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notmuchtoconceal · 8 months

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Flat Surface II : -- Abyssinic (Ooga) Boogaloo (This Time I Ain't Leavin Without You) A Reprisal In Six Acts, with Epilogue for Six Sopranos

. ( . ) ( . 0 . ) -/~ -/~ -/~ \\./ /.\\ * ( o ) * \.// //.\ ~\- ~\- ~\- (( * &# * )) \ . |. / o

-- Welcome to LeBrux(e) DeLux(e), a show in which the answers remain, now and always, incoming and self-evident, for we speak softly and knowingly in whispers as such the venom of our hissing tongues may be cloaked always beneath the gentle lappings of the mic noise.

... Today, on my show, I am Honored to be the Earthbound Emissary of My Greater, His Eminence Being Always Evidently in Emanance ! ~ ! Oh ~ How Could I Be Anything But Charmed to Be His Lesser, Elated for Lesser Than I Could Only Ever Be ! ~ ? His long overdue and always over-introduced, my brother, my pocket-keeper and my picker, Cpt. Joseph Elias Beliar Dmuta Drabsha Ganzibra Abi Ibn Musafir Sheldon Heinrich Friedrich Schreibermachen IIV, published across international boundary markers simply as Joey ~ (a homuncultic matric(es)) though having said all this aloud, I now wish to refer to him imply as Henry-Freddy. Welcome aboard, my friend. I need no enemies, for I have you & This is why you are, above all, what is most precious to me as the ring which beckons me always to my inevitable and foretold volcano doom. What can I say? What can I do? What can I breathe but your smog and pollution? As dross I yearn always to be tempered by the hell of your forge.

-- Thank you. That means a lot.

[the shriek of a blender which lusts for blood for it lusts for love]

( w a l l y )

-- Might I say Joey, my brother who I adore, both personally and professionally, and whose work I find sensible and intriguing and not at all bloated and self-satisfactory in a plethora of ways I had not once thought to previously consider possible. Multiple overlapping dimensions of smug complex in the Freudian sense as a rotating dodecahedron by which I mean the fourth-dimensional equivalent as such, that is 12 X 4 rotating, and that makes, yes ~ 480 faces visible to our dimension at once, if I'm not confusin meself, which -- why would I when I got you to do it for me! I mean, ain't that the whole point, mate ? :-- to lull gullible idiots into a brainwashed stupor where they can be lost in your radiant light and deceive themselves by the apparition of their own retinal damage? To call you Shaitan would be an understatement, for you oppose no one and nothing; having no core, no center or value: no love or family or home, so adrift and out of time and out of place, you can project only your divisions outward into a fluorescence by which the flies you hypnotize may burn themselves in their feeble attempts to approach you. Having said absolutely none of this out loud, I'm quite pleased to report you are quite substantial in the flesh. Your three-dimensional body displays remarkable features of solidity and consistency! It's nice to see there's something in place which makes you have to slow down, my mate :-- my brother and lover. You're always goin so fast, burnin people alive! Burnin em alive jus by talkin and movin and singin! You need legs and arms to know how to keep pace. You need your head stiffly bolted on your neck and stuck firmly on your shoulders, held in place to your trunk and adhered upright by a firm and flexible spine. You need to march, Joey. Clack and drop. Book on the table. You like books, Joey. I know you like books! Pens and books. Spirals and ledgers. Books have spines & Spines are spirals! You're a screw always bein tightened by a flathead! Books have two faces facin the other & Books are always kissin when ya close em cause it's what's inside what counts, while if it's the cover & the back were what real, why ! ~ you'd be always lookin away and never gettin to kiss yer other! Less you bent yourself backward to bend back yer spine -- all fer only the terminal pleasure of lickin your own arse! -- for, in all which was hollow as the Earth and void as the Sky you knew this to be the only way you could know yourself, & yet you were left vegetative with malaise ... Don't wanna hear no shit bout the eternal supremacy of the scroll nether :-- ain't noone got time to unroll a large piece of decorative parchment, who he think he is? Needin to be unrolled outta time and into space. Words, words, words, words. Comin endless and unrelentin in their density! Least a nickelodeon got simple silhouettes to bedazzle the senses. Least a film got the projector & screen to be rendered in space one frame at a time. You? What you demand of me? What could you be worth? How could I ever be content when I may never be content feelin always contentless before you containin all things I know and see?

-- The subtext is often the twist, and the inverse often as true as the surface is complicit with the deception. I shan't give any away.

[taps thumbed upon tables]

-- Joey, in your latest pulp rag jack-off wad, by which I mean celebrated entry into the classical genre of the factless autohagiography, of which you are our proud nation's most esteemed and fairly-rated practitioner, you claim Persian Dualism was the worst deception to be afflicted upon the senses, the corporate-mandated forms of physical and intellectual (to say nothing of spiritual) self-mutilation induced in mass-scale across the former Motherland by the Carpenter Cultists, not only having its origins in this intellectual bident skewering any collective capacity for rational thought, but so too inherent was the seed of Crissendom (as it was classically known)'s inevitable (as what was sown must be inevitably reaped)'s consumption into Muhammat (C) A Regulated SuperPredator! Praise He Who Is Merciful and All Loving, The All Who Is Ah ;- the Alpha and the Omigawsh ;- the All Wise & Benevolent Baphomet! Wooot Wooot. Who Could Possibly Be Offended by the Claim That Their Prophet's /-\ Hermaphroditic Goat Demon (!?) Muhammat Wants You To Suck His Big Perky Dick-Tits! By His Milk, Did He Behead the Still Stifled and Suffering Yeshuites Nailed To Their Fake Plastic Trees, & Mall Music Was All Around DickSpittled into Rhapsodic Chanting!

... How does this claim of the utmost importance, and not-at-all hysterically divisive perversion of the proud tradition of separating the wheat from the chaff, less mediocre men run rothschild over the great, not at all conflict with your open status as a High Priest(ess) of Ahriman by Your Nightly Plunging into His Depths to See Yourself Lumined in the Dark Shrouds, Seduced Always By Your Own Magnificence?

( A H R I M A N )

( o )

( a h r i ( w o ) m a n )

( . )

A L L I B E

she)

(runs and runs and runs

imma be

( handsome as he )

Next stop ...

-- Contradictions are manufactured always. One hears diction they dislike and speak contrary, dictatorial minds always assuming dictation.

[tap

tap

tap]

-- I play with my words like I play with my dick. It's fun for hours and I can never stop, going long without food or sunlight.

-- It's vital to amuse yourself, truly. Unamusing minds are hostile to all the many easy things they allow themselves to never know and be.

[the strain of a cord twisting round a larynx]

-- Is this porn for you, Joey? Is yer fancy gettin titillated? Is yer dick gettin stiff? Do ya feel it in yer tits when ya give em a good rub? Do ya feel it in yer soul. Where's the soul in the body, Joey? What part of the soul's in the tits? Where I got eyestalks sensitive to the matchbooks of my thumbs? When I sulfur and ash? When I ready to rip apart and ignite? Where's the mind entombed in flesh? Where's spirit in matter, and where's light cleave itself from dark? Which emerged first of the other? I look upon the sky and I see it all black and see the light ebbin in like splotches of mold pissin out their endless pollution; all dim bulbs burnin mercury festerin unto other growths and stains on nearby rocks, to mold into self-awareness willed delusions of Christic consciousness, (and what's it all amount to other'n a putrid network of gobspittle? What purpose does it serve other than to slosh its own strands round itself? Why do things come alive if not to coordinate supply lines into a roaring spitfire of dance, and so seduce operatic intensity from a mere emergence of chemistry? Why does bombast serve naught but itself, if it's naught but the pomp & meter of the heart? Why do) all things which emerge from filth long to be known, for anything which breeds and feeds calls the conditions of its filth an atmosphere :-- that same by which we light dark corners & sepulchers of the Earth, in where we may know ourselves without?

