Wednesday, December 30, 2009
They Say a Shank
Covered in what's accepted as amygdalar care these days, one can take the therapy and writhe against it at the same time. This is an intimate interaction. If you are symbiotic with your interlocutor, there is a dual yet pure inter-protrudence we would like to introduce. Results that suggest indisputance, even in cases of inappropriateness: pubescence, any sign of leakage? These wd exceed natural license. Tho we a fiction house.
Hoolie wind, unwind. Bound to introspection, by the shiv, which was within. As the Twist is to the twisted, it's a way to work things out.
Way out would will more wild, could be involving major wiring, or a whole nerve bio-mesh quadrant retiring.
They say a shank is your last tank, Shane. Yud need a 3rd-A-Genda Witcha-Dokka. Name of Wayne.
MPS, MPS love, MPS name.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Hooded Meatball Face
She had Peggy the way she was because the birth occurred in a Crack. Water broke on a reddish brown golf course where giggling Christian children knelt bare-kneed in the dewy Spring mash with their parents and their clubs in a prayer circle. But there was a temple. It seemed a shrine to a hooded, faceless meatball head. The goofy children were giving Sylvia a bad labor, even as she recognized their clothing from a missionary barrel back at Shivchurch. Her guide, Rajkumar, had been a Living Child Goddess, and then become a caddy, then a midwife. The caddy-midwife and Tom made a human rickshaw for Syl and her unborn and carried them into the dark opening of the shrine. All its surfaces were thick with a paste made from human spittle and sacred blossoms of the Tagetes erecta. The ridges were the giant stone elephant trunk whose waviness was deep as hilliness under trees. Peg spilled forth onto these mossy undulations. Something like disco music began to play. Her special features, the spines, scales, woofers and tweeters were like mother of pearl then.
I translate this knowledge from the daughter of Rajkumar, now a domestic I've named "Miss Sprint." It is said as well that the birth occurred in a direct trajectory between the game house of conception and Peak Fordamall Chank.
That temple was a crack as sure as the sidewalk next to the bookstore at Sylvia and Tom's community college is a crack; they know and they sticky progeny are subject to fluctuation. I know. The Pegyuh's brother was my form-shifting, all-night lover.
Dr. Donna "Donna" Thong
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Promise
where palace charnel begins
its wet and glittering course,
I offer my fingertips,
blind and pendent ministers
of last-moment innocence.
There in pierced forgiving skins
blood charges your perfecture
and can whisper a promise
while hours press beyond my lips.
Tom
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Pothos
I, conversely, felt nails through my insoles.
Maybe pothos shoots trying to get in.
Life to a woman requires a fine screen.
Only songs make a magnet of the floor.
Was your question no more than repartee?
Look, you, stud, spaceman, spelunker of holes.
We can make a bed with thousands of chicks.
Sign up the throngs in your gism as pets.
When can I make room for your steady love?
Children have rattles, and so do your lungs.
Syl
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
gravity station
a random, unvertiginous marker.
in lieu of a beacon, hoary barbed wire.
vandalists had no imagination.
you paused and asked me, “What kind of babies?”
a farmer’s wife walked towards us in the dust.
a tiny goat hung pressed behind her arm.
liver and tripe rocked in my cavities.
our knees bumped along with the potted road.
the highest peak in the world was a dot.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Yogi Mazuh
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Drop-In Center
But the money stopped with a red dream
And chop, chop. We put a drop-in center
For the third gender made whores of, but
They mothers started showing up. My son,
You told me you went for bleach, shaves.
Sheaths. This is where the rice thrasher's
Dogs and chillun play Carom with poker
Chips. The neighbors came round with
Sticks and chrysanthemum paste. There
were fights, but now when we see goat heads
In the street, we can say, here, I brought
Some money. Internationals need batteries.
No more swatting; you must say hi to me.
I am Hoolie
Air Serum
Friday, December 4, 2009
Monster Poinsettia
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Spin, Vajra, Spin
Mechanical creatures and slime can rest in my weightless curls with room for your life and forty more. I love you that much to communicate my post-feminist claims so you may rest in my jatamandala while I shriek in carnal crime and despair.
