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Exquisite Corpse #1
Lpl:MP 28 January 2017 Coordinate the day, open your mind and read the Symbols leaving behind the old Legends Enter the Labyrinth, brave the monsters Fire. Up. The Central nervous system. Map. The terrain through our bodies Following the path of Un, winding for endless miles, A cluster of Singing Bees exchange, orange peel pollen, the sweet scents of ritual engrained in our minds: Values can distort reality - what is reality? An effort to recenter, find who we are In this great division Break down the fucking walls, Cut us out of this state where we’re Bound by humanity Sheltered in our While staying in our Cave celebrate the body electricity, walled in, break out do not accept, reject Leave the Dark, though it hides you. Against the rope. Rope a dope. Dope. Rope. A Strategic bludgeoning, hard edge, cut throat, tactical To trap us in a cycle of Unfulfillment, Like needles Darning a sock that never mends, Searching for something tender, Seeking and finding the symbiotic connections Receiving, giving, Linking, reciprocating Until those beat poets send me back on the road again, My blood, life’s energy oxygenate, pulsing through , Embracing gravity, falling Deboned to the ground, pressure from above, breathing in the fear, drawn into the earth’s core, To rise in Anarchy, allowing myself to feel my own weight and power and influence asymmetrical, leaning left, leaning right, Holding up the Tower Trump will never take my hours (he has too many of them already) my power showers Golden energy so Remote I can barely feel it myself Stranded like a fish on ice, chilled to the bones I gave for the feeding I am transcendent, Zombie orange, tanning bed eye cup botox injection to save you from my frown Twitter Cyborg with ego prosthesis, Reading the box of postie post cereal, that the millennial will not eat Mutated from stardust Side lined, facets of diamonds Side by side we stand together Words.
Exquisite Corpse #3
LPL: MP 11 Feb 2017 Travelling Interstellar journeys bring us back to home, The click-clack of spindly cockroach legs scuttling through The Model airplane, the best way to get there post space, post haste, post waste - precursor So that everything non-biodegradable, grade-able Interstellar waste disposal, A stone’s throw from anywhere Into the Apocalyptic, void Dreams are, transdimensional, stones in my mind Each head cleaved from hydra cleaving to a new body Falling past everywhere, I knew That hole clean through, like a Cored apple. Where did I throw that? manipulation affects the weak yet is a tool of the strong Deboned the multicultural fillet. Grill it. Eat it. Tender pieces in my mouth. breaking ties like bones, undoing the familial knots. Tongue teasing, brittle shards. To go back to connect the dots... between our perception and heart Hear the rhythm, feel the pulse - you are alive sense the gravity, And free to Flight feeling the currents that buoy you in suspension. Eyes connect, and for a moment a glimpse of meaning in you Spooning, conforming shapes reinforce a comfortable structure. Spoon me, spoon you. I am safe. I am home. Eyes, circle, the social contract, the windows to the soul Incomplete and waiting, trusting there is value in ambiguity With the tendril of loneliness; aching reach, A grimey and ghastly poverty inescapable if you decide to stay. Iffffff. U. D. Side. 2. Stay... Seeking dignity in a world of indecency Tendrils cling across the distance, to my bones, tremble. And memories ensnared with obligations, fade Into remote quarries hidden and offering. Quiet, reflection, (silence). loud epiphanies. m nature and f nature rejoining. Unencumbered by thought. Unencumbered. Cucumber. Meditation, mindful, totems that guide us cucumber slices on my eyes. I rest. Spread nostalgia, a kind of bliss, if bliss be ignorance of change With profound communication fraught with the frustration of misunderstanding I hear the chants, reminiscent of a monastery with its dusty, grasping clutch on celibacy. Values assigned: Monastic. Abby. Abby Ale. A megacorporation absorbs….. Peel back the onion, dare to cry. A drink of ale to wash it down. Feel the warmth and wetness of living the Touch, interdependent and accepting of the orange peel texture of the walls, Travel agent, enabler to new worlds Recommended train rides through city halls Mazes past the minotaur Skin folds, stretches lines, the history of a body transformed. Life. Death. Circle. Again... Tracks the scat of bear, necessities, the pheromones Connecting the dots, like points on a meridian. Volto do mundo: Adhere.reject, re-born Listen. Understand, learn compassion Neutralize. Impotent, out of harm’s way Uproot. Re-plant, expand Grow. Direction unknown... |
Exquisite Corpse #2
