''e's interesting and has good moves, long work

saw the boat/touched the lips

Posted in Uncategorized by tetradugenica on July 14, 2010

I was at the bottom of the garden, muck-sunk.  my captain, tunneled into the head of a worm. made a new life  in the worm, they followed me. . the highest rise of the damned is the highest point of man. Worm man s Food, mink-like taste, this taste?

Down in the muck state i live with deep mud fish, mudmen  and we get together and praise the beautiful and dark, we’re all miracles of courage. We fold muck paper and learn that each of us was marked for stealing a gray bird in scripture.

40 years mudded with the eyes of a black dog, bubble shaking eyeball bubble popping. vision not left but leaving for the surface, their surface and we see everything we’ve ever said or resaid the mayor of the city shows your other face in the mud mirrior

mud wife, drippy black,  her lips, our lips floppy and mudd filled bursting after i filled them with ionzed metal solution, gold plated lips, silver plated lips, copper fins, exploded  retired and mud filled.   This is my wife. this is the olympics.  nothing but gold and silver nothing

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The adorned and the scoured

Posted in Uncategorized by tetradugenica on July 14, 2010

DO have a big fat makeup slave that lives in your makeup laboratory. He is brewing up new creations, conjuring new shades of nail polish, orange or grey, and he sleeps on a lazy susan futon/storage bottle copter on the corner. He is your apprentince. And the slave tells you about this. Apparently the guy who’s it at a very young age at down at a garden show. He got a sunflower up his ass. And it drove him to insanity. He has to wear dark glasses to keep the sun out of his eyes. So the flower doesn’t explode his intestine. A story so typical of the inner city. The other boys walk lines in the sidewalk the shapes of wings. The wings are sand blasted out by the city. The city destroys birds into momentary clouds of blood.

The city tests your eye color with paint mixing stations ripped out of bankrupt hardware stores, boutique paint mixing stores which offer to match to the blue you saw in a dream, the grey you noticed when your car was rammed by a motorcycle cop. The further away your color eye is from the mean the meaner they are to you.

The city is hiring people to put makeup on greek statues. Historical accuracy is the important thing. Not to me. The logistics of color. the Logistics of sand blasters. This statue has full lips, the easiest, I rub lipstick in concentric circles and smear it with an ostrich feather I pull out of my feathery tail piece. My body shakes. The lips ring gllossamar. The top lip pulses, The lips become tails of meteors. The statue imagines my body behind the gleaming mica jumpsuit. I love this statue. We love each other.

And I moved onto the next. Thinner lips, bigger eyes, narrower shoulders. It begs for lipstick color with a pun name: raisin cane, dolce vita, sweet dreams. Fuck you, I tap off a piece off in anger, then add it to the sagging alexander wang double pouch vest, symmetrical in cut and assymetrical in weathering and weight. It sags hard on the left with pieces of art who’ve demanded ridiculous and outdated eye makeup suites, and hair creams unsuited to their cut and style. Fuck them. But thin lips deserves lashes. Half are opposing diagonal hatches, the other half are sweeping strokes twice as long as the hatches, each half overlaps the other in the middle. Perfect, you are perfect. The statue’s eyes now exist to hold and penetrate. I love every bone in your body. We move on, each statue walks with me and stares. Statues only stare, gracefully, or what I remember as the imitation of grace.

