Groin boil

DEVODIE [applying a poultice of fermented soy flavonoids to the chronic erupting boil near Reptily's groin]:

I feel guided to tell you that I know you ate my baby. 

What guides me to to tell you that I know you ate my baby is to better demonstrate my devotion to worship and serve you and your purpose as good and fragrant Craw of La Mthyuh. 

I mean if my dog or one of my other kids ate the baby, our entire community would be horrified, my husband and I would probably get a divorce, and I might commit suicide taking out the dog and the remaining kids with me. 

You know that famous line from the shiv joints, "I've had enough! I'm packing my bags, taking the the children, and moving back to uMgungundlovu!"?

REPTILY-ILY:

Actually the line was, "I want to seek something more! I'm packing my bags, leaving you with the kids, and catching a red eye to anywhere that's not Tlatelolco." And that's the legendary truth of La Pegyuh-uh we're talking about, not some wigged out vulgate performance for shiv-heads at a shiv-dive. So stand up straight! 

DEVODIE [dropping to knees]: Oh, I humbly beg your pardon, my majestic mistress of the

REPTILY-ILY [heaving a sigh]: Stop it. Say, what's this about a baby, and how dare you insinuate that that I would care whether or not your particular child may have been one of the very many babies that have been honored to pass through my bowels except to congratulate you on your auspicious and delicious sacrifice?

DEVODIE: I am grateful for your congratulations and the honor you have bestowed upon my generations by eating my baby. And because you are a knower of legends, I'm sure you may have heard tell of the Mulled Twins of Dupecock? 

REPTILY-ILY: Whadda you mean? The Mulled Twins? Whadda you mean, every mother's son in the greater chanklands knows the legend of the Mulled Twins of Dupecock. I as much as anyone can well remember the horrifying experience of our sister Connie and what happened after she ate one of the Mulled Twins. I above all should know Connie's legend and have taken great care to learn from it. 

DEVODIE: What did you learn, my mistress?

REPTILY-ILY: You want to know what I learned? I'll tell you what I learned. I learned never to eat the other damn Mulled Twin, that's what I learned. What's it to you? 

DEVODIE: The other Mulled Twin, my mistress. He was my

REPTILY-ILY [burping painfully]: Sorry, what was that? You were saying? Oh, my. I reckon I've eaten you as well. 

****************************************************

[Trans. note]

If Reptily had not eaten the mother of the Mulled Twins of Dupecock, she may have been able to extract more specific evidence supportive of any best next steps. For example, she could have learned that Connie's response to having a Mulled Twins-related blurping incident was, understandably, to go ahead and eat the anomalous life form she'd been thinking was just an inflamed groin boil. In Reptily's case, however, eating the blurp anomaly would be a fatal and permanent error, since the blurp had emerged as Reptily, herself, in her missing years, which had now become years that were existentially crucial to the present moment. 

This day in the legend of Reptily-ily at least helped its eponymous hero to understand how Missy had come to be. Were they sisters? Was Missy a tumorous mimic, an invasive nightingale phylum picked up during one too many intra-The Crack transitions? All those questions were now moot. She had eaten the other Mulled Twin, and now, her childhood self was clearly trying to begin a happy life journey with the tools in the toolbox that the Biggest Tool of All had given her to work with (like the other K trans-special blends, Reptily-ily had been an adult since before the beginning of recorded history). 

"If I did have a childhood, I wonder what I was like?" Reptily was wondering one day, soon after unknowingly gobbling down the remaining mulled twin during a Days of Destruction scarring fire hustle. It was the holiest festival. There were snacks everywhere. How was she to know? 

As she continued to reflect on life and the nature of the lie that is time, there was a blurping sound, and a wet slap. There on the floor of her private bay at Friends Hangar lay Missy, a topless, big-city ingenue waking up for the first time in the slime of a wet, stinking clam-like half shell the size of a Volkswagen. 

Phyllis [trans.]

for mike with a traditional african drum voodoo back

he's too fast to conquer with dance

you must learn to let him in

it was a performative

he's picaresque

and culturally

deconstructive

way to eat a salad

he's radically 

dispossessed

of unexamined 

conformity

so when the arugula

at the wedding

at the arboretum

at the land donor's 

mansion

wrapped at the 

center like a 

feral gift

with a slice of 

cucumber

because he's 

a gentleman

he warns you first

then he takes it 

in his hands

like a burrito

Affectionately,
LaChama-ah

Testosterone Shower

They promise you nickel-size hail

which could distract from the aspirational stress

of the hill monkeys

But their screeching time of year is nigh

And there's no thunderhead or punishment of ice

That would dare

Soon they'll boil up in the flood plains

Overcome our front porch issues

Violent but useless storms may then appear

Lupe Evans-Bhdoutitsuptumien

from: Minutes: Addendum for post-Phyllis final galley

We obviously appreciate Phyliss and her work here very much. None of this would be possible without her unique skillset, and we mean unique as in it is a singularity. 

You don't think that lidderly nobody anywhere on this surface or throughout the known The Crack as we now know it, that is we know it because of Phyliss, nobody anybody could do this at all much less better? 

You have to remember this is not even her full-time job. She's just a [trans.] woman in a town, not an anomaly. She learned this skill like some of our ancestors learned how to work a key punch machine. 

But she's lidderly the ony one leff yall. 

Now you can do your own re-translation. Remember Phyliss din even have a written language much less a dictionary and in many cases these are multiple languages and in many cases not even spoken languages. These mofos often communicated with they minds ony. 

So go on, go head, you do it. 

May say sure how much i get paid. And do you think she gets any compensation? Not. This is why we're all working night and day to support this project, not to throw stones at a golden goose with no more in the bush. 

Tell me one corporation temple government entity underworld enterprise anyone either who would get behind and stab this important find directly into the public eye? Din thinkso. 

