/lit/ - Literature

ה (Hei)

…electrons have moved around the cortex; they've goaded their master awake into his own again, and he finds himself awake, beheld through a window to a floor of maple and of hickory, sweet and virginal as Cumberland unfound…

To what tune has he woken now?
It's the leaves, once still;
now synthesizing federal their solar sugars
through their brazen collectors…
as an eddie passes its whirling tendrils though the canopy,
they teach each other the art of painting,
just one continuous stroke on the sky,
and it throws the gust into a somersault by its eager dynamic,
falling with a disruptive rustle
on the open grave below,
dead brethren chiming despite achromatic cells
an organic whisper, chiding all those
that possess locomotion not to fall prey
to the victims of regal process
and waft with their stimulant away
to an unseen clearing…
An ocular diversion heralds the way!
There surely is a panorama projecting from inside:
More and more dead loom over the surface
and disintegrate before his eyes;
the decomposition sheds glinting
the glossy jackets that excite
the movement of his limbs towards auspice,
the locus of his five senses to focus…

"Spring 2015... a manuscript of an adolescent's hurried attempt to salvage his final teenage Year, from flying the confines of an airplane to riding his Silver Sayara toward the sadistic Thumb of the unforgiving West to going back home a doomed Performer again... "

The events in the story are true, my perceptions truer (to my vigor anyway)...

There is a section-by-section commentary at the pastebin, /V17G2Wxw; the .txt version is at /MgZmU2EA (I recommend the link to smashwords in the intro though). Comment or email (in the intro too) me for any questions not answered in the commentary.

Be how you like, this is my opus so far.

We stopped last week at Book IV; let's continue.

>>6738281

Book IV: Prime & Patricia

(2)

On her enigmatic walk alone
she passed in awe of the testimony,
she passed by with a simple statement
on whose elastic I stumbled after her...
Upon asking about the rest of the shore
she suggested a cloister to the remote north instead;
obstructed by her carnelian Ring,
she stroked my hand as she indicated
the sluggish motion to shake it
and bid me farewell…

Such is the dilemma from hitched Patricia;
I grasp her still-unruffled Grace
with which she chides the Spurner of the Grapes,
the Adultery in my mind forms my homage
with which she scorns the Serayites fallen from her…

Book IV: Prime & Patricia

(1)

Let me tell you about an Orchard's conscious transformation into a Vineyard:

What low-lying coast had come into being
from across that rocky jut;
I had reached it on a fickle day
on the morning bus;
the original artisans of these parts,
themselves a fairer succession to the sooty Stragglers
who remained the stoic Serfs to their savage nature
as their Brothers became adorned as green eagles just across the border
their sects both abandoned their firm Fruits here
that had been confined to the stormy fuschias
which had convalesced from their feted fertility
through the fringeland who was acting such a vain diorama:
the washed-up weed all scraggled and warmly saturated in its rancid basking,
the sand ground coarse from the latter,
the deceptively pacific spray which had splayed nieve gulf men's vessels
on his foolish desire to be embraced by them for one instant…
once all coalescing in their unique estuary
now being admired like a lavender-frock'd model forever idle
as an underestimated watercolor
now hanged by a nail upon the drafts of her own similar galleries;

The snaking of the vines
floored on the ground are interpreted as robust
as the flowering of the most lusty sequoias through their turbid medium;
on my ant's scamper up every daunting grain that makes the Seaboard
see clear down her big South;
from this evidence, I had supposed they had no other aim in life
only her invested Revelers remained 'tween the photolithic dales
in favor of yielding more fermented thyme
hidden in the confines of the valley
sober Weeds swill their tart Zinfandel...

So the sugars stratified on the underside of the Teat,
their fleshy lymph had thickened,
and degenerated the well-intention'd seed!
Adorned in such ermine, I stroked it...
It had graced even the humble adobe of its streets,
but who had attracted the tarnished of palate
in addition to the by-product of olde Palatinate?
‘Twas argyll pastels of sewn Spirit that brittled their outer skin,
that had consumed the poison and petrified its fleshiness
into tessalatory scaling on their delicate Organ...
O, to be a parasite on their confused hospitality!

Going down for the first time,
I saw the Vineyard of God on the murky sea
when I first came to this place
I wanted Old Man Prime's Bride as an ideal,
not as the smattered individual I had truly laid eyes on,
for my own, even going to the bar
for a dry slake from his Chalice,
except that I knew this man’s taste meant other Sours as well...