11 Feb 2017 LPL: MP Squiggly, robotic method: juiced morning smoothie gives me positive vibrations - good good good good vibrations – Take me to the beach! We flock awkwardly over the sand like seagulls in the 80s. Jon! Until we find the pirate Treasure; it is private. That is our agreement, our sacred mazes, in my brain get me lost in my inner kingdom And not at all Lost, while wandering across the shadowed landscape, Ways waze wade birds eye albatross, wandering across the sky a flock together My description, kumbayah campfires creates a smokey Perspective, Greater Good, god. god gets what he wants, Good god, change the world Opus enjoys the Dandelion puff, A sacred place that is untouched A sacred garden, mazed in landscape that unfolds into memory Reading rote rituals from childhood, Layers of play dancing in circles, Concrete abstraction, fluid detail Blossoms emergent from the thick of the weeds Parachute seeds unencumbered, An island alone but unafraid to speak my mind spread your wings, rise above, if above matters to this strange gravity Any division of who you are, and you will become yet still a member of the flock. Contemplation of absence, erasure? empty, lost memory? Boredom, it teaches me (i love to hate it AND I learn from its presence) A need to extend past the tendrils of safety, A tentative wander lust growing stronger Learn to Embrace, your inner child An ache for who you might have been Ache. Ackk. achh. Akka. akkah. allah. A trailing Tendril, snaking, slithering Strategic, ideas, tactical moves, brilliant solutions Systems reach for empathy, creating new life forms Arteries network with veins returning Interlocking, our hands trembling with the strange newness of each other. Tender touch. Blood is thicker than water Pull the plug...drain the Torn ligaments, And a light, lithe trip of the tongue as it twists. Turns. Unexpected encounter. My heart, anarchy, not cooperative, Spineless, boneless blob Whirling around Unfocused, decisions and emotions “Lada De dededede, dum drum hum humbled” sound the Centipede wriggles Extensions of spineless,sentient tapeworms, can lombriga can sense? Untangle my memory. Send Hercules. Send Jason. Send sos by way of Persius. Allow Persephone to comfort me Sow the dragons’ teeth With Transdimensional signals awakening the sinergy Sinergy, the simplest equation hardest to solve Non-zero, non-infinite...liminal. Ze. She. He. It. Siren to the zombie, the monster is us, so how bad could a monster be? BRAINS! Mutate. Understanding the universe
Exquisite Corpse #4
LPL:MP 11 Feb 2017 Cyborg, with glass eyes stares at me without emotion IPhone implants to let me temporarily see, Romance fallen dead, a victim to Busy bees swarming withered roses Robotics displace the representation of false love Into the Evolution (and all it’s cladistic trappings) of the heart and mind An exquisite clockwork Machine energy balances and collaborates with the organic feminine Powered by Cockroaches skittering through the works Cored through my core I metamorphize like Kafka into another life Further withering into an insect. Kafka. My friend. A trial meta for you, my favorite hunger artist. Phormis. Meta. Mo. Meta Mo. For. Sis. per Phormis. What’s a Meta for? With no addition of substance to spend Scattered leaves soiled and damp form the rebirth of seeds. Seeds. Seed bed. Warm. Oozy. Bed. Seeking safety in the dark and damp. A leaderless hydra reaches out into the world Withering heads wuthering from heights unknown Into an asymmetry of nothingness, weave a spider web Light. The pyrrhic fire, cleanses the negative Copper wired, valuable to thieves with their black gloves and toolboxes Stepping on Legos and howling in pain Into the Negative space - a concept beyond my mind - fascia twistwistwisting through the ssocketpace osocketfme socket Into a new birth from old energies recycling again and again Circles of dissatisfaction on Valentine’s day. Please Embrace chaos and create excitement and wonderment Or Covet the fake connection puppeteered by? The man behind the curtain? From insulation to inculcation Sleep eludes, excludes, intrudes but tastes of Pure Luxury Embrace Wanderlust as true Nature Rather than the Remote seducing your finger to its buttons with promises of numbness. Focus hope like a beam I can feel isolated while still attached. Fucking walls. Bloody fingers scale, grasp reaching inside the cracks. Where’s a friend when you need one? Here. Here’s a piton. No, I’m free climbing., I’m branching out Shelter in a cave, shadows cast, turn around! A cat in a box, or an empty box? Heart dead/not dead, Beeeeeeeeep unencumbered cucumber has no purpose. Bury it 9 feet. In trees fluids are pulled upward to feed over 100 feet of 100 years worth of wood In this congress, but I digress and appeal to tradition - purity of form Cluster around heat Cluster around safety Cluster round what is already known avoiding what is yet to know cluster around each other and try to stay strong My Clusterflock Ritual to get me through the day Confession of a fear uncertain (will I be absolved?) Navigate this narrow channel until The Central premise becomes unrecognizable Burning Bridges and stepping into the quarrel - our choice - Our mouths Tracing a family tree of connection. There’s a natural overlap; a series of shapes. A cluster of forms understood. Treasure your life, it is the only one - I think! Navigate the contours of your remembered body. Swim the delight. |
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Mapping