One day it all could happen again. What are our hovering terrors, our deepest revulsions, and how will they come back to bite us on the ass in our time and on our own surface? This is the story Phyliss is allowing to be told. We owe her our most humble thanks and much honor into perpetuity. 

As one of the greatest heroes our society has ever been lucky enough with whom to be blessed, Phyliss will be allotted with a permanent residence that shall be fine. She shall further be allotted with a lifetime monthly stipend minus any deductions, liens, taxes, judgments, pensions, income from investments, food bank sprees or any other claims or assets identified by Phyliss at date and time of signing or any that may surface at any time in the future of this agreement, and may not exceed by more than 2.9% the income ratio to be accepted as a client of the vittles on square wheels foundation. 

Franz Gresif Stone Press

Missy's First Talk

Grand Madam of La Dance and of La La Dance Academy of La Dance, Mkidza Mlaf, is getting Missy ready for her first post-graduation talk. The first talk is an important step because, as a student of la dance, it is the first opportunity afforded to you in your entire educational trajectory when you would be aloud to speak. Speaking is not only an important step to cutting a prominent figure in business and society, but also an essential first step toward becoming a ceremonial, half-feral monster, which everyone pretty much knows by now will be Missy's path. 

As Mkidza tries to poof Missy's wiry top hairs to help cover the as-yet unfurled reptilian mating sail beginning to protrude colorfully along the center ridge of her skull, and as Mkidza fluffs Missy's feathered collar to align with the harsh edges of her emerging spine horns, she whispers some pointed tips of her own into Missy's ear flap: 

"My Missy. If you want to sound smart, make sure to begin with the word 'so.' This will signal that you need no further introduction, that everyone present probably can't wait to hear what you have to say, and in case any question or comment comes at you before you are ready to end the talk, the word 'so' acknowledges that other words than yours were spoken but also signals that those words were an interruption, not an addition, not significant, maybe even stupid, and that you intend to continue on with what you were saying, midsentence, without breaking stride. You are saying all of that with this tiny, two-letter coordinating conjunction. Do you see? Say it for me Missy. Sss... good. Take your time. Start with that."

Missy clack-clocks past the front row of the makeshift auditorium at Friends Hangar and up the steps to the podium fully en point. She then faces the audience of her peers and slowly lowers her heels without allowing her head to lower as well. In fact, her neck seems to grow before their eyes. 

[MISSY'S FIRST TALK]

So... i place myself in what i successfully refer to as the borderlands of epistemological theory. This works even and maybe especially when i can't remember what epistemology is or which one it is. There's epistemology, ontology, oncology, existentialism, lyricism, a whole variety of tautologies, including many redundant ones, the tyranny of empiricism, and then extracurricular activities, in which I got an A? meaning where was I? But before that question mark there is indeed an A, an A for Assumption that whatever, wherever it was i'd run off to, it must have been good and it must have been crazy fun—this assumption my temple instructors may have based solely on my verve and personality as well as their own lack thereof.

So... because of the fact that the only way I could possibly be pursuing proper epistemological methods as i journey forward in La Dance would be by pure accident or divine intervention, I just feel like if my true behavioral underpinnings were ever to be discovered, measured and understood, I would most likely place outside the mean. Borderlands. Epistemological. Theory. 

So... how besides frequent disappearances and charm did i attract such close attention, such whispers of promise from my educator-abductresses, in all my profound ignorance? Was it a case when your poor life choices are being overly admired by those whose job it is to hold you back? Just as they themselves were held back? Held back from living their best lives, from singing their own kinds of music, from hacking new temporary passages through the thicket of vines overgrowing our most cherished brutalist structures, held back from carrying a burning torch forward for all to follow, held back from burning it all, every last village and tree, as far as the eye can see?

Umm, so... the problem with this type of developmental approach is a situation where these powerful and covert admirers who call themselves instructional architects want to see the entire arc, not just the money shot. They know why they'd never dare surrender to their own curiosities, their own vulnerabilities seedy passions; they knew why it made so much more sense for them to stay at temple chomping on grapes spitting out the seeds and remain simply well with la dance. It was a thrill for them to watch me, and even better to imagine me, a singularity at La La Dance Academy of La Dance, burning through my youth in a more spectacular fashion than they had ever dreamed of attempting for themselves. 

But, so... even as they cringed and looked away, they imagined shielding their eyes from much more elaborate aberrations of virtue, more brazen adventures in indecency, a sweeter masochism, a scarier narcissism, more enthusiastically bottom-seeking personal associates than i could or would imagine or have within me. The inherent bias of course, of their point of view, is that there must then be a crash, a comeuppance, a heavy consequence, a final judgement to equal in dramatic effect all the umami of their most prurient fantasies—a judgment in their favor, not yours!

Missy is sent off to her next life journey by a warm round of applause from her audience of underdancers, all the nuns of Mthyuh, and especially her beloved Her Grand Madame Mkidza. Now Missy leapt from the stage as if she would take to the winds sure as La Pegyuh of legend abandoned her kids for glory. Mkidza, waiting in the wings, made sure to pull Missy aside before she headed to the first-talk reception of the shiv. "I couldn't be more proud of you," she gushed as they embraced. 

MKIDZA MLAF: You read us for filth, Missy.

MISSY: So... that's Ms. Missy to you, mister.

BOTH: HAHAHAHA...! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Phyliss [embedded]

Dear Stone Slate,

ranking: most palliative moment

taking Roma

when my lover became a feathered savage

every fall and recovery in la dance 

astride my lover in his beads

marriage of my only sister

lolling by a creek with temple friends

sunset in the wastelands

first and second puff on any cigarette

a schoolmate sat behind me and cut himself

presentation of his semiotic palm carving

wavy dark bangs

specter of being stranded 

in the high chanks at fog

every dangerous moment with my lover

comments:

he could crush yet he was gentle

i could only see him in the lightning

his palms were raised with blisters

From "Dear Stone Slate,"
by Reptilly-illy
Phyliss [trans.]

