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

   

Story of the Unfairness Prong

Reptily is a post-feminist punk chick who spent most of her 30's deliberately topless

until the xeno-anomalous features began kicking in

and it started to confuse the message

soon no clothing was necessary even tho the finest makers would make her clothing

but they didn't want to be insulting 

she soared so proudly, nature unfolding

then after a traumatic event or two they say of her own making

she set the Chanklands quaking

burst the babies' ear drums with her laughing

they took her and tried to fold her in as they had when she was tiny Missy

she had a lounge act and did time 

on a cruise ship for shiny coins

the onlybody knew reptily powers were her mom: Mkidza Mlaf

they started they shiv joint in a storefront on a 

dead Sears parking triangle

that was when the K5000 arrived it looked like LaPegyuh in disguise

she was a towering flesh-hung flier stomper everything 

with a tortured face

but she was not LaPegyuh it was her meat under remote muscle positioning (RMP)

there is a scientific arm the sacred arm of the MPS

they were corrupted by Jans

they wanted a restart to finally do the Extinction Takeback Agreement (ETA)

so fine great but Jans made them into

slaves toys soldiers enemies wild

they had already been folded into lavajraja from the earliest days they are

mythical creatures and pests like tigers

they are the mouths of laMthyuh

they are the swooping answer to prayer take me into truth beauty most holy mouth

Eat me first eat me now i am ready lalala

nothing happens unless you don't expect it

from: Story of the Unfairness Prong
Minutes: Destruction Review Days
Phyliss (embedded)
Sports n' Sex Crimes Bugle

voiceless breath

now going for the open-throated voiceless breath

gruntless air unimpeded by the song of complaint

revolt resistance alarm remark must only be shaped

by the upper locks and low-girding pistons 

this is how to fan a flame not pinch it out 

the breath not the beat must create the rhythm 

not where any convention spells death as in poetry 

when breathing is beaten and choked to pulpy bits

air flows best in the channels invisible of reference

no tune of childhood jack in box will abduct 

my forward-aiming whisper-only bellows

or the smoke on my billowing clear tendrils

our gut flora soaring for their measly lives

or this desultory yet shameless carbon-dioxide

no raga no jig nor carol can jam the engine

non-metaphoric breath itself must come first

before the florid code or plea for recognition

the slide and squeal of wet tendons in contact 

could be no more than nothing without air

which as breath shall be my fulcrum and lever

by Peg

Fervent

None of us can think of a way to take out the K-5000 without Jan barleycorn. It will be a multigenerational battle. A tragically high percentage of us will die violently, go crazy, and/or end up in the cement mines, all from the alcohol alone. 

There will not be many deaths in battle, and unfortunately, not much disfigurement either. The MPS knows that anybody can get rich on a relic tour with an interesting configuration of missing mangled scarred (MMS) body parts. 

So we'll take our casualties how we find them, get them self-inflict them, and we'll use any fuel, toxic or not, that will keep the movement fervent. We'll seek out Pharmsupply that makes us fight beyond our natural inclination to submit and get by.

by Jan
from: Early Recruit
by Jan Jansdaad, Jr.

Documents captured from Choose Your Death (CYD) program

Notification to MOD applicant:

You have elected a manner of death (MOD) that has reached its participant cap for your district. Please select a new MOD from this list of currently available MODs:

• cancer: debilitating, non-disfiguring, term of 5 (five) years*
• heart failure: term of = / > 3 (three) years, + mandatory surgical interventions TBD*
• heart failure: fancy vittles parlor, term of 7–15 minutes*
• sorrow, regret: term of = / > 10 (ten) years
• industrial machinery-related: term of 3–6 days, disfiguring*
• public deadheading: immediate, tiny shopping plaza, basic staging, disfiguring, payout goes to MPS Charities*
• public deadheading: immediate, mid-sized stadium, open for subsequent event, disfiguring, no payout
• pre-birth termination: This is obviously not an available election for you unless you are still within a womb or bun oven. Throughout history, and barring the random prank or stunt, MPS has never received a single legitimate application or inquiry about PBT from any eligible party Crack-wide. For this reason, it has been categorized as the least desirable MOD and therefore, pre-indemnified for the highest payout, TBD, based off wind flux. Full menu of palliatives, legal and media representation, [touch box] [] immediate [] slow [] i'm feeling lucky

If you have not selected a manner of death from the list above by the rising of the [ ] moons, a MOD will be assigned by MPS on your behalf. 