Mapping my Central nervous system, No need for waze. I know this body. Sentient, Sensate. Heart beating in my ears; keeps me up at night. Ears to the track, I hear the train. At central station now I follow the maps mapping Central Waiting. Sit. I lay out the Symbols, a riddle to lure you toward our Treasure. I watch you Connecting the Dots, creating a path we might Navigate together, should our legends fuse. Fuse - as in merge, mold, melt - a chemical change requiring heat, flame, fire. That Fire burns the dead and the dying undergrowth and brings re-birth to the bush. I am frightened yet brave, am I alive - I love life. Landscape my eyes and mind rest on the future and the past. I need to be in the now. The ever changing colours and textures help me dream. Mazes wind through the bush leading to burrows, open clearings, dense undergrowth, and secret valleys. Bridges link us together, bridging the gap between young and old, country and city , forgiveness and blame. Labyrinth of experiences building the walls that continue to define my body, thoughts, my reactions… my actions. I am lost inside the patterns and cutting edges of the corners in the fabric of my cells. Two folds, five rows of dying crops. Tracing my concrete skin. I try to coordinate our minds through squiggly paths, hoping to find a shared direction as we climb the contours. A new terrain arises from a birds eye view. Taking the roads less traveled, I navigate through clouds and beyond. There I encounter (Julie LVS) Legends falling from the sky, our naivete becoming solidity as we notice the feet of clay tracking mud through the Mazes, a footprint in the labyrinth leading tracks back to our source, the treasure of who we are In this moment. A breath of peace and we begin the task of dragging our feet again. One step. Another. Another. Step step step. Step. Step. I step up to the chalkboard, and I’ve provided a rough description. Though an abstraction from reality, it is at least model, a point at which we can begin discussion. With this representation laid down against those of others, we can compare maps to make a shared one or burn them all as false.
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Community
reality in layers, bending and flexing tripping over the stumbling blocks in our communication new understandings twisting and growing like trees unfurling leaves like hands into the sky reaching for something new and unknown While roots snake down into the earth Burrowing in the warm rich soil In which we grow engrained into our core is the ritual to shout and chant in a congress of souls Traipsing a well-worn path to the fire-pit where we sing kumbayah to claim a desperate hope for solidarity, a hope for peace. A discarded orange peel never burns next to the sooty plastic and tin cans in the ashes. My confession without penance, I haven’t changed. Instead, I’ve made with myself a bizarre entangled agreement: a twisted social contract with my own internal nation of voices declaring safety as the only goal, the only hope, the only respite for a once hive mind of disjointed bees. Bees knees cypress trees. Sweet nectar carried by legs to perch upon roots that reach above ground. Cypress trees depend on their knees. Bees knees. How wonderful to know this Place. Peel back that hot onion, to the sweet cluster. Bees buzz, Sing Dandelion before you can’t anymore, you’re a weed don’t you know? Poor thing doesn’t know it’s place. Get out the pepper spray before they seed. The warmth of your body cannot save this land. We need each other. The Great Un, Upheaval, Unwinding: a coil and release…. We are writhing and wrapping ourselves up in that idea of the Greater Good, a game so rich and a concept so elusive. Elusive - yes, but when I allow my skin to Touch, my heart to (be) Touch(ed), I know what Rituals I crave. I bend my body and bow to them, shape my lips to accept them in. Candied orange peel tantalises my mouth, something so sweet from something so bitter. Our Garden, a spacious oasis for us to linger in watching nature doing its thing as if we were not there., My values keep me true to me and my dreams.. Cluster round folks, together we can do this |
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Isolation
Can I find my humanity in the absence of others? Can I find a way to be quiet in myself but not silent. Remote removed from the need to scream I AM HERE To feel seen and heard Rowing away I must find my island. Spreading myself too thin. A cave. A place to crawl into. And sleep. Giving myself up to the whim of dream. A chance to recenter. I have lost everything and am unencumbered. Is this the flight of bliss soaring in my dreams or am I grounded by loss,a vegetable in a box, an unencumbered cucumber? Sitting in a cave alone and silent. Yet boredom doesn’t come to claim me. Venturing into the remote realms of the mind, who’s very nature opens the vast worlds of imagination. I am Bound by contemplation to consider others - where do they fit in? Nature, takes its course yet I feel youthful and joyous - lucky me. What you focus on comes to you - what is it you want? Harmony, at peace despite the turmoil. How many people does it take to build a wall? Fucking Walls! Division! How many?.... Anyone?... is there anybody out there… Ground control to Major Tom… Transmissions dead…. Floating… unencumbered President fuck. You clip the line, communications dead. I defy you and curse you. I will not rest until your… Ground control…. 