04 Soft Spot

His honorable, a cut-throat eidetic parvenu, Cal called Dumpy.

Eidelons arranged themselves into names of gunslingers, this one Dumpy had slid in again as between wall and wallpaper.

Like ransom for the gods abyssal and adrift — saltatory spasm of a thing strange brutal and greedy — always runs into the absurd, its beauty mystifying.

Thick hues scurried.

Pound’s translation of Sappho’s poem — aha, Cal read —

Got rejected as not in accordance with earlier standards’ — issues and fillers in. Pound’s blank but beautiful — like Haiku but Japanese.

Cal thought Pound and god: emptiness learning how to bleed.

Cal’s house was a clutter bomb. It had low-ceilings — Every surface a hostile hosting of piles — mail books glasses, plates — made it to sink, he soldiered thru.

Throat suddenly tightening — Grotesque composits, beckoning, well godlike.

Cal often felt “calling” of death like a light socket, plugged into the restless.

Death, that is, the Inquisitor.

Death? procures cautiously? A curio. Lonely and haunting. An excavator of the impenetrable. A well the wall a will — His mind rut and cast with deciphering of its potents — dogged replete grave poisonous devious. Wicked enthrall… Anger swarmed about it with immortal beauty, gauntlets —

Justified itself?

To sire, acquire fuel and tarmac where zero kills the curve and makes it jagged — That lovely lord of maths skimming over the Intransigence — fondling with tempo.

How the real seemed to peal off into decimals, intimate with sound. Never quite — trusted?

Front patches of lawn — brown, he mowed maybe twice a summer but weeded and seeded never, and even the front yard was fenced. This small house — lazy, brazen quaint bungaloid squalor. Subject to German spectres at dawn.

Sweet lurid defenses. Sounds outside of time. A loud raven birding like hunger after its patch for poison. Berries marked it. A saddle that goes into battle, oo lah the desert of the real, blessed and cursed, riding an enemy whose blood sings high and bly — and guts his holy thirst. As duty, curses and nurses it —

Enigmatic blusters could hold Cals attention for long lost hours. On edge with its false convictions —

False means what — freedom, astonishment. Voice inside a voice inside a fist — leaning against lampost — like holy water. Cal aching for holy water that lovely holy fire imposes. Raging with scars, ardent and hopeless, like dust-collecting around his “a part ness” —

The thing of the will — ill fill nill spill, that desires and covets aghast a-gasp obnubilious obmurmurings, howls after beauty evil scud dray.

For those who cannot meet half way.

Heart loft like stench of gun powder, moseys in.

The divine posies of restless concubines. An alarmingly lethal map – where marauders of the skull — kill to eat eat to pray. Sacrificial furibundo — blusters glisters across ruins, and slavery still stuns the brain. And theres no one to blame.

And by its strangeness, noble invidia, sword by love grew uncontainable in pants — a gun is a drug is a beautiful tomb raider, dutiful host unzipped it, and with Onan’s wretched claw, all things unjust could be made holy —

A vision of horror released from gates of madness — reaching after peak for a leak, the excess extemporaneous, reeled itself in — by charging death a final reward — slaves uncanny beauty like gods hunger for your duty, to your death, a beauty bursting out beyond tests.

Of unholy time. Don the death, don the thing, ensorcelled in arms and legs, dripping with the majestic sacrificial — as blood of omen and death possessed — Cal’s dick soars with violence — unforgotten lands boiling over in the sands — its sweetness burning burning —

Into strange symmetries —

Floors, were covered with hard coiled rugs.

Pauling on organic chemistry Cal thought of as contingent fertilizer. Totalizing.

The thing hard squeezed  — liberatinig Tezcatlipocas stubborn lust, where from it peaks. From nuff to nil —

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