I nestled myself inside the silty shoulder of the shore
so ceramic like a salt-and-pepper Clavicle
so prone to each tame tide;
buried in its cold sediments,
I watched the surfers
etch along what little arching tolerance
those aborted surges could provide,
the lines of their lives
unaware of it in the joy of their novice;
not a care to each dousing wave
leeching the my form's grave covering
of any Oil...

>>6735074
>>6736430

Admittedly, my strident, novel-style prose does need some work (this probably explains the seeming emphasis on phrasing); it's hard for me to write a full novel. Then again, I didn't intend for this work to tell the story the way a novel does, though there is surely a temporal progression. I aimed to capture the action the way I process reality, a single vignette at a time, like those old carousel photo viewers. I process too many things in my functional life as abstractions of what they really are (directions, truths, etc.), so I wanted to capture the desire to tack down a paradigm of those generalities naturally residing in my associations (hence all the capitalized nouns) as a force for the protagonist's creative drive (and thus his desire to finally define a power dynamic long lacking to his environment).

Yes, there is a LOT of vocabulary involved in this work, and I do mean to do that. My vocabulary can be cumbersome (it's cumbersome for me to think precisely or mathematically a lot of the time due to this), partially on accident and partially on purpose. It's wordy for two reasons. First, I needed to exercise my (self-recognized) ability to associate disparate words and morphologies phonetically. If you notice, the lines do have some sort of meter, especially with rhyming between the middle and initial parts of the lines. I won't call the meter regular in any way, but that is the manner with which my art rolls off my mind, and it feels natural and conducive to the dynamic of the vignette I am making. Second, I have a STRONG affinity toward comparative etymology and of how the meaning of words compare through time (for this reason, you will see words I borrow or make up derived from foreign languages). It is my intention for the reader to analyze the vocabulary as smaller forces forming the larger aesthetic established per vignette. As the reader basks in the shade of my rhythm and watches the world inside and out, I also want him to look upward at how the leaves and branches intertwine, how they produce their color, etc. to make such a beautiful canopy (that's the best way I can put it haha).

pic related, it's American elms, my favorite type of canopy

>>6736322

Book III: Pardes & Passerines

(2)

Her tetrarch Butterfly flitted o’er the sliver of our Era,
its compound eyes scanning out the fate of his supposed Predators,
then escapes me through the fog;
the ambiguity of its depthless gaze casts a confusion over spent days,
its disparate Teeth suck the Sea asunder;
Its Washboard was waiting for the deluge
Its delicate Ridge fed me in the rump of the land
Its Juice made me thank its sources
these first pleased my Proboscis…

Yet 'twas not pastorals of the Glade,
but the legions of Calafia
that gushed fertile as the Amazons,
only their spandex contours can I truly siphon
from a superficial chagrin…

Those Serayites are truly the She-Successors
I seeketh thee, O 'merican Pardes,
as cover for Hope's looming ambush!

***

I am speaking a new language;
My tongue, from my eavesdroppings none too changed
lets me consume no Color…

My soul, to my tongue all fructose-tang'd
unfronded the all-sensory-connect'd
and then paid the toll in the course of that organ's savoring
from the Knoll I behold
That upon which I swore Parole's oath
so greatly extolled:

The omni-vaunt scorning of the Parole
lets not an orange Oriole gorge from his citrus Petiole
atime his pileated Era,
but fumes a Jay from its promontory scrub
face black from trite contact
with toilers' superfluous graphite,
shoulder blades sharp to cull Words' worn and black,
haunch thick to swoop its Body blue,
a Fire rages luminous in their bristling lairs,
Both cannot agree on the method of its Fruits' ingestion 'til
both accept it snipped and rancid…

Those blazed wings must fill out as fingers now
To make my plucking nigh,
For my designs be not smoothed over by these eyes
like those of my Nectar-fed contemporaries;
they must be processed farcically
in their mutual dialogue,
a comedy relayed instead of
an clip choppily streamed.

One Loathsome transforms to a precious Many
through whose Medium I cast an ever greater inquiry,
their salutations are exchanged with ever greater cynicism;
In even the wafty aspirants' vaunted transcendence,
the force of their contraction crops them lamentations
that used to issue forth from the very crooks of its symbol,
even in ancient aspiration,
from the deliberations of its distant Langue unmov'd;

Its world is crude
its energy is crude and vulcan
the very names of its sacred letters ablative
and quickly communicative
the Parole remains supreme!
for all my impish choice,
I ogle its snaking Bay!
I agree to its seasome Ravages!