Fable of the Sponge

the sponge was losing its ability to avoid arousing alarm

it had lost respect for hands without qualms about touch

but the odor alone didn't change its category much

frizzed edges embedded grime visible fissures 

haven't they earned a sponge the right to move on

disgust comes first in understanding one

a sponge becomes important enough to not only sense

but also as a totem of the residue of memory

of a term absorbing realities directly 

no dissent is registered prior to the destruction

of a synthetic sponge created to trap in posterity

what's best defined through archaeology 

the residue of cooking and eating practices rituals

what gets left out or over-emphasized in the mind

only in disgust at looking behind

or concern for environmental contamination

with only the residue of living on the horizon 

does an old sponge enjoy true recognition

from: A New Look at Jan Folk Tales

La LaChama [ed.]

Phyliss [trans.]

Pray

If you've inherited a very high Filter of Loathing setting for optimism/faith/cognitive dissociation (OFCD), you'll worry, but you'll always have that soothing place to step into. OFCD settings can also be multiplied in combination with some method of death (MOD) electives and through the process of palliative ministry. 

Sides may include gambling or alcohol addiction, sex crimes, loss of ability to turn off OFCD, and/or substantial added worry and lower faith settings for most 1st and 2nd level networked associates. 

If you come from a long line of very low Filter of Loathing settings due to prosecution, rebirth, attempted abortion after birth, inter-hole travel in The Crack, orphanism, refusal to think right, or crossing the trans-species line, you are going to be like a sponge in life: a sponge that becomes dingier, smellier, more diffuse, more prone to depression, and more likely to volunteer as Mthyuh's vittle with an accelerated timeline toward a self-awareness setting likely to break through the ceiling of all approved palliative ministries as your trajectory on this surface progresses. 

For help on this help topic, go to your local or other assigned wat during any phase of any waning moon. Climb to the top of the wat. Wait. Wear the ceremonial hat. Pray that Mthyuh eat you first, and pray sincerely. Wait on the wat for what, maybe until the moons disappear. If a predator has not approached you, you may proceed down the steps to the cashier. Say, "Please help me." 

From: 
Record dump 948uo.nsgfopw,u9
K5000
Phyliss [trans.]

soil

faces rose around me in the wet cement

they were human faces dogs cats wild

faces that quickly appeared and sunk back

an ostrich a rabbit a hawk or an attacker

their features created a surface with more

traction in a tilt shake or spin event 

i could grab onto an ear or lodge my foot

against a stiff upper lip fit my cheek bone

into a temple like the days when we were

bodies forced together taking conceding

wanting giving each other space or flesh 

turning toward or away but never moot

to avoid a hardening and crumbling past

i release my grip and step onto the grass

where creatures come and go inconsequentially

stop only to acknowledge sensual density

and persons free of notice by urbanity

take root in soil that borders all humanity

by Peg

tissue rainbow/ pot of foil

praying hands

 

Still Ill & Ill-Advised Still: HIV Bros

Jer: We're here for CANCER BEATDOWN, my death partner Ken and myself. Wow, Ken. You look like you got in the ring for a CANCER BEATDOWN and lost. Badly. How are you even alive?

Ken: There's where you err, Jer. I make no claim of livelihood. 

Jer & Ken: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Jer: Ya just our luck to get a charity gig, right audience? 

Ken: No, not right audience. They're all on their phones. 

Jer: They're probably calling you an ambulance. You really look like shit. 

Ken: Too bad they can't call an ambulance for the shit in your pants.

Jer: You mean a dump truck? 

Ken & Jer: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ken: Say I heard you gave your mom AIDS in the womb.

Jer: Say what? I hear you perform fellatio with your butt. Fraud much?

Ken: What now? How many time an hour you go back down on open ass with your prefer-not-to-say status?

Jer: I guess we good.

Jer & Ken: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ken: Wait. Your med port popped out of your chest, mate. Let me just

Jer: Don't you touch it. It's on break. It gets depressing in my body.

Ken: At first I thought it was another huge tapeworm like the one you sneezed out in the tanning bed or the one came out your eye and disappeared into the public sewer grate.

Jer: I hate you filthy bitch. 

Ken: I hate you disgusting dirty tramp hole fornicating disease vector.

Jer: ...and scene! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Thanks for your support everybody. Good night! 

Ken: Good night!

Ken & Jer: Beat it down!

[Ken and Jer fly at one another, punching, biting, and clawing, land on the stage and begin to draw blood and leave hair as MPS security struggles to pull them apart and get them back into their separate palliative cells at the Chang K. Chang Chank Chain Gang Med Tank.]

Opening Act

CANCER BEATDOWN CHUKKACHANK

Phyllis [trans.]
Sports N' Sex Crimes Bugle

The worms

Hellooo, Chukkachank!  Yall our third stop on the gonna stop it gonna stomp it gonna beat it down CANCER BEATDOWN village tour! At this event exclusively, we're delighted to have with us all of these respected thinkers, freaks, entertainers, collaborators all in our cause (in no particular order):

LaChama fumbles with the mike for a moment her thoughts racing for example mike, i wish i was fumbling with Mike not a mike haha pull it together, etc. It's a list just read the list they'll love it.

Ok here we go: 

International Plate Spinning Silver Medalist, P'tata Peppa Poke Chop, who will be spinning how many? many plates simultaneously, I think they're balanced on thin wobbly sticks reeds...what? to beat down cancer. 

Sassy, stunning, and late: it's Weida Haafenaur the latest queen ever to hold on to her job more than six month give it up for Weida. Tonight she'll be... late haha. It's for cancer.

Without using language, La LaChama's mind wondered Am i over-checking my privilege, trying to sound folksy because i perceive the Chanklands as a proverbial heart-and-soul motherland/gift shop locked in a time of pathos beauty servitude that i can continue to stunt and oppress? Is this genocide by reverence? 