*palliative substances are disapproved for this election

----------

Sarco Peña, Jr.: They gets a reprint and is all the better for it

Previously removed and reprocessed by MPH from: Junky Tundra

The potion was starting to affect his pronouns. Then they saw the reason for the trip. Nature himself became creepy, like a poem by Issa Tambda-Eites. It would take a chank-wide effort to find what we were cruising for. Where wuz Joe Vodrz when I needed they? I'd never considered the wear-down vs. build-up paradox in terms of the mind, but the flesh myself was locked into a technological journey, so much so that you mistook us for a keypunch machine. I understand the categorization of creatures by how much they deserves to exist on the planetary surface, but if you land on just about any single point of these your lands, this won't be anything to see, as far as the eye can see. 

There's also been a breakdown or a breach of the (BWHS): breathing walking humming system. Each has become so symbiotically entrenched that none can function without both others. All three are categorized as implausible at that time. How did I reach these point? In the 70's men's asses were shitty. In the 80's they seemed to have become dilated. In the 90's they smelled of latex. By the aughts, they'd taken on a set form and dimension matching whichever whomever she were hosting on the regular. In terms of A-holes, and throughout our history, the most personally inconsequential members of your society were, by default genetic chance manner, in control of itself most precious resource: breath of laMthyuh. These few irreprehensible flekes among their caste are renowned Crack-wide for the sweet-grassy tamber of he privileged farts. 

Sarco Peña Jr. 
Ayre Fromme-Diaz [trans.]

the more i sought oblivion

the more i sought oblivion

the closer i stepped 

toward actual oblivion

more quickly that i seeped

through cracks cum rivers

enthralled in weightlessness

on a channel of quiet souls

who're going the same way

the means match the reward

the choices that i made

or opposites thereof

arrive at the same outcome

my smile is forced

but not by me

a skull has no lips to close

by Jan

Table 5
Poetry Festival
Days of Destruction

Sponsored by: The Takeitoutists

Please contact my avatar

For this purpose, please contact my avatar. 

I'm already stepping into uncomfortable territory. 

She used to do the grunt work only. Not anymore.

Contact my avatar for:

Collections, deliveries, bad news

Don't leave without your 

emoji

How do you think we've stamped out war?

My hooptie became a car on TV the day

You know what day. 

See her not me for appropriate conversation

Tell her what time it is but please ask me

For filling in bullets or text boxes

She can process billions of detoxes

painlessly. 

Her secret i believe involves numeration

while i'm more ABC. Submit your evaluations

to my avatar. 

What if the only way you could have me

directly would be 

in your arms?

by Donna

alienated from nature, betrayed by natural law

 

"Once, I was strange; now, the world is strange." 

This time, Missy had not wandered in absent-minded reflection to end up at the cement railing around the back gardens overlooking the sea and the sunsets. She had deliberately sought it out. However, she did not form this plan into language, even in her mind only, because she knew that he was, in many ways, all-knowing.

"Talking to yourself again?" answered Mike, not-coincidentally happening to be coming back again, back up the path from the sparkling meditation pool, wet and naked. 

"Of course not." Missy could shoot back with earnest pique. 

"Oh, I didn't mean to..."

"I speak to Mthyuh, of course, and the Hearing Deities, to my blood soaring high above, and to all the listeners and those who listen in The Known Crack and beyond.

"Lavajraja."

"Vajraja."

Wehma Innuhneh

Junky Tundra

[The contents of this post have been abruptly and censoriously removed by the MPS.]

Sarco Peña, Jr. 
Ayre Fromme-Diaz [trans.]

Splendor at day's end

For some reason, Missy paused and looked back on her day. She just happened to be leaning on the masonry fence of a terrace overlooking the sea, the sky, and the sunsets. Bathed in yellow, green and purple, shiny gold bangles weighing as much as hoopties in her ears, Missy thought, "I've pretty much spent my waking hours doing things others might find offensive, jarring, inexplicable, conniving, selfish, hostile, boorish, or the most unforgivable of all: impolite.

"But I want to acknowledge now, to myself and to la Mthyuh, that the choices I've made were bad, but not mistaken. My actions are mine and they are deliberate, not inadvertent, careless, reactive, manic, depressive, involuntary, sleep walking or flying, not prompted by hunger, thirst, lust, or...

"Wait. Yes, today, my actions were prompted by hunger, thirst, lust, mean spiritedness, irritability, and also a strong sense of justice along with the attitude, however realistic, that I've nothing to lose."

"More like no one." It was Mike, coming up the path from the pool. He grabbed a length of passionflower vine from the wall of the estate to wrap around his naked waist because he was a good and honorable man.

"I didn't know—I..." pantomimed Missy, freshly manicured, in a startle pose.

"I have enough K blood in me to speak with my mind only," explained Mike with his mind only. 

"There's a really lot that you've got, isn't there?" Missy let herself blurt out.