Medium lip, calm eye, a cheek as wave, a chin that suddenly pops from the face. I am a workman for the city, I will lay your foundation, I am a weaver for the face, I will ride your wave. The foundation pops open. Your missed future is in my hands, in my leather makeup harness. I blow a conch full of dyes, spikes, dyes. The mirror; the object. A viewscreen in 4 colors I made in the night. I wake up 3 times each night and create new colors. The colors which only exist in my life, they cross to your real. Black, a gloss that will not scratch, only smooth curves. I loom in tweed of Aubranç, Bleaigh, Bonstroon, Balut, Buorzed, Bvonn, of Buuff, Gar , Tailed sienna, Tailed umber, Chuklake, of Chopper, Cordovan, Desert Witch, Ecru, Fallow, Ricochet, Rail horn, of Octo, Wheet, Limb, Throne tan, There are many. The cheek pulses and statue’s heart beats. I walk past. We are nude: nude lipstick applicators are filled with videos of us; stills of videos of us. We continue to the end of the hall. I am paid in dog blood, I make indigo. I work for the city. I am paid in classical fountains that spout sand,  I remove the dune bladder and alter it  it to powder passersby.  We undune the city, sidewalk wings, unblasted, flap and sand is flung and sunk into the ocean. Ah, I spot  a new beach for summer fun, name it for myself? Maybe 😉  Now we are all flawless and smiling and singing and hugging and kissing, Goodnight 🙂

— Myf

Jul 28th, 2009 at 5:09 am

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my Ode to robbyn Barble and violet sheets

Posted in Uncategorized by tetradugenica on July 14, 2010

what I did this summer

The baby carriage arrows bumpily and restlessly down the push crib line. The dyke is cooking thin pious hens, The fetus orders anyone woman around to hear its cries. ever restless and bubble eyes aglaze.

The detour from peril on magpie back, The echo of dykes scouting the type of racers! The pig arrow is the densest car then? Consecrated shore brairds pop through the cracks on the course. The rope contains our orders, knotted.

I hear the blow of a restless horn. My dossier  contains the necessary documentation and items du blackmail to get  my shore taiga consecrated.

The value of my holy land allows our crew to gouge the arena. We  spend half determining the peril of hikers spotting our general’s rococo country home. We  have the mesial branch of a popular path condemned.

The jackdaw with the ridiculously oversharp beak punctures a truck carrying a solution of mastic to secure restless mulberry trees to the bare mountainside. I had abandoned my bird killing station to make a labial request. My dyke partner had sex with me while I sat in a chair. “Like a dildo but full of blood and spongy tissure rather than a sacred polymer.” How kind of you, how kind of you! What kind are you? From an asian country?  From an Asian- Country?  Leave me alone.” I pouted, unsatisfied.

The jackdaw pecks on the horn of the Time Bull to expose  an area  decorated with scrollwork  representing clocks, watches, timepieces, ocean going clumps of land bobbing and restlessly seeking somewhere to deliver its bugs and bird nests , it’s on a schedule!  It traveled Cosmic creak and heard the  blow of my pious horn, when I angrily answered the blowing of the restless horn.

It reaches the miserable shore. It’s tubers are fat and slick with leaking palpal balm.  I row over and squeeze it out in threads and twist them into a rope.  The value of rug of these threads could buy a 400 meter length of fence every wild boar to  paw at and disrupt or knock over depdning on their preference!

I return to land. Docile Hotair floats above and I see the flash of his gold and copper buttons. The baby carriage holding  a sparrows nest rolls down the mountain and stops at my feet to  gouge a hole in our shouted discussion. I last said “My sacred Taiga home of the Time Bull is of melancholic value, we lose our place at the sparrows chirp hello or something. We return to the conversation. I explain:  ”His shed horn, less decorated, still rococo in spirit, is now my middle pocket’s resident gouger for calm but steady rock blocking our path. The papal excretion rope is securing our mulberry as the glue dries. “The house glances at us: rococo cold and humid.

We had to avoid a new request from the general that was passed to us up the Cosmic Creak, on the cosmic noise phone (model 1). The magpie rest station of papal rope is taken down, the salve is needed in a more serious place. I replace it with A bird sanctuary created from meat and ethereal beauty. The bovine time  carriage again rolls to my feet. I trace its roll.    At its origin I find a condemned old bird ordering around ten thin men. Lost hikers made docile and servie  to the staff of the jackdaw by  the cold and humid stroll? My  horn made Gouger attacks. I’m surprised as it unbuttoned my pouch on its own. It flies from my belly and seems  a blue/blueish arrow in tumbling restless flight, a sort of frisbee ready to calmly massacre a bird (not the good birds who sing you songs out of friendliness and general good attitude but the kind who own slaves and trick poor nature lovers into setting traps for me and the other  people like me as we secure the hills).