In Chukkachank, I am sure you're more than familiar with your own stone tom-tomists, Subsidence, with Turr D'Ailans and the Subsidents. They will be outright wailing on this joint for cancer baby wait you'll see Turr D'Ailans later everybody thank you Turr. 

The worms. Trapped.
In the jumping beans. 
They haunt my dreams. 
They kick without end. 
When you crack the bean and 
kick them out, 

they crawl back in again. 

Any horror lovers out there? Hope so. We've got a real-life horror haver who lived to be here tonight and relive her traumatizing story before our eyes. This presentation does include MPS certified missing maimed scarred (MMS) artifacts so we ask that you view as one time only and understand consequences for not doing so. 

Any guesses so far? You're right! It's trafficked sleep worker Uwe Behan. What happened when Uwe was discarded by Pharmsupply and left to subsist in a life shed at the center of an abandoned holo-story called Walden Pond? See for yourself and attempt to ask it questions, right here. Stay for that. 

Finally everyone. We all know: it is ill-advised. 

Here, the audience is already breaking from a hush to angry whistles, shouts of NO! and loud raspberries. 

So we thought we'd better put them up front and get them the hell out asap. I give you the two-and-only, original bad guys, the hope-to-die-est of all the hope-to-die, the AIDS Bros! That's right. Don't remember? Yes! It's them. 

From:
Record dump
CANCER BEATDOWN
Phyliss [trans.]

I Don't Feel Like a Woman

emotions

i'm cryin'

but it don't make me feel like a woman

i'm feelin'

the blockin'

without any need to come out as a queen

i'm frightened

i'm hidin'

but mostly to keep all of you safe from me

you're kind and

you're patient

so happy to have all of you on my team

i'm laughin'

not dyin'

so why does it seem like i've crossed a line

i'm tired

i'm thinkin'

i needed to stop and just take some time

to slow down

and hang on

while doctors drain my testosterone

Event Opener

"I Don't Feel Like a Woman"

Sung by: Harley Hannie-Kaufi

Lyrics courtesy of: CANCER BEATDOWN
Phyllis [trans.]

Surgical patio

Are you ready to enter the chamber? 

...

Missy? 

[Are you insane? How would i in any way be ready for that? Braino knows better than to move toward the chamber. A rodent would have to stop and think twice before continuing on into the chamber for cheese. How about you first?]

Missy?

I can't shake this strong feeling that i will come out a different person: not better, but uncomfortably new. 

Well, i can't, you know, you should ask

I also have a premonition-level expectation that my life and its contents up to this point will have disappeared, and all I'll be able to do will be to just keep moving forward as a new, strange person.

Oh here comes Dr. Thong. Just in time. 

Dr. Donna Thong struggles for a moment with the sliding glass and sliding screen doors, but soon steps out calmly, audibly exhaling, onto the surgical patio. 

Hello Missy. Hope you're not chilly. Are we ready to enter the chamber? 

Uh we meaning you and Nurse Mike? 

Haha! Good one. I'm glad you are retaining your sense of humor dear. Now if you'd just like to

Nurse Mike steps up to the plate in a manly fashion.

I'm not sure she would like just at the moment doctor. I'm sure that you'd agree that if the same patient were a Jan, there would be a psychiatric support panel out here with us instead of a swimming pool. 

Ok. I see. Missy, you know we think of people like you people of your heritage as great warriors. You are fierce. Think about it. Your babies are born looking so fierce you know one day soon they will be able to kick your ass or at least appear to have that power. Our babies are born looking so wholesome and worthy that it's annoying to everyone who is not immediately related by blood. 

Nurse Mike once again does his best to advocate for the patient. 

Of course all babies are beautiful, but let's not even get into that fraught debate!

Indeed, Nurse Mike. But we may all be able to agree that babies do not have a conscience. Their patterns in an adult would be called sociopathic. And this brings me to my point. We must identify all and any of the babies who are somehow endowed with adult bodies, especially if they are in a position of significant responsibility. 

Mike and Missy look at one another silently, and Dr. Thong realizes that she has fatally digressed. 

Missy. I'm just trying to say that i'm so sorry that our societal biases have caused you to suffer much more trauma than necessary over the procedure. The chamber is not a place of hostility. 

...

And because i do respect you as a legal person, i'm going to lay it out for you here, now, with complete honesty. 

Thank you Dr. Thong. I appreciate that. 

Because it's certainly not nearly as dreadful as you may have imagined. First of all, after you enter the chamber, have engaged with the treatment, and satisfied the chamber as to your readiness, you will exit the chamber. 

Uh-huh, ok

At that time, you will come out like a different person: not really better—more like uncomfortably new. 

...

Also, your life, its contents up to this point, will have disappeared. Pretty much all you'll be able to do will be to just keep moving forward as that new, strange person.

What... did you? AHHH Dr. Thong you are effing with me you bitch! You heard me talking to Nurse Mike! AHHH

I know! How could I do that? I'm so sorry darling, I couldn't resist. Of course none of that it true. You're such a worry wart! Now spit out your gum, hand over any jewelry or other metal items, drop your gown, and skedaddle right on in there for me now. That's right. See you soon! 

 

tatters

The Jansdaad economy appears to be in tatters today as Jans from Flatchank to Janstanopol are taking yet another "Day of Growth and Reflection" after being released from most remote muscular decisioning (RMD) control points and friday funday brain nurturing processes after the crash of K5000 has been maybe 2 moons.

Spokesmen for the Jans do not disagree that their own employers including leaders of all city-level governmental functions are now discredited and impotent. However, Jan enslavement by MPS did mean sustenance in the form of the vital services the Jans themselves were working to provide. After lifetimes of having their choices made for them, Jans may not realize that they are effectively on strike against each other.