The paradigm to record every feat
is a semantic chart of action I keep ahold…
its columns are a line of blinds!
moving in timely sines to entice me,
each slat of paper Division
exposed the birdseye Vista behind it,
and every zephyr interwove our gradual rows
This Grid maps the Fledgling put…

The Taurine Tang has shouldered through,
my 'buds unfurled a bivouac for its tenure,
my heart murmurs that I hyper may speak from within it…

Book III: Pardes & Passerines

(1)

The shuttle had ignored me,
transfixed in glint, blinded by visceral Photon;
I missed already that verdant Third so opposite,
to content myself with its western improvement...

A drought had been long afflicted upon this green Gash…

The State had spent such a basking time in the sun,
such a brilliant scrub unto the faulted earth
to issue forth off her imperfect edifices a cyclical abrasion,
reflect the formerly flaxen fiber in its every minute undulation
impressed by the shade of the withered feral grain,
to have made whatever on surrounding hill hereby
a rueful chafe scattered,
a cry came from a most supplanted countryside…

Olde 'merican Pardes had biddeth
'mong the sprawls of her ornate Ur!
Listen first
from public billboard
her vaunted epitaph:

Perishing ward
of the biggest urban sprawl in the world;

Ravishing rood
'gainst the sickest slothen pall in the settled sur;

Derelict wood
within carrion for the warden's jessed condor;

Sobering food
from the pessimist minstrel in the moor…

Her orchard clad in concrete
Was its actual wald,
Makes her blush in over-orb's equal autumn
through the vigorous oaks
and sends forth its sloven understory along the
inconvenient grassy margins,
and evaporated her need of brackish breasts…

Her urban lovers beneath, by whom she's lightly ashen
ravished by concrete skyscrapers those children erect for her,
exposed by the staccato Spectrum they emit
to hide her writhing soil'd face
amongst their vascular,

Whole groves of her sierra breadth they had staved off
by those peals of fluorescent light
which were anchored in the wild grating
of their myriliths' shadows
as had the fears of their eastern Fathers…

The Bay with her riparian arms had embraced the brunt of my dreams…

From the crimp of her radius
I found a southbound vein
in the single carriageway,
drawing gawking stares along each side
of her upturned palm
through either sheer mandible,
permeating the vitality of her vessels
that do grime her own bowel,
Her vessels be her revelers exhausted
spent oils and rainbow rain
from their amorphous amber Sayara…

To the lowland of gritty produce,
I pared the living cases of greenery
from their herbaceous hearts,
with my earthy Iris
its shear constriction,
groping the petals of each fleshy ventricle
rent from the twice-removed Kemet…

All the threatening tongues unfurled
round this Peninsula, the most chiclet cosmopolitan tongues
my chosen hub concerned itself with…

I bid welcome to the west point of her melded Rhombus;
more occidental elements of its Ordum
had hewn a Cell for me…

>>6734387

*(3), not (2)

>>6735352

Book II: Malinche's Seray

(2)

As is customary in such agreements, the vitality of the Performer
assaults her audience not as a single episode of redemption
for her true tribal-tat lover that inebriated in a nearby town,
but rather like a ginger lichen
creep’d upon her dumb smooth slab,
where each juvenile of the latex'd audience
is regaled with an ever more passive, commensal stroke of her beholding…
Every garish volley took on the breadth of her body;
the very lily-din of the stereo infested his fine Tunnels of perception
through their threadbare velvet carpets,
once purveying thoughtful gales
wrought a herringbone trail anew through his frayed latticework…

I scraped these feigns with the air of an aloof connoisseur
'gainst the syndicated movements of the other side of humanity.
my passages were already ruminat'd with her body as whole…
her glittery basidiocarp now snaked,
around
my…
torso,
isolated from her lucrative apparatus…

…I must burn through my instars
to ride this strange canker 'round my body,
O, was the time nigh for this…

"What kind of molly are you on?!"
my mycelia smothered their own host…

…Miswoven lobe's spattering
'Twas intimated latex firmament 'twixt the skins
permeating rayonnant microstitch a finger by itself, it's a…
kitten…
each fine hyphae embolden as dirty words
the given now be, *beholden*, switched, slurren…

"I want some, whatever it is…"
Twenty dollars?
"Of course, if you want a therapist, come sit in my lap later; I shall be here."

Yet Malinche was not now ready for her Lord
though I had wanted for so long in meeting the mother of a race,
her fellow Serayites lay fanning their salary
while Hope spilt emulates her estranged Sister in desperation…
they both proved wanting to me...