My terrible living makes me pigeon, street girl to stars, but to compare, you are just a tiny ovum saved by chance on my vajra tip. You suffer sharply. But I am there. When you hear the cloying screech of a suparna, you feel me.
Your Peggy, Our Pegyuh
Friday, November 27, 2009
memory concern
another, forced you from under
skin cover into bleached air:
how could I suckle your
charms when you'd stolen my
man, simpleton, happy meal
come back or die, peggie
Syl
Homesick for Sorrow
Peggy, daughter, godlike
horror; I miss dangling
from yor claws
Don't you have even one arm
on reserve for yor father?
you can hold onto so many
chakras, tendons, memories.
at yor birth as an adult already
we stifled our vomit be-
cause you were ourz, woma,
shocking yolk-sucking
bird of technology:
your talons carried me,
so were a part of me, my
migration into yarns,
lies, wintry buff salad of
fur and cries, wild and
concern with pre-history,
peggy... peggy... peggy...
Love, Dad
Thursday, November 26, 2009
My Husband is a Rickshaw Driver
Well just don't take to the skies, my love. And walk behind me.
Nothing like a brisk and life-risking stroll t'the hotel after Thanksgiving with the savages.
Do you refer to the motorcycle dodging?
And the blackout and the open pits and filth piles.
Happy Turkey Day, Tom. If yor lucky yule get eaten too.
Did you catch the framed photo of the dumpy colonists and dead tigers?
Hideous. One lain atop another. Lifeless as rugs.
And what about the way they announced our consumption from the minibar to all the other guests in the lobby.
You are ashamed?
There's such as thing as discretion.
In drinking or in collecting drink's wage?
Bastards will gouge you with their handlebars to avoid a stone.
Or maim a dog.
But we've come so they may see, remember.
Or for fear there's nothing for us anywhere.
Yor maudlin as a milk-begging cripple.
Yes, everywhere cows roam free, and yet...
Here we are.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Transgender Dad
Mthyuh Preservation Society
Window Seat
chanks rising
blue walls of sea green
jungles or trees at least
where tigers could be
grey ceiling flat
and moving
yellow road scratches
white casting black shadows
farmers dig out
their industry
some cultivations
just look like keratoses
patches dabbed at
with brushes
over Myanmar
muddy river red and green
then a bellhop in full uniform
bearing orange Koolaide on a tray.
by Sylvia
Friday, November 20, 2009
easy home
- a wild forest of desire under her housedress
Tom
- usually amenable
- sorrow of captivity
- hyper-empathic
- "We have to wade through a stink water river of suffering humanity, crippled dogs and burning tires just to buy a damn nail clippers."
Sylvia
- "Don't forget it's for the church, dear."
That night
- she whispers praise the lord as they fuck
Morning in the Terai
- Big red sun on a 3rd-gendered temple
- Tom and Sylvia in silouette
- suitcases full of eyeglasses for the clinic
Thursday, November 19, 2009
easy home
against the horror of All,
sleeping in a plasm of snakes,
Cali rises in my face w/out your
touch, brief soul smiling:
i exploit yor dumb balm.
we can ride on fire back
to my place, a dingy 4-star
hole. Shab, my accompanying
dog, whose eyes glow, is mad.
Peg, manifestation of estrogen,
can take you down town, and
yor clan will grow old wondering.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Swooping Beast
My partner in the hard-plastic cask where we were buried alive in cellophane sheaths and cables and I took an airborne beat to contemplate what's now a rural legend: how the Chama was sucked through a grapefruit-sized hole in the pressurized cabin when the stainless steel flap suddenly gasped open at the bottom of the commode. In an instant one is there, and then not.
She was a goddess and could sprout again in a dirt lot. He was a prototype for Asian-American goobers. He kept hocking snot into napkins and stuffing them between our seats. He was scanning a spreadsheet and operating three electronic devices while tongue-rolling a toothpick in a baseball cap. He slept hard with his knees bent "indian style" and upon waking had already cleared the virals he'd been farming.
Monday vanishes over Da Nang. It's not ended because it never happened. Throngs phase through their generations as Archie characters in fresh skins. Freckles appear from nowhere into their rightful industrial age of error. In Spain, they called it edad de pavo. Big-headed, pencil-necked beasts. They are miserable and potent and giddy with loose beaks.