"Why would they want to mess up an entitled situation like that?" asked Jodi Al Arn-Yirshert, an observer for the fleke security service. "Sure, they were deciding some of your muscle choices for you, but your brain is not really a distraction as long as you do the chants. All your needs are provided for. What's the beef?"

Compassionate sanitation, water and meals on oxcarts are being provided to all Jan hives temporarily by MPS and CANCER BEATDOWN. 

by Phyliss [embedded]
Sports N' Sex Crimes Bugle

mile-long train in the window

what happens here and what it sounds like are stretched the way a map seems wider in the middle

it's set up for the long haul and even though we try to keep in line with modernity 

the songs are long and the moon is slow and folks give in to the momentum of the generations

you might sit at a bar and yawn or call it movie night when you're just dozing off with a bulb on

but if you're listening you can tell the distance between rough times and fire flies and the lightning

the train you see is a perpetual machine that trips light like a star can hide behind a table fan

we've still got love and hating in the forever or in the reflection but the track is laid for speed

don't need a bottle but i've a corn pipe and the smoke curls through the window in its own time

a long train on its own steam can make the light trip so that it may seem like a perpetual machine

Fyaskmi S. Booshia

Municipal flood plain

Even its tilted geometry resists our civilized template

The surfaces of the municipal flood plain are not 

flat but neither are they random as are the low

roiling local humps framing the town never

upending a tractor often disappearing in the tassels

These are rivules puffed with generational sod

a space involved deeply on one end by a circle 

of ancient oaks and their contortions buried

water lungs flamelike arms culling the suns 

claiming two of four directions at this point their 

Greatest pleasure derives from the release of their

heaviest cares giant rotted gnarls or lightning 

spiked organic god spears that can scold bobbing

in the soil but not enough to fill bely upstage

Mthyuh's purpose and dominance here

This is the message of the municipal flood

plain and it can be apparent to any pilgrim 

merchant worker present here tonight:

"We can hold this much, this far."

Look, now, to her horizons

A true flood would lap at our 

waists but this emptiness is a 

well of safety as well as for 

vainer beasts a lost sum of 

acreage for feral ones a 

Habitat mating arena 

range map and 

for all a space to look or 

swoop upward and see or 

join the grander patterns of the clouds. 

La Pegyuh-uh

"Rain for Mthyuh's Parched Uvular Cavity"
Swirling Pond Heavy Sewer Grate Dedication

Villages Tour

Flatchank

Days of Destruction

Phyllis [Trans.]

CANCER BEATDOWN

To be la LaChama is to live every moment with a reminder that a i am not able to meet the expectations for my station and b i am vulnerable to accusations of fraud

Now that i have been called upon to participate in a public event, the CANCER BEATDOWN, to bring words that can provide understanding knowledge catharsis enlightenment empathy and of course healing is another one of those tall moments from whose shadow i can barely poke out my toe

But if i am empty my people are empty and my people cannot be empty even while i am a match that cannot even burn itself

Strike me O Pegyuh so that i may burn and burn in my people

Pegyuh-uh! Pegyuh-uh!

Please say: Burn, burn for cancer LaChama

Burn, burn for cancer LaChama

My money is worth nothing if the Filter of Loathing is consumed

Burn, burn for cancer LaChama

I may as well burn my money too

Burn LaChama

We may as well burn our money to beat down cancer

beat it down! beat it down!

We know that more than 80% of cancer deaths were caused by bad choices

Well let's start making some better choices here today and show me the 

Show me the shiny gold coins

Show them hold them up to the suns!

Melt it down Burn the cancer

You see that you are standing on a grate

and the ground beneath it has opened up

and the darkness is the mouth of LaMthyuh

see the rainbow of light among your coins

imagine all that light raining down

people drop your golden light into the darkness

let it fall and listen to the sound

we can hear it now an unstoppable clankety CANCER BEATDOWN

As the applause dies i'll back away bowing from the podium and some raunchy MC will take over. It's your basic legal betting for charity event from then on as two giant screens track the real-time progression or regression of a MOD 7 cancer in two Jan subjects for an entire year. MPS gets 20% and i get about 4% of that. Subject's account gets a MOD payout upon verified termination but that bumps them to a palliative-course-not-approved [PCNA] track. The ensuing tragicomedy fuels more donative speculation for MPS and a high temple attendance rate from worshippers. There's a catch net below the grate of course. It borrows its sinister nature from the humble wishing well. 

from: 'Round Back of the Temple Life
by: La LaChama 
Phyllis [trans.]

Tried and failed to break out of your station?

Breakouts are not authorized. 

Your station is not constructed to be broken out of thus the word break.

You must break out of your station.

There is no legitimate support channel for this objective. 

If successful, you will likely have been seriously injured in the process. 

If you want to live you must break out.

Prompt: Does any individual or group in addition to yourself and significant others want you to break out of your station? 

If the answer is yes, your station is 1/5 or 5/5. 1/5 = both empathy and hatred for your station are high. Public would like to see 1/5 operators moved to 2/5, and 5/5 operators moved down many levels, killed, or to bring everyone closer to their level by creating new, higher levels, which has been known to create even more space between 5/5 and every other level. 

As you can see from the complexity of these calculations, which are only a glimpse of what K5000 is doing every second in all of our lives, it's probably going to be best, if you do decide to opt for self-destruction and attempt a breakout, or even if you go ahead and remain at your station and instead experience involuntary suffering and death, you've probably already arrived at the conclusion that it's best not to rely on groups or individuals who may or may not want you to break out of your station.

Prompt: Reflect on the emotions you might expect to happen between yourself and station mates when they realize that you are in the process of breaking out of your station and especially once you all realize that you have broken more than the station. 

Salvaged from crash of K5000
MPS release K5000-1
Phyllis [trans.]

Crash

The K5000 has been brought down in less than a day. 

