these clouds can only amplify where
many times they've been complicit
and the moon was surreptitious
this fullness illuminates the spectrum
engages against a magnetism
heart flares spit arcs of sentiment
gravity hovering between poles
the beacon demands the vigil
serene paralysis of waste light
light that cloys and begs unhinged
light that is itself a shadow
by Missy
You know how they say our genes predetermine our tendency to make the equivalent of a dog's bark or a bird's chirp spontaneously prompted by archetypal coding that makes the assumption that we are components of the same super-milieu in which we evolved?
Evolution does not understand that one day, switching out one solid foundation of accepted reality for another can be as easy as turning the dial on an oracle dispenser. And then what does your body do—this goes for now without mentioning.
What your mind does is continue to blurt out chirps and barks except in the language of the replacement super-milieu via the trans. Yes, that would be Phyllis.
Phyliss does her best with what she has to work with, which is of course her own native Crackological "toolbox" of societal and environmental imperatives.
Result being that her version is bound to be embarrassingly rough at best and diametrically contradictory to intent at not-yet-even close to worst.For example, maybe I'm in an anatomical phase where i can fit through the doors of a shiv joint with some colleagues from MPS. The imbibing and resting implements are close enough to my current physical iteration for me to make successful if awkward pairings with those devices.
In fact it might all be going real merry until i suddenly interject, "I am soo worried about Jan. I see him buying into a delusion, and at the same time he struggles with it morally. He's is in real danger of getting swallowed whole by the Promotional Materials project. And that's a soul thing."
See how that, then, was beyond embarrassing and into concerning land, difficult person territory, not-a-fit-for-the-team ground. I believe as well that the outburst was seen as a welcome self-effing by at least one other editor present, the vivacious and hungry Smiling Gal. Gal was soon promoted after a coup de grace at the subsequent after-work drinks, during which she pointed out that my contribution to Anomalous Fluctuations at Santorabo Chank appeared to be plagiarized, albeit from another dimension.
Now, i give you the next exemplar of Phyliss's good-faith attempts at channeling my primordial chirps and barks into language that is socially palatable, textually accurate, and environmentally feasible. You tell me: is my trans. busted?
Funny. I can't think of it. I can't remember anything. Bad memories only come to me now when they are unwelcome. I'm sure Phyliss is quite busy, and she'll get to my request at her soonest and my least opportune free moment.
at the crest of the arch into the room we eat in
not a flame a shadow that a wave of heat makes
i said it's a concern if i'm hallucinating and it's a
concern if i'm not hallucinating unless there's a
third possibility out there a dimension overlap or
pretty sure that's what it was because it just now
happened again not a flicker but a loop-t-loo of
time place and being i could be anywhere right now
this could have been ten minutes ago or 10 later who
knows here i stand next to a dining table policing
prehistoric beasts a trillion moons away but still
is it an auditory or aural-ectopic phenomenon that's
going on now like a scratching [i scream here loudly]
a splash of fur and bare flesh who's also losing it's
shit happens an arm's length before me and scrams
leaves its stench as well as a reason to grab a soap and
rag and that's where i get my warrant to drop poison
Every time i glance at the common oracle and see the ad about the shiv stones, i get measurably upset: just look at my enzymes! Clouds never lie. Firstable, the marketing Jans wanted to represent diversity, so they chose a fleke, fine, you hear the romantic accent, you see the pale skin, it's diverse. But then they have her use that lovely accent on a word that doesn't even exist, even though she might not as an actress even be aware that it does not exist. It is likely in fact that when she heard the word, it was unfamiliar. But your go-to as an L2 speaker isn't "that word doesn't exist," you know? Who are you to say it doesn't exist. You are the least likely employee to question authority in the best possible job and circumstance to question authority. Do you see?
I really like your nails.
Not this time, sweetheart. Someone's got to hear me out on this, and if not a fellow warm-blooded bi-species avian-reptile people-eater, then whom?
I think it's who.
Really even if it's in reference to a category of one i don't know. Another example when grammar only serves to inhibit communication.