Dinner has  square courses of  sectioned jackdaw and jackdaw stuffed sparrow and the main course has the Christmas colored beautiful pheasant spy! ” Licky lippy nite, ” I squeal.  The wonderful pack of wild boar  who told us of magpie with backs strapped with guns and recording equipment and other items that put us in peril are here. (Don’t worry they use knives and forks like a civilized pig would)  My gouger buzzes around displaying its same cyanic shifting colors in what I think is glee in spotting all the beautiful animals he’d killed, it was a bit too high pitched until I adjusted his tone with a bit of papal blam on his breath valve. Braided  orders escape their shells knotted in our command papal cord and creak. To hollow out the baby mountain is the braid’s  point of discussion. My labial action had been seen by several darting  finches and was a popular point of discussion for 1 corner of the square courses. As they talked my food became denser and colder and more humid.

My mind went to the miserable baby carriage, its furniture sanded consecrated auburn. The color proscribed for only  the tubes that held consecrated cord. The Cosmic Creak brought a continuous flow of magpie and their materiél secured with thin rope. The finches tell me that the Jackdaw leadership has begun calling me  ” The melancholic racer who was created by the holy general’s request of The Good One.” and their bird allies have taken to calling me  ”The humid auburn colored racer who drifted in from the cold shore.”  I’d rather be called” the dossal draped loser who wipes balm on valves.” Another shot misses me as I watch the left mountain.  Another  attack cooking. We re-blow the horn that starts the heart of the Time Bull. He trots to our stand and tosses  what  calls “the rug of briber & beauty?”  I  advance on a rocky protrusion over the pass with the rug draped over me.  A reflection in my silver leather chromeo boots startles me. I’m beautiful! Hey, I’m good lookin today! The sexiest I’ve ever been. And the birds notice.

The seem to be cooking in their heavy black coats of feathers, seeming to miserable to be moved. Theri commander offers many types of food pellets and larger denominations of money in various national currencies (you know who likes what ( if you’re unaware i’ll explain later)! The condemned and ever restless sparrow advances toward me with its head down in sadness and something metallic glinting at me on its back? I sit on a  Rococo guard tower in the broad shape of a sanded bull? My  gouge slits a thin cord from the rope, it says “The birds are in love with you, they have never seen someone with such a sweet face and figure. They’d like you to cook and eat them with the knive they’ve provided.” I devoured their thin meat then. I paused to worry about poison and indigestion. The Jackdaws huddle on their pool of balm in our sacred taiga. The condemned baby carriage speeds to my feet again, but at the last second takes a  detour. News comes in: “The advance of the Magpie has halted at your mountain projection,  the auburn sparrows have become friends with our cattle! Hostilities seem near an end.”  The rope finally says something with more  value than balm rubbed on a  pig!(i’m aware its how our messages travel but it seems like a waste, doesn’t it?)   Does Auburn’s new body block weapons, like that arrow stuff?

The cosmic horn of roaming Christmas blows!  We all huddle, even  thin men. A Jackdaw summit. My friendly dyke is no longer melancholic and now awake! The dyke sees pig and wild boar. The rope reports cattle dropping horns so that we may gouge any meat. The peril to cooks flashes restless blue-blue yellow! Meat summit! The dyke stuffs her face while directing traffic around a  detour.  A rockslide. Mountain dogs yap at us for some reason.  The crunch of inhaling auburn hot air has escaped from the mountains as the dogs finally relay to us that we may dig the rocks.  The magpie backs are empty, save for the cosmic cosmic!  The time bull tells us to disturb sleeping jackdaws, the first roused tells me that he’s written an epic called “The Value of our Attack on The Melancholic Beautiful Racer, Friend of time bull, enemy of daw” He shows me The wartime rug coated in poulette and the birds eating it piece by piece in their bird arena.