Once a critical mass of friday fun day participants had been catalogued, located, and contacted, the now grownup Jans started learning the chant backwards. It was their best and only guess left at disconnecting their RMP grafts, which were initially put in place by the K5000 with the chant and the help of the nuns. 

muffins virtue muffins me send am first demons your eat me demon virtue

your am or first demons your eat Mthyuh virtue a send demons your send

your send or first me eat demons your muffin virtue virtue a am am i Mthyuh i

demons your send or first me eat Mthyuh muffin virtue a am i virtue a am i 

Peg's flesh lays once again steaming and broken of dignity 

this time strewn across 100 yards of beach like a massive 

alligator die-off and on, deeply, into the remains of a seaside thrill park

A Wherris feel is employed to load and distribute carfuls of her 

tissue into a slowly progressing line of open lorry beds

This is how broken her body is. It's difficult to make out the basic architecture, either the original one born of prehistory or the second one, conceived and constructed by the radical Jans who infiltrated the Mthyuh Preservation Society (MPS) Inter-special Workgroup (IW). Instead of bringing back god,

they had reached back in time to abduct and torture the daughter of god

they did it not even out of curiosity but rather to please the MPS preece 

by filling their wats with incense comfort illusion beyond relic living

relic that can be worn and operated as one with the deities worshippers

relics that can be reproduced and ranched for their precious sluff

relics of a time when just the monster was enough

 

There is surprisingly little to show for any parts of the K5000 that were not also parts of Peg: a few stone needles, a reimagined public oracle dispenser donut, sun-powered through hundreds of eyelid panels, most of which disintegrated on impact. They look like enormous dead lice among the tangled jungles and prickly coppices that were Peg's eyelashes.

We're sitting in the kitchen and we're more afraid now to go out than

while the machine was overhead because at least then life was predictable

Now our bodies seem not so cheap but more likely to succumb

To everything except for what they just got free of

But we'll succumb freely and maybe one day life will truly be all about choices

Quick takes during and among the first hours after the crash of the K5000
by Phyllis [embedded] Sports N' Sex Crimes Bugle

meat lens

I should add that Dr. Thong suggested going on MPS disability because of the anticipated side effects of the time graft, not because she's expecting me to be taken down by K5000 directly at this point. 

You speak of Dr. Thong, whose father was a butcher, and therefore sees public health through a meat lens.

Yes, don't we all? 

Well congratulations for not dodging or shrinking away from a timely decision. It's all about choices, y'know?

No. But it's an appropriate time for me to claim my entitlement. 

Ya you must milk the MPS early and often, as they say!

MPS proudly fulfills its promises because its promises are rooted in its purpose, its purpose in its mission, and its mission in its identity, which is slave and vittlement for LaMthyuh. 

Of course your point is that you are not planning your funeral, just tidying up to avoid having to confront all that in a hurry in the unlikely event of palliative failure. 

Actually, I am and have been planning my funeral for as long as i can remember. Have i mentioned? I'm leaning toward blasting Stooges' "Loose" before during and after the catapult hurls me into Mthyuh's pyre. 

Perhaps you just want to assure me that quitting all your jobs and cashing in your pension is not a red flag for imminent disaster. 

That's it. That's the one! Because it's not. 

Overheard on a cloudy afternoon near Santorabo Wat, St. Dick, Jansterdam
Phyllis [embedded]

Golden hour

In this golden hour the clouds were filthy and low

Their concerns were petty and they were posing

inappropriately to the moon, which was waning

How could they do this to you millions of significant

others were asking, how that? don't they know?

Miserly storms only blustered and spat

Humidity drew out but did not disperse

the urine of the dead and the infirm

Voices chemically cried out beyond the terminus

by Missy

Back at the boys' home university club whatever

After decimating the tudor-style great room, kitchen, and gardens of the hottest and most entitled frat boys' house at the College of Cement, Peg stands and watches them quarrel. As she listens she thinks, "It's really no wonder that they are now a minority in higher education. In just another generation, the sexiest and most privileged Jan men will end up in air force cockpits, not dank party rooms."

Jan: Oh my god. I'm too afraid to even run.

Jan: Shut up! She's. Right. There.

Jan: ...

Jan: What do we do? 

Jan: MPS says stay calm follow instructions. 

Jan: Eff that! We don't follow no instructions we give them, bitches!

Jan: Why are you whispering that?

Jan: ...

Jan: The gospels say that we've all wrought this horror and the only path forward is to follow the path. 

Jan: The Path of

Jan: There is only one path.

Jan: ...

Jan: By the way as a kid did you ever play that friday fun day game with the MPS nuns? 

Jan: Yes.

Jan: Then you can relax because the K5000 has a plan and it's being executed in part in part of your brain. 

Jan: You said in part in part. 

Jan: Part of the plan is being executed partly up in the K5000 and partly in your brain. It's a concept most people understand. 

Phyliss [embedded]

It's all the same effing day, man

At the same moment, more than 7,000 inhabitants of the Chanklands woke up and scrawled these same lines, or others to this very same effect, into their bedside slates: 

I feel like I'm just dodging fireballs. Going from crisis to crisis, I wonder if there is time for each one to make me stronger not weaker. This doesn't seem to be life as usual, as intended, or as advertised. There is a strange combination of urgency and dread growing in those around me as well. 

Upon examining these slate entries, and considering the amount of disinformative propaganda Chanklanders are daily subjected to by MPS, we can't help asking whether the message is not an outcome of run-of-the-mill neurotic catastrophizing grown to the scale of a sociopathology through shared environmental stimuli. 

But let's be real. Look around you, and look above. Peg's ghost, her machinated body, glides and blinks. And there are fireballs, actual fireballs. Mthyuh is gathering her bowels for an obliterating event. 

Any normal follower of a critical path would do well to ask, "What are the arguments and evidence to the contrary?" 

