Tuesday, May 26, 2009

the legend of the junk thing (v 1.1)


the universe room rests on the tallest of the seven pinnacles of RWE normal.

-ancient layered metal porcelain foam bubble sheathed in stinky black latertex-
pocked with portholes and wormy with tubing-
finished inside with deep triangular tufted blue velvet and gold buttons-
they say as they say it's haunted-
you'd go bugfuck after 2 hours-
3 meters in diameter-
something touched my foot.

it dates back at least 14 owners ago-
we were famous, once-
and we were called something else.

everything else kept getting away from it-
pouring away in space and time-
leaving a spire- instrument vined-
the blossoms block out the stars-
mainly just reflections off the sensor underclusters-
why even go there?

it's a dead zone
must be in a plasma burble
EM leaky snakes
gotta check it out
InFinks'll get in there


3-way stretch of the Volvox time fabric

he was in there when it happened-
when it ALL happened he says-
no matter what our clocks say-
but we're not talking years, either-
let's work together on this-
he says he didn't hear the voices-
he keeps that junk thing in there with him-
he probably talks to that-
probably hit him on the head-
no one really missed him much-
thought he took off-
he HAD to-


he told me about it

junk thing came from earth
junk thing came from a dump
junk thing can speak
it's only a speaker box
that's all that's left after what went down
but that's enough
junk thing had a heart
a human heart...
in a champagne cooler
brain is an ant colony
in Orange SmartSoil
junk thing is 100% recycled
junk thing is 82% plastic
junk thing is quasi-organic
extremophilic microbes live inside it
harvesting the heat from a cesium pit

struck by lightning
haunted by self-assembling memes
touched by the hand
like an eyeball shitting in the woods
smart phones
smart cards
smart pots
smart shirts
in a washing machine
pulls antifreeze, sulpher, hydrogen and blood from the rain
spiders in bondage weave its nerves
bids the dogs and gulls to do things for it
they bring cameras, smoke detectors, eggshells and matches
it smokes and creaks
(it's just junk creep)
junk thing has no particular sex
junk thing loves sex

junk thing thought about sex all the time
junk thing didn't know what sex was
junk thing just wanted to love everyone and everything
junk thing confused coition with consumption
and excretion
junk thing used everything and gave gifts to everyone
it makes origami from aluminum and sandpaper
the stuff it shits
sculpts the earth
with its vibratory feeders

from the main rear nozzle
makes its own architecture
it's got libraries made of sand
there are parts of it all over now
it vents and sucks
it clicks and tickles
buzzes and pops
softly
softly
seething
seeing wrongs that must be righted
a force for good
a force for the downtrodded
the damaged
the damned...

don't miss the next installment of the legend of the junk thing- "junk thing knocks over the worlds largest gene bank"- coming soon to a retina near you

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

FOP stood leaning on a distant tree

the false old pope wearily closed his eyes-
his longbow nooking between bark and skin-
sweat flowing into the interstices-
fingers slackly resting on the grip...

opened a bit, then closed-
blood flow concentric waves of color washed across his darkness-
a tickling parade of frequencies that soothed...

then a quick series of pulses in intensity-
(the fibers of the carpet rustled)-
head still; the skin slitted equatorially; the orbs rotated 23 degrees to his left-
at the edge of his high res sight a glinting gold thing...

i don't know where everyone is exactly-
i can feel them in this space-
or maybe just in the next room over-
the dust mites whisper...

while some dendrites were pruned, others were growing...

he relaxed into a rhythm-
and studied the others...

something about a sweet spot-
I don't know what she was referring to-
void upon void-
a hole in the noise for a space-
plia spends too much time in the eyebrary-
pink carpet syndrome-
but I can't ignore the possibility that this could have something to do with the attack or whatever it was...


the fart slitting smiled and spoke:



i'm in the eye
i can see everything here
full immersion
you don't know what you're missing
you're taking this way too seriously
showing pink noise
do you know what you JUST said?
christ i didn't fucking kill him
read my BITCH
can i have that?

who is playing that guitar?
IS that a guitar?

Thursday, May 7, 2009

...branches of constantly streaming data...

-voices of the chaotic humming of a well-worn ventilation fan-
answered by the well-phrased ticking of large metal structures thermally squirming-
the hiss and rumble of a loud rock band coming from a very distant room-
small animals and even plants scurry and flit and sit and speak and squawk-
mostly pets, presumably-
some might even be real-
and there are always conversations between crew-
just at the limit of audibility-
archaic artifacts bleeping and clicking-
radiations of all frequencies sizzle-
converted into sight and sound and touch-
a twenty-second century virtual cockpit-
virtual space ship?-
I can zoom in anywhere-
to any branch of data i choose-
follow the curves-
life is different after the End of Science-
i keep reminding the Cromag-
just the whole nature of reality has changed since the discovery of RUP-
Raw Universal Power-
i can listen to the paint drying in the lounge (a seven year project)-
and it all makes sense-
really-



-Bordo has been obsessively trying to prove the existence of an out there-
beyond the skin we share-
beyond the experience that is Bordo?-
I never tire of his reports-
-each of us does what we want-
sometimes it's a bit confusing during a crisis-
each of us believing in sometimes vastly diverging interpretations of the data-
each of us is quite insane-
we all live in our own modable fantasy worlds-
each of us can be lethally competent-
each of us, to the exclusion of the others, knows the true nature of our mission-

it looks like a big snail-
and a ball-
and a fairground wrapped around a very small planet-
I filter the voices for words that I recognize-
sometimes they call your name-
speaking of the radio-
there was a seizure-
i would experience such joy as would be inconceivable in ordinary life-
such joy that no one else could have any notion of-
i would feel the most complete harmony in myself and in the whole world-
and this feeling was so strong and sweet that for a few seconds of such bliss I would give ten or more years of my life-
even my whole life perhaps-

I've come to tell you about a spot in the sound-
a round spot in the sound---