Monday, April 13, 2009


After kissin’ his soul mate for 4,096th time Guarana divided a binary quandary as she suddenly found herself transformed into an albino cyber amoeba. Spit and sizzle. Yet, every word spoken at floating stuff switched Guarana from AC to DC and Mrs. Blob is unsure if she is attractive today or not all depending on their packaging. But hooking, with her infrared watch, Guarana propositions the floater's wrist and with immediate excursion his ark module mates her musty hippo. Kazam zip fuck!

Bump flesh, flesh bump.

Mere cells exuding projectile meaning as water-eyed Guarana studies nascent gel before now after then telegraphs unto wee hours of mourning for metronome stations across her balmy poolside music, steam air, and palms burnished over hades swim zone. Guarana caught in a buoy can jumping up tears ligaments to cause his mate to shut her lid so darkness gives him cause to want weed tinted portals on their wandering affair. You know, underwater breathing keeps Guarana safe from predators and sex change artists who will not disembark from warm safety of shored rock lines. Sinking, submerged, androgynous amber burning croak bytes. Oceanus' thin cosmic slush line spurting between here and there on targets.


First published Magazine Minima vol. 0.1 for Jonathan Carr, sometime in the late 20th century. The piece was written for the FLASH form, it is worth looking at the original publication to get a sense of this symbiotic integration.

The following narrative was NOT included with the original publication.

I like a story that leads one to believe that there is a story but hints at the same time that there may not be any story at all. Collage is a model to build upon for this purpose in that recognizable elements are blended with strips of color and alluding phrases to mimic connections of meaning that may, or may not, have substance. Synaptic jumps. Indecisive discomfort of question, a condition of life, is not quite hell, so the dividing river as an aquatic biosphere of myth & imagination is the primary metaphor. The thin line is like that space between dark and dawn when the swamp creatures suddenly go native and the birds sing eerily. Condensation of post-modern prose requires techniques of indirection and reflection to elicit a vision of a full world perspective in few words. Mrs. Blob, a cinema twist, familiarity with the hilariously camp horror. Here we have a note that triggers recognition surrounded by notes that submerge meaning. The meaning flows in and out of the sequential progression of the prose. Cut n' paste method with an applied intelligence of complex pattern recognition and selection. Taking the absurd and arbitrary and giving them a fantasy of meaning. Our mask is one of action, things moving around, and attracts through recreation, the creating of the new, in sex, the biologic counterpoised against the mechanical, AC/DC. The alliteration tends one towards feeling sedated, and missing the encoded meaning hid behind the rhythms of repetition, then bang, verisimilitude occurs in the flashing of common and vulgar, vulgate words, Spit. The enunciation of speech is a projection of thought in a river biosystem that is an imagined place conditioned and created by imagination… everything changes shape and meaning on the edge of hell, the veil of our sanity torn. Oceanus is the mom of the river Styx, a river that I imagine flows very slowly and stagnant. A log file not restored in order on the launch time.

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