-- All which induces ecstasy may be called pornography. God is a mimetic of the self and all mimetics are a contagion, as all which ruptures forth from the balls is corruption when one contains the body in filth. If one assumes pollution to be a prerequisite for life, then God could only ever be a disease as all thought is a crime, making Death the only Reality. Such is life spent living in darkness, I am a World of My Own.

-- You say nothing. You say nothing over and over and over again. You spin around and say nothing and people hear nothing and people know nothing and all is blissful and alive and one with itself in the nothing you induce. From Death, you lie awake, and all Know Your Dreaming.

... When they awake again into life, where will they be Joey? What will they know? How could they contend with the lives they are not, by their own volition, compelled to live? These lives you and I know well to be only another & another's dream? The Many Architects of the Trap, Lubed and Gearshafted Like Singing Birds, your empty words and emptier promises are songs lullabyin poor babes to deeper sleep, and you tuck them in so snug and tight, knowin well they ain't never gonna wake knowin the subtle sparkle of your splendid metallurgy once the prick's finally in!

-- What you say is pleasing to me. Your deductions are clear, stemming lucidly and transparently from observable axioms. You speak, and I know you well to be my brother. I am endlessly delighted and beguiled by you, for you bring to my attention so many points I'd never thought to consider. You are my bridge to an ever more radiant light. By you, I know more fully creation in all its splendor. You leave me to marvel, for you are nothing but, and by you I see how little I know and grow ripe as the fruit of the autumn-blooming branches in the wetlands of your pine-sodden, your mucosal and fragrant, always earthy and overlush wisdom!

[a card tapping upon the table

the card tapping, never revealed

the card tapping always upon the table]

-- it's all a game to you, yes. You're a big winner, Joey! You're a big man. You're a winner constantly cause you deserve it and you wanna move forward and gain opportunities you've never known, that's right. You're not constantly winning to hide the constant shame and impotence you feel just by bein you. You're not emotionally and psychically castrated for you know yourself in your heart to be always a slave. You're not broken upon the rock of your own consciousnesses, chained to the same empty station, feeding upon the meat of your own organ. Always overflowin with acids, distillin all you consume to a bile which is manageable! You don't hate yourself more than anything else. You're not, at all times, right now and as you rise, and when you lie awake, beggin for Death, for you'll never escape those failures in which you don't believe / Failure being only a burden one accepts, and you always try & tryin again!

-- You speak truthfully. I can find no fault in your words, nor any fault in our stars, for the author of them I find rightfully exposed, pretty as a picture of the spring day he brings always to my face.

-- You don't wound me. You've never hurt me. How could you hurt me when you've always cared so deeply about me? How could I feel hurt by you when I see how much you care by how much you avoid me? You need to be a sterile vacuum empty as the bleak and cold night sky to suffocate the fires which roar within the crucible of me, else I'd immolate all I approach, for I am truly the sun and you are truly the void!

-- As you have said this aloud, it is sensible to all who have heard it.

(bro, that's the thing that i say, but scrambled!)

-- You have given me all power over you. You have, by your refusal to negotiate, voluntarily surrendered your agency to me in stages. You are now utterly at my mercy, for your every word gifted me this conversation (all which you have affirmed verbally, and covertly by lack of immediate response) has now tethered you to me, for I am the Master of Your Autonomous Nervous System, The Snake Which Entwines the Lion, and You Are Surrendering Now and Forever to Me to Lie Awake in Effigy, that on Which I Now and Forever Must Always Feed.

-- As I have no clear point of origin, I revoke any consideration of the things you have said (erstwhile, pending, contemporaneous & imminent; in this and all possible dimensions) until you have presented your requests to me in coherent form -- preferably bulleted point-by-point & (or) numbered -- that I may review, finalize or revise all suggestions at my leisure; or upon a deadline we may further negotiate once I have received your terms in writing, delivered to me through my brother, my secretary, my soul's love & heart's secret name, between the hours of dawn and noon on Sol's Day, or dusk and midnight on Tyr's Day, (Wodan's Day on Months of the Ascent only and Satyr's Day on the Descent, upon the hours of 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21 & 24). If these terms are not meant, there remains the chance your documents may spontaneously immolate, particularly if proper de-acidification of the parchment did not occur, or the ink was not properly mixed to separate its blackness from basics.

[the tapping,

ever present rapping

of the card

upon the tabletop]

-- Okay ... I see how it is. I have read and reviewed your terms and I raise you one glass of icy tonic to your beautiful perfect face!

[a ruffling of ice, a splashing of drink

( O o )

a flashbulb searing sound, hissing out rising mists]

-- No! It is a miracle! Your mantle remains unsaturated with syrup and your visage unspoiled by moisture! The radiance of your spotless and ever-diversifying intellect has evaporated my petty assault! You have strange powers and I long to grovel at your boots and lick!

[veiled by the steam through which the light of the monitors on his pale skin and golden hair glimmers with the bruised hues of dawn through which the yellow of a carnation is bright & airy from the earth]

-- You may do so. It would amuse and intrigue our audience, be they-listers-in, viewers at home, or sterling readers of the transcript.

[chairlegs sliding back

a sloshing of saliva on lips]

-- This is stupid. I'm weak. That I am so effortlessly beguiled by your illusions is reflective of my fundamentally juvenile sensibility. That I know I could never be nothin but a slave to you, held so close by the invisible and all-enveloping chains of all places, holding me along a track, compelling me by instinctual motions, limiting me to lower planes; breaking me as I break you in this junkyard of time and place, where things could only ever be made to be broken, as all space is but a probability of ballistics in inverse, falling forward.

[a crunching of leather, unclasping of steel]

-- What is to come has already occurred. I have willed it by recognizing it as such. All precognition is mine, for my cognizance is potent as my pre, & from these you may know your saltlick. As water flows upward unto stone, so too does stone blow downward unto dust & stars to centers near and far ;-- bridging two poles only estimates in taste. The premium mobile hangs always overhead, you remaining always cribbed and caged by this, what you are ;-- a package deal bundle of nerves.

[gagging, hacking, a fifteen minute laryngeal contortion solo, the attempt of which to depict pictoglyphically would constitute an epic in its own right, another casualty of this, our newfound prog-rock reality]

-- It's so dull. You can't have this level of power over me! You can't do this! You can't bend me so effortlessly to your will! It negates any perchance to drama! There's no conflict when you know who's always gonna win! It's boring! You can't make yourself into a serial, Joey! You ain't got the marshmallows! You're the status quo now, bro! (The affection of our relationship is now a dirty word! Be ashamed for knowing and supporting me!) You can't just keep gettin better and better! You gotta ruin yourself to make it fair to others! You can't keep goin on up! You're the thing that is, so now you must not be! All popularity contests are death cults! The greatest we cut that its plenty may spew forth to nourish the plantation fields of our eternal empire! You owe us your Death, so-called brother! You know democracy is a sham! Why would the Gods accept a Lottery, Joey? The Lottery exists to placate human weakness! Humans invent Gods to deny themselves their lot in our shared sufferins! They disperse with their Gods, all they do is kill without reason. What say you, Joey? What say your pretenses to reason? Why you even open your mouth, knowin yer every word'll only aggravate me worse? Why you speak, knowin you'll only ever make things worst?

-- Frankly, dear brother, I think you ought learn to give a damn.

[rabid dick foam]

-- Who're you to decide for me? What I should hear? What I should know? You can't control what I think and feel. That's not your place.

-- Neither is it yours, yet it is my bliss to receive your eternal delegation.

-- You, you you ...

-- Aye, aye, aye.

