skinner

box fan

vader

 

i am a

luminous

egg,

made

from

finite

fibers

mirror

to the

infinite

emanations

at large,

lit from

within at

the point

of my

assemblage.

an eon

between a

rosebud

bundled

sleigh ride

and a san

pedro easter,

grandma

infinity and

a saturnal

primordial

soup cooked

on a slow

burner bound

to the camper

of creature

comforts.

a redlined

nighttime in

the valley of

the kings.

i punch the

clown, shit

the bed and

shoot the

moon. when

i run out of

ammunition

i abandon

cover and

bolt hell bent

for leather in

a hail mary

melee into

the heart of

certain death.

i die certainly,

save scum

an

unassuming

morning in

a top down

isometric

turn based

open world

rpg on a

quest to

brew coffee

and pace

the land of

nod. i find a

comfortable

gameplay

feedback

loop and

grind

away like

amphetamine

teeth in an

effort to farm

experience

and level

up.

i distribute

my skill

points

into the

appropriate

places. my

brain in a

jar pickled

in the

philosopher’s

punch. 

a palm

read

esoteric

weather

pattern

predicts

an encrypted

storm cloud

in a post-war

bedroom

full with a

veritable

rainbow of

collectible

kitsch, a

perennial

pop culture

homage to

the ineffable

name. a

concentrated

dissertation

on the dense

and austere

effigy of the

unknowable.

psilocybin

skeleton

keys to pass

the wards of

an

imprisoned

pineal in a

fluoride cell.

nuclear

laughter

in a cocoon

hover

between

brothers

in no time.

a vomiting

sun in

sunglasses,

a flying

nazi robot

sasquatch,

a gauntlet

garnished

archon

archetype

juxtaposed

a hot cup

of illuminati

coffee and

a retarded

smiling

cigarette. a

grinning gel

tab, grilled

cheese and

cheeseburger,

a monocled

sperm, and

a weltered

wooden

impetus.

a single

effort of

sustained

impeccability,

do not feed

the demons.

an infant’s

coup echoes

against the

currency

spell of

the

great

forgetting.

every word

ever uttered

in every

language

ever spoken

is quite

simply put,

an

overcomplicated

way of

saying,

om.