Book II: Malinche's Seray

(1)

My leave had proven to be an indicative sham.
as before, any such revelation from the past
had degenerated into a debasement of my Freedoms...

One wadden length of unraveling hour before
rushed departure,
slight to procure illicit velvet gaud hard promised…

I had greeted the bouncer as an old friend…
I parroted the Savior arms-wide as he found me
bereft a weapon against what was inside.
The cash register tended the elbow of the lustering hallway,
almost lost in the black paint.
I disdained from the typical floor I found; however,
There I was.

Serayites had opened up the noble harem for olde hire,
'cept these tantalii scorned the male Sucessor to their tradition,
gyrating as they were on their poles distorted by mine own aversion;
from the burnished swatch of skin my wanton conscience
so selected, I surmised:

The mestizo is mine.

Her face's Image widened shakily from my hasty steps toward her,
one of quetzal Temples, all beady-glint and wide within...
This lesson was more appropriate than I expected tonight.

"You ready?"
I want to have a private party.

She clasped my hand with her own sooty digits to lead me over there.
The scene grew a microcosm from inside
the plush cubicle I had known at some dream back.
Her ravens'-tendrils made shards of the meekly ultraviolet awn,
transsecting each glowering projection from
the fuzzy disco ball and its own singed source,
proportions morphing by
its leery orbit and her positioning…

"You know how to do this, right?"
I knew when to initiate an educational experience… might I strip naked in your presence?

Demure laughter.
"No, dear, that's unlawful here."

Not on the other coast, it isn't. You see, I'm the most blasé of adventurers, I go for half a grand there…

Her thighs well-defined from gravity-defying ritual consumed
my thigh surly from wandering other austere hills.
The gold glitter in her thong strained mute and murky
'gainst its polyester. There would be a thud of foundation'd flesh
for a minute to define the session,
then it would dissipate into a hint of leaden cellulite.
This motion was being executed in the neighboring felten stalls
Exponential in the sowing of their stolid Kernels.

The rings fastened to the valves of her perfumed Providence
tasted sweet yet peppery amidst such refuse
not a single retraction spritzed from her toilette fuses
whipping lushly jingling from ear to my ear
as she bared her chest to my noble head…
Crow's feet rifted the recesses of those pliable dimples
to salve me of her saded diligence with every morose wile.

>>6734375

Book I: Return Flight

(2)

My former house was built on a rim,
my former school in its valley.
When the jubilation of my kindred masses would swell many a baited moon,
for feted pitches trivial
one's extra giddy chants would spill over its bowl onto our rim
to send my own eager sweat running back down its cracked curvature.

This run manifested itself in Hill and Highway…

After a dense wander, my pocketed Cell felt warm.
I even checked my home screen in domicile fashion to marvel at
the carefree plasma numbers purring the most outrageous digits
against my refined sense of time management…

I came to the Alma Mater at her forlorn hour.
True to previous rumors,
its edifice sit demolished for defied expansion,
a fence around the very inviting wings.
Going about the corridors excited my overactive extrapolation,
imagining the grody lids on the ways peeled back and exposed
in the high-beam lights still on throughout the night
at extortional cost to my state,
beholden to the whims of whoever skulks the site
but to me at any rate…

Nothing quelled quadrilateral deflection from said power more
than the acoustic bricking 'long the honing trapezium
'twas my old midwife, a former Auditorium;
it was being condemned that very day…

Near Her tennis court's creme clay,
there lay a porcelain pisser meant to drain its Palladian parody;
Let’s masturbate in Memory…
'Twas unripen'd Hope with the towel 'round her torso
my refugee was the denizen of an oblivious underworld
She had avoided life's consummation
while harboring mutual joy
for the boy,
Four cosmic revolutions shy a score;
I had dropped my Reservoir under the Bridge of Trysts before…

My ubiquitous Creme fell a pirouette non sequitur into the rusting Sluice!

>>6734375

Book I: Return Flight

(2)

I had an aisle seat to everyone elses' stupor,
and no induction on my part
could possibly change this community
'til I colluded toward the jet set
with their inheritance to me,
God forbid I tamper with the continuity already in movement…
My faux mead verberated according to the turbulence in its shallow plastic holder.

