Thursday, November 26, 2020

charnelle, a gladiate

styrofoam wings
lungs jump and squeak

rewarmed remains
the dreaded stank

500 miles of ribbon cable
5 days from the cradle

the rewards are weak for 
the revived so to speak

they get to watch crowds 
cheer their corporal missions

from the comfort of a 
cupboard consciousness


by Charnelle

Saturday, November 14, 2020

the rock method

the first time i climbed to the top of Mthyuh my hair was still long and very red
 
i was still barefoot from dancing shiv on a slab of ancient desert pavement scrawl
 
i had to see the top and what her raging bottom looked like from the highest chank
 
summiting and launching and diving in were a single stroke, an ancient character
 
Braino knew my arc would blend and assimilate The Crack's northmost fissure
 
instead of bouncing back on the sheer force of rejection by her drumskin i rolled
 
and entered a natural vent, tearing upward through rock and sand and insect nests
 
red like magma my hair and blood left pooling on arrowheads and pots not touched
 
by human hands since before there were summer thaws and green tendrils to munch
 
that day i felt the gravity of knowing that stopped the endless stasis of my cart
 
and let me out onto the landing strip of time the frictionless rink of deadened glass
 
my feet still green rinds, sticky pink pads, gotten slick with the dust of monuments 

at the center of the longest day among the range of moments contending for noon
 
i wished Shab well and his eyes glowed red in recognition of the end of our scam
 
 
 
by Ilyn

Thursday, November 12, 2020

My toplessness

i am ready to take my immune system to a new level
ready for any number of cosmetic chiroplastomies
open to broken companions, fresh interlocutors

or am i fine in these gnawed out stones of yore alone
in some of the passages you can see your breath
in others the lost heat of industry allows my toplessness



by Reptily

Tuesday, November 10, 2020

Two trains

I later found out that my entrance into their society was staged after the famous Cleopatra in a gilded cage scene, carried on a tunka by slaves, from the famous remake of ChukkaChank Rules, WD 77. 
 
Everyone seemed so young then. Weird how they age all at the same time here. Then my freedom was gone.
 
It is a life of rooms with plastic panels and light bulbs and dark corners and water tanks. I am an administrative shook in a tube to them. Until I started getting out at night.
 
I learned to access their finest salons and gank their golden coins and leave bodies strewn upon marble steps in shame. They could not prosecute nor understand my flights without the book of LaChama and the book was her only power so the book was my power through our mother LaChama and the book is my cartridge of plentitude and of finding love and adventure beneath the aluminum flooring and safety wires. 
 
Why they bring us here only as spiritual guides or amusement rides I ask bitterly during a spinning, thrashing shiv demo right on their most famous stage, the Apollo. 
 
Two trains I can sometimes hear in here:
the inner one screaming when they turn off the filter of loathing and the flakes are allowed to wander in the streets and engage with events
the outer one chugging each time a car melts from the inner train and lets off techs and managers
 
 
 
by Reptily

Monday, November 9, 2020

Preen gland technician

They brought me inside the control room of my own mother's puppet corpse. I could look down over the switches and buttons and through the glass down five stories and watch her feet drag and thud, drag and thud across the empty Sears parking lot, which was just the tip of the iceberg. 

Once we had triggered The Crack, it was a watery world of carelessness; a sort of sleep paralysis of the shock reflex set in while we were fed through a peristalsis of the dimensional organ. 

She was/ was not my mother. This was the flesh of the great beautiful young K who could toss me 100 meters into the sky with her beaque and catch me easily in her seal craw, where lightly blood-dappled pelts were stacked and crumpled into a very stinky but gossamer safety net. The woman they extracted from her inner ear during a shiv molting also is/ isn't La Pegyuh. She seems to carry all her memories, fears, quick tongue. Her body, as well, is now tortured day and night with Remote Tissue Decisioning in order to coordinate with image mirroring protocols and functions. They say she was a random preen gland technician who took a wrong turn somehow. 


by Reptily

No more community theater

The stage is dark at the center and it's one of those setups where the players are seated or standing around the inside of the three walls waiting to take their turns. Giant leaves made of plastic bags get caught up in the breeze of a fan and bound noisily across the upstage out of doors like plastic bags. 

"But then I'm telling you we love to have her and she's so talented but she does her writhing ritual really in breaking of character and does it right in the middle of the stage when others should be starting their lines and action."

"Jan, I can sympathize, but she's over 21. I can't control her even with the shiv. She has the fins of an embryo, but she'll never develop any further or take on the exclusive markings of any particular species. She feels like shiv's the only way she can find freedom as she will never sprout wings or a full claw matrix, so the ancient hooting and dancing are her expression of a foiled archetypal and organic need."