Chamatilly birthed as the earth turned her up: back, shoulders, arms, scales, and having been scattered to the winds, desirous of integral flight. It's everyone's problem when a queen takes a spill. Now she swoop in bald headed with piercings and claws and craving easy hot nutrition in tiny disposable dishes.
Thai Business Lounge, BKK
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
You Havin a Party, We Havin a Party
Plumb sorrow, and regret.
But if we all can connect over stylized flowers,
Stencils of the same design in different colors,
Commodities will be cheap for everyone.
You havin a party, we havin a party.
Spread yor fancy plumes-- nirvana costs the same everywhere.
Here's our lucky day: don't have to worry at all a good
35-80 hours a week. It's a hypnotic supply chain.
Bring me yor backs, yol. You should be doing good, not begging.
If all I see is asses, I am Lord. You are selves frontal forward,
Trusting me. That's how we have fun signifying one another.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Lesbian Stem
Was it Hysteria? Tiny Gun Toter? Envious?
If I had to choose, ventures Charlie, in a pinch? It's Devil's Clit. Devil's? challenges Chet. Charlie: You betcha. Chet: Clit? Charlie: Yep. Ok, just checkin, Chuck. Charlie: Yeah, I know whatchur thinkin: 'The Devil's Clit never choked a man's speech like the coaster over at Chank Dhubbabera.' But it was the cheddar curls, not the attraction. When the commissary cooked 'em crunchy, they cheered you good.
Then they made us colonize Chang K. Chang and opened up the longest ridemall in the wurl. On the Vagina Root, you could have some hairs pulled or catch a load of someone's spittle on your chest; coming off the Lesbian Stem, everyone would be dizzy and hurl no matter what. Yeah, Vagina Root, Lesbian Stem and the curio store, Prosthetics Whore, were all perfect for a second or third date as well as kitty-corner from the bar.
Pandora was just a gaping humid cave with a fog machine, but everyone went in there to pee and avoid the perverts in the Ladies' Room. For some of their ideas, we blamed Perpetratoress, which always had the longest line, and once inside, things just went wild with lists of suggestions on what to do without getting arrested. The only way to exit the Perp tricked you onto the street as if the whole churning circus had suddenly become disgusted and attested, "Yor toxic!"
Sand Trap
dirt while a pit viper dogs its barrier,
wife standing by with a needle.
Isn't she regal in the torn screen
chatting on a land line? Aren't pretty
hands wasted swatting at dire straits?
We thot we'd at lease have some
body art to show for our aches as
opposed to a paucity of bike parts.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Obscured by Flatus
Shaded information bar insert, p. 15.
Chapter 4: "Dogshiv!"
My Boys and their Bitches
Dr. Donna Thong
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Door Prize: It Hits you on the Ass
Corporation: OK well I'm the great big corporation. Think I can do what I want? Well no. I'm just a hallucination: you are me. The individual. Without your support, I'm nothing. Never heard of a Thousand Holes that are Tight? It's everyone pulling together to co-sign my Right to Plow.
Individual: Ooo lookie me I'ma little diddly noo-body who can't even pee without buying a contraption from some kinda capitalist. You'll arrest me if I just let it flow. You say I'm gay if I don't have a mug with your pig logo.
Hoolie drinks a lot of wheat juice and tries to explain getting fired to what's left of the disciples.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Art Fair Rapist
In my fifties, bare aesthetics will turn to hungry assault.
I'll have less self-control, in proportion to attractiveness.
At a salad bar just the other day, a German tourist near
-ly brot me to my knees on the plastic runway protectin
-g the rug. I was on my first beer, but I could have slain
his frau and drug him home by the hair with a second m-
ug. I vow to haunt art walks, retrospectives, book fairs a-
nd lame conventioneers who are paid to stroll their carne
between miracles of the marketplace and crudités variés.
