yvestory

          [from 4/25/17 Hard to Read]

     And I am hungry as well, she says. Why is she always hungry?

Làski the driper: dripin thrü heaven — Song #2

Do you love me Rothko Rothko, is your headache? Do you love me Rothko Rothko mulet filet

She was twirling yond the door Outback was the dusty floor Duracell corralled in banter Linger yond ghia galore

Mother mother, striping pretty Energizer lapping ditty Pemulvye yond shuttered store Lectric lunge to enamour

Rothko … mop top a breach of trust Libra to Pisces

Untransient or

No. 21 city Tired from Emeryville but The station’s on lockdown or Forgot my rideshare beacon Similarly you know

Markus in venti, Markus adventum Markus exundum and it’s late so Bleary on marble

Another childish excuse Reading “25 Cats Name Sam and One Blue Pussy” So very sad Julia Zavacká Makes me so sad

(Gules, entrenched, yet yond in fore Three serpents in annulo or)

Spite

A woman with blue hair and blue teeth. 

Hair: dyed, semi-permanently, recent, shampoo-fade almost invisible, roots decidedly so. Do individuals of a certain age still replenish keratin? The thought rolls through F's mind. She imagines her elders in bathtubs and upon stoops trimming their toenails. Scanning, rotating, F never sees the same leather more than once; she imagines an untrimmed toenail caught in the cracks of checkerboard tile and torn ragged. 

The toenail does not bleed and does not grow back. F’s knees curl together as she imagines a geriatric soundlessly screaming. From the gaps between the teeth where the gums have been reduced, yellow foam bubbles up and infant sea-sponges emerge, fattening on plaque and remnants of luncheon. Gravity takes notice. As they splash to the floor the sponges return to foam, then ease into a sort of viscous soup. The gaps between checkerboard liquefy. F stares into a grid of dusty canals, overrun to the point of overflowing, dammed with lint and breadcrumbs.

"They called me the Queen of Brine," the blue-toothed mouth has said on more than one occasion, and it has only been fifteen minutes since F boarded. This time, an addendum/correction: "They call me the Queen of Brine," and she tries to sound posh, for a laugh, but even with one hand pantomiming the delicate grasp of the teapot she holds another tight to her knee in dignity and pride and with the vibration of coarse-grain sandpaper.

Her teeth are dyed blue because she is eating blueberries.

Seagulls flock outside, keeping pace with the rotation of the wheels.

"Brine is a small town, you know," and her voice transitions out of affectation so smoothly. "I am not received as a royal statewide, except during carnival season. But in the mayoral halls and the Governor's Mansion - why, in every governmental office in the capital, to be perfectly straight - I have been a well-known liability for over half a century!"

She is an activist. She is passionate. She wasn't afraid back in '77 and she wasn't afraid in '99 and despite what she sees these days she isn't afraid now. Unprompted, she explains that her hair is dyed blue with the usual products. 

F wonders about the teeth. F's teeth are yellow from coffee, cacao, and neglect, although when F visited the berry plantations as a child, her enamel was mint and her breath smelled like dog's milk... 

F remembers: the strawberries stung her cheeks and made her lips puff out, but her teeth deviated little in hue. Raspberries splashed magenta, blackberries violet. She sipped water from a hot canteen and reset the process, admired her incisors in the reflection granted by a tool-shed window. There are no blueberries in this memory.

"Three boys, good boys, good little boys, good young men." Blue teeth, blue tongue. "A policeman, a fireman, and a hospital administrator."

Considering, F says nothing of great importance.

"Would you care for a blueberry?" The Queen of Brine is a small-scale philanthropist. There are only three remaining in the carton, but perfect specimens, virile and bruiseless.

It is 1:02 P.M.

Would the moon deign to raise herself overhead?

