sleep away the little slices of death

the barking of the pagan yard ape. the roil of the starscape.

the sprinkling onanist zombiefying emptiness like pragmatic braying monkeymen capsizing their seed upon irresolute earth.













sweep the starstreets lined with cosmic dust.
















we explode seismically on top of one another. the orgasmic throes of death watch perpetuated in outside observatories.
















come select that which belongs to the innermost secrets of our ancestors.

mannequin by-product technology

the fortitude of our indifference to the celestial dreamscape haunts our nightmares continuously. the creator's grand romantic gesture was to give pain and suffering to hic creations. you're welcome.
















they retaliate by blasting themselves into the universe membrane.

the pressures inherent to deep space travel blew our minds.















mitochondrial abduction of the vain and vaccuous. he rejects them all.



















he rejects them all.

but keep the balast unwound to the stars, just in case.

your interstellar post-coital silence is deafening

and then the walls of sleep were awakened by the last thrust parabula to which we had peered through sunken eyes at the great magnitude. if there had been just one person in the in the entire system to have foreseen the careening cataclysm it would probably have been that limp-wristed physicyst from berkeley.

but alas, the great ending of our time catalogue in forseight by this f'n guy, pictued, his bald dome conspicuously ablaze in the noon sun.

the imprint of destiny mirrored in a celestial partner.

such a thing had already been chronicled through the ages. the ignorance echoes across millenium. we scribed nothing in response.

peephole debauchery mechanics

canned silence the reproach of agnosticism. we swept upon the hills steaming with blood and gristle for which the earthly cast no bounds. we looked through the pinprick of ages to an emboldened psychosis.















the impact of two thousand years of scientific advancement was too much for our small minds.
we blew nominal gaskets under stars cloaked in light.















we killed the messenger with kindness. "they" refer to their own delusion of grandeur with spotlights of masochism.

golden effigy prognosis

overlooking yonder, the cylindrical soothesayer of blasted intelligence.

monsters of our own creation. the napes of the back of our necks thick with shag carpeting. we moan and stretch the fibrosis of nighttime schizophrenia. how many times could the evolutions of our mistakes catch up to the fundamental illness of our dreams?

goshdarn those autofleshtone mannequins of ash propulsion that race masochistically through the fields of scooter's uncle.

those orbs that teem with life we blast off upturned faces to wipe away the must of recessive genes. come circle the monkey gland that neutralizes this plebian maket economy.