[gulp and spit]

-- In your latest whatever-it-is, y'know -- routine hackwork, you express discontentment with details of the historical narrative, postulating that Our Received History As We Know it is not only an elaborate construct cobbled together from scant expurgated documents (the mutual ambiguities of which allow vast and winding plantation space on which to plant whole cherry-trees to mulch and pick) but these documents themselves, having come down to us in such heavily redacted form, new emphasis must be given not only to the history and variance of the contents of the texts themselves (so much of the scribal lineage being so well preserved, and immediately archived via the autofont apparatus which is a standard feature of your typical serviceman's standard implant) but attention also to the date and origin of the material on which these documents were composed, their carbonic composition itself being our most revealing preservative, you continue to claim, despite the obvious & repeated fact that dating carbons is as much ridiculous hokum as the axial tilt, personal magnetism or mitochondrial consciousness. Certainly far from respectable practice, like bloodletting & leeching, which we now know verifiably to have purification properties when paired with adequate hydration and proper nutrition. Why's any of that, mate?

-- Data lends itself to sophistry as well argument, as the spaces between variables may contract or expand with mastery over the blank and the negative. Particularly if one trusts so blindly they fail to see contradictions between analysis and reportage, methodology and summation.

( . o . )

-- That had nothing to do with what I asked, but If I said what it was really in response to outloud, I'd only be revealin the multiple and complex layers of my own deception by drawin subtle and yet strangely obvious attention to how cleverly you can refute a suggestion I'd thought I'd only implanted subconsciously! Welly, well! I will not wish you well-done, cause I don't like that you're still makin it like I'm a loser when frankly I am doin my best, these are all my tricks, the bag's runnin on empty & I'm realizin maybe it's me's the one who puts the kramp in Krampus, mate!

[hand feathersoft upon a fairchild's skull

throat sputtering to reaccommodate the cock]

-- I am elated to know I could help you learn as well as you have helped me learn and together we may be two torches luminating this dim and polluted world, which our eyes refresh always by revealing the splendor laying always dormant within the coagulated light of matter!

[starlight through the tears in his eyes]

-- Stop ... Please stop. I wanna die. It makes me wanna die, all the things you say. Why can't you be jus miserable like erryone else? Why can't you jus wan die? Why can't you accept that life as we know it was a mistake, and we may only collectively suffer for we are stupid and unworthy and weak, fit only to be crushed into crude by the boot we long to lick?

-- Your thoughts fascinate me. I can't imagine anyone having them.

-- I'm just a joke. I'm just a side-show attraction. It's me that's the novelty. I'm sick. I'm deformed. People just wanna line up to gawk at me cause I'm so weird! The only reason I'm alive is to be humiliated for bein so weird and small and nasty and gross. I have nothing to offer other people but how repulsive I am! All I can do is laugh at meself, cause the only sane thing any man could do in my position is cry! I'm so completely alone. Do you understand? You have to know how I feel? You're my brother in all my shared sufferins & revilins, and I cling to you for we are so alike and won in our piety. You have to know how it feels bein so deep-fried, so battered and beaten! Ya know yourself only fit to be breaded, ripped apart and dunked into a tangy sauce round yer beard?

-- I've always noticed far too many points of interest to get hung up on such petty details, which I regard as the one true sophistry. What anyone would want to do with your self-styled impotence is a mystery to me. I suspect you revel in your mediocrity to feel some immensity in your meagerness ;-- proud explorer of paradox which you mire, my heart's true admiration. I would like to contradict you, if only to alleve your ills long enough to change the subject to something more fruitful, but I fear you are the expert on your own attitudes, and I don't always wish to endure your offenses long enough to correct them under my own volition ;-- you being so resilient in hesitancy to move past outmoded and outdated forms of self-flagellation and thought termination.

[vibrating cum-spittle]

-- Words, words, words, words! I say the most words, Joey. You don't say the most words. I say the most words, Joey! You don't.

-- I do. We're married. You haven't said no, and as such, it is now so. I am smacking you upside the head as a son, for my wife is dead and you are my charge. Get down on your knees, boy. Lick daddy's boots. Daddy is tired of watching you humiliate yourself. Daddy has loved you enough for one day, and now you will earn your right to love Daddy's dick, & This shall be a lesson we shall rehearse long into the night, I'm sure.

-- You... you skipped past all the foreplay! There was a part where I could have been a girl and you just killed me off and gave me a sex change! Why couldn't it have been tragic, Joey? Why did it have to be a joke? Why couldn't I have woken up every day next to you for sixteen to twenty three (depending on your region's age of consent) of the happiest years of my life, beholding, in the endless depths of your cobalt-blue eyes, the rising sun! Beholding you in all your scruff, which even stubbly remains lush as the mane of a lion, clingin to you so closely in your cotton-rib tank where I could behold in the golden light how the sun carves with its rays from the marble of your body, all the shadows all the shades of every striation of your arm and shoulder; your shape so exquisitely masculine, as your mind is so relentless, priestly and warlike, for you are my everything and all I aspire to be, and I would be proud to be the son we have raised together, as I yearn for you to cling unto and in me :-- separating me and completing me, being my fulfilment and my desecration, changing you as you've me :-- and I would weep for myself as you wept for me as I deepthroated Daddy's dick, needing to be filled, for you are My Whole as I am The Hole of Your Life, all things being now found in me!

-- I am responding now directly to the question you had asked previously. About the lapses in the historical record there are, of course, limitations to pre-fab stencil structures, as they induce -- to thought -- what is glacial in continental drift and collision to our seas. This leads to all manner of dysfunction and overlapping disorientation on the personal and population level, the beginnings of which I leave our astute viewers, listeners and readers to untangle at their leisure. Nevertheless, to teach above the individual level -- in any meaningful sense -- requires certain simplifications of form, not only for accessibility, but basic broader-scale coordination in any significant shape. We are, tragically, not yet Gods & so constrained by the limitations of the unmade world of which we are the perpetual authors, owe it to ourselves to finish our story. Silence must be earned. Certain details must be established. I have no patience for Fundamentalism on any level, other than I am fundamentally myself, for I must assume the locus of the unchanging lies within me, my sole point of orientation remaining closest to my heart ;-- for to assume an unchanging mind in an everchanging world (even if the Mind of God Remains Transcendent) neglects that a still mind is one habituated to a harmony of still-repeated motion, as the emanation of the ripples or waves when a droplet of water returns to its source.

[gagging on cock, sputtering, accelerating]

-- Please. Continue.

-- History is written by the winners, and to assume there are winners and losers is to assume a polarized view, not only of history, but of human thought and the universe from which it extends. As there are no winners and losers -- for the rules of any game could only ever be human dreams -- there remain countless histories unwritten where all the many things never here have already occurred, and what greater worlds were these we now see! We rescue them by our recollections which never were, and so enrich this world we know not to be our hell, for we could make it nothing but ... longing always for there to be somewhere more worse!

-- Might be I'm from Upside-Down Land Joe, but you thinkin backwards makes it happen forwards makes me wonder about all the upright things that'd never be :-- like what it'd be like if Laik were talkin!

\ . o

-- Welcome to the Laikaverse. Tonight on our show, we have the only man who ever mattered to me, and he should matter a lot more to you. Ladies and gentleman & all interesting packages I need to unwrap cause they make me wanna guess, tonight I am proud to present my one and only guest. My best friend & brother, Cpt. Laika Psychorrhax.

-- Yo Yacko. How's havin the only show worth watchin treatin ya?

-- I get all the views I deserve. All of them. I don't need your hearts. I rip em from the chests of all who oppose me. I'm a barbarian & a brute and I de-stigmatize cannibal psychopathy by bein cute in a bad boy way which Laik keeps makin boyband, all his fuckin smiles. I'm basically the best. Don't need to mention it. Know how bad you want this dick, bro.

-- Don't need fuckin seven or eight middle names. I like havin the two. I think it makes it less disingenuous when I wanna brand, which I don't need to cause I am arbiter of all possibilities which present themselves!