AUF AUFSCHLAG

SÉCURITÉ: When I think of the subway-lines-as-excrement feature my eyes start to itch. The grime of sweat and potato chips. I want to fuck. When I think of the subway-lines-as-cholesterol feature my eyes start to itch. And my fingers start to twitch. And my eyes start to itch. My eyes start to itch. The grime of sweat and drip popsicle. Sticky finger licking nose picking. Nasal drip. Harmonica. I want it all. Subway-lines-as-philanthropy. I'm doing lines in the public urinal. Grime of saliva. I don't see the difference between snot and cum. My feet itch. Barefoot. Subway line me up and knock me down. Up. Breathless. Subway-lines-as-botticelli. Tongue in palette. Gland rotten. Exposed leg drip to waiting bench hot august afternoon. Saline eye pisser. Litterbuggery.

PAN-PAN: Everyone in the house is named "Matthew" and I'm getting messed up. I don't remember coming here because I suppressed the memory because I didn't want to remember "Matthew" inviting me and "Matthew" driving me and "Matthew" carrying me up the Stares and my name is not "Matthew" in case you were wondering but your name is "Matthew" even if you were not. Wondering. "̕M̶a͝t̸thew"͞ ́i̴s̡ ̛ge̕t̡ting d͠rin͟ks ̀in t̛he ̨l̡itt͡l͟e̴ h͟óllow.҉ "Matth͠ew" ̴is̵ ͏b̧r̡u̡s̴hin͝g ̛up o͏n his gȩntleman at́ti̡tu̧d̡e. ̴"͟Maţt͠h́ew"̵ d̛o͜es̷n'̨t ha̷v͞ȩ m͏ucḩ ̕t͡o͡ ̡s͡ay bu҉t͝ ͞h̀e is ͞say̢ing i͘t͞ ̛to m͜e҉ and̨ t̨o t̀h̵is͘ ͡"Matt͢hew͠"̕ and ̨tha̸t͠ "Matt̵h̛ęw" ̡"M̕a͟tt̡h́ew̡"҉ ̷un͠til͏ ͏t͟h̴e͟ co̡w͝s com̧e͏ ̧home t̡he͟n "͝Mątt́hew͢" "̨Matth́e̵w" "Ma͢t͞th͠e̶w͢" ̸s̢o̢mé mor̴e͘.͡ ́G͢r͞eed i̧s goo͢d!̷ Gòo҉d ͘v͡i̕b͘rat҉i̕on͞s.̸ 

Th̡ŗill̢ing̸.͝

Do you ever feel like someone pumped diazepam into the part of your tongue that says "I don't care for 'Matthew'"? Are you ever feeling sleepy yet, right here right now? A "Matthew" asks me where the kitchen is and I tell him a made-up answer.

MAYDAY: Texting #26619C and waiting for the sun to set. Texting #E62020 and waiting for the plane to taxi. Texting #483C32 and waiting for the paint to set. The sun rises. I used to use vectors and cryptograms. I used to sleep on the couch. I used to, h̪̻̦̭̦̖͔̍ͨ̏m̝̫̝͚͖̤̄͢mͤ̏̚̚m̝̼̭̰̙̝̿̇ͤmm̃͐̉̈͏͓̥̰̜͈̦̳mm                                 

                    it's like this, like that laika sludge, laika paintball laika infinitum, um ... Glue Tube

how much longer - remixqueen

whole lot of shooting star 101s ...........................

l̀e̛t̨'s̢ sp̡i̕t̶d͠og̕ un͏t̛i̧l͡ m̶y̕ eye͜s b̨ul̛ge͞ ̶&́ you͡ŕ ̛t͢e͞et̡h g̀et͞ ͡th̀a͟t͠ p̷e͢psi-̸co̶l͞a͏ p͞olis̴h t̨his ̛n͏ that͏ ̵a̶cid fa̧t ̷Ac̛etone͜ .̡.. ace͠ta̛te ̶cưtter ̧Ne͢w W͢av͝és i'm lagging, yeah,                    buffering

