a treatise on fertility in goats

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Countdown to the apocalypse when the news hits bowls release worldwide and dogs bark at the end of barbed wire chains pitiless shuffling cloth beasts wander dust storms grinning flesh wounds stray bullets broadcast interrupted digital skyscrapers stream high definition debris through underwater cities of the dead.

Zeppelins.

A sagging skin suit dripping sulfur draped over skeletal figure ivory thrones mewling subhuman dilapidations trailing flesh like yesterday’s breakfast. Two in the morning. Eyes of diamonds pyramids and interdimensional meetings blue prints machine tools genocide brick dust and enzymes.

Infused with foolhardy omnipotence the insects invent a wheel.

Don’t forget the flames and the predators and the teeth in the ground and souls of creatures the gods have yet to fabricate from mist and marrow and zero point energy and a grain of salt thick yellow stain spreads across the land catching proles napping erasing soft tissue and bleaching bones only the shoes remain for miles where the birds are afraid to fly. An incomprehensible whisper floats on the wind ransacking ghost towns and leper colonies

(these people all around me lighting brown paper bags of excrement on fire and tossing them about it’s really quite beautiful here on the moon they fall in slow motion and smell doesn’t travel far in this vacuum nevermind the impossibility of ignition without oxygen but they don’t know things like science and physical impossibility so they sprout wings and laugh and glide over wheat fields you see we’ve left the moon now and I’m dreaming I’m a butterfly as a subunconscious human body or does it reciprocate?)

and shopping malls spinal fluid congregations in immeasurable thought chasms extraterrestrial melodies leave craters in the folds of mind buttons are pressed doors slam shut souls in motion spiraling passions uproot trees liquefied spinal columns tears of mistaken deities fall deadly diamonds blood never tasted so sweet. Infinity is subjectified.
All is lost.
Truth is found.
"Is", "is." "is" — the idiocy of the word haunts me. If it were abolished, human thought might begin to make sense. I don't know what anything "is"; I only know how it seems to me at this moment. -Robert Anton Wilson




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some pretty images. mostly infuriating.




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Very stylish and disturbing, but uh...what's your point?
///thanks.




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A chilling view of... the Biblical end times? (just my guess)

I don't know what the point or reason of this was, but ...I still liked it.
Semper Fidelis

"If I became a philosopher, if I have so keenly sought this fame for which I'm still waiting, it's all been to seduce women basically. "

-Jean-Paul Sartre




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This was a very compelling read - disconnect, dissonant - and yet in structure intentionally allowing all to flow together. I certainly can't make any comments as to traditional form.

You move from smaller it seems - a subjective POV more tied to human 'progress' out into experience - as it is beyond merely time or the points and worries we put into. But I will drop analysation.

bent wrote:and shopping malls spinal fluid congregations in immeasurable thought chasms extraterrestrial melodies leave craters in the folds of mind buttons are pressed doors slam shut souls in motion spiraling passions uproot trees liquefied spinal columns tears of mistaken deities fall deadly diamonds blood never tasted so sweet. Infinity is subjectified.
All is lost.
Truth is found.


Who could miss the point? Brilliantly obscure in form, pointed, vibrant in imagery - it was a good read, and thought-provoking. The lack of traditional sentence stops, or pauses made one have to look at it more closely. Intentional? The images, dream-like, were enough to draw me. But they would have dropped me hard if they hadn't pulled to a point in the end. "All is lost.
Truth is found.


The punctuation at the end punctuates.

I enjoyed it.
ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem

"There is adventure in simply being among those we love, and among the things we love -- and beauty, too."
-Lloyd Alexander




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Fascinating read.

It reminded me of some of those spam emails I receive, except with a purpose. It also seemed to echo some of John Lennon's later lyrics.

I'm very curious to see what else you write...
David Guinness




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Thank you Poor_Imp, for nailing my intentions right on the head.
"Is", "is." "is" — the idiocy of the word haunts me. If it were abolished, human thought might begin to make sense. I don't know what anything "is"; I only know how it seems to me at this moment. -Robert Anton Wilson



i could be a morning person if morning happened around noon.
— Fern