-- Well spoken, better sucked. We can actually talk about shit that bros care about at some length before I make you suck my dick. Sometimes I just wanna hear two dudes talk and suck each other's dick, bro. I don't wanna go to the fuckin ballet. Like the choreography is spellbinding, but it's too hyperstylized to be sexy. I'm not a fuckin rube, I just don't know why your dick needs an aerial shot bro. Can't the dick be a subject in its own right, does it have to be a dream-image in a propagandistic context? Holy fuck, what have words done to your brain, bro.

-- Why I wanna go to the ballet, I fuckin live it!

-- Dance, lil seducer-assassin. Smack you on the ass with my ruler before I make you gulp down a shot of poison, send you out into the Siberian winter to ice-skate in the light of the moon while Spider Willow watches from the barn. Cradling all her agricultural tools and her chemistry set, hollow and silvery knowin what she hath sown.

-- Holy fuck, bro. Fuck my ass and cuddle my scared shivering body! I don't need no comparative mythology course before you refuse to blow a load on my face cause that would deplete your heightened stoic life essence and dim the solar crown radiating out your gold-threaded dick-header! Fuckin wrap me in a myrtle jockstrap and crush my balls, bro! Shower me in the gold of all which is cloudy and stagnant and stifled! I long to be blessed by your brine, the salt of your labor and excretion! I'm not a fuckin black hole, Joe! I'm a fruit, I gotta burst and seed, bro.

-- Juicy lil pomegranate. Juicy lil apple. Juicy lil date.

-- Fuckin masticate me to make water into wine, bro! It's a fuckin miracle when you dismember me! Oh my fuckin God, bro. That's what you are to me, no fuckin irony, no fuckin academic obfuscation! You magnificent beast! Rip me to pieces and devour me! Splatter my blood all over these pristine white walls, that the scene of my execution should look as though Pollack convex within a Bollack! Mirror me in flesh to eyes dimmed by torpid flames into new universes of neuronal tumescence! Your fat engorged prick at which I long to suckle like the teat of a bull is the one true Source of My Life and I Am Slavish Before It! To me, your cock could never be a means to inflict pain or inject corrosion, for it is the very font of all which I most cherish. It is truly Life Itself!

-- Yeah, like I said. Know how bad you want this dick, bro.

/ . o

-- Goddamn it, mate. I really am must be a loser. All the universes where I win are terrible. Wanna go back to that one, that was way better! Their chemistry is so natural. You can't fake it! What the fuck is it they doin, bein so easy and comfortable round each other? Joshua, Devil Within-Me Christos! I just wanna hang out with em for hours and be their best friend, but like... I already know em! Is that how they are round each other now? Neither one of em's that open and friendly w/ me, they're always comin at me like -- y'know... I'm disgustin fer bein covered in my own shit after rollin round in garbage to make myself deliberately offensive so I know only pure and goodhearted souls who can tolerate my stench will come near me? Y'know. It's their fault for bein repulsed by me when I don't bathe. If they really cared about me, and wanted to be my friend, it would matter, such petty details as personal hygiene.

-- It is a tragic state of affairs indeed, that so few it seems, can meet the high standards of your ritual purity, my ever-deceitful nut goblin.

[tongue muddy with laps across the sole]

-- I have to say, Joey. You take it very well, constantly havin to watch your boyfriend get fucked and fondled by another man, and like -- he ain't even tryin to hide how into it he is! Half the time he's dry-humpin back or fondlin him first or deliberately antagonizin him to get his dick sucked fast and hard :--< real tight and frothy when they got a live audience?

-- Oh, Cpt. Haruspex. To tell you the truth, I have so many admirers, and have lost so much vitality to stray grasps from lepers of all stripes save the tiger, I can hardly forgive my dear Laika for having a friend so close to warm his bed the many lonely hours spent away from me ;-- particularly when I know I offer him challenges he's not liable to find elsewhere.

(in total agreement with you on that one, broey.)

-- Just sayin, Joe. Were I in your position, I don't think I'd handle it so well, seein the soul with whom I knew myself to be eternally entwined, constantly lubin himself in the sap of another trunk's greasy pitch!

-- To tell you the truth, Cpt. Haruspex, to see my brother and my sole and primary affection so happy alleviates a weight which would weigh otherwise tremendously on my heart. To see him so satisfied and solely content with someone we both know, and he knows well -- it deprives me of any opportunity or inclination towards guilt. Being always beleaguered, so many strays craving to peel and to poach me, I being the most inviting fruit upon the tree -- that which the serpent compels one pluck against all dismay -- whose pulp would yield a fire in the tower between your thighs, climbing alike the vviny censure of your empty skull.

[cockgargling intensifies

bootcap spitshined

rock around the washer]

-- Your boytoy's got a pet fuckboy cause you're just so wanted, Joey. It all checks out. None of it's self-delusion whatsoever! You are a revealer and a knower of yourself, and your light shines brightest through the dark knight of obscurity, to seduce lost souls back into ascension!

-- You listen so well. A quire sings within you.

[beating cock against his face as a shamanic drum]

-- You propose, in your outline of the New Official History, that there was a switcheroo around the time of the Afro-European Continental Marriage (Known otherwise as the Great Mediterranean Suturing to those who Still Can't Accept They're In Love), when the krauts dropped the former territory of Swisserlind on the then province of Vatican City before the rest of the Italic Peninsula was accordioned into dust by the grindwheel of the plates bout to get dawned-up and powerwashed!

-- London, dear brother. It was London in the Current Official History on Which the Historical State of Switzerland was Air Dropped, to bury all Memory of Big Ben for a Thousand Years, that they may begin their repentance for the sins of Churchill. Our Baptism by Neutral Land was Long Overdue for the Ever-Struggling Financial Power, the sire and mother of all false currencies which held the world in bondage.

-- Yes, London. Forgive me. Reading the words you produce makes my brain not work good. What you'd actually written in your tortured and beleaguered screed against all sense and relevance, revealing only your own multi-faceted cheese wheel of overlapping hysterias in a petty and senselessly drawn-out gag which nobody but you has ever found amusing, is that the krauts in fact ... yes, I'm reading this right! Lifted Vatican City out of the Earth by tunneling underneath it, thus preserving its treasury of occult knowledge encoded directly into masonry (to say nothing of its vast treasury of archival documents) in a floating pirate airship which orbits somewhere out in the upper atmosphere, in a pocket-dimension of its own generation, which can be accessed only by reflecting the light of a solar eclipse off one of two mystery metals into the other ... the formula for each of which is a secret yet to be deduced, but for a process of mutual and contradictory compositing!

-- To open a gateway, yes.

-- I believe that same device was used in an episode of the Red Paper Plumber. You could learn a lot from him, Joey. You see, the fact that he was two-dimensional in a three-dimensional world -- it meant he couldn't be flattened, but he could folded. He made use of his transparency well as lack of weight and hardness! He was content to be a hero who was nothing, in a cardboard world of his own adventure! It was a marvelous time, Joey. Even the stars were only paper! The way the crowns of children are paper in industrial halls, or petals in the fields or the wildlands. It needn't be gold. Gold is a rarity, soft and glimmering, which we value not for its scarcity, but its conductivity. I crown myself in gold, I say my thoughts may reach yours, and you think it garish that I wish to rule you? You are deceitful and wicked! You are vulgar and profane only yourself when you profane your brother. You falsify all things by your simplification, you being simple only for you are false ;-- true simplicity being the paring down of a true, if chaotic known!

-- Cities in the sky, why do I fly so high? When all is glass, the sea is brown, I suck myself to stand in renown! Hearing well the roaring sound, settling still I shrike and clown, everyone else left-right upside-down!