Twilight barker sanguine comma chihuahua armstrong

Before it was a character,o̡͋ͪh͒ͧͯ͗ͦ̾ͥh̛́ͩ̑̊̄ͥ͐h͑̽ͩͨ̓͆̚ĥ ̨͋̓̆͒̿̓

bͮͭ̽u̿̎ͤ͂tͥͬ̍͂̇̅̑ ̓̅҉ṫ͑̓o̒ͭ̽͊̈́͌͐͘m͞o̔͊͑ͪͬ̅̏́r͑̈́̀ŕ̇͊͂̋̔͊͜o̸͑͂w̛̃̐̃̎ͨ,ͬͧ̅̄ ͞

                                                       t̔̈͗ͤ͐̾̒̕hiͯ̃́̄͛sͬ͋ͬ͐ ̸̇ͤͣͪiͦ̓̈́̓ͮ̿sͩͥ̓̑ͨͨ ̷̂h̿ǒ̋̍̌́ẅ͐ͪ͠ ͒İ̵̒͌ͦ̔ ͜f͌͊̓ͤ̀e͑ͤ̑̆e̎̑͊̇͗͑͘l̓̽ͦ ̎͂͋̿̄̐̇Ű̶͊ͫͨͭ̉p̿̄̾͗͠ć͒͞h̆ͮuc͐k̓̾ ̄̓ͦ͛̀̆͟n̑͘e̊̐͂at̡h̑̊ͭ͋͆ͪ ͤ͆͏t̀́̉̇͆̐he͝ ̨ͮ́͒͑ͧ̈p̨̈́̃icnͫ͗ͫ͌̌҉iͥ͟cͥ̀ ͭͧͫ̾̈́̏ͦt̂̅͋͠a̽̃̌ͦ̈́̃͌͘b̡ͦ͊̈́̎̓̾l̍́͐è ̢ͣ̂̓̽ͫ̇2̔̈́0̂ͯ͛ͨ͂1̀3̋ͣ͛͑̉͟ ̌̓̒̋͡U̶nͭͩ́̂̾̕dͪ͒eŗͭ͆ͮ̇ͥc̈́̉ͧ҉oͮ͂̌̔̚v̓̆ͤ͋́͟e̒̌͠r ͤͬ͌̈́̀̄̅r̡ͨ̄ͧ̿̍̽ug̴̊ͯ̓̓b̒ͧͬ́u̶̔̾ͫr͌̌ͬ͛̽ṅͯ̄eͧr ͗ͣ̾a̧͋̅̊ͥ̚cęͨͧ̍t̎ͬ̆ͪ͗̓a̎tͬ̈́̇̈́eͩͩͦ̉͠ ̏̿̊ͥ͒̿c̓̇͂u̴̅ͯͥͥͪ̉̚t̊t̶̍̀̎er ̑ͩ͐̏ͫ ̨A̔ͪcͥͣͣ̓͊ͥ҉e͋ͧ͛ͩta̴͆ͮt̃̆͊ͥ͐e̸̎ͮͦ͂ ͨ̽ͭ͛̈́ć͛͑͆͆ͩ̅a͗ͣͪ̎̿̈́ͨnͬn̴͐͂ͫiͥ̎͊ͦ̐́͂b̶̎̿ͤͫà̊͛ͤlͨ͌̊̄ͫ̚͞ ͤͬ̄̓ͤtͫaͨ̈́̎̍̀b͏lͥ͆͌̀ͮ̀̚eͪ̔̄ͦc͡l̨ͤő̏͑̽̚͞t́h̏ ̈́ͣͯ͑2̧͆̐̆͊ͬͧ̚0̌ͭ̉1͐̈͆́̃͐6̴ͩͥ̏̈́̇̓ͩ

we gonna be dry heavy

hola whole lotta rotta

fatha cosmonotta close my eyes lmfao

Làski the driper: dripin thrü heaven — Song #1

Other things to think about, like the Heartline Zenith skyline lune passer Hampton itches, lush and lively Preposterousing [Here's where the disco beat] It's easy to take it away Like my angels, they are sort of "Sliding scale of opacity" It's so easy to forget I forgot I had forgotten he had an affenpinscher mustache [Here's where the disco beat again] Nested distractions like this matryoshka set My grandmother owns Uncool to petition Desummit before LaGuardia in summertime I'll hypnotize you With the tootsie pop emoji

a lik3ly thought, hmm...