Promo Script:
Dr. Thong's 10-Minute Day, with No Workout
Thursday, October 29, 2009
After No-Shiv
Peg just home from Pharmsupply Focus Group would squat and pee if you even touched her collar. We finally got it and threw it out. She seemed liberated. Our reign would be one of logic. At first a butter-soft Gucci leash gently looped behind the neck did the trick in that she limpingly obeyed as in mock Stations of the Cross. It was Pathetic.
Now all Syl needs is to loll the thing against her thigh and Peggy knows what it means. To bed. To your den. In a cave.
She'll be back to fully verbal soon, and on to childbearing. We feel she wants to whisk the ones she's got off to a cliff nest and wish them well. She must be stopped.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Living as a Career Bachelorette
All still welcome at the fortnightly Endangered Foods Summit and Pot-Luck.
Mthyuh Preservation Society HQ, Ritual Death Salon, Partition IV.
1st and 3rd Wednesdays.
Donna
K Coming
Peg heard herself remark as she woke up on her fancy hovering cushions:
"That's the first time a living bone creature in my hand ever proposed marriage."
Crisp sky blue sheets were her universe. Without the kids, life was a cockpit.
Raiding villages in her flying F-suit brought flakes to their knees.
Her turds boiled in outdoor mess cauldrons fetched a hefty consolation for the burns.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
We must Hide our Joy
Tri-Tip Toaster Oven Cookout
bottle of chili sauce
1 lb meat chunks
Worcestershire 1T
many bay leaves, whole
child's fist full of cloves
head of garlic: teeth are cut free but unpeeled
extra-thick foil
at least 1 hr @ 300
better yet, crok-pot it with a whole pork roast and more of everything, 4hrs high
squish the garlic teeth onto the roll before the meat
do not use the bay leaves out of one of those xmas laurel wreathes
mush the roast into the sauce with a potato masher whatever right there in the crock leaving a variety of chunk sizes for slopping into fresh bread. Makes you want zin on ice.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Other Body
I ask as the world, not myself.
Sneaky? Guardian? Lovely?
Yor expectations go this far.
Ambling, I may swing my fists.
Will you be there?
Nipple, chest, font.
Ship. Net. Ribs.
Together, we're a knot.
Two are untrustworthy.
I'm on my own now.
I'm seeking another body.
Ass-assination of Amygdala Jones
If you can imagine your own medium, what you breathe so to speak, doubling as armor;
If you could see in every direction only by manipulating basically the optic nerve alone;
You would begin to resemble our homegrrl, Amygdala Jones.
You might feel bottom-heavy, like you want to scream, "Don't pick me up!" when he greets you at the airport, knowing yud break. And it's hard to move 2 pair of lobster claws across a polished marble floor with so much weight. Some would call you paranoid. But you're misunderstood.
When yor skin is soft as a toad, the body a shapeshifting load, and your interface, peeled grapes on noodle stilts, is all over the place, you begin to crave solids. Like vasa deferentia, you may only be able to make a difference with a second opinion and the help of additional fluids.
Cumulative parables such as these beg the wisdom of unconditional evolutionary confidence. Amygdala Jones couldn't help putting feelings at the top of her tdhu list. When you haven't any lids and there isn't a drink in sight, one can only hope that tears are general throughout the hood.
Fragment, "To the Student"
Sin-Gaberra Ms., shards 6a-d.
Ass-assination of Amygdala Jones: Princess or Goddess, It's the Same
Monday, October 19, 2009
Forever was 13 Years
Our own planet's outer persona was being popped open and violated by too much light.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Lysis
Phages sweep by and recognize exactly where you've folded the antennae.
Apoptosis is even more horrifying because everyone just stands by smiling.
They think they blebbostatins, panaceas, can contain yor diasporic flotsam.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Skin and Clay
Skin and Clay goindu a morgue. Clay: I am the flowerpot he left behind, spun by the contours of his hands. Skin: I am his orphaned leather backpack, flesh colored, ink stained. Skin and Clay [together]: Are we museums or are we raw materials?
Clay and Skin weigh time against moral capacity. Skin: I'm the one who can go bad. Clay: It takes me 10,000 years to neutralize yor shit.
Skin and Clay go to church. Clay: He who's got a blessing's got a curse. Skin: An both those guys are better off than you.
