE DID THAT GIANT HELMET COME FROM???
And you can count your blessings that no one really Knows or Cares or
EVEN BEGINS to Know or Care why you do the things that you do THAT
SAME OLD ROUTINES Who's on Next in a fucking TAPE LOOP over and over
again and the Custard Pie keeps splashing but there's a mouldering old
scamp in the corner with a ghoulish grin who's KNAWING on your Bone
Collection which is CONNECTED by those Strings which your HEART is
twanging more than any Country and Western singer sewing machine
stitching together your lips are a cushion for mine eyes and in this
manner there will descend from the skEYES the Giant $ sign which is
shaped like a 9 mile high X in blue neon, quite a nice blue I might
add, robin's egg, none of that eldritch glowing stuff which actually
b'longs in a TOTALLY DIFFERENT SPECTRUM-CONTINUUM and makes your head
go All Funny, MA it's all funny IT MIGHT HATCH and produce a Secondary
Sky that Papers over the first one -- the SECONDARY SHELL OF THE SKY
that HIDES all of the Real Cosmic Dwellers from the REAL HOT SPACE
ACTION because we have been deceived by a machines that is overlord of
Years Hidden in a Papier Mache coccoon that was TOO TASTELESS to be
gnawed out of and when the BIG FLAP comes, the one that scares all of
the COWS into COWED SUBMISSION with the greatest Men of the Planet, so
decreed, marching out to meet them they Suddenly Find that there is a
Gigantic Funnel which sucks out all of their Unctuousness and DISTILLS
it into REAL Greaseballs, slippery and slidery all the way past the
the BIG X the time when the ELECTION occurs and the Ballot Papers all
come out reading WE HATE YOU BUT WE STILL WANT SOMEONE TO TELL US HOW
TO DO THAT PROPERLY and pretty much everyone sees that it's All Too
Late to go back now because they're acclimatized to the Weather and
the warts of Dead Hair and Greaseballs and Barnacles that have become
SYMBIOTIC with the face of Existence itself a Crusty old Sea Dog
sailing on the fantastically glittering sparkle of the fizzy-popped
cherry cheery Light of the Spheroid Sea in the midst of the ventricles
forming a vertiginous parallel with Gigantic Floating Balls Of Life
that MIGHT JUST be a metaphor for existence itself wherein the STARS,
the real ones in the real sky that is behind the SKIN of the SEA DOG
which is the COCOON that is the FALSE SKY just in case you're not
keeping up to SPEED with all this fucking crapola which is ONLY A
STRING OF NONSENSICAL DISCONNECTED IMAGES THAT HAVE NOTHING OF WORTH
OR VALUE TO IMPART TO YOU THAT HAVE ALREADY GOT IT, you damn Wise Old
Fools with your notions of WHATEVER THE FUCK IT IS YOU CLAIM TO HAVE
NOTIONS ABOUT, it never made much sense to me -- so that is these
Balls which are in constant motion behind the HITHERTO-UNMENTIONED
third cocoon which is also the first cocoon as well the I'm talking
about the eyelids, are agitated and blurrrrrrred like a dream which
can gradually if you TRY HARD coalesce into a fixed interpretation of
dancing that actually Looks Good after all Anything Is Possible if you
just screw up your eyes and BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT without being in
Service to a mascot or a Nameless Thing that EATS IT and leaves you
there hollow, nauseous, cold, and the blank eyes telling everyone that
once there may have been a Locked Room Mystery but in fact the walls
WEREN'T made of glass, they were just AIR carefully disgused to have a
heavier refractive index than the surrounding media so all those
things that GLISTENED at you were really just SHAM, PASTE, BAUBLES,
but you didn't realize until after you'd already developed that Magpie
squawking somewhere just RIGHT NEXT to the Internal Mirror Mental
Cochlea which is ALSO just a construct of windswept air in the mirages
that you hear some kind of pattern in the TICKING and the TOCKING of
the cogs grinding away to MAKE THE SUN SET FOREVER on any glorious or
partially-glorious things of when there was a Dead Body LYING THERE I
could have SWORN that there was going to be a post-mortem about WHAT
WENT WRONG although perhaps it was something to do with the dead
goldfish that swim in the Spheroid Sea and I want my subParietal
"Ticking" brain BACK NOW.
--
remememedismemberationalessencephalotherroarrogleamitrouselephagentryagain
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