i believe i believe in construction workers

Public Transportation Were Person I'd Kissem (but "In Dreams" by Roy Orbison makes me think of person-person-You)

rising through the hollowbird fingerbones with same mosquito-pleasures as the grail search down line 592, where the leviathan oils & oiled again, piled through limber lumber of sockeye roe beached clippers for the rusties, volvo polaroids recollect a tighter town wound in milkshake-haze & nights dwelling in conclusion ... it's the older models, when you sit right above the axels on some WIP straightway with gravity slicking pebbles abrupt & shortly & head pressed adjacent to windowsill the humming irritation shivers through eardrum so deviantly blissful so unholy vibration, vibration, mosquito vibe good vibe ... VIBES ... Köttum Coffee operates around two dozen establishments within this city, and there are three in a ten-block span on this very popular street where I am occasionally contracted. Today, the labor was rougher on the muscles than I could rest with; I needed to wet my tongue and a prefab drink wouldn't suit me. As I left the first establishment and accelerated down the sidewalk towards the second in search of stock not yet facing depletion, I lost sight of all my sweat penetrated. Skin and muscle and damp stained garments opacitied to nothing and the form of a desperate schooner materialized in their stead. The rigging frayed and feinted a snap. Adrift among maelstrom, arrival at the doorstep, the waiting-line, the barista's counter. My preference remained in this inventory - the order, the pause through construction, the delivery. Sipping choleric the ship docked into port. Anchor-heavy, submerge. I am humanform oncemore ... Köttum is right down the block (to the south) of my grandmother's house (I know she's dead) but they are renovating that old pizzeria (equidistant but northerly) and in March there will be a Köttum there too. I told my brother he should apply there, it's not difficult to get a job and all things considered, the benefits are fairly decent. When you're at the airport, you get a special lounge and everything. ... she doesn't see a baby cry between her toenails everyday i see Johnny Flop on weekday mornings & weekend nights he says "You can get salmonella from pigeon-meat, but it's admittedly unlikely," (i have to read the next sign) "Especially 4 Ü" cousin i know it!!!

Chronicle: November 21 2015

the sorbetto is melted on either side of me - like piss, it’d look like piss if only i could apply the Inkwell filter omnipresently (if only - he pats he on the laugh he backs over)

Yesterday:

Today:

Do you know that one story about, hmm, the one son of sons Farmboy jack again he - context schmontext - holds a full capsule of secret & an empty of self-control & jerking into the membraned well ... um, doesn’t it end badly?

mix in 1tsp ceridwen chase scene ...

Bad reverb

Must’ve heard it sixty times more

Thank You

&the boys say, Flying 40k overhead

The sense of Belongingness is a fear-mask

Inertia / Surge

Most hallow nights i dream of the same horizon in place in time mutable when i was faraway (not so much / as much as can be expected) i dreamt of the patchwork of mystic sidetastes spiderweb & conifers & maybe

it’s a sort of destined dissatisfaction inevitable ... interesting how one side of the mirror offers such a congruence whereas another is a faceted has-been, eggshell diamond

i must’ve tossed something at it (here i used to slumber to Wite-Out but now!)

