Own-brain dialogics

I was waiting in the garden for Mkidza Mlaf, mistress of the dance, and I happened to notice a fleke walking his hybrid in from another neighborhood, a mini-K male like the ones I've been seeing off leash in Jansdaad Park lately. Well, I decided, it won't be for long. That K is gonna end up in a shelter on a kill list and that fleke is going to be in prison prolly before that. 

Then of course I had to take myself aback, listen to what I was saying with a critical ear. And doing this, I felt ashamed.

Then I started plotting out how to call the MPS on the flekes while they are still there, in Jansdaad Park, with their K's off leash, without them being able to guess that it was me who called. 

Then I began to wonder how long it's been since a Jan was ever even present at Jan Jansdaad Park, maybe not even since the ground breaking way back before The Crack got opened. For years it's just been gypsies and now that the gypsies have been driven out or terrified to go outside, the flekes are filling the vacuum. 

The Ks have even more right historically to be free on this surface. Letting them off leash is a symbolic act aimed at the rest of us and probably lost entirely on the pathetic "reimagining" of the former kings of the planet. They glop around on rubbery feet, and their once mighty wings are token bone and skin flaps that only create eruptions in the sweat glands beneath them. Mini-K males feel permanently ready for a fight, but they don't know why. Of course their teeth can still tear flesh, and their tongues can pin down a varmint even if it appears a spear's length behind them.

I've ended up taking no action at all. I'm glad I've discovered the power of own-brain dialogics. 

by Tom

sunhole P97b

when they bring me out among the trees

my instincts bubble over and I'll scream

at the critters who live in the hollow knobs

by Lager

Physician's Notes: Metacognineuralpsychescantissueread

Missy: Cascading pubescent female, multi-special 

Suspected but never before recorded: 

Patient's brain attempting to halt processes of other parts of same own brain

Bio-dialogic processes using symbols and sounds of host's own language that actively change cell production, synapse strength and number, direction and intensity of cerebral blood flow

Who is taking the various sides of these arguments, and how do they win or lose? Do they attempt to come to a consensus/ compromise, or is brute force a deciding factor?

Example language within and between brain parts detected and decoded: 

stop...stop or i won't stop singing...you were tripping...look around

Physician's Notes
Metacognineuralpsychescantissueread
MPS
Dr. Donna Thong, Licenciature Pending

floating skull

floating skull

you've finally broken free

but can no longer turn your head

you call it surrender

this black mist is survivable

and not only because you're

dead, floating skull

there is a breeze

no one excepting a mother 

recognizes you without 

skin, a body, wisecracks

but i see you there

by Missy

slug shaped ship

 

house fire

 

brass mirrors ferns marble

for fifteen years i dissociated into a blog

it had to be worse than just going wrong

for me to see what's been all along

i realize now i could not fictionalize

these organic singularities i now prize

i say what happened and don't apologize

two silly boys making funny poses 

every noon they sleep on roses

snoring gently through their noses

too young to recall the destruction

the chaos and societal obliteration 

after the Crash of the K-5000

Salso Flamble

 

tiny wind bell

tiny wind bell

bought in Bangkok

welcome the spring

these winds bring buds

by Jan

 

 

 

 

Terminal karmic fallout

took another look at the cracks in the ceiling

first time since cancer shook that immortal feeling

now existential threats seem more appealing

because i made it to the next product rollout

no worries vex re: terminal karmic fallout

i rent my own flesh as a chemical redoubt

from an industry enmeshed in an economy 

while a budget takes a knee to autocracy

the poor and weak uncertain what's about to be

those who would die but for their government

watch drunken teens rage across the firmament

a culling more like nature than intelligent

by Jan

My own personal narrative arc? by Phyliss

1) It's not the reader's business. 

2) I don't have a narrative arc, ok? I am a working gal who just got caught up in trans-special linguistics and, as we all know, it was only a fluke of nature that made me the only person on our surface who can make sense of some of these texts. 

3) I am the same as I have always been. When I was born, as a baby, I was smaller, but emotions? Then and now? Exactly the same. I am more skilled at managing them only. A skill learned through a lifetime is not a narrative arc. I have never been entitled enough to have one perhaps. Being able to make the big mistakes, the big hits, to be earth changing. To have a fatal flaw. I and you? We were both born fatally flawed and with any luck and lack of horror we'll die, and die flawed.

4) What I learned or what you should learn, if learning actually does have to be done here, should be about what I learned about the world, people. 

5) Like Jesus, I lived passionately and overconfidently. On both our parts, that was hot. 

6) My life was not an arc of unknowing and then knowing or not being and becoming or being enslaved and then free or some kind of freak as in Flowers for Algernon or Valley of the Dolls or Death in Venice. 

7) You will not be privy to my narrative arc unless I write an autobiography, which I won't. I may, however, write more texts in which the narrative arc is completely missing maybe because this is adult shit and not Cliff's Notes. 

8) This is some real life, baby, not a parable or or a tract or some national hegemony myth. 

9) I would tell you the same stories from a bar stool or on a massage table, in the same way, and you'd be laughing your ass off or crying, so I don't need no stinkin' narrative arc. 

Only through death did she

i'm on the incline not a beeline

on a good road not the right road

but fear is rising not declining

(before you go-go you're like a yo-yo)

i'm ready to know yo the end of the tow bro

it's a rip not a drip tide when it rains uey

don't make a chain don't lose your own lives

lock your hands around the good side

because a witch, I can float

i still have most of my parts

i already hold my breath as often as i breathe

having oft washed up on a shore and been tested

you have been raped and found wanting

you my cartoon spoils

somebody startup the tympany drumming

bim...bom...bim...bom...

Writhe, my subjects, writhe!

Strain to demonstrate your subservience

Occupy the lowermost layer of oxygen

This is my day! I rise as a sun!

by Missy
Table 3
Winter Crafts & Poetry Festival

Palacio Bellas Artes
Dubbaberra Chank