I had left the wafty Mediterranean toward the humid Backwater
potent in the churning of my spoiling sense of rue,
and had slipped over the sparse Chaparral toward the privet here
that quailed at emulating exile's sun-baked flora on its captive plateau.
The length of the road from state's center to my home remained a long spike
etched into the most vehement regression
throughout the possibility of my travel over them for all my time.
From its hills made of iron,
my will to stand the ride had become steel in the mute apprehension
of setting into my loamy options.
had slowed to a stride into my former abode,
devalued by stucco as it was.
All the animals remained,
the muzzles of my stags all the sager from their tenure just outside the fence;
Muffling the thrall, a conure strutted forth to meet my appearance,
pupils oscillating along her radial lashes
An atonal chorus had resounded and hushed on the return of the second Straggler.

“So, you've come back to see your Mother again!”

I opened the door to my room and saw my looming shadow
over the homey comforter,
and all the other creature accouterments left for the next perspective buyer.
Not even the noon sun could snap me out of the relatively eternal Weekend.
My stay would be long and mired on this mattress
to shirk the repetition from my true cubicle on the Coast...
A Tabby's den it had been when its previous Orphan,
now doubly so, had laid her head on my pillow.
He had stayed an ashen gray.

Animals were all that lived in this place now, save my Mother;
young Wander still beckoned…

***

My Mother had wished me a peaceful night,
and every timber fibre in the hardwood floors seemed a thread
of some plushly wrought chantilly comforter displayed so unruffled
'tween the veneer of the magazines in my bathroom…
face timbre'd crisp by the pall of an amber scented candle
The noisy shot yearned for the more sultry
woven heavier through its straining pores...

My waft home had been the publicized version
of the retrospective revisit,
where I was expected to look upon my land of fare
in a condescending way aloof from the base Past
I shared by the endemic Cretins;
I now had to embark on my true relay back home
by grazing the institutions that had refined
my sense of purpose in the first place on my trajectory.
It was now a question of execution.

Book I: Return Flight

(1)

My position was falling low over the Southern sky.
Pockets of calm had caressed the underwings of my airplane
lulling the wings nod off in routine supplication,
subjecting the silver craft to rigorous turbulence.
Ten or so more units of pressure to break the stress treatment
welded onto her joints, then we all go into free fall,
one in acceleration, young and old, the corpulent and emaciated,
as the feather and the brick...

My innards swelled with another surge in aerodynamics… I was up again.
That was the only deep sleep I could attain in my current position,
that sleep in which the serotonin causes your own senses to roll
a rapid-eyed freefall of their own…

I guess my emotions and my sense of self-preservation still hadn't contrived yet.
I lifted my head off of the back of the other seat.
There is no space for adjustment at all
against the dusty periwinkle of an economy class seat...
It had gained its grout with the attainment of miles of domestic sky,
maybe some foundation from the wispy crags of a former menopausal episode.

One whose eyes reflected such upholstery had been sighted…
easy as living in that time, a long-lost Acquaintance had appeared on my way home there.
She sat afront me with sated maturity already emblazoned on her jaded face...
Had I minced a hello, she'd have released a demure relapse of our Education,
for she had never seen me in such clothing before,
or had even remembered in turn of any of my recent decisions
that wound me up in her scenario...

As the other two of her Triumvirate weighing in lead me A to B to C,
my countenance felt obligated to melt cast lead type once more...
Two had talked of greener transactions on the glucose vignettes of their
so forward-oriented minds
immolating in their compulsory expenditure
as their last responsible action...
Their bright glimmer, their perennial gurgle,
product of a previous flight exhumed,
from a time when my current role was as relished
as the murky-sweetened streams
had abounded in their own autotrophoic Dream...

My head could only fear pressure that should have ruptured my homeostasis
while tinnitus restimulated brisk in my ears
by the incessant jet of comforting air in-vessel.
The tense trill of the digital riffs had shorn my memory
from the scene to a damned shrill meadow, released through the surge
of every metal-forg’d blade that only came on a cognitive lapse…
they rippled serene on a long-consumed artificial wind…
I was going deaf to the fixtures on board my experience,
and my equipment was deteriorating to steely irrelevance
'til I might right myself in my reality again...

א
DISSEMINATE.