OK: this one evil dude i know, i was thinking about him  i don’t think he would mind taking a serrated kitchen tool & stabbing it between the lungs licking his lips although i don’t actually see him doing this himself, not so soon

How good, it was not love good

Bottle service for enablement - energy - congruence

maybe the difference in the team is ability for action ability for guilt I drifted in & out of restlessness, bloody paralysis  last night, well,

Wishing i could remember, but

i’m generally in a pleasant mood, as i remember Forgetful attitude is a comfort mask

TFW Gaslit oven but ü want electric stove top ? TFW South Dakota Michigan Pennsylvania beautiful this time of year (2009)

it was charming, in a sort of sad sugary plea, how much flour the boy brought in stuffed through the backseat of his 1977 citroën 2CV - yellow-orange, must’ve been a custom paint job. matte acrylics for alliteration’s sake, sunhigh fade babied in his nectarine mop. sweet citrus. i cannot drive a car.

“with the way you exist, it seems unlikely (to me) (i know you) that you shall ever drive a car”, says (let’s say) my Customs Checkpoint BFF

“pilot an automobile,” i mime the steering wheel with my left hand, imaginary PALL MALL RED in the twitching fingers of my vengeance claw

ouch! There goes my hair line

i had asked for flowers, obviously, & i had been specific with my brochure at least regarding generalizations (i don’t expect that sort to tax genii), but the radio was turbulent & the morse was drunk in the twitching fingers of my vengeance claw & maybe i’d failed, flailing, because of witchblood red slipping from vessel to vestibule awakening the internal vyvian kept in the backlit headspace of so many augustine gesticulators 

oops! Direction is a gold tooth, directness is a lollipop (Mystery flavor)

charm doesn’t save my appetite (there was a discarded cherry sucker on the ground the other day - a crippled pigeon can’t deliver the mail & the blitz fucks in & the war is a white-out for want of a tabby taffeta feather) He really wanted to help me Oh yes i’m hungry but

actually, what i wanted was Atmosphere i can’t sing savage without air to hold water to hold enough trilobites to last an aeon & my bones fellated dry to cement for Edward Drinker Cope to pry out & piss up an exhibit Floraparvulas tres - my ascendant descendants will feast on cynodont roasts in due time:

The point being, you can project love in the pattern of dollar-store vocabulary & it means grocery store rain-oil concrete cocktail (ila) to me; the point being, eloquence with the intent of French Fry Greaser behind it is all the cosmos; t.p.b. when the red-light flashes over my eyebrows it’s for sustenance & the luxury afforded by black-light commercialized fingertip fusing draws me to, uhh, olive bruschetta ? - i’ll bake baguette for my grandchildren by the grace of Astarte (lead us to thorny providence) but i’m not yet an orphan, i don’t swallow yr closing time loaf,

no need for a Good feeling when one bites the New it’s Greaaat!!!

neckline love in the facets of the disco ball, love enough to place my own Mars into the waterspout of any beautiful emptiness

What before Why

i like that woodsy mushroom drinkers still have a web presence although you never see auxiliary cords in their photosets. i feel warm the same way the world’s worst automobile pilot handed me a coffee drained from Baba Yaga’s thyroid gland in the shadow of You Know What

is it ugly to spit when intent fails to achieve ultimatum ?

premature ending to the spinal shock storyline ? 

So, i don’t have anything to say, So, i have no, well -

this is enough. i don’t care for that vehicle as long as 

this is enough; I blow a kiss to the X Ray machine at the Customs Checkpoint !

& wink &

i tuck my vyvian spirit aside & look at the cute pictures of my 3rd Best Friend’s baby, his 1 Year Old daughter, happy birthday, i’m so proud, i’m so good at the L keystroke, LDN flight 2 L train 2 Love 4 The Blinders.

as a ... “tricksy revolver” of an uncle, there are, of course, names i leave out of the fairy tales & it’s well it’s well it’s well it’s - quite alright, truly. xoxo 

love Dearest Jacky Flowers

When I visit the countryside

my teeth felt cold. what’s new? two friends of mine were talking in the pantry. they’re my friends these days, and we’re related at least through hyperlinks. click me, baby! yeah baby. babe. click click click me. then click my card-carrying handshakers, then the airplane lads, then - oh just keep it up, baby, shake it on. when can you stop?