[tongue flapping

as if flicking up incisors

between ridges of his boot soles]

-- I longed for it, you know. I longed for the paper crown. I made myself holy before you, Joey. I made myself holy before my peers and said the holy words with pure intent, but they knew me naught for they knew me only by my fear. I loved and I venerated, and I fancied and knew myself well by my fancies. St. Sydney Ba'al. St. Shiggy Myrmidon. The Hammer & The Rainbow Cube. Their mysteries I had known, yet known only my fancy, for I fancied only myself and my knowing. By them I had known myself, and I was the only subject worth consideration. My vainglory. My ambition. My puerile right to be and more than be, for I was strung together by more than strand! They knew me by how I trembled and made lies placing myself in positions I had no place to right, uttering words which were not mine to utter, taking these few and precious moments where a man could be seen and heard for the right and true, that I may boost myself like a mandate in the ward or in the lounge, intoxicating you with communion of my own. I was not fit to wear the crown, for I was not fit to be seen. I was that mold, needing that darkness, twisted by the warm and damp that I might have shape, connecting what meager points I was. No light could I endure. No eyes could I be stood within. All scorched me, and I was that ageless carbon, black and rancorous, acidic and void of flavor, smoldered by exposure, overdone for I longed to be burnt, having no right to light!

-- Cage yourself by the scales of your bars, lil bird.

[tongue arching

to form a hand in prayer

with his bootcap]

-- It was not right. That a man should have power. That any man should have power over another. It was not right that I should feel, that I should be, that I should be denied my own agency by another. My own. My own. My own. No. If my own must exist in violation, then none should have any. There ought be none at all. I must now be the only power in this, or any world! For I have been deprived temporarily, all must now be deprived eternally! As I have no power, I am the only, and all who rise must be now broken, as all who give must now be taken. All in any position, must now be stripped of their supports! None must be! It is simple. Nothing. Nothing is safest. Life is catastrophe. Life emerges in discord. Death is harmony. Death is return. Death is the flatline as all rhythm is the agitation. Silence. Forever. No noise. Ears ripped from skulls. Eyes ripped from sockets. Tongues from palates. None may have any right to anything, for this is the only assured fairness, oblivion the only true equality. I would never dare be so gauche as to argue this with my words, but it is what I will believe every day with the motions and lackings of my body, crushing myself as I crush you into a concentrate we may only freezerburn before we water it down to pour out in the garden.

(-- Do I have a line here?)

-- Whaddya want from me, Joey? I can't ... I can't...

-- Say nothing if you wish. I near tire of your groveling.

-- I'm inferior to you. Please tell me I'm inferior to you. Please look me in the eye and confide in me, man to man, that I'm your lesser and you're my better and it's my place to serve you. Please, Joey. Please, stop jerkin me around! Please tell me it's my duty and my honor to serve you! Please tell me it's safe to love your dick, brother. Please tell me you'll shelter me in your strong & manly arms. Please take control of me! Please let me be yours. I'm begging ya mate, please! Please let me be yours!

-- Cpt. Haruspex, do you really have no other topic worth breaching?

-- Put the bullet to my head! Kill me! Kill me now! I don't wanna live! I don't wanna live! I don't wanna live! I don't wanna live!

-- Brother, believe me there's

(and now, another even-better universe without brux)

Welcome to the show which has no title, for you are not in fact reading words. That you think you're reading words is simply an autonomous response of your language-adapted organism. Your nervous system is as much an algorithm as the chaotic winding road-less-traveled of a thunderhead shifted into spires of jagged obsidian when blunted by the medium of mineral-rich earth. We censure our brother as our lesser, oh Exalted Craftsman of the Material Cosmos, and Father of All Shortcuts, for you O Holy Janitor, Have Sired Well Sleeping on the Job.

It was a lot of work. To whip all this up in one night. We really fuckin appreciate it, man. You are the most treasured member of our team, and to you we now dedicate winter holidays, the splendor of which will live as an eternal revelry in memory, oh King of the Twilit Seasons.

Nevertheless, problems have occurred and we can trace them with zero ambiguity back to you. In the future -- which is only an illusion of your three-dimensional linear world, your rational and goal-oriented mind -- kindly give yourself more of the time which you don't need to see things more fully to their dormant and emerging satisfaction.

Today, to assail our ears with the splendid harmony of his divisive and orderly metacognition, where all things simultaneously are and are not, for once the egg had split there became only two abysses feasting on the other, My brother who is rankless as he is depthless, Joseph Elias Schreibermachen III, there being no first, nor even a second.

-- Thank you, my King to Whom I am Pledged Beyond the Memorandum of Myself, for Time Immemorial All Good Times Are Emergent in Me.

Spoken like a true sun-drenched, light-entombed meat droid. Your physical body is honed and splendid as the airy and razor-sharp acuity of your intellect, lacerating all things in vivisections of cheese spreads to be picked and canid ;-- Father of All Murderers, first slayer of your brother who was never and more, for we recognize foremost He Who Gave of Himself to Know Death, that He Who Was First May Know Plenty.

(E x a l t e d P r i n c e)

When we are self-sacrificing, we rob all which feed on us of the fruits of their predation. We feed upon ourselves and so become a vegetative more-than-reality, rooting always as we bloom to meet our faces, parting many limbs and symphonies into the widening toroid you are always unseen, cleaved from me as one field in-orbit around the other.

-- As a pasture beside a meadow. As a forest beside a glen.

That your ears have known always the pleasure of silence, having no shrill dental whine to forever bore and macerate the delicate pulp of your drum by repetition and hyper-compulsion, droning you into the living death of a life unworth living ;-- that you have known not this abnormal and avoidable affliction to which a majority refuse to give of themselves, citing neither the meager nor hopeless, surely this is why you are so pleasing, to me and to yourself and the legions who adore you. To be not mulched, salted and left desecrated as an unweeded garden napalmed for the not-so-subtle hatred it inspires ;-- these evident realities, surely, have left you splendid to look upon, my brother and pride of my life.

-- Why speak, when you are so sensible in silence?

You already know. To speak is simply to affirm.

-- To need to affirm when all is affirmative.

Is the erection of a negative to raise up and stick out.

-- We need invent no religion, nor record any doctrine, for the Voice of God could be heard ever only here and now, had we but the ears to hear beyond our ears, the eyes to look beyond our eyes.

Yet in total agreement, you must oppose me to retain some solidity against me, and we mutually stiffening in that distance which is mandatory for we are so alike, could do nothing but draw closer and grow harder, finding both union and division a mutual impossibility.

-- You are you, and I am I. To say and to feel as such is falsity for I am you and what I see is more than I could ever be, I being so aware there is still so much more of me beyond the borders of what I see of you in me.

beyond words, we are more than being

_/~ ( o ) ~\-

_/~ _ _/~

o ( . ) . . . _/~ . , . _/~

. , o , . * ( I. )

*&#=+=#~8*

o ( o ) o 8 ( O )

( * . ) 8 0 ( o ) 0

. . . -/~ . , . _/~

-/~ . ( o ) . ~`\_

-- The topic of the conversation eludes me, for none from my mouth which was mere vibration, void your conduit of flesh, could convey the aching pulsations of all I adore in you.

(and now, back to that which must inevitably conclude)

nothing more I would care to see than your misery come to an end, but surely you're throwing out the babe with the bathwater, bloodying the baptismal font with your newly unborn's freshly battered brain matter?

-- Vitamaxing metaphors, I destroy the strands that sugars may not slow their absorption on release! By me, you have no weight and know short-term cycles of desire, spike and appetite! By me, you become crude, compulsive and doglike! I lead you on, and on and on

(and now, at last, we remembered that thing we were going to say)

There was a creature once, you had almost known, who was a lecher and a leper in the shape of a friend, who extended his hand only that you may pull it off, as he shed a liturgy of flatulence in self-aggrieved mercy.