Hot air.  The rope that The Good One revokes. I must advance in restless projection, it was part of the mountain but now it is me. I am interviewed by a n attractive middle aged woman: She asks what I remember. I remember The attack of the pious magpie in the mountain’s  shadow. The echo of braid communiqués on the taiga shore of the cosmic creek!  The bird who named me ‘racer.’  The beautiful noisy birds. A condemned christmas eating square courses of dead birds. The dyke’s blue flashes of hallucination and our old kiss, the message I sent in  braid about our miserable time together. The request of Palpal Balm From the see, told to me by the man floating on his button.

Now that i’m revered, bird saint friend of time bull, always draped in this rug which has disappeared to my eyes, everyone sees me beautiful, not in their own coneption but in mine, which is the best I think, and the most beautiful. Does the shine from my silver chrome boots awaken the sleeping prostitute? The finch on my window revokes the scolding he gave to my shadow as soon as he saw my figure.  My apartment holds the rug made  grease of beautiful kidneys pulled from the head Jackdaws. The prostitute  I’ve called comments as I pay about the heat of the air she breathes. Hot air.  Confine the mouth’s work, to one, the labial work to another, or one for all giving even favor? The prostitute spots my Beautiful shadow flashing blue  and thanks me, I thank her too!  Now roaming to advance in projection, my blue shadow or my flash of beauty? The sparrows announce: ”  Dossal dossal roaming, as I cross under their nest, projecting forward, being the projection and feeling taiga and breathing in overly hot, burning hot

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Bike ride

Posted in Uncategorized by tetradugenica on July 14, 2010

Toff and I had a bike ride to the center of the forest and ate  vegetables from the dick . willow women stripped me naked and beat me with their switches.  Never locked eyes with knots on a tree, laws of the forest bind and govern me.

seagreen grass full of waters pico graboid monster straps another jokey virginia hokey by his feathered hair

roped up and sluttily knotted, dapper dokums wander unascoted. another bottle orange and emptied, taps me and shakes to tempt me, cupped up knifed up really spiked the copper’s kettle. A homemade bomb with stolen metal! yogi now! grab the basket! grab the basket! a defensive screen protected his flank, he spent 3 days devouring  turkey meat, apples, grape juice, wine, 5 potatos, and more and more and more until the basket was cleared of crumbs.

Now for the truth:

And latest revelation, Thoms has found permanent excellent as he shuns vacation for the pursuit of purer economic truth

Thomas discovered the sacred truth of of monetary scholar Evan Spigot and his writing partner Nerry Tamerlane,a few years ago with their pamphlet  ”Over the Plateau” whilst he  was stilla bit entangled in his materialist roots.  He accompanied them in their television ventures, for “Mystery Throws”, “Nuckle The Pig”, and “Glassmaker’s Horror”, until they became slippery with with oil and sweat from involved tapings and running on & off and ready to develop this new type of booklet.

excerpt from “Graff need life” Wet pavers become glossy with the slip membrane of fresh rain, the atmosphere has been compressed and breathing becomes a more plant like act. Statues act as measures for air pressure as they are alternatively crushed or weathered to sticks and nubs. Bianca strolls past a crushed rider and horse  newly powdered and her sand colored dress shines invitingly as it peaks out of her fox fur coat that is currently vibrating and undulating as her stroll leads her to the traveling bureau. “How do I leave this place,” she asks in an almost silent and haughty but confused tone. ”  I’ve noticed that everyone is experiencing color differently and It’s upsetting something deep inside me, and she reaches for a thick flipbook of photos tkane in a newly discovered area along the mediterranean in France, and as her fox coat retreats up her arm a tattoo of  3 rows of 9 colors with alphanumeric codes marked in tiny type. In a quick shift, Bianca cries heavily ” this is the only time I haven’t known what to do.”  Nerry glances at her and shares her preoccupations and has several of his own about the color of  things that used to take  on the color of what they were near.