…Thus shall exist the boy in himself,
and shall this motive suffice to satiate his sum…

So unfolds the sacred Soliloquy,
the Forefront of epic Vantage…
His ink spatter'd Quell bewails
its timeless Incontinence,
almost sucks the Purpose
from its own blackened Nib
to avoid pinning one Paragraph,
for its sooty Tip resting frozen Pigment
proves itself too obtuse
to penetrate the harlequin Parchment
only a Soul can tangiate,
too blunt to define
the angstrom Edges
of the child's holy Monad,
not so cursive
as to capture the all-one-seething-Noise
by its Contours
on conscience's Cartography;
Alas! Colossus-unto-himself
tediously dissolved into Phonetics,
whipped to Charms by ascending ox Goads,
stored to Smolders by Phylacteries of four-prong'd Fire
'til he reminisces naked over his Destruction,
only to be teleported Sublime to Entities unfathomable…
inhabit a remote Cortex reassembl’d…

Serayite,
or the Curious Frottage ‘twixt the Langue and the Parole

Ghazy Loon

Published by Ghazy Loon at Smashwords
©2015

To my soon-expir’d Teenage,
With its perverted Hope and its seminal Destiny,
to Columbia Intrinsic with her divers representations,
and to Maria Mondragon
Table of Contents
א (Aleph)
Book I: Return Flight
Book II: Malinche’s Seray
Book III: Pardes & Passerines
Book IV: Prime & Patricia
ה (He)
Book VI: Masochist’s Meiosis
Book VII: Matriarch of Ur
Book VIII: Wandering the Peninsula
Book IX: Balustrades of Purgatory
י (Yodh)
Book XI: Performer’s Premiere

"Spring 2015... a manuscript of an adolescent's hurried attempt to salvage his final teenage Year, from flying the confines of an airplane to riding his Silver Sayara toward the sadistic Thumb of the unforgiving West to going back home a doomed Performer again... "

The events in the story are true, my perceptions truer (to my vigor anyway)...

There is a section-by-section commentary at the pastebin, /V17G2Wxw; the .txt version is at /MgZmU2EA (I recommend the link to smashwords in the intro though). Comment or email (in the intro too) me for any questions not answered in the commentary.

Be how you like, this is my opus so far.

>>6716807
(5.2/12)

On her enigmatic walk alone
she passed in awe of the testimony,
she passed by with a simple statement
on whose elastic I stumbled after her...
Upon asking about the rest of the shore
she suggested a cloister to the remote north instead;
obstructed by her carnelian Ring,
she stroked my hand as she indicated
the sluggish motion to shake it
and bid me farewell…

Such is the dilemma from hitched Patricia;
I grasp her still-unruffled Grace
with which she chides the Spurner of the Grapes,
the Adultery in my mind forms my homage
with which she scorns the Serayites fallen from her…

(5.1/12)

Book IV

Let me tell you about an Orchard's conscious transformation into a Vineyard:

What low-lying coast had come into being
from across that rocky jut;
I had reached it on a fickle day
on the morning bus;
the original artisans of these parts,
themselves a fairer succession to the sooty Stragglers
who remained the stoic Serfs to their savage nature
as their Brothers became adorned as green eagles just across the border
their sects both abandoned their firm Fruits here
that had been confined to the stormy fuschias
which had convalesced from their feted fertility
through the fringeland who was acting such a vain diorama:
the washed-up weed all scraggled and warmly saturated in its rancid basking,
the sand ground coarse from the latter,
the deceptively pacific spray which had splayed nieve gulf men's vessels
on his foolish desire to be embraced by them for one instant…
once all coalescing in their unique estuary
now being admired like a lavender-frock'd model forever idle
as an underestimated watercolor
now hanged by a nail upon the drafts of her own similar galleries;

The snaking of the vines
floored on the ground are interpreted as robust
as the flowering of the most lusty sequoias through their turbid medium;
on my ant's scamper up every daunting grain that makes the Seaboard
see clear down her big South;
from this evidence, I had supposed they had no other aim in life
only her invested Revelers remained 'tween the photolithic dales
in favor of yielding more fermented thyme
hidden in the confines of the valley
sober Weeds swill their tart Zinfandel...

So the sugars stratified on the underside of the Teat,
their fleshy lymph had thickened,
and degenerated the well-intention'd seed!
Adorned in such ermine, I stroked it...
It had graced even the humble adobe of its streets,
but who had attracted the tarnished of palate
in addition to the by-product of olde Palatinate?
‘Twas argyll pastels of sewn Spirit that brittled their outer skin,
that had consumed the poison and petrified its fleshiness
into tessalatory scaling on their delicate Organ...
O, to be a parasite on their confused hospitality!

Going down for the first time,
I saw the Vineyard of God on the murky sea
when I first came to this place
I wanted Old Man Prime's Bride as an ideal,
not as the smattered individual I had truly laid eyes on,
for my own, even going to the bar
for a dry slake from his Chalice,
except that I knew this man’s taste meant other Sours as well...