Unfortunately, this first question is an easy one to answer. There are no arguments or evidence to the contrary. 

Q2: How about the promise of a future when current adversities will have passed? 

A: The evidence we now have at hand is not supportive of the concept of a future that will be different or better than the present in any significant sense. The Institute does not opine on matters of after-death experience. 

Q3: Can't we continue to count on the Filter of Loathing as our primary shield from the effects of math, physics, and biology? 

A: The Filter of Loathing can only function insofar as you can. The Filter cannot protect those who do not currently exist. It also cannot protect your loved ones from the shame of your behavior from this point through to the terminal. 

Q4: How about the resort of dissociative palliation to filter the harsh realities of the mind and the senses in their rawest state? 

A: While palliative treatments have played an important role in preventing civil unrest, issues with access and distribution as well as blowing past therapeutic ceilings will be seen soon as conditions worsen. 

Q5: Can't I just increase the levels of my palliative treatments? 

A: The palliative levels that would be required to dissociate effectively from this environment would have a serious impact on basic functioning and affect to the point where they would begin to cause more adversity and increase unrequitable and unauthorized palliative-seeking behaviors with escalating desperation. This well-documented cycle does not fit the definition of a future that is "the same or better than" the current environment. 

Q6: But... wait!

A: Although that's not exactly a question, we can confidently assert that the concept of "waiting" cannot be appropriately applied to our situation or environment. It's all the same effing day, man. And it's just about over. 

 

 

by: Dr. Donna Thong
from: URGENT: RE: Anomalous "Sociopathological" Event in the Chanklands
Journal for the Institute of Metacognitive Talk Therapy Apologists

Phyliss [trans.]

Nice pirouettes!

When today the madame mistress Mlaf, goddess of astrology, the generations, and la dance, said to me and she really said it to me she said 

Nice pirouettes!

And this to me and to all who know the sister, a primary missionary of la dance her ravishing mothership, Ms. Mkidza Mlaf, to all who know her, and to me, this means that the student has invisibly and inaudibly been graduated not to the next consecutive course in the series at the academy de la dance, but rather, nice pirouettes means that you have ascended to another level altogether: at the academy, but also and most importantly in la dance herself, and therefore in life, a life of dance to dance the life of living dance and dance the dance to live that life of dance to dance the dance, la dance. 

by Missy

Hypomania is the only legitimate response

When your society is sick and your response is to fight

even if fighting is against your peaceful nature which has now become

a craven and apathetic nature

you must fight in the way your scope and compass fail

and although you are not depressed you might want to try

Getupstandup, by Pharmsupply

from: Prolabique LipLine Master-Lisp by Pharmsupply "Lipstickventory" Name Galleys 096

Tilly's Freak Guide

Signs that a K bitch may strike you:

squinting

grimacing

squeezing eyelids shut hard while drawing lips back against teeth

sudden and sustained eye contact

circling

diving 

balling of fists or toes

reaching for dangerous items [esp. heavy vehicles]

passive assault/ signifying/ impolity

dry chomping 

swoop-and-bump

clutch, lift, and drop 

screeching/laughing [any dB =/> stun level]

massive release of gases

scoop & dump of raw surface materials

drop-and-splash behaviors [outside designated ceremonial events]

no-touch microclimate management [WWW: Wind, Wave and Wing]

performative group-target signaling (PGTS: see appendix)

from: Tilly's Freak Guide: The Chanklands

by: La Reptily-ily 
Phyliss [trans.]

crass categorization of peoples

Jan and Peg are bouncing in the roiling waters of a volcanic abscess and checking in. Their thoughts turn reflective as the redundant suns set once again, and as always, forming shapes and colors that no one could ever predict. Because their throats are mostly meant for swallowing, Peg and Jan communicate now, beneath the roaring of LaMthyuh, in a way that's becoming more natural to them: with their minds only. 

Whut do you mean? they make incense with our shit

No, i know, but it's hate, i can feel it ery day

Right, that's why they need us, we make them feel as one

They are as one with hate

They are as one with hate, as one with nature, as one with you and me

I'm not even comfortable with the pronoun they because

Because it lends itself to a crass categorization of peoples?

Mmhm, ok

Phyliss [embedded]

I Got Off Easy

For whatever is left of tomorrow, there's always TIN DAWN. 

TIN DAWN is they say the final demon to watch out for

Look deep into his eyes and you will see many rings

each of which has a meaning

ring of understanding

ring of knowing 

ring of fear

ring of excitement

ring of famine

ring of stupidity

this last ring is the deepest ring

it surrounds the deepest known void

I saw this ring directly and it locked

into the circular patterns of my own 

eyes thoughts behavior 

This was a moment when I could have been captured by

TIN DAWN But instead

i felt my feet begin to levitate off the ground

we shared for a tic the terrible inevitability 

of eternity it was a chance to reach out to him

for my journey was a spiritual one

and i reached out to him 

and i spoke these words to him i said

"culturally you're supposed to have some support mechanism to help get through and mark moments of consequence"

then my feet touched the ground again

his fury temporarily abated he answered 

"but those who've been effed over by culture science mathematics physics geography politics boyfriends we must create our own rituals our own celebrations"

These famous words were known and held dearly to each of our hearts, and had been ever since LaChamatilly originally delivered them in her Cross-Chanks Address. 