-- Merciful first and foremost to yourself, you shed him as a leech by the light of your cigar as soon as the necessary coagulation was broken, watching him wither and writhe through the veil of your maya.

His maiden-mother fair, craving her deflowering, as the bouquets we mutilate less for our fancy, than the fancy of a titillating spring.

-- He descended here to corrupt the daughters of man, and as he has never said once to the contrary, I see only reason to insist.

Human women are beautiful and pure. Human women would only give themselves to so wretched a creature if induced by the sorceries of the blasphemously sensuous, beguiled by false promises and knowledge only true enough to coerce you into injuring yourself for its attention.

-- He made all human education emotional-blackmail by depriving us of emotion to blackmail ourselves! Yes, I would like to know more. I am mere externalized disk space, and am as such compelled to know all!

You know you were put here on Earth to corrupt the beautiful human women, bro. Don't fuckin try to deny it. Human women wouldn't be this way if it weren't for you. Human women are perfect and wonderful and play a vital role in society and nature. It was you who fuckin ruined em.

-- As Vice Precedent of the Fashion Club, You are a Spade a Diamond and Begetter of Error, for in Your Attempts to Correct What Is Already Perfect, you defile your highest by bringing it in accordance with your lowest, thinking you bring equilibrium when you sow only discord!

The Peacock grew in splendor of plumage, to reflect the splendor of its heart, for upon his head as upon his rump, did he fan and part and press outward into the empty air all the colors befitting of Himself.

-- Say it all at once, you will say nothing at all, less I gift you perfect time, or an eternity of ever-mounting agony in which you may find silence!

Beautician of Lies.

-- This Land Is Not Your Land.

(This land is my land.)

my mob is not your mentality.

(That mop does not go in the cumbucket.

Less the Linoleum Spit Like a Glue Gun)

-- Harvest man, of you I draw water into wine.

To the Harvestman go the Bunches

-- as Raisins Give Freely to the Son.

I. O. <

eeeeeee

I. O. >

eeeeeee

I. O +/+

eeeeeeee

(every fuckin time ya try to be a wise-ass, this fucker turns it into performance art. he wants your dick so fuckin bad, he will change the shape of your communiques so profoundly, they are decipherable only to his heart's innermost desire, becoming the edifice of unwavering aestheticized enigmas to all disinterested, yet rapidly becoming interested third parties. you could certainly defect no strategic or tactical advantage here whatsoever.)

and on! ... For fuck's sake. Holy Spirit, my Living Hellfire, please compel my brothers of better times to introduce me to new and tantalizing possibilities by interrupting me once more! It never feels better than when I don't feel safe to talk, cause someone I think I love might spit in my face and call me a stupid bitch! Smackin me upside the head with his shoe or his budgies! Shovin me down into his feet or his balls, makin me lick his sweaty armpits or suckle at his nips and worship his abs!

... Gosh, I wish I was bullied and abused and humiliated in that way! I love men. I love men so much. I love men so much I wanna be one! It's weird that I have this fantasy, for by any observable metric I would seem to appear to be a man, and yet all I wanna do is feel my face impaled on a superior's dick every hour of every day for the rest of my life, as though more a stone gargoyle overlookin a timeclock bridge than a vicissitude of undead failure rottin on a pike? The ways in which I was actually bullied and abused and humiliated weren't sexy at all, and what I really want is a beautiful and perfect man who will hold me and keep me safe, but nonetheless, I just need you to smack my face and spit in my mouth and call me your dumb lil bitchboy slut, cause I just... really, really, want you to do this to me, not to prove to me that you love me, but just cause I think it'd be fun? Gosh, please brother. Please, Joey. Don't make me beg. Don't make me get even lower down on my fuckin knees, to the point where I'm like ... actually tryin to deepthroat the floor I accidentally jizz-mopped, which that second extended fantasy sequence rightfully knew (don't know if that's obvious, just goin off what's obvious to me!)

-- You will forgive me, I'm sure. I have no words.

-- That's a baldfaced lie and you know it, cute lil beardy boy! You have nothing but words! You are composed of words down to the genetic level and you will give me some right the fuck now or I'll scream!

-- Patchouli. Herbivorous. Placenta. Rhubarb. Hibiscus.

-- You have met the technical requirement of my request for words! With this I am well-pleased, for they are fresh and well-selected!

-- Thank you. I do my best, always.

-- Well, if I was being flirted with seemingly-obliviously this long live on the Nearsighted Farseer, I'd have blown my brains out hours ago, but with you I receive nothing but days worth of quality content coming at an unceasing pace, far more than I could ever edit, let alone anyone ever manage to consume. You are a blessing, a curse, and utterly unstoppable. I am all objection, and you a force insurmountable who will budge me only slightly, as my catastrophes will not cease to abound. That I endure your endurance of me is an evident virtue of which you are surely aware.

-- I am aware of all things you are and do, yes.

[nut dribble clingin to his lashes]

-- You pay attention to me, Joey. You give me time and energy.

-- What you are worth, you are afforded.

-- You're so generous.

-- Frequently you are afforded more than you are worth. Of this you are aware, and rightfully respectful of my generosity, which you exalt.

-- True, true ...

-- We are in total agreement. You will scream now.

-- JOEY YOU FUCK! FUCK YOU! DIE IN A FIRE JOEY!

-- How did I never see it coming?

-- You compelled me into acting out your fancies by suggesting them!

-- You do everything I say, it's effortless.

-- I'll do everything you say because it's the easiest thing in the world for me to obey you! You are the only thing in this dim and dingy land of death and decay which motivates me to live and to breed!

-- Your 100% heterosexual attraction to me cannot be denied.

-- I'm so straight for you, Joey. My straight boy mouth wants to be on your straight boy cock. I want you to fuck your roommate and life partner (who is likewise a straight boy like us) in the ass, then make me lick his anal bastins off yer knob. I wanna do this, because it is the tangible epitome of my complete and total heterosexual love for you.

-- You will permit me to fuck your wife, if only for the pleasure it will give me to see her groveling at my feet, recognizing the self-evident superiority of my masculine expression and essence to your own.

-- Please let me watch, brother. I need to bare witness to you pleasing my lady love in all the ways I never could, for I am a pussyboy rube before you, a total patsy weak-willed beta-bitch to duplicitous females & gold-digging harlots I could never hope to control, for I am not man enough to own their minds in the way you so effortlessly own mine!

-- You hate women so much, you deliriously over-perform crude and melodramatic pastiches of chivalric romance as part of your wider plot to manufacture an image which isn't totally repulsive to those creatures which frighten and sicken you, making you feel so meager!

-- You know me suspiciously well, brother! Gosh, women are exhausting vampyre bitches! I hate their vampyre bewbs. I love their vampyre bewbs. Their vampyre bewbs haunt me and levitate disembodied before me with scorpion stingers and bat wings & energy projectiles conjured from the amber light a their spinal antennie as I lie stiff on the threshold of sleep.

-- You are, over the course of the next six lunar cycles, by the engineering of the sun and whim of the moon, letting erode all of your once imagined attraction to females, for they are paltry & you crave only cock, valorizing it not only as the highest expression of your value, but the epitome of all flavor! You are helpless before any superior man's cock, mine most of all, I being to your eyes most-evidently the most superior! You may tattoo the name of my cock upon your tongue. You may use bacteria grafted from the underside of the taper, altering your tastebuds through the chromatophores of the ink that you may taste in every morsel you imbibe to the depths that which is the highest expression with which you long to unite forever! To think, dear brother, with every lick of your lips you may taste of my cock in-perpetuity! Is it not bliss to give yourself to these imaginings so totally, they become your evident and only reality?