"Don't get me started on the topic of Institute for the Talk Therapy Apologist Movement mumbo-jumbo, Donna. We all knew from the start the risks we were taking by having Reptily here full time. I mean, not just a goat you can tether to a tree. And it's really no problem. Just no more community theater, k?"


LaChama

Thursday, November 5, 2020

The Lady Bug

i coughed so hard i
closed my eyes and saw
perfect geometric displays
 
a functioning and energetic 
system of squares and the
angles that connect them

hipsters beware: it tends
to degrade into a dry and
gauzy parody of order

now as i turn two-handed
to the door frame and lean
i reflect on the drama of

the lady bug who must
be reminded of her destiny
during stops along the way
 
 
 
by Peg

Monday, November 2, 2020

life's little mercies

cracked microwave oven

atomic bomb tests

industrial farming

office smoking

hepatitis

deviated septum

demon possession

mistakes

house fire

house fire

house fire


Saturday, October 31, 2020

The South must be reined in

Look around you
it's like everything's right there
even if you can't find your glasses
when they turn up it's not surprising where

Is Braino telekinetic

I was dozing off at the command center just six o'clock from the electric rice maker on the dining room table. But Braino was upstairs in bed dreaming because that's its point of reference for sleep or fond memories of dreaming there or just because it can. But when it started thinking about not having put the rice away, like in a baggie in the fridge, it started coming down the stairs and was going at the rice maker from that descending angle, more like four o'clock, when I woke up. Sometimes you wake up and have double vision for a moment, and that's what it was like.

Sunday, October 25, 2020

Liver

higado
plaza de los acumulantes
filtro a los moros
tan vivo como el cerebro
ven, vivante
 
 
 
por Santorabo

Friday, October 23, 2020

Now Entering The Crack

one day coming soon will be a
portal to another world, the 
difference between past and
future, a crack in believing

we'll find out who's entitled
to get in, who has to sit on a
bench in the lobby, which
relationships count as significant

we shall sit before an interpreter
of evidence in perfect robes
but mostly there will be doubt
what will happen to the kids

other dimensions are ours to
learn, not theirs, not the natives
but this time that means no one
only wondering, a beastly rent
 
 
by LaChama
 
Reptily
"I can transverse The Crack."

Jan
"I, too, have crept through it multiple times with my family."

Thursday, October 15, 2020

Is Braino a boll weevil, picaresque Christ planting misery

i am a tobacco smoker. i smoke tobacco there
i've said it. i make Braino make decisions on 
tobacco and it makes her crazy and mean-- 
as the Christ. i spend time writing mental 
final direction notes how no xtians near my
bedside, no christians at my burial, at my 
grave, an unmarked grave where xtians are
not likely to go. no whispering no last rites
but of course the fear then is that you really
do want that because of your deeply embedded
culture that makes you need it like a drug.
you don't want to be strong in your last mom
ents you want to surrender and love and be
loved and accepted and fitting in where you're
going. the phrase where you're going could 
even be Braino as the Lamb of God boring, 
twisting, you'd think she'd come out the other
ear.

i cry with fear

my friend tells his near-death experience as a joke

when i tell mine, i'll some point get the urge to cry

what is it awe, no, self-pity, well... no, fear. i cry with fear

then what was it, seen not remembered remembered but

not seen... that spooked no it's not spook fear. it's wide-

eyed terror at a blurry event that at the time was not

scary. there was an organization that required its mem-

bers, at a given point, to say, "...and that's when i started

working myself up." suspicious at first about the cultural

tokens sprinkled throughout event call it, i realize that

even though the mind collects its available symbolism, 

that doesn't mean you're not actually dying. delayed 

horror. at a non-scary moment or hour. judgement now

kicking in as Braino congratulates herself and begins 

creating her own survival story: look at what could

have happened if not for my heroic and timely action?

i don't care. Braino is the real savior in the story either

way. Doing for herself what God could have and might

have done without her willing self-starterality. Of course

the God side would say of course God directed Braino 

to do it, but ok, i see the divided gratitude energy betw.

what? not deities-- apples and oranges. Braino is really 

just a glorified human organ, not even. she's just a function

of an operation of an organ, but she is the most beautiful

and one who would make any lesser god than God jealous

probably use a peeler on their thigh gouge an eye, attempt

retribution etc. God-Braino is completely different. it's 

like God-bird flying to a tree branch, harmony. then there's

the question does Braino get drunk or stoned if i do. well

not sure cuz one of those things i don't do, but... can Braino

be addicted to any physical substance or even i guess love,

etc.? of course as in i love you with all my being which

would include Braino. don't over or underestimate i guess.

Does Braino get tired. i say no. she wakes up even more

in sleep, no. she is not so urgently needed as in waking

hours when anything could happen. only one tiny part

of her is the conscience and another is urine regulation,

so... obviously we're not talking about the normal, sub-

awake mind here. in fact "we" are not talking about 

anything; this is actually more of an inquiry of B. her-

self, which is probably as ridiculous as a seance or

one of those amazing tv preacher self-answering prayers.