Weiba Hinde
Storytelling Booth 7
Storytelling Festival
Days of Destruction

pink stucco wat

pink stucco wat, border of pyracantha

climbing red berries, beacon to the

community, recipient

of odes anthems oaths palm branches

the dead pregnant newly dying 

just born ery kinda party from 

juice in tiny cups to indoor

crepe paper rainbow showers or

praying hands on purple velvet

hands of a man in marbled plastic

praying

ceremonial angel hair of

spun glass which will cut

to a hidden sunken tub

closet with rain ponchos

a tub a place to almost drown

three times three dunks to glory

a place where drunks get horny

when they come to a realization

there is a community a recipient

of love wealth hope remorse

her hair stays afloat on the water

then with it plastered to her shoulders

she stands looks out at the worshipers

all of us married the same guy

all of us also are that guy

fingers on a guy's praying hands

diamonds in the crown of a

poor man humble god-man god

pink stucco wat, a nipple

poor men sucking on poor men's

god, within a steeple

La LaChama
from: Mission of Mthyuh
[trans:] by Phyllis

Try a virtue round

virtue challenge

spend one glorious day being virtuous in the loving arms of virtue

may that your choices be borne of virtue all the virtues

may that any step on this day must not violate any of the virtues

virtues are designated as: 

virtues which are considered to be virtues The Crack-wide (see appendix)

not virtues which you think it would be cute to call virtues

start the day saying these words in this order

i am a virtue i am a virtue muffin mthyuh eat me first or send your demons

i mthyuh i am am a virtue virtue muffin your demons eat me first or send your

send your demons send a virtue mthyuh eat your demons first or am your 

virtue demon me eat your demons first am send me muffins virtue muffins  

[repeat] 

in between your chanting you may find that you're making virtuous choices automatically

this is because by chanting the sacred words you have activated the K5000

the K5000 would never harm you but it does now have access and has now

taken charge of one key portion of your Braino son so

don't stop now and i mean lidderly don't stop now because

[MPS has imperiously and arbitrarily redacted this portion of the activity instructions]

Traditional MPS nuns "friday fun day" activity [frag.]
by Phyliss [trans.]

demon of all loving all giving all knowing

This is one who is like a swarm of locusts in terms of devastation but all-in-one. One you may want to be open to. 

Create an emotional and spiritual boundary between yourself and this one.

Not only is it possible to create this boundary but also possible to create it when that one is already inside of you and as one with you. 

In fact one who needs most to create a boundary is most often one that must create a boundary between oneself and that same one who is more devastating than a stampede of buffalo, yet all-in-one, and at one with one as one. 

The demon of all loving all giving all knowing is likely to take charge in moments of structural weakness when combined with palliative interventions, for example. Although you may not feel entitled to your own opinion during these moments, you must find and stand on your boundary line, and you must be the line, be as one with the line as you are as one with the demon. The demon may respect the line if you do. Imagine a school of piranhas stopping short of crossing a watery line. 

Do not sign contracts hire workers bear gifts offer advice opine on any topic write to anyone for any purpose.  Let them come to you and see for themselves the condition you are in so that they too may draw their own boundaries even as they too are as one with you.

La LaChama
from: 

Primavera Eterna: Obra de Dentro

their laughter can still maim

Peg and Jan Jansdaad are relaxing within the echoey confines of a natural-stone Friends' Hangar going through their ceremonial gifts from pilgrims, some items having taken thousands of fleke workers generations to craft and execute to scale. The ladies are looking pink and feeling loose having just returned from a roll in the sugar beet pulp hills by the refinery. Jan and Peg have the ability to speak with their minds only. However, on this occasion, they are disrespectfully mocking mouth-only speakers as they speak with their mouths only—to the delight of no one but themselves. 

This is my faux fur throw (though somehow its funk flows farther). Its tufts of fine-spun plastic in tight rows are so soft that you might think of lynx or click on chinchilla.

Glory! Its immensity, the size perhaps of a million rodent pelts, has dealt chaos for our weather patterns that can be felt from windy Jansterdam to the wet and sloppy roadside ditch rain up to the knees of the hard singing Chang K. Chang Chank drunk tank chain gang.

You don't have to tell me. I've done my time with a pick and an axe or maybe a sickle. 

You're making me hungry. 

Well haha, my goddess, I am not up in here for eating. That's not on the table. 

We both know that I could eat you at any moment of my choosing.

There are many leaps of faith one takes while investing time in a cross-species relationship.

You splain this? 

I remind myself for comfort. The lines are so faded. Who could blame anyone for stumbling across one of them and forever changing history?

At least for the dead guy. 

Both: HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Their powerful, screeching laughter makes use of a naturally selected vocal node that their ancestors had used to best effect as a method for stunning prey. Now Ks express their need to laugh only when they experience humor, usually tasteless or stupid humor. But their laughter can still maim or even kill. 

Phyllis [trans.]

self-reflection 2

 

by Donna

Whacked-out ingenue stomping around the musuem

this is a song i can't say to you without singing

it's an ancient pattern that also works for fishing

men knitting thinking they praying to they wives

wives teats hanging heavy as hoopties with babies

sing another song also not the one i'm singing to you

but there is a child one all alone out there in the cold

he might be standing on a windy bridge singing

i feel alone yet so free out here i don't want to go home

i figure in this scene it seems to make room for me

and every morning walking home the sun is up for me

they must make room for me here and my reasons

they must consider my reasons and my innocence

it must speak back to them about they own trajectories

way they left they keys they left they innocence

this is the outside world all meeting together with me

this is the impression i leave on nature itself

while i find the key to get back on out again

nature sit outside the protection from enemies

yet nature let your natural friends come

if you're young you've got natural mojo and

there are those that come around protect the 

fine young leather bound for treasure bound

together bound in pleasure an more pleasure

an the hard side of town way they knock at

your door for the rent or turn the music down

and you get it that all whores are workers and

all workers are whores and you want to

burn it down, eat it up, burn it down, eat it up

burn it down burn it down burn it down burn it

up and eat it up and be eaten up and eat it up and

burn it up and take it down and take it up and

this is the song i couldn't say to you this is the

story i can't tell you because it never ends

it's a trajectory that carries on the winds of time

it makes a circle and then a swirly and then

a silver line a landing a griddle a very firm bed

a sheet of ice a melting sea of liberty

this is the story the story i am singing to you

by Missy

self-reflection