10, 9, 8, 7, 6…. I can feel isolated while still attached. But it’s just a perception of a perspective. A piece of a piece of part of the pie. The distance hints at isolation, at insulation, at inculcation, but it’s only a myopic and narrow (and accidentally) chosen view - it’s a false division. And Amidst the division you must spread your wings. Without them you will lose your flock, lose your freedom, lose your perspective. Take flight. Do it now. Let the pulse of your wingbeat build you a meditation, to invite you into a power you only then will know you have. With those wings you will soar, you will break down those fucking walls. I am getting clips of your voices. Guess we’re starting now. Decentered
what’s asymetrical and queer can useless appear, with unfocused vision you make an uncertain decision, then… and now.. To face the reprecussions of how you see the surroundings fulfilled or deboned while you’re utterly alone in a leaderless mass of clones. anarchy disrupts the status quo and brings new expectations Spineless minds follow convenience avoiding the truth Multicultural nations ask for tolerance, acceptance understanding and have great food. The hydra standing in the centre reached out to feed on the weak. It comes up from underneath to uproot. It’s goal is to trip up the flock, throw the weak or confused, to displace those left; to entrap them. The flock is ensnared, enroute to the block and blade. Each is to be gutted and deboned, haphazardly thrown into a pile muscle and meat no longer capable of anarchy and excellent for feeding on. Just add a little salt. Chew on this: When we are not breaking bread we are breaking ties, chopping off legs. We let our dinner chairs sit empty, close our doors, succumb to the asymmetry of a lopsided table from which every morsel slides away. Dump Tower De dededede..Dick tator tot. Never thought... I would be afraid of my own president… never thought I would be afraid… never thought, never thought, never thought... Moral values thrown to the pigs, slop, plop, puke. Porky the Pig served on a platter, eat your heart out America. And the distant voices of Queen whispers in my ear, “Everywhere the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me… to me”. It matters to me. Truth cored, withering, scattered… “dededede That’s all folks”.... “Believe Me, IT’s TRUE!”. The core values of the core curriculum foster a cooperative approach; featuring a feast of ideas rather than a single fillet of thought withering alone on a silver spoon serving dish. A fillet of thought so foul and putrid, the culmination of our collective misdeeds and noted troll of toxic sludge, a name so fetid I cannot utter nor write. I would prefer to flee with the speed of the centipede, raw legs will regenerate as I run this Escher eternity. And if gravity should release, we will fall. Further. Into Remote space spineless and disconnected, the many headed Hydra stretching out its evil neck with billions of beady little eyes, waiting to see if the compassion can be cored out of us with the weariness of the fight. We take a deep breath and chop off another head. |
Yearning
Unfulfillment pushes us to take strategic action. This tendril slowly suffocating the soul until we can no longer surrender to it’s hollowing embrace. How long is your rope? My Rope seems short. Oh pity you. Pulling, my arms ache. Hang on...hang on! I do not know poverty – I come from privilege. Oh pity me the pity party. Why does this cause me to loose sleep? Such a pity, pity. Oh pooh! Damn holes. Darning the socks My reach to repair everything I want incomplete and grasping. A dissatisfaction of being unable To cushion Cocoon Protect That vulnerable little pinky toe Sticking out of the hole Is it a Dark hole My eyes make every effort to adjust to the Dark. Arms flailing, hands groping, I am clumsy and awkward. Can I embrace this in myself? Can I step back and know this is bigger than me? Is Seeking a Luxury only the privileged can afford? And is hope a function of need, or nostalgia? Does a positive yearning for the past become an appeal to tradition? A negative yearning for the past that distorts the past we came from and muddies the future we move toward. And with that realization, A sudden shock of recognition, electricity flows.. Alternating currents the positive to negative to positive again and again vibrate with the inescapable and unbreakable tendril of memories of places past. My wanderlust pulls me to go. “We are here to go”. Strategic tendril tickle me pink. Flatter and spoil me until I can’t think. Aching for meaning I reach for the stars. I want one! I want one! I want them all, DADDY!. …...covet, covet, corvet stink. Let’s break out the champagne and celebrate the 1 in 400, trillion chance of being alive, I submit to wanderlust exploring ideas, knowledge and the unknown broadening horizons , following the fine tendril of hope that one day, we will understand the why and the how. I embrace my children and hold them close to me even when we are apart - they are part of me.