Upgraded Services for Humilderies, Miracles and Blessings

Beginning today and throughout the entire cycle of moons 

Care for your medical emergencies will be administered as follows:

Humilderies (non-wound related, unless surgical, viral or bacterial infections, all mental health gripes, transplants, mysteries): Report to your district's clinic-cantina or the centre indicated on your W.A.S.T.E. papers. We have regular drugs as well as a full complement of palliative applications and potions to help get you through this humiliating loss of control over your own health and back to living and working responsibly. 

Miracles & blessings: Please report to Central Shiv Joint, MPS Village. We'll do our best to process your miracle or blessing with the respect and reverence for which you've been chosen. Our services can include (in return for registering your miracle or blessing with MPS Ministries): scar preservation and wound color retention, healing-in-place procedures to help you retain and leverage all received limb and/or spine morphoses permanently and in accordance with lavajraja (say "vajraja" here), prosthetic K5000 signals that can also help you retain mobility, retrieval (if granted by predator) and pickling of lost body fragments through certified MPS processes and authority, and discounts at any MPS pilgrim's hut or hunter's burrow, as available, for all future miracles and blessings alms tours you may find yourself up to embarking upon for a holy and prosperous career toward La Mthyuh. If you are blessed with any future events such as a targeted beach dump or punishing splash at Fire Shore, we will provide all required apostilles and transmittals free of additional charge.

Evolving Ministry Notification [frag.]
"Upgraded Services for Humilderies, Miracles, and Blessings"
MPS
Phyllis [trans.]

likely emergency

i woke up in a kung-fu movie

a generous bloke next to me

a jar of valium for free

non-stop kicking on the 

screen, etc.

my own knee could barely

fit between my ass and the

seat back in front of me

and my high-ass wood-

block heels, and so on

because it was my city 

and as a child there were these

shields around me, e.g.

being on a ledge that was privy

as in likely emergency

by Reptily

connection

But unlike you, I have lived a life of near total secularity. I'm not afraid of the K5000. 

Not even as it tracks and adjusts the movements of your limbs and spine?

Those are behaviors I'd never elect to manage even if I had the choice. Braino is vastly more powerful wherever the K5000 can underwrite some of the grunt work. 

Know and name thine enemy, dear friend. Even if you'll have nothing to do with lavajraja.

Vajraja.

I know that you can say it and that you feel good saying and having said it lavajraja.

Vajraja.

Ok I better sign off. You caught me at a very late point in my life this time. Talk to your minister of technology, but I'd scope it for early to mid adulthood. They're burying me tomorrow, man. 

Oh, so sorry. For your loss?

No, you're sorry about interrupting me when I'm trying to die.

Ok. I do feel bad about that. Damn connection. Next week we'll find a much spiffier moment for the both of us. 

Take care, Jan. 

You as well, Dr. Thong. 

Make the K-5000 Make Your Job Better

[create image] In the steaming rubble of his family's vittles emporium, on [change to] a heap of steaming rubble rising above a small crowd of dazed and angry flekes, Jan Jansdaad stands [create image] balancing himself on bare feet at the top of the heap. [create moving image] He raises an arm in a classic rhetorical manner, and a bandage unfurls from his wrist: the symbol we know of today as [create image] our flag, a single white ribbon with an embroidered scarlet J.

[Add dialog Clip #] As I stand here on this steaming heap of rubble, all that's left of my family's vittles emporium, all that's left, perhaps, of some members of my family, I wonder how a man can speak still and bear the weight of this horror!

Indeed I wonder how a man can speak and why, apart from doggedly following ancient traditions, we must also submit to the murdering beasts that darken these skies! But I do not require light to see the MPS's treachery! 

Why indeed do we have the gift of speech, unlike those dead just yards below my feet? May we speak so as not to kill or kill when they do not hear us speak! [create image: Jansdaad's fists clenching his bloody tunic]

[Add dialog Clip #] Jan Jansdaad, what can we do now. What is our response? [create image: turban-headed figure in crowd holding both arms high in the air]

[Add dialog Clip #] I chuck my dead into La Mthyuh. I beg that she eat me next. And next, all of you. And then we must destroy the K-5000! [create image: crowd of dusty and injured Jantownsmen shaking fists and shouting or falling to their knees and tearing at their hair; BKGRD: skies obscured by three colossal Ks drizzling rain-like urine] Destroy the K-5000! Destroy the K-5000!

Phyllis [trans.]
from: Practice File 3
MPS Special Seminar:

Make the K-5000 Make Your Job Better

Phyllis [trans.]: Reporter (embedded), Sports n' Sex Crimes Bugle

Author/Talk Therapist/Exploratory Surgeon: Dr. Donna Thong