Care-Laden Bells NBN [the Mp3]

Care-Laden Bells NBN

"Noisy but Nice"

Stays Lifted [the Mp3]

Stays Lifted

Care-Laden Bells [the Mp3]

Care-Laden Bells

Stays Lifted

There are those that will their steps on your dreams;
a single drop swells the chalice, and you wake moaning.
Call into the fray with care-laden bells clinking,
buoy rocking, buoy clanging; sun is winking.

COLUMN OF LIFE

Column of new pauses, thinking you are sumptuous.
Column of days, tight petals unfolding and turning under
Column of lines, connected only for the reason paper clips fuse in drawers.

Column, murderer, holding hostage villagers in your shadow.
Column is a forced march, dragging them by the upper arms.
Column splashing and spilling over, terrorizing with its cracks.

Column of workers, column of ants, column of monarchs.
Column raising the ante one dimension and all that was flat must fold.
Column free in the air despising reason.

Column against phallocentricism, column so old.
Column to hang around and lean on, carve, tap, be chained to.
Column to, thrashing and writhing, "pull down," as if stone.

Column of bees and nettles, a solid ring, stack of coin.
Column a tornado of fire, fever rising, spiraling tide.
Column as plinth, down under, with the relics.

Column of earth where I stand. Is a marvel of stagnation
Column of patience that non-life has. Abomination. Only
Column of Life has stations of deceasing and appearing again.

http://www.firefold.com/search.aspx?keyword=strippers

7. Same Price... What da Dif?

http://wairarapa.co.nz/times-age/weekly/soldier.html

XXX. Roleroll ["Carter's Pills"]

pussy. In good faith, you would take part in a discussion seeking to make a serious comparison between Martin Luther King and Ronald Reagan with someone who should know better. Your least useful value is the value that allows, admits, confesses to anything if it appears to serve the common good. Will crops be higher because of your sacrifices? Step back and stop making a difference when you're not. You need to roll your role. ® Be ebullient. Pop up somewhere else.

Mkidza Mlahf

Mike had his back jammed up against a Cheap n' Simple hardytile wall. His GPS marked him as on grid and viable. He got on his walkie. "Theodore twenty," he murmured. "Theodore twenty, Ted over."

"Come in co-man," Ted drove stoically, understatedly, heartily home yet with such relief in his voice. "What's it like."

"I can tell you it's different. Funny. I feel a will, a desire. My nerves are racing. While I am aware of all that is bitter and cloying, I am circumsized from any direct impact."

"And the sexualsides?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Ok so then."

"I am not a native of this place. I can only co-exist through the most basic of commonalities: Shivweek, Chart a Planet, pet-door procreation."

"I wish you well. But you know... Your getting out. All of us will suffer less as a result-- not only you."

"If you reckon."

"I reckon your mommy was a stripper."

"Yeah. Her kids were her lahf. That's wah ah wuz bornd nekket."

Truth not Therapeutic

In another protest against "changing times," a group of High Shivites claiming to be descendant from the first priests to hang the first WD back in 01 threw themselves into Kareer-Kesh, one of Mthyuh's most active mosh pits, and of course as well to their own deaths. For them, the scientific truths unearthed by recent double-blind scholarship into the causes of Mthyuh, her tremors, and the nature of our Earth's troubled core in general had been too much to take, especially when presented as some kind of advancement. "This is like raping a virgin as a way to prove her inimaculacy," postulated Priest-Forward Esogh Ilyn, whose red afro caused many onlookers to comment that he resembled a flaming white cannonball as he hurdled into the mouth of the holy death gorge this morning.

Speak Out? Are You Crazy?

http://archive.dailypicture.net/giant_baby_found_in_india.htm

6. If they were all the same price, what did it matter?

CCCMLXVI. PaxPox FL

Exomembranal profusion. You respond to your environment like a raw shell-less blob which has no conscious filter for reaction. Things happen; you have a symphony of reflexes; none are blank. Something must result: in you, from you. You are elected antenna of the world. And it's time to step down. Be dead to stimuli-- for the kids' sake. Cradle and all, baby. It's PaxPox. "For Life." One example of side effects would be scarring lesions.

Your Mommy was a Stripper

We elected Mkidza Mlaf cuz her mommy wuz a stripper. She had a hard shack growin up and lots o' mouths suckin everywhere. She had to show it off for fun, food, and release.

She partially digested the martini onions and spit them back up into her babies' craws each dawn.

5: Stop to Consider

http://wavegypsy.com/EZ%20TT%20BABY%20DEVIL%20TRUNK.html

MXXI. MD20/20.
Poztusnifta (NXS). Why are you reading this? Must you always stop to consider? Be honest. Could you really stop stopping to do it if you tried? Stop stopping and go. Be clean that way. Others eat your wind. You can break these 20's in half or go for broke. You know what you're about.

Mthyuh Pariah

My very existence is pornographic to you. It's me you want to stamp out.

When I started to become sticky eight years ago, no one minded when my clothing clung because they thought it would bring tourist revenue. Now that we are in quarantine, you want to cast me out in the only way possible: by mouth.