I nestled myself inside the silty shoulder of the shore
so ceramic like a salt-and-pepper Clavicle
so prone to each tame tide;
buried in its cold sediments,
I watched the surfers
etch along what little arching tolerance
those aborted surges could provide,
the lines of their lives
unaware of it in the joy of their novice;
not a care to each dousing wave
leeching the my form's grave covering
of any Oil...

>>6712289
>>6714333

(3.2/12)

As is customary in such agreements, the vitality of the Performer
assaults her audience not as a single episode of redemption
for her true tribal-tat lover that inebriated in a nearby town,
but rather like a ginger lichen
creep’d upon her dumb smooth slab,
where each juvenile of the latex'd audience
is regaled with an ever more passive, commensal stroke of her beholding…
Every garish volley took on the breadth of her body;
the very lily-din of the stereo infested his fine Tunnels of perception
through their threadbare velvet carpets,
once purveying thoughtful gales
wrought a herringbone trail anew through his frayed latticework…

I scraped these feigns with the air of an aloof connoisseur
'gainst the syndicated movements of the other side of humanity.
my passages were already ruminat'd with her body as whole…
her glittery basidiocarp now snaked,
around
my…
torso,
isolated from her lucrative apparatus…

…I must burn through my instars
to ride this strange canker 'round my body,
O, was the time nigh for this…

"What kind of molly are you on?!"
my mycelia smothered their own host…

…Miswoven lobe's spattering
'Twas intimated latex firmament 'twixt the skins
permeating rayonnant microstitch a finger by itself, it's a…
kitten…
each fine hyphae embolden as dirty words
the given now be, *beholden*, switched, slurren…

"I want some, whatever it is…"
Twenty dollars?
"Of course, if you want a therapist, come sit in my lap later; I shall be here."

Yet Malinche was not now ready for her Lord
though I had wanted for so long in meeting the mother of a race,
her fellow Serayites lay fanning their salary
while Hope spilt emulates her estranged Sister in desperation…
they both proved wanting to me...

>>6712289
>>6712643

(3.1/12)

Book II

My leave had proven to be an indicative sham.
as before, any such revelation from the past
had degenerated into a debasement of my Freedoms...

One wadden length of unraveling hour before
rushed departure,
slight to procure illicit velvet gaud hard promised…

I had greeted the bouncer as an old friend…
I parroted the Savior arms-wide as he found me
bereft a weapon against what was inside.
The cash register tended the elbow of the lustering hallway,
almost lost in the black paint.
I disdained from the typical floor I found; however,
There I was.

Serayites had opened up the noble harem for olde hire,
'cept these tantalii scorned the male Sucessor to their tradition,
gyrating as they were on their poles distorted by mine own aversion;
from the burnished swatch of skin my wanton conscience
so selected, I surmised:

The mestizo is mine.

Her face's Image widened shakily from my hasty steps toward her,
one of quetzal Temples, all beady-glint and wide within...
This lesson was more appropriate than I expected tonight.

"You ready?"
I want to have a private party.

She clasped my hand with her own sooty digits to lead me over there.
The scene grew a microcosm from inside
the plush cubicle I had known at some dream back.
Her ravens'-tendrils made shards of the meekly ultraviolet awn,
transsecting each glowering projection from
the fuzzy disco ball and its own singed source,
proportions morphing by
its leery orbit and her positioning…

"You know how to do this, right?"
I knew when to initiate an educational experience… might I strip naked in your presence?

Demure laughter.
"No, dear, that's unlawful here."

Not on the other coast, it isn't. You see, I'm the most blasé of adventurers, I go for half a grand there…

Her thighs well-defined from gravity-defying ritual consumed
my thigh surly from wandering other austere hills.
The gold glitter in her thong strained mute and murky
'gainst its polyester. There would be a thud of foundation'd flesh
for a minute to define the session,
then it would dissipate into a hint of leaden cellulite.
This motion was being executed in the neighboring felten stalls
Exponential in the sowing of their stolid Kernels.

The rings fastened to the valves of her perfumed Providence
tasted sweet yet peppery amidst such refuse
not a single retraction spritzed from her toilette fuses
whipping lushly jingling from ear to my ear
as she bared her chest to my noble head…
Crow's feet rifted the recesses of those pliable dimples
to salve me of her saded diligence with every morose wile.

>>6709906
It reminds me of when I've been on my phone or laptop too long. There will come a time when technology will be seamlessly integrated with the elements of the Western canon, like when the hammer god of the men in the Bronze Age integrated with the natural gods of the first men. Good effort on that.

