Cat in a Suit Frying Costume Jewelry

You must not drink the liquid of the reservoir this month: it will bring into your corpus an obscure parasite with the ability to transform the voice into a forgotten music.

Your cries for help as you vainly try to tread water will sound to the birds like mating calls. One will strike you in the head. The sucking hole left behind will let out the memory smoke, instant death for any insect passing through.

When they fall to the water, the surface ripples and shatters the star light, the last thing you see as you sink to the submerged village below. The fish, taking their unexpected feast, will find their minds filled with terrifying new colors and sounds.

Conestoga Wagon Full of Rotten Old Vacuums

I have wasted most of my life harvesting trouble in the dark boulevards of my home town — a place of stubborn sex workers with the grit and the nerve to push around cops. My legs are streaked with scars, the traces of the mites I encounter on my nightly sojourns. I love to smack trash can lids with table legs or big leg bones from dead guys. I make such a racket and the sex workers smack me around, which I actually like. I look into oily puddles and try to make sense of my distorted face.

The Inequities of Her Absolution

A false image of a cloaked herbalist in an overgrown coppice. Hairy moss sends tendrils to the breaking moon light.

Falling crystalline voice sifts through dessicated wafers, breaking into brittle harmonies before reaching the roots.

Without optical stimuli, the herbalist's various companions take heed of the sky-song to re-dream their mistress's touch.

Crayon Holes Emitting Negative Energy Yodels

Fungus grip brings memory to an unplanned deconstruction. Remember the name of your body or command the air to oppose the frost. Body scales lock together for a tough shell but also with fabulous performance: capturing and reshaping the light, delivering it back to dazzled observers.

To simply wear this fine and luminous skin of chitin is a nearly undescribable ecstasy. To feel the bodies of one's enemies breaking upon it like rotting vegetables, their accumulating vital liquids hushing the light, is to be infiltrated by a despair mycelial in its sophistication.

Twinks Rally Under Mountain Pass

I think that the life of the roots pressed thick in the dancing soil is a real life.

No less real than the life on the Earth skin among the star's heat and mingled pheremones.

As real as the silent speaking in all bodies, the mother of these words.

Our Hirsute Pleasure

Here's the big bulb in the sock. I think there is a cat under the shed. The rubber from the round instrument has begun to melt and I felt it drip onto my head's bald top.

Float! Speak while you're floating, to remember yourself. If you can, listen to the flying things, feel the light divorced from the stars, and never forget the touch of cool wet rubber.

Wild Gift

Vermicultural hymns echo through the artificial canyons of the cemetery for hot guys. Big stud mourners weep in the shadows of concrete tree proxies.

Slapping naked thighs with wet hands, the guys in the office fear no bruises!

Bald bird cream dripping from the rafters makes the place seem like a motel where a surgeon goes to decieve himself.