Clay and Skin decide to commit a sin. Clay: What do we do first? Skin: Nothin. Clay: I am doomed.
Skin and Clay become filthy lovers. Skin: You are a little gritty. Clay: That's hot, Skin.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Taco Party
Ken's rash note to Mike after the final swimming blog entry
Friday, October 9, 2009
Static Adventure
Monday, October 5, 2009
Amygdala Jones
Did she never become that buck-tooth, saddle-shod shooter from whom we all long to flee?
Was her rearing not overdetermined by scripture, her apocalyptic destiny given us to slay?
With safety in righteousness, patrimonial soil, swarm this story for your spleen, worker bee!
She shall be known for whatever it is you call a curse which is a name: Malediction?
Since she is technically a goddess, leadership nomenclature splatters out of her everywhere:
"I hold out both my hands, like giving anal polyps: fingerless but ready, fertile, present.
"Imminent, I hold you in my balls, which are fists. My arms, living tubes, can be dicks to you.
Sighing, Peg took off her ridiculously large and fake sunglasses frames, palm rolling a sweaty 7/7 across her forehead for clarity. Listen to that clinking. Sears is going to be here any minute. Shd I try and cram in a nap and say I'm just groggy from dreamin? Or might I go ahead and ride this current/wave of Violade like a Mayfair lady in a white sateen and foxtail cape?
Partial Ch. 4 and notes.
Sin-Gaberra Ms., shard 4c.
Ass-assination of Amygdala Jones: Princess or Goddess, It's the Same
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Pioneer Woman
- puddle olive oil
- big red onion, chopped or whole
- washed and sorted bag of blackeyes
- meaty red bell, cut big
- cumin seeds
- celery seeds
- salt
- white pepper
- cayenne, but a lot
- gurgle of vine
- any kinda sausage or wiener
30 minutes, high.
Meantime, we made brown basmati with butter.
Leftovers: (x2days) broiled crisp under CA sharp cheddar.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
They can Go Back to Hurt you
An agent of anything steps into your life and shows time for what it is: a lie.
Let's take the bullet holes along the side of Ken's sedan.
Pick any vertical line to indicate "now" (Her). Let's say the long crease of the driver's door.
Punctures to the right and left are future and past, for a lack of better tautology.
Inside each dark opening, poorly-captured moments flicker.
On the left, they are ripples of attention. Starlene's prism black lights the steps in hot retrospect:
- Oh what a pommeling he gave that love. He was brown nosing fate.
- Showers ruined the yard sale. Now we know why he sought that.
- Must have been some undercurrent make him call his mom the next day: eddy pull?
- In less than a year they've got him surrounded at the Club Martinique-- surprised?
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Monument and Maiden
She took him easily, mercilessly, like a retarded kitty. His spine implants and hours squatting proved no match for sequins and bottomless limitations. Even so, her painted zygote fingers at one point tried to claw at heaven for more success juice. Her wizened silhouette, thrown unflatteringly there against a disintegrating wall of memorabilia, besotted life for him, starting then, both back and forth by calendar.
Or had they form changed by trading lyric go-go cages at the height of their passion as a way to be truly all over and up inside one and with the other?
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Swamp Baller
First, two bombshells of 14-- opposite race, but like twins-- receive him in the palatial Atrium of Thinkers. They show him the way to his cot, freshly splayed, between two metal filing cabinets hanging obscenely with padlocks and combination cylinders. It was the medications.
Dinner that night includes an equestrian-themed ice sculpture and cruise-like buffet for 80. If you had recently fired yourself for wanton / self-harming behaviors or gone truant from one cinderblock apartmentchank nightmare to the next, you could still join in song, partake of the table, and be limited to no special fruit. Of the few punishments allowed, money and higher society were two.
Tho one night a red-headed, wide-pupiled chick or twink, ruddy with astyptic bloom, play hooky big time in the apt-4d sugar shack of latest re-hiree and retired pro-baller remembered for having pulled in to the compound with bullet holes all alongside his Charger. Ken, until now, has never been identified as either black man or monster, except while toying with himself, among characters to whose points of view we've not been privy, and by his own mother.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Mountains Signal Disturbance
Alternately, I stand and piss a long and dirty fable, as I am unable to abandon all the crammed-in tackle I've been pulled into an angle with: there are those who need me.