Connection
Finding myself letting the gravity of mourning overtake my heart, I connect the dots and search out the souls standing with me, and we weave together our web of connection, of protection, of hope blood courses, thickens, curdles, clots. Sinewty ligaments change the immovable to movable, rhythm pulses, beats cycles, pulses, beats, cycles, pulses, beats cycles, pulses, beats, cycles…. We all seek love for that is how we are wired, why is it so hard? Hard wired connections interlocking, eye love you hard. Plug into my heart socket and stay with me a while. Each organ plays its part (hear the piping keys). In both micro & macro we are a symbiotic colony of cells - cells that build veins, arteries, bones and bodies. Bodies perfectly built for touch and connection, for spooning, cupping close & warm - cozy like dipping into a hot bowl of oatmeal on a crisp bone-chill morning, the sun just beginning to birth itself anew into the sky. We uncouple and begin the day. I wash your back, you wash mine; a symbiotic semiotic ignoring the erotic implications of that shared shower space in the Art of the Deal while we strive to avoid getting screwed. Does a handshake imply empathy while we look each other squarely in the eye? Can we get a square deal if we don’t belong to the proper circles or is that just a tangent to the divine ratio of the golden shower trickling down? Emergent systems flow forth from the selfsame trickle, seemingly isolated but in truth interdependent. They overlap and support, or cross to circumvent. Marching to the beat of the moment. With my companions, my friends, my people. Wired together with intention and purpose. And for this… We need no plugs, machines or orders. There’s no fighting the gravity of us. Like legos we fit together in a massive chorus. Trace: a barely discernable indication of ‘something’. What is that ‘something’ that connects me to you, linking us together? To move like water in water, blood in blood, and marrow we aspire. The ‘in our bones knowledge’ that there is no flight from this reality we have authored. I’m reaching out to you. Elasticity and extensibility, fascial fibers determine our resilience. |
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Posthuman
Crunch, go the Grape Nuts. What you say? Grapes have no nuts! How could we have been so duped? Post - the deconstruction of our institutional myths reconstructed simulacrum in perpetuity. I crunch, but what am I really eating? I consume, a post-cereal serialism; boxes and boxes of cereal boxes side by side create a wall between my brothers and sisters. Oh the prizes that are hidden inside ! the next flavor fave soon to be released! Post-cereal posts our daily bread. Non descript whitie white Wonder bread that press into yeast balls aimed at the cockroaches that will inherit the earth after we are at long, last, dead.
“I like it because it’s zombie-proof,” he states over the Thanksgiving dinner table. He is talking about my home. Is there really such a thing these days? With our hypnotizing blue light screens offering to do everything for us we once did ourselves and us so awed by the ease we don’t care our brain is rotting? Where will we soon find any untainted brain to feed on? Isn’t that the food of zombies? Perhaps the zombie apocalypse is not the story of zombies taking over but of zombies disintegrating from starvation once all the brains are gone. This may be the Great SINergy, not to be confused with SYNergy, which would instead make us more whole. Behind us we leave only plastic because our brains are not non-biodegradable. The double negative is intended.
It’s the the price of addition, the cost of extension. It’s the manipulation for intended purpose; a pyrrhic victory as past purpose is lost.
A prosthesis, an extension, when do I get my cyborg body they cry, and I wish it was mine to give them Sinergy firing through my brain in fizzing trails, post space, my space, your space, the final frontier space. When will we get to your compassionate vision, Gene? I’m ready now. Robotics in the works, but the work of them somehow to be feared THE ROBOTS ARE TAKING OUR JOBS and what are we when our productivity is not the measure of us.
In a world of ice and fire, We all aspire… to rise like heroes higher and higher, Each the Hercules in our own stories as well as the Hera, Zeus and Hades, When we come to these apocalyptic landscapes with ease, We lose our prestige, and see, No machine will set us free
Transcendent binary eyes gazed at me whilst I danced .
Possibility is transdimensional, where else, what else could I be?