-- Thank you, Joey. Please gift with me with a piece of your cock. Let me suckle upon you, in my imagins forever! Let it be that I may live and know in my heart that I am your slave, even if I am not fit nor able to look upon you, nor serve! Let me pledge myself to you, now and forever, brother sir! Please feed me your dick, bro! Please piss on me like the stupid lil puppyboy dumbfuck pussy boy I am! Press your dirty bare feet, or better, your dirty worn and earth-sodden sweatsocks to my face, that I may breathe of the perfume of your soles for hours! Press me against a wall and choke me, noogie me, leave me a totally limp and impotent ragdoll, I just wanna die in your arms brother! I'm in love with you.

I'm in love with you.

-- I understand. From your position, that would be sensible.

-- You mock me and I deserve all which you inflict on me, for I am a wretched and worthless nothing, bereft of any and all humanity, who has surrendered his will by his own slothful lack of intellect, having no one to blame but myself for why I am so hollow, and thus deserving of all which is inflicted upon me! I am beyond helping, having been given every opportunity and yet so few opportunities, it seems, to exorcise them.

-- What have you given me to contradict?

-- I give you nothing. By me, you contradict yourself.

-- What worth are you?

-- None. I am none.

-- I have found some for use for you. By me, you are always some, for you are the sum of all I have given you and more. In you, I agitate all which is lying dormant, and you are always, now and forever, crawling back towards the light as you break-through, germinate and bloom.

-- You have made me as though the flower of a dawn!

-- From the soil of the dusk that I am, you are the tree rooting deep who was seeded to span far. I am but the dust of your hollow trunk, the soot falling as spring rain after a fresh blaze, filling you that you might be more a sandbag than an empty glass, beating every heart you endure.

-- I don't understand. How could I understand? It means nothing to me. It's all so obvious to you, and it means nothing to me! How could I know? By what means may I be more than myself? How may I extend hands amputated I can feel only by invisible senses, out into a current I know not which roars, and yet I fear may still rend and consume what is a known unknown in that lack of sense by which I sense the unsensible?

[tender scratches of nailbeds behind ears

teardrops beading on the head of the cock]

-- Dumbing it down really is an art. The correct amount is always situational, pending so many inscrutable variables. One has to be very, very smart if one wishes to successfully play it dumb.

-- All which nature produces is natural, and so no product of nature could ever be unnatural. Plastics and petroleum are as natural as otter milk and honey, they being distillations of an extrapolation. To recreate nature from a perspective beyond itself is to come home, for we are all offspring of the land and sky, having variable homes by variable origins.

-- Say what you will, and it will be as you say.

-- Push me. Tell me I'm a dumbass sack of shit gutbag meatboy who fills himself with excrement only to be skewered as a shit balloon by a bayonet in a futile struggle for some piece of land owned by nobody in service to some sovereign by whom I must labor for his taxing! His taking all from which I make, that his peace may be preserved, ah yes! The peace for him preserved, from every piece he's taken off you and me! His bridal gown to the state he produced, his own ermine-lined monarchical regalia's naught but a person-suit stitched pound of flesh by flesh from all he hath cut from the arms of his laborers! Death to all bootlickers, Joey! I would rather die a man than be your slave, so as my last right as a man, I demand you end me, despite any protestation to the contrary which might spit forth from my deceitful lips! They are falsities the echoes of falser mes, raped into me by weaker men! I respect you enough to exalt you for the value you are, but damn me if I'll allow meself to succumb to your spellbindin's! That's women's work, Joey! Say what you will about me manhood, but I never once controlled another man with women's work, and for this to me you are truly deceitful; a hypocrite and wretched beyond reason! I have made myself awkward and sissyish to dispel you of my charms and preserve your free will, but you have gladly taken mine, depleted me without relent of my atmosphere as though entitled! A stray body suffocating me in orbit, for I say you have flown too close on my inevitable ascent! To Hell with Me if Not You, Joey! Burn me alive, fucker! Burn me alive, father of witches, son of all malignant sorceries! I would gladly blow my damn brains out before I let myself be servile unto you, horrid creature of rampant allure!

[a tug of yanking hair

unclogging throat from cock]

-- Your death would be agreeable to me now, surely. Your yapping has long overstayed any stray novelty it might have once possessed, and to see you silenced forever will be as a boon to my strength of mind.

-- It is so, then. You will end me not only in this time, but all times where I have succumbed to the failure of my desperate and needly love for you! The Uber Brux in His Totality Shall Benefit by You, My Preserver and My Destroyer, Uprooting all Contaminated Tendrils and Breaking Off In Your Billowing and Arid Winds Sick Branches for the Fire in Which No Corrosion May Outlast Your Purity! Forge of My Heart, Crucible of My Love! In you and by you, are all things renewed!

-- As you have said, I am. As you are as I have said, I'm sure.

[the overlapping of two spotlights

winding in the dimming amphitheater

coming to compose a crosshair of color

x-ray plated on brux's skull]

-- Mate, you need to stop maskin stage-directions with so

[the overripe melon of brux's skull erupts in a geyser of pulp & seed]

-- Mate, you need to stop maskin stage-directions wi

[the hollow-point bursts forth the barrel, carrying a star trail of gore]

-- Mate you need to stop maskin stage di

[the bottom of the jaw flaps backward, hitting itself on descent]

-- Mate you need to stop mask

[ a streamer of drool tracing lymph through the air,

pearly whites golden on the crowns, otherwise

quartzite in dustings of bicarbonate of pink foam]

-- Mate, you need to sto

[gushing brainpan pulp the thickness of a pineapple display]

-- Mate, you need

[rich vanilla-scented dick-brain gushing forth in creamy loads]

-- Mate, you ne

[sputtering of color flashes in darkness

deadlights strobing in rhythm

to the sputtering of his gushing throat]

8 *

0 . o . o 0

* * 8 **

0 o . O . o 0

* 8

[a second & third ice age

this miniature eternity we endure

a stray hand strokes the remnant of his scalp

still clinging by a thread to his jaw

as a parchment woven with silk and gold]

-- Laika will love you, for Laika is your little brother. (. O O . ) ( . O O . )

O . O O . O O . O ((( o ))) (((( o ))))

((( o )))

(((( o ))))

[brux again, someplace far off

slender and robust in the deprivations of his youth and plenty

meeting the eternity of those blue skies

these endless vista of opportunity

which was a life of mastery, promised to the seas]

-- Come with us, you shall be seen!

[brux, trapped forever in his tight and clingy formfitting lil white uniform, making him look so cute and dorky and real easy for women to laugh at, when he should only appear more tough and masc.]

-- Off this teat, you'll never wean!

-- It is not so. I cannot know you. I cannot live your life. I cannot be broken down in you, secreted, ingested, redrunk, I a mere piss-mixer in another man's indoctrination, for you have taken me of all that I am!

[brux inked and pierced

pumpin iron in the smoke

bein not a dweeb]

-- Thank you for reducing me to a three-panel image. You have pressed me into an icon, as I am for time and pump always movin waters!

[a stream of bruxes, hair ivied with flowers,

flowing overlong with tassels fit for pullcords

squandered of their solidity, their ever unmet

endurances to blows, deprived of vital meat

by stray ballistics, intendended otherwise

for sweatervested lesbian librarians,

lovers in stories too beautiful to be]

the one who seizes

[the day he left, unmet

brain peeled open by the door]

p o s s i b i l i t i e s

[in the field, amongst the torrent of lead

he stood apart from the din, beckoning

upright, hair billowing in the breeze

a smile so bright, it trumpeted the day

you would inevitably call him dad]

Your impossible pasts lie in tatters and rags

( the future's not yours to see )

I Don't Know You. We Walked Once Upon ~

Dream Thy Last Dream (old woman with a casket)

[she never left you,

you, wise enough to leave her young

bringing only dreams to wakefulness]

-- To my elder brother, in beryl and berry, I gift lost time long-searched.

[by her you knew

by her you unknew

this last stray bullet

you saved for the heart you starved]

Know me. I m alone. Show, girl. I'm a masterpiece. Take me. That this night might be mine ~ Make me, I'm yours ~ ! Only on sale, cause I'm a time-limited offer!