Por la boca, I shall not be intimidated by your dirty-minded desire to put me on stage as your bottom bitch for blood sacrifice. We all know that shivweek may never come again. But for the masses, torture is more satisfying than death. So you keep me alive until I'm spent and no longer pretty. Well, I've taken care of that. I have sticky progeny all over this county. Both the sticky daddy as well as my self have had lots to do with births in many households, and in all walks of life. And you will not be able to use viable DNA sampling methods for many hundreds of years. You will only discover our work by the sticky messes popping up right and left. And by the way. I am a lesbian.

Peggy

Undergrounded

Tom dreamt that he stooped over and did a somersault in the air and kept tumbling upward until he was flying flat out over the clouds looking down at what one of us might see looking out the window of a modern airliner even though neither he nor anyone else had yet been in that spot and lived. He looked at the bumps and smears and veins and trails and hanging mists and cracks and wrinkles suspended in the complicated vapor scape and decided that, as a part of nature, as he, as well as his language were a part of nature that it, as much as anything else that he could speak or otherwise create, must have meaning.

If he strained his neck, much as if one of us, a taller one of us, would have to do to see out the window of a modern airliner all the way to the horizon, he could see the line between the cloud cover and the sky and this too spoke to him; it meant that there was indeed a line, a limit. He had been drinking a little bit that night and feeling still emotional, like someone slammed back into the world after they thought they were already dead, so a high sound came out from the back of his throat as he slept, like a teakettle, and burning water squirted from Pink Squishy pads in the corners of his eyes.

The concept was since he was a natural animal and the clouds that hung in the sky below him or the air that he breathed were also natural, just as natural was the language which grew out of him, that he spit and spewed, as Real as Phlegm, and it would be arrogant to think there was no meaning in any of it.

When Tom woke up, it turned out he actually was on a plane. He sighed and saw his breath on the glass of the little oval window. He realized that some of his previous breaths might even be contained in the broken-up Chunks of Orange and brown clouds he was flying over now. There were veins of snow on the Brown Dirt that covered the planet west of the Chanks. The White Veins seemed to follow the water runoff. He could probably see millions of trees from that vantage point. When snow became general, water running was marked with the absence of snow. He had not yet seen an animal, but as far as he could see there was only terrain with trees and rocks and snow, and then no rocks, which seemed like a place where animals would want to go.

4: Inside Dog/ Outside Dog

LXVIII. Rover
rongplinth. Your life partner could be inside dog and you could be outside dog and get 40 extra years. The way they used to. Don't divy up chores; go to your station, and they will self-evidence. Take the 40mg for Outside Dog and HS [homeoshivic] for Inside Dog. Split it up, not up. Meaning separative team training [STT] is where it's at. Boil all communicative measures and media down into one: the kitchen window (also the name of our weekly clubzine, Kitchen Window).

Pegyuh

So you see, Hoolie, bile helps you digest your surroundings, but you can't digest outside your own body or else you don't get the nutritional value for it, and you lose all those vital acids. We are not insects that can just stroll on over and lick up our spoils.

How come she never wanted to claim me as her kid?

You know she always had the apron on--? It was all a gun moll needed to survive.

Protection?

Yes. She loved you most. She was a pariah.

triki derelicti

i stoop and weep [the Mp3]

this desmadre has been deactivated by the Mthyuh Preservation Society

Warm Green Monolith

Tom was walking down a wide empty Dhubbabera windy boulevard, his pants flapping. It was disorienting not to have to go anywhere in particular except what one had planned out for oneself, and that type was the most breakable of oaths.

So his thoughts took over. Only when he forced himself to admire the towering desert chank, blurred with a haze of spring olive verdance, did he feel that he existed as himself in that place, and in any case, that was not a pleasant thing. His mind operated as a spring this way, snapping back almost audibly after an intensive moment of pessimistic concentration before the sharply pending withdrawal. A whip. You wouldn't always want to be the object of that studied, cringing fronting off with reality.

So when a young German widow, furtive, herself disoriented, chilled by the wind in the shadow of the warm green mountain, blurted out, "Are you familiar here?" he saw the look of fright on her face and didn't want to be the cause of something like that, so he deliberately brightened up his mood, from within, allowing her innocence and vulnerability to spur on a sympathetic view of life, a view of life's delicateness, which ended up showing in his face and reassuring her.

It's back that way, he pointed. See the golden building? She'd asked him for the casino.

Then his walk continued and he did not snap immediately back into internal patter. He was crossing the shadow line on the sidewalk. Wind seemed to buffet him from all directions. There was brightness and bright color, magenta blue pink green yellow blossoms and their fragrance. As water sprang into his eyes stingingly, he imagined all of the dead who loved him standing in chorus and encouragement. But also in envy.

He felt responsible to use all of his senses, just for their sake, for a few moments longer.

Peggy, You are our Daughter

Peggy,

You are our daughter. We've been wanting to tell you for so long. We are your birth parents and we love you. We want to help you with the girls and be their grandparents.

Down the entire contents of this box NOW!

Ted
syl

P.S. We are in the parking lot.