Unhooked, some fish with ripped lips just truck upside down. Ery tam a gal stand up an shake her fleas, pups come crying with concussions and they bobbing requirements.
Giant Cranking Engines
cause 150-ft turbines crank their shells and
spill friction into every living room and den.
Their howl is an avian or canine call, a harm-
ony of inter-special gaiety. The low one drones
to all: "Hear my prolific growl. Take my free
issue." Others ring shrilly, morbidly inviting.
Jangling crickets tamber nature's consent, ig-
norant. All-night criminal traffic now wafting
in from the 10. Bitches stretch in the sand, ne-
ver yet having met up with a scorpion. Lit ho-
opties creep by to the petrol stand, buffeted.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
World of Mornings
tired.
Fire bear come flying over horizon.
Insects, reptiles click, split.
Now tell me is or is not,
considering nutrition, a dried apricot
as good as its flesh-fulfilled cousin?
Because everything they wrote
can now only be found in the bone
chalk of those scratched letters,
crystal, canvasses, silver, china.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Awe of Priapus
Their vision started to benefit from the clarity of Strong Hormonal Bathing. The first moment of beholding a phallus will always make the humidity rise to what's necessary for mucous.
Chama imagined herself as the Veined God, and how it turns out to be Her Chrysalis.
Ilyn felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of blood that would be required to attain that level of determinacy.
They stood and stroked the rippling folds, stretching, but not quite able to reach its crown. "We will see Luck or Scorn; it's the paradox of this deity," The Chama intuited.
Ilyn wept.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Wiccan Dipsplit
apparently the blind find me goodlookin;
the unsighted obviously think aighm hot.
just when so many naked people are against me,
aigh need people naked against me, and thayr not.
with a witch's fingers on my scalp,
i can travel to new ages as a scab;
before demagnetizing the last few nodes,
i enjoy a robot's timed sense of moving on.
Hoolie, from Birth of the Mthyuh Preservation Society: When K's Gave up Living and Volunteered for Manned Flight.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sick Hippy Home Invasion
Its tortured evergreens at 40-60, the cabin hurtled steady as a hard careening bubble. Insulated by and from force, The 2 would sleep like refugees.
Crickets were screaming in the garage to keep up with the momentum of the howling. Not much living could hold on outside. Yet there were security lights.
This was an abandoned cove, Turgid with Blowing. Every once and a while someone found a winter renter. It was a hell with its back strapped to a jetliner.
Roaring louder than violent surf, Judgement Hammers might have followed Mistress and Servant to the basics of human living. Now their eyes were Red Sand Traps.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Voodoo is The Law
It's very nice to hear your voice again,
and I'm grateful to you for all your help.
I wonder if our love is covered by
corporment or mercenary int'rests.
I save all my masculine energy
for transfer to hot skull shrinks like yourself.
As in one who flirts only with barkeeps,
wanting spent has a safety handicap.
Ref'rence to lucre can cheapen your trade;
I feel so sad to see it end this way.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
HIV Bros
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Sucking Beacon
Donut cloud, crown of thorns, and your lateral, unsurvivable blast: we must all learn, but be far away from. The charm of your beacon is a ring of pulling wanting. Our own livers, our sensing organs, viscerally seek to sate your warning glory.
Disappointing former anomalies, pivotal galactic trendsetters, turn out to be really no more than wood chippers. Matter doesn't "disappear" inside them. Their density is not "infinite." Law of physics: something always has to give. Look what's blowing out their axes.
We astronomers, in bed with our telescoping mirror cones and eye needles; we livers in other realms, of freedom, of caprice and lifestyle mistakes, of blight off season. They put us in prison in spite of our feathered hats. We recant our previous believin'.
Only the bars prevent our final charge on gravity. Suck me, wide one. Beauty is your annihilation of all other meaning. To true is to leave terminating dusts on a vinyl stack of atmospheres, to be creatures who will eat through song for an invite to a place where space bends.
From: "Ode to Black Hole 7"
Reptily, Graduation Day Speech
Hunger Gardens, Low Chanks