Meta-grammar maybe.
See? You want to change the subject.
Because i don't want to hear about some ad you saw?
No. Because i want to reflect on the impact of that commercial effort on my senses of dignity and reality. You are especially dissociative because the conversation will inevitably end up being hot coal-chunks like species, gene topography, and inclusion.
I think they're calling it SIG-T now, so species, inclusion, and gene topography.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oww. That was deliberately and aggressively passive aggressive. Lidderly i can't even hear now. And we're covered with ancient guano dust from up top the cavern.
I'm just going to start, and you'll probably get into it.
That's what i'm afraid of.
You know that phrase you hear flekes say "If you can't take the shiv, then you can't take the shiv, but if you take the shiv, then you can take the shiv and live, Hank?"
Please don't sing it. And don't call me Hank.
Well, these moronic marketing wiz-bags decided they had to once again randomly change the preserved language into a cuter catchier stupider form that might positively affect sales but neither edify nor insult any further than that.
I've seen the ad. She's selling shiv stones by a sea shore. What do you expect? They change Hank to Jan. I know. It's not the same. I think Hank also sounded too much like yank. For the kids.
Oh, not only that. Now, every average fleke, and then all of their generations, will start to say Jan and not Hank. That's how the whole Jan problem got started.
Then flekes will start naming their children Jan or Jan Jansdaad, Jr. or Jan Jansdaad XLV. Then flekes will still continue gene-topographically to be flekes while taking on more and more the interloper culture along with its values along with no special value assigned to flekes.
They won't even know who Hank was and what he represented.
...
That's something they should know but not necessarily something that i know.
Both: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Phyliss [Trans.]
Jans are most afraid of a face that's vacant a face that to its owner is a forgotten asset
Those Ks that on approach can project at least a happy or upside-down happy face
Will be granted the highest honors for their sacrificial hunger and self-hygiene practices
Beast: if your face is vacant and you choose to approach these towns, bear down your lip
Focus targets early and carry on with a plan always asking can i get enough to make it worth
If not this then in 10,000 generations you will get a whiff and cometh again sniffing around
Maybe you'll find a house in Jansdaadbad with a broken roof whip up some high winds
Make it look like another crazy nature fluke tornado carries off nursery rhyme gone bad
Toddler reads to self as father disappears through damage never to return in living plaid
This is only one way to gather your men who make the strongest nests with their bones
If not never then in 100,000 generations you'll just as soon have cast aside such pursuits
After 99,999 but enter then a glade of freshened expectations and gentler recreations
We must first of all as a group establish ourselves among this world and Crack-wide
More than the horrific stinkers of lore and indeed a think tank of keratinized epidermis
Ks take glory in the fullness of fulfilling up to but no more than our allotted kill
See? And they stay on because even tho they are made with stadium poles and satellite dishes my hygienist at Friends' Hangar weaves them into my pyncofibers which lets me swivel'm up to perch on my ocular hood.
That's nice for you. My issues these days are with sweat pants. The Sisters of Mthyuh spent months churning out this pair for example but it really binds above the hip bone and may inhibit normal peristalsis. Too bad an entire species of rubber tree went extinct just to result in an elastic waistband that doesn't meet the demands of give and take throughout the feeding cycle. The sisters've made me two other pairs, the product of more than 8,000 labor hours. One opened a pocket hole after the second sea wash, and the legs so long i almos tripped and took a dive into Fridgeporcherator Chank Canyon, and they's gators down there.
That's what happens when you go out of your way to comply with outrageously cynical and degrading modesty directives having ceded your own sacred powers of life and death to those you could have eaten.
It's worse than that. It's not just the Preservation Society. We are not compatible with the throngs of Jans and Flekes who have taken over this ecosystem.
I think it's time we call a Moment of World Stoppage.
Ha no one's done that since the grown childless strike during Same Moons.
We must call a Moment of World Stoppage, the flekes must don their sacrificial hats, and we must demonstrate the power we've had all along: fashion-forward population flyovers.
You mean over-population.
Both: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Phyllis [Trans.]
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