>>6712190
To tell you the truth, whether you meant it or not, this posts and the "hoo hoo i've had a few cocktails" line fit very well together, and due to the juxtaposition, I imagine that girl standing in the back of the tent (or low-lying prefab church as is common in the South), wild-haired Scots-Irish like the rest of those delirious worshipers, yet staring into the manipulating eyes of Pastor Zeke and forming her own counter-manipulation of modern mask and traditional scope under his floodlit shadow in the ligering night; imagine those two together behind the tent after the meeting is done, squaring each other up...

Sorry, sometimes I get carried away, and i love adding women into storylines in my head, especially when the image is provided, forgive me haha

btw i know what you mean about pentecostal services; I rain into a few on accident. The fervor is overwhelming. look up "pentecostal cleveland" on youtube and click the first result. That's what I think of.

>>6712635

(2.3/12)

I came to the Alma Mater at her forlorn hour.
True to previous rumors,
its edifice sit demolished for defied expansion,
a fence around the very inviting wings.
Going about the corridors excited my overactive extrapolation,
imagining the grody lids on the ways peeled back and exposed
in the high-beam lights still on throughout the night
at extortional cost to my state,
beholden to the whims of whoever skulks the site
but to me at any rate…

Nothing quelled quadrilateral deflection from said power more
than the acoustic bricking 'long the honing trapezium
'twas my old midwife, a former Auditorium;
it was being condemned that very day…

Near Her tennis court's creme clay,
there lay a porcelain pisser meant to drain its Palladian parody;
Let’s masturbate in Memory…
'Twas unripen'd Hope with the towel 'round her torso
my refugee was the denizen of an oblivious underworld
She had avoided life's consummation
while harboring mutual joy
for the boy,
Four cosmic revolutions shy a score;
I had dropped my Reservoir under the Bridge of Trysts before…

My ubiquitous Creme fell a pirouette non sequitur into the rusting Sluice!

>>6712456

(2.2/12)

I had left the wafty Mediterranean toward the humid Backwater
potent in the churning of my spoiling sense of rue,
and had slipped over the sparse Chaparral toward the privet here
that quailed at emulating exile's sun-baked flora on its captive plateau.
The length of the road from state's center to my home remained a long spike
etched into the most vehement regression
throughout the possibility of my travel over them for all my time.
From its hills made of iron,
my will to stand the ride had become steel in the mute apprehension
of setting into my loamy options.
had slowed to a stride into my former abode,
devalued by stucco as it was.
All the animals remained,
the muzzles of my stags all the sager from their tenure just outside the fence;
Muffling the thrall, a conure strutted forth to meet my appearance,
pupils oscillating along her radial lashes
An atonal chorus had resounded and hushed on the return of the second Straggler.

“So, you've come back to see your Mother again!”

I opened the door to my room and saw my looming shadow
over the homey comforter,
and all the other creature accouterments left for the next perspective buyer.
Not even the noon sun could snap me out of the relatively eternal Weekend.
My stay would be long and mired on this mattress
to shirk the repetition from my true cubicle on the Coast...
A Tabby's den it had been when its previous Orphan,
now doubly so, had laid her head on my pillow.
He had stayed an ashen gray.

Animals were all that lived in this place now, save my Mother;
young Wander still beckoned…

***

My Mother had wished me a peaceful night,
and every timber fibre in the hardwood floors seemed a thread
of some plushly wrought chantilly comforter displayed so unruffled
'tween the veneer of the magazines in my bathroom…
face timbre'd crisp by the pall of an amber scented candle
The noisy shot yearned for the more sultry
woven heavier through its straining pores...

My waft home had been the publicized version
of the retrospective revisit,
where I was expected to look upon my land of fare
in a condescending way aloof from the base Past
I shared by the endemic Cretins;
I now had to embark on my true relay back home
by grazing the institutions that had refined
my sense of purpose in the first place on my trajectory.
It was now a question of execution.

My former house was built on a rim,
my former school in its valley.
When the jubilation of my kindred masses would swell many a baited moon,
for feted pitches trivial
one's extra giddy chants would spill over its bowl onto our rim
to send my own eager sweat running back down its cracked curvature.

This run manifested itself in Hill and Highway…

After a dense wander, my pocketed Cell felt warm.
I even checked my home screen in domicile fashion to marvel at
the carefree plasma numbers purring the most outrageous digits
against my refined sense of time management…