alibi

in a remittent blazer - protracted back half of a trailer -
priapic as a bowling pin - 
locked in a grimace - hungry and chinless -

mercy, please

opened my windows all the way, so i am theoretically outside now. still feeling stir-crazy so i will take this time to write a short essay. in the instance that it could be said that so many of these cases for argument may bear out, then initially, one might be persuaded, but it seems wiser to weigh the outcomes against future negative feedback. negative feedback is the opposite of illumined preparation, and thus the exact same, in that when preparing in an illuminated manner, one is consuming darkness, and as illumination increases, so too does darkness, and so on in infinite proportion, and increasingly microscopic increments out to the 12th overtone, at which point human beings cease to have existed. the relationship between humans and the 12th harmonic point is one of retroactive contribution, where nascency intersects normative cosmological fruition, resulting in false memories of being an ocean, for example, or more specifically, having had been created by a fingertip or having had evolved from a lightning bolt. in the instance of discovering a fossilized dinosaur skeleton, one might be dumbstruck and beholden to posterity, but this is a naive, although inevitable reaction. credence is hard got, and especially in the 21st onward to the 27th centuries, as reality continues its lifespan-like series of changes from something crude, disgusting and not unlike a diaper to something more like the repulsive things to be found under the bed of a teenager, now incorporating strong indications of "knowing"; as reality continues "learning," it becomes increasingly difficult to lie and even harder to tell the truth. soon, it is all telling. it is all exposed. by the 23rd century, there is no real database for truth or real or facts and there is only exposure. in the 22nd century, art collaborates with pornography in an attempt to expose everything. in the 23rd century, the art-porn conglomerate absorbs science as well, rendering obsolete the concept of scientific discovery and replacing it with the idea of the scientific exposure, as though the natural world were just prudent. in the 27th century, Reality's voice begins to change and hair starts coming out everywhere. whomever still clung to the notion of History and Preservation is rounded up and offed. in fact it is difficult to write of the 27th century because the language has become so tightly constructed as to be completely unuseful, no tenses, parts of speech totally interchangeable, really a higher octave of cave-scribble. but no one lives in a cave, there is no where for a cave to be. there is no where for anything to be, there is no "where" there. can you believe that?


a prima donna in a crimson toga made a mistake and got turned into sounds. it wasnt a punishment, it was an experiment, tws n xprmt. blasted like, forse-fed 8pus suckers pulled off by bigger 8puses for treason, mollusk crucifixion of certain. lesterday, miniature juniors, globbed in syrup, porous, isolate-93567, poured into mold, made frigid, kelvins=laced up, sulking. mattresses caught all the blood, which was green turning remorseful. apologies were filed. in a room which was incinerated. links to the partners were not investigated, but youth was not given as a cause. youths got out, blinded mollusks poured into the streets tore open a cafe and gorged on patrons, impaled by dispatched limousines, hairs wrapped around the bumper, dragged back to the ocean, miles, miles, what was left. sea turtles could not be reached for comment


organic purple cloaks self-animate and emote for each other, crying down their hollow cuffs, crying ephemera, "Ephemera!"

the watched dog's tooth clean against the spine of the dictionary


uncircumcised mariachi band flailing away in an elevator or perhaps on a ski lift where the buildings and cables have vanished. songs of gurgle, songs of relentless purifying flame. for no one