God is not the only sphinx in the universe. i get it that

you shouldn't get it muddy what, which god, huh? but as

described above, it's more like sphinx God smiling down

on sphinx bird flying to a branch. why do we bother?

how nice they have this peace. so Braino says, peace

my ass. even tho i am mute, i can't take that. i am the

workhorse of the entire operation, bitch! i never sleep

you know i never sleep. it falls on me to figure out 

the flack and you make me do it totally wasted as shit

on ok i won't say it. that's about the best i can do as to

a workup or a portrait channeling or who knows direct 

quote from her royal highness. she sounds real to me.

But there was the question of wait.. all that sounded 

as if Braino is being held as what a hostage? by me?

i think the original question ok, i feel what they call a

tiny voice saying hey sleep on it but if that is Braino 

that means she a lie cuz she needs sleep-- or cares 

what about me shia lebouf i've totally left out christ is

that what he portrays in our cultural toolbox? The 

character of Braino, the intermediary, the divine 

flesh, but again, Braino is only divine in a camp sense.

i really don't think there's a conflict though because

you know if you pray and it's a christian prayer, you

pray to christ anyway-- Braino is not really for praying

to; i wouldn't want to flatter her quite that much. 

which brings up the issue of proper address in prayer:

i believe it is necessary to address a prayer: even tho

i know where it's going, Braino in a compassionate 

(?) manner or just as a normal function might feel she

has to take on whatever i am praying for; in some ways

i am her boss, but i don't want to... is this one area 

where Braino can get confused while mostly knowing

more than i could possibly know at any given moment.

is this the one or one of many ways i have to take her

in hand, an ultimately defenseless and delicate creature,

feed and protect, etc. in turn she may protect me out of

thousands of possible examples maybe if there is 

information that's "too much" for me to handle, like it

would give me a heart attack, or an actual memory of

a heart attack, etc. so she keeps it a secret. but then 

she might get in a habit of doing that too often; may-

be she can detect the bad results of the bottleneck 

without being self-aware enough to realize it's her own

neurosis causing it in the first place. Ha-ha that was a

joke. but fear. simply because i didn't feel at home, that

there were desperate decisions being made and there

was nothing i could do about it; whenever i tried to 

answer my voice would wake me, but it was annoying 

not a relief to be wakened. Braino may have been

the underlying annoying agent, just to jolt me back in

shape-- it would be just like that ok i won't say it. 




by Ilyn

Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Unauthorized swagger

becoming slowly overgrown, sewn hard
you've added a ying and yang to my navel

now the blue eyelight is giving way to 
nicotine grey but under it all, a swagger

there is a weightlessness in the wonder,
a wager, an escalator ending in cumuli
 
but down home they're making cider
and stomping vines and calling back hell
 

 
by Ilyn

Monday, October 12, 2020

whether or not you can escape, it will be prolonged

the cancer dust sticks to the radioactive sugar and voila!

only those especially privileged to view the scan can say

whether or not you can escape, it will be prolonged

and then delivered matter of fact as if they'd always known.

and it will be linked, in shame, to an original sin either way

you've lived this believed this wrong and look what's gone down.

and then what an appreciation parade? or worse, none. 

completely undignified but druggie-fun moments of hospice

and then, well, to the big review board overall, were you...

that was your exit interview. you know longer matter in real

time and space, but yes in the electronic gyrations of those
 
just behind you on the trail, in an accessible membrane.



For Hoolie
by Uncle Ilyn

Sunday, October 11, 2020

Mucked up with bandage glue

this grey mess
drifts in glue time
on the arms legs and 
random surfaces gets
stuck to newspapers
and press-on nails
ashes, pigeon fluff
walking an old-timey
times square effect
they try to apply 
patches but I'm not
the same already 
as i was just today
putting bandaids on
a building falling down
tho it's sticking me
together now.



by Ilyn

Saturday, October 10, 2020

Mike's Swimming Blog #1001

He put rat on my breath
and the seeding trees
outside the ymca

his disregard mixed with
unmistakable compulsion
i can see this his naked facet

we found the woolen dryer balls
in the pillowcases
and they made impressions

what golden days bitterly
hating to the brink of violence
only the chromosomes are

appropriate not the hormones
constant rubbing then none
subordinate in control



by Mike

Friday, October 9, 2020

Sick and ugly cult

we tried their brains
we mocked their children
we shamed them on
all the public highways
 
we set a fire
in the temple shit house
we marked our skin
with the blood of the dead
 
we cut their cocks off
and fed them strained pees
until their faces
were green with shock
 
we took their good faith
and made a cradle 
for all the emblems
of our bold transgressions


by LaChama