They book was written here: a wooden cabin built in the historical style with whole trees, in  it a membrane  maintains an area of extremely high oxygen and filled with coils.  Money is all false of course, and we must replace  this economy of debt and false production with an alternative illegal economy.   It’s with the greatest pride that they welcome Evan and Evan welcomes them, he walks the interior length singing them silly nature songs, animal came by the windows to watch, a bit of a vacation from nature, just in time for the animal-specific holidays.  Evan comments”romantic rose petals on the bed look like blood stains “

.

even without the harshness of the scientific comparison it is probable that the alchemy has pinpointed one proximate cause, small brazilian manufactured Sonar/radar arrays decorate  lawns to the mixed public’s good spirit.  Your local manufacturing concern  wins the new army rifle and high speed patrol car contract, to all the bows and whistles of the grateful laborers.  At this time this year the head worker, the Adorned One will sell moveable mistletoe at Christmas.  Hereafter two visions of rebirth  today, you may not choose your favorite.

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I give you a groan about we fit together clumsily and your stacked pyramid of rocks that youve made your life

Posted in Uncategorized by tetradugenica on July 14, 2010

One gland the day, one does not big thing of more the night. We crawled into bed, turkish men are staring in the windows, polite staring. turkish male copresence. I love religion, I love all religion and hope to passionately make love to the patriarch of the orthodox church and every virgin spirit vessel, if only to make sure they know me for me and not for the messages scribbled about me on mrable tablets or however mesages are passed now.

this is how i want my hair

do the weeks that I have in this place in the ear and to the eye, as the tear when the synthetic world is revealed for you, staring at the cieling and listening to your neighbors using the bathroom, Jeremy designs a flag with lightning bolts and an absence of threatening birds, the animal seems to be a small pig, with a sly smile.I understand what it represtents, he raises it with magnificent slowness. mysterious to most but fully recognizable to us, we are resurgent in our early aspirations to fix and improve everything. for I know that his arrival marks the true departure in our body of the other half of ourselves it is the summer, spring includes us  and as each year, more than a season, this is for us a new era.

When comes the summer heat, one takes the airplane to go to profit from it elsewhere, we wrap things in brown paper.Alex wears sunglasses and gloats, he delivers a sheepskin ii ordered from his  secret shop for my new project.  Chaotic food arrangements that would make a gift basketeer puke all over her new shoes, a dullache in their mind lasting for weeks or years afterwards.silt piled over food and arranged for a food finding and cleaning competition. everyone has a psychoanalysis afterwards and weveryone makes up a new disease instead of channeling it into new paintings of stuff or whatever. I will tell you that I have a high rank and much power, you can disagree or refuse to believe but would you rather have someone else in my position? other than yourself?

those of us that remain at this place have a difficulty of the typical choice of the first hot Fridays, with the  noise killing your health to the point of criical fear, our pals tom and bernard  never salute the reigme.  and evan heiny with his poewrful asiatic brian, what will he ask?, that you know necessarily of here or besides, to the Social Club.  we all belong to it. the roa comes udenly, it s almost like a prank, we’re just tossed into the air and we fall down aover and over, physics can explain all of this by telling us we’re retard idiots made of small particles that someone has seen once, i havent, but when i do i assume i’ll  find my salvation
through the vanishing puntwe’re all racked with contradictions now, as the country fails, we want to conquer israel and ally with the muslims of the world, convert to a nicer version fo their religion and make pacts with rising stars, to become the super powerful enginge again, but whats the point if only the elite profit, why not conquer them first and then unite the world. maybe the world dioesn t want to be united. maybe its better to withdraw into an impenetrable fortress and slowly starve and leave our knowledge to be discovered by hunched scholars in 670 years. ,  and this strategy, it lacked only a look towards the United Kingdom men in flagrant class conversations have no idea how they’re reinforcing the control of themselves. ohis better one max in the middle of the big delirium room under the palette  of living in the center of a tenditious  and vague undisperasable fog.