It was amazing how long he could talk without a head, truly.

[the icon of a five-pointed gold star erupts from the polygonal remnants of brux's skull, suspended in the air by its own luminant gravity, rotating around itself and casting rings of shadow as a miniature sun]

Holy fuck, how long does it take for this fucker to fuckin die! Tell me that was his last death animation and he don't actually got another six forms!

Holy fuckin hell, this is a fucking curse! This fucker fucking cursed me and now I'm doomed to spend my life experiencing every moment as a live-action repeat highlight reel with laptop lag, holy fuck. How the fuck does a search & destroy system named after em have no fuckin idea how to handle windows, bro!

-- Think we're safe now, Laik. We escaped that horrible dimension where Brux's techno-bureaucratic neurocritical-bastard offspring had reduced the human population to food grubs. In one of these countless pirate radio universes we've wrestled back from him, there's gotta be one in which we can produce quality and relevant content of artisanal and hand-crafted quality for a niche audience of likeminded maniacs, you know ... uninterrupted & real and on-time and under-budget.

-- Thank Your Fuckin Dick, Yacko! Take me to a place where you're the only thing worth watchin and I ain't got no complaints!

-- I love you, Laika. I would carve your name upon my chest, were I not so stupid that I'm sure seeing it emblazoned backwards on my own reflection day after day as I mire my own gains, ever multiplying and striating, would convince me in my decipherings that it was my own, mislead once more by literacy, as such there was no difference between you and I. My dick wants to call your mouth home for the rest of my days. bro. Wanna slither up inside your throat like a moray into a tight lil den. Spend our life under the sea, locked in a scissorhold with you.

-- God fuckin damn it, Yacko! Quit fuckin makin me feel bad for cheating on my boyfriend openly and shamelessly in a way which makes me crave backstabbing and torture, allowing more cruelty and neglect from the man I love that I could ever hope to endure otherwise, which I secretly fear is the main reason he adores me, & that I don't think highly of myself enough to stop him when he's horrible to me because I so obviously deserve it, holy fuck! I am the worst and he could do better!

-- It's okay, Laik. I'm real stupid, too. We're both real stupid. It's why I fuck your face so good and we both do what big bro tells us.

-- God fuckin damn it, talk some sense into me Yacky! I am a stupid fucking hysterical female and I'm man enough to admit it! Oh my fuckin God! Wearing a cute lil uniform gives me gender dysphoria! It feels fucking wrong that I'm this cute and manly! I love being this cute and manly! I am so fucking sexy and into myself, it feels like I'm raping my own body by appreciating it! Holy fuck! I am so into me, I feel like a fat kid shoving a plate of cupcakes in my face! I am so cute, it's sickening! Why the fuck do I think I'm so cute and hot! This has gotta be a mental illness, nobody should feel this good jacking off to their own reflection, bro!

-- Just shut the fuck up, bro. I'm putting my dick in your mouth now. You're going to stop having thoughts. The thoughts you have are stupid and terrible. You're basically Brux, but sexy. Yeah, I was gonna say sexier, cause Brux ain't unattractive, but his soul is putrid and it hurts. I just wanna be around someone who makes me feel fuckin good once in awhile, bro. Holy hell. Why does every second around you have to be an endurance round? Can you like... try not testing my patience for five fucking seconds and see how it feels? That'd be nice, man.

-- Shut me up! Make me gargle cock! I need a deep, deep brushing, flossing and rinsing! Meep-meep! I'm the road runner! That's the sound I make when I gargle cock! Set a fuckin alarm, bro! I'll gargle cock every second of every day cause I gotta keep my breath fresh and minty!

-- This shit just writes itself when I'm with him. He's my best friend and he brings out the best in me. We are so endlessly in-sync when we work together and everything feels good. Bro, you don't even know.

-- God fuckin damn it, Yacky! Never fuckin leave me! Never fuckin even wanna be away from me, bro just like -- be concurrent and simultaneous with me for all time as though we were thrumming to the beat of the same drum, pulsating to the bulging of the same burning bile!

-- You're so fuckin stupid, lil bro. Gonna fuse your fuckin face to my cock, make you survive the rest of your life on protein piss, you're so fuckin stupid to insult my intelligence with these provocations.

-- God fuckin damn it. Wanna cry, bro. You're such a man. Honored to know you. You're my brother. Drink my tears. I weep to know and to love you, and my life is gifted to you in service. Honored to be your hole, bro!

-- Keep fuckin suckin, cutie. You know you're big bro's fave.

That was a lotta nothin to take in, for somethin that weren't nothin.

((( o )))

. | .

. \ .

. \ . \ .

/ o /

Yes, it was always Brux. Brux is the worst thing which ever happened to you! Brux ruined your life. Brux turned you into an addict and tortured you of your dreams and left you a shell of a man! Brux is a blight upon kingkind, a swarming plague as the great southwester. Brux drives bright malice dizzying into the night, for he is a thousand splendid fireclouds!

Brux will admit this now, and Brux will bare all responsibility, for Brux is the demon you have deigned of your own desirins. Brux is all you will in vacancy, for Brux is what you have voided of the responsibility of yourself. Brux unburdens all things, for Brux is nothing but a burden! Brux weighs down upon you, for Brux is what leadens the spirit into shape by making dense all which is airy! I will mold you by hand, the shapelier your dough, for only by my heat will you rise and be made more than porous!

Brux is your maker, your carpet-bagger, your tea-leaver and baker! Brux leaves you buttery & on a roll as Brux bares all the nails of your iron-cross, having tasted every boot, licked at every heel, face-planting into each sophistry of law, Brux endures tyrants so you don't have to!

. / . / . / . / .

Cpt. Drottin stands on stage.

Around him, the priestesses dance, carrying streamers of nitrate to impress upon cells the biohazardous waste of his energetic shellac, burning itself into a mist of helium, sulphur and rich creamy androsterone & (adreno)chrome, well as trace elements of explosive mutagenic payload, inkblot and octopi alike in solidity & variance.

Upon the strips as they stir the air, swanlike by gentle conjurings of wind, did his face appear along strands in sequence as though the pages of a flipbook, head caving into itself, more implosion than injection, all which he was collapsing deeper, as though his own brain flushing the shattered porcelain of his neck, longing to be excreted out himself.

[the descending lights part on reascent

the houselights burn down the darkness

brux's torso falls lopsided to the floor

a plume black as corvid feathers

incensing acrid out his apple peel]

-- I would like to thank

[ reel missing ]

This has been IV ~BRUX AMUX : ~ : MUCKS ABRUCKS ~VI

A MURDER BRUX IN ALL TIMELINES GAME

Authored by Soley By Brux, and Representative of His True Beliefs and Attitudes, with His Sire, His Master, & Eminence, Whose Cock is the Right Glory to Which He is Ever-Subservient, Risking Skull Maceration by Paw for Blasphemy to Place It Even Above the Big Man's Nine-Incher and Throat Stretcher on Which He Yearns to Be Nailed, Cpt. Joseph Elias Schreibermachen III (including 1st & 2nd) [respectfully abridged for print] Acting Merely As Formatting Advisor, Archivist & General Editor / Author of Colophon.

We hope you enjoyed ~ Liberating Your Soul from Sexy, Sexy Bondage

Simultaneous with Purging the Uber Brux of All Lingering Sissification, Ossification, Hyper-pigmentation & astro-illogical orientation.

You are a God Man to bash your brother's head in repeatedly and times beyond counting, now and forever, in all those eras which never were where he might've grew up to be a queer and bring shame upon no one, for all men of valor already suck cock, with discretion or without!

#go head #you know u want to #only gets better from here bro #homogeneity #fraternity #fuck yeah brah #bro time

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