click clock. tick tock. they were not my friends at the time, but i had hopes - there was a large gravitational pull in one case & a smaller, but still affectionate magnetism in the second. both would arrive later. the first in question was polishing champagne glasses with her saliva. green, like a tree python. morelia viridis.

the “summer of the sun” was going to be something, i thought more, i thought strong! i was sitting with a lollipop. outside the window. not trying. to snoop, i mean. trying to shake the habit. my teeth felt cold.

while she was perhaps not the most successful, in the brief hindsight that could be reached without waiting for the oven to finish preheating (so to speak), she did end the round in the position of the most iconic, i think. back in the caterpillar days the premonitions she provoked brought that shimmering gold smile to my face - sometimes internalized, but real as a hurricane advisory. it was a good sign.

my teeth - yeah, okay. you know when you start thinking about someone saying something and then - oh, then it’s just hyenas merging with nephilim in a bed of roses - you know how it goes? personal vibes.

before i heard their conversation, my thoughts were like “that feel when you’re making macarons & they’re not sweet at all so you add more sugar but they don’t get sweeter so you add more sugar but they don’t get sweeter so more more more but it seems like they’re getting less and less sweet as tablespoons on spoons on spoons pile in” but sometimes a distraction is all it takes for me to remember that it’s not the ingredients of the cookie that make me all cry-baby twinkle but the fact that that’s just what it is! i’m a simple sort of sidewinder; my tendrils coil into a positive emoji - sugar? of course, but who knows, who cares? label my snacks, baby! is that what it is? it is! it is a cookie, & i’m so happy when i bite into it,

i was smiling that day yeah!!

ICONOGRAPHY &/or, “a kissing”

spending all that time (as if!) watching one potentially 8-day, even 9-day elevated pedestrian - one set of toes down towards Sunset - watch out through the dot-dash 2.0 horizon for some clock-strikes-midnight (would that be noon?) apostle, the fruity logo mechanism sequestered under the stars but elevated past the shingles on the roof & the cooling vents on the roof & the cigarette residue on the roof & the pigeon shit on the roof & the work “SOAK” graffitied over there (right to the left) only they didn’t spell it right it’s “SOLK” the first time & then “SOKE” when projected again - what are they trying to say? 

“babe, they had sponges on the mind,” a fiancé might whisper if present, but kids these days cast deeds close to anything for their fingers to wrap round the dowry

Stay Safe

obviously a p.i. can’t moonlight as this apostle tangerine chapstick fellow elsewhere the brighter hours are for sleeping it off & dolling up but here so much circular space occupied you know - in the professional frame - you know it you KNOW it obviously a p.i. is not the apostle even if next neighbors stand in the rain adjacent there’s a difference between just-so & true brotherhood even if a microchip albatross & a chocolatechip magpie (jellicle born as a driftbaby) even if they “grew up together” as barpythons like to twine strawberries to, well:

digression? some boys cross the start line when they read their book very fast - other boys cross the start line when they write their book just fast enough -

back to the 7-day rhythm. spirals before circles - somebody said underneath a neon catsup bottle that the helix is the spiral of the future - July 2001 before the away revisions - & now turning, revisiting, investigating the mark rather than the mark-of-the-mark[’s avatar, even] ... there was a dream of fulfilling one’s own avatar dream, a glimpse of the 50% gradient eyes of the past clocking over the protagonist’s pose on the first box set; dreams of the fairy godmother of the Mainline children dreams of personal privilege ...

as the cards show impalement & reveal debtlock & duplicity, consider personal microcosms for fruit’s sake - even as the court of the beat hisses tomorrow realities as extended remixes in ouroboros formation ear-to-ear & specialness lights up the hillside - little knifebird, demon knife, selfie broth, it could be (wait brief & see)

If You Know Who You Are

Stay Safe

2Remind myself

First CROWN premonition experienced aboard highway transit northbound August 16

Second CROWN premonition experienced in apartment living room post-eclipse September 27 (this one was almost prememory)