epic poem buildingOne could inaugurate a section on this country, abig kick to the bottom, a projector. Nick has me Imagine a group of wild Brazilian kids that would begin playing the world against itself. He dreams of things so dishonorable that he refuses to mention them to me, he dremas of marrying objects not worth marrying, an mp3 player, a small piece of paper, a spool of teflon impregnated fiber. I counsHis skull is crying and he is in love with a girl iwth thick hair. We lay in bed together, in a sort of scientific way, examinging each other, prodding each other and falling into a sort of aesthetic  prescient insight into each other as we engage sexually, all of us at once, and we remain as one afterwards, even after our pensies and asses and vaginas are returned to their non filled or filling states.  Tone already sees the 4 symmetrical dollars to post themselves in the eyes gauged tube for the evenings fashion week where kelly and katherine misleads in the chorusones of drunk girls in your  stylish  shirts undersized with his simple and stupid practivce, every beautiful boy and girl digging into the earth and occupying hostile ant hills as the swiss in their reduît. virgins dont exist a lot liked you at first. With your  your different physics and your band of friends  one was ready to forgive you a lot of things, including your joggings  with euro variet.y the man changes to cabbage head one, and does not forget it. But this was before. Before you begin employing more and more words hat you had the good taste to do to edit them out, for  posterity. Before the fur and deep deep painted animal ksins collection for portable women, women to be shipped around, women having sex with hold men, old men  aving sex with women in a way defying  beauty or creating their own. Before the productions of pastel instruments caught up with the gusts of the albums  your friends made and like .,  nothing goes more. Suddenly you still cause does more not import what, that we worried. One would want not that you do a damned stupidity, kind higher bid in failure, kind “look mom I know to do a headstand! look at dad I am the better piano man  of the grand plan in ssiam!(known world vs unknown imagined empty world)!”., you valleys better than that. Christopher meets me and we dig up and paint the faces of the dead. it is valid art to paint the dead as they consent by falling apart with you , an exposure of ones vulnerabilities alwawys showing a close and good relationship. a dead contractor s hands crave tools and we paint him like a n  early bronze age smith. robbing peter to pay paul„ painting paul rather than paying him, he goes around and comes back and we do it again.

techonloy

While the posters of his last realization monopolize ts and that one curls frankly the overdose, the myth(that means in urban language, yo man, “a trip in city to obtain itself a joint or drug, a boa constrictors head), the director that I say rippling, became  a symbol indeed a tourist concept of the country, we glance and see desert and they see a historical land full of secret answer s to unanswerables. But that remembers, o beating air with its chubby arms in a dance of Greekof the most talkative ones, and that did, with his acolyte , dressed up perched, the beautiful days of this  singing to the glory of what one called the cute pop? Jeremy says cuteness is important and book learning is a fake idea of knowledge created by medievel scholars, he tells me odysseus is clever and full of the capacities to overcome problems in life. I specify the dichotomy brought about by written languageand make al leather shield out of first issue book bindings before i attack the settled people  with my flaming sword thats simply visible to people i attack andd we return to a tribal sort of thinking. ive fixxed their thinking, jeremy pushed me into it and i can claim i was forced into it like a post 43 ss trooper, i’m dressed even beter, a neckerchief, a simple white shirt showing iff my new burn scars and tattoos of sybomlic things, other things as well. theres an electric ring around my finger that i use to impress people whove never met the omnibus of alchecmic texts

“if we don’t read the books that line our apartments we are no better than our dogs and cats” T M

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