After all our interstellar voyages, we finally realise we are alone and Oh shit, this is paradise!
Evolution has a mind of its own.
“Mind your step”. “Mind your step”.
The moving walkway at Town’s end. Can an Ent whistle or is it just a Doll tree? Who are you?
A school of hard knocks fish suck on the lifeblood of the system like sentient tapeworms.
A television crashes from the penthouse window while Moon binges.
Call for the Doctor. Who?
Find another planet, another time free from these transdimensional cockroaches.
Change the station. I can’t find the remote.
She crawled right in…. So hologramic… So demonic… He just stares back unblinking. Transition transmission.
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh
Oh
Oh
Oh
oh
He falls from the sky, blazing stardust trails!
She cannot speak, mouth sewn shut. She sees, she smells, she hunts.
Sidelined, he sits, dazzed. “Where am I?”
Lurching for her meal. Grasping for the warmth that no longer lives in the remaining zombie corps.
He sees her, and offers her a hand.
Grabbing the flesh, trying to bite… nothing enters her parched stitched jaws.
“She is starving”, thought the interstellar man. Reaching for the stars he cursed the cyborg gods, and gently implants an iron fist into her soggy skull, crying,
“What happened here?”
Crunch, go the Grape Nuts. What you say? Grapes have no nuts! How could we have been so duped? Post - the deconstruction of our institutional myths reconstructed simulacrum in perpetuity. I crunch, but what am I really eating? I consume, a post-cereal serialism; boxes and boxes of cereal boxes side by side create a wall between my brothers and sisters. Oh the prizes that are hidden inside ! the next flavor fave soon to be released! Post-cereal posts our daily bread. Non descript whitie white Wonder bread that press into yeast balls aimed at the cockroaches that will inherit the earth after we are at long, last, dead.
“I like it because it’s zombie-proof,” he states over the Thanksgiving dinner table. He is talking about my home. Is there really such a thing these days? With our hypnotizing blue light screens offering to do everything for us we once did ourselves and us so awed by the ease we don’t care our brain is rotting? Where will we soon find any untainted brain to feed on? Isn’t that the food of zombies? Perhaps the zombie apocalypse is not the story of zombies taking over but of zombies disintegrating from starvation once all the brains are gone. This may be the Great SINergy, not to be confused with SYNergy, which would instead make us more whole. Behind us we leave only plastic because our brains are not non-biodegradable. The double negative is intended.
It’s the the price of addition, the cost of extension. It’s the manipulation for intended purpose; a pyrrhic victory as past purpose is lost.
A prosthesis, an extension, when do I get my cyborg body they cry, and I wish it was mine to give them Sinergy firing through my brain in fizzing trails, post space, my space, your space, the final frontier space. When will we get to your compassionate vision, Gene? I’m ready now. Robotics in the works, but the work of them somehow to be feared THE ROBOTS ARE TAKING OUR JOBS and what are we when our productivity is not the measure of us.
In a world of ice and fire, We all aspire… to rise like heroes higher and higher, Each the Hercules in our own stories as well as the Hera, Zeus and Hades, When we come to these apocalyptic landscapes with ease, We lose our prestige, and see, No machine will set us free
Transcendent binary eyes gazed at me whilst I danced .
Possibility is transdimensional, where else, what else could I be?
After all our interstellar voyages, we finally realise we are alone and Oh shit, this is paradise!
Evolution has a mind of its own.
“Mind your step”. “Mind your step”.
The moving walkway at Town’s end. Can an Ent whistle or is it just a Doll tree? Who are you?
A school of hard knocks fish suck on the lifeblood of the system like sentient tapeworms.
A television crashes from the penthouse window while Moon binges.
Call for the Doctor. Who?
Find another planet, another time free from these transdimensional cockroaches.
Change the station. I can’t find the remote.
She crawled right in…. So hologramic… So demonic… He just stares back unblinking. Transition transmission.
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh oh oh oh oh
Oh
Oh
Oh
Oh
oh
He falls from the sky, blazing stardust trails!
She cannot speak, mouth sewn shut. She sees, she smells, she hunts.
Sidelined, he sits, dazzed. “Where am I?”
Lurching for her meal. Grasping for the warmth that no longer lives in the remaining zombie corps.
He sees her, and offers her a hand.
Grabbing the flesh, trying to bite… nothing enters her parched stitched jaws.
“She is starving”, thought the interstellar man. Reaching for the stars he cursed the cyborg gods, and gently implants an iron fist into her soggy skull, crying,
“What happened here?”
