Desert Stormy v3

New formula pursuing with a purpose. First pursue “bones” underneath, however dense or hit up against rhyme, whatever angels, auditors or chars pop out — Let them come knocking, let them in as find. All will bare aspects cliche but pay no mind. Just accept it and see what you find. Do Char hunting with the Shakes. Then see what shimmers / reverbs / resonates.

2nd edit underway

Dell fell under plumb line. Nights mostly, looking for strays. What is the night. Why shimmers and reverbs, many ways hates the day?

Defiant addicted terrified chockfull of puerility and emptiness —

The Limbo curse — what so bewillingly rooted around after itself for every extension, every recursion.

Like a peach after its own pit. Hardness was a thirst.

Blue and red schemes, that arise in mean frenetic dreams then bust out beyond.

For what — lies beyond?

Foams sweet divine truancies, where crisis carries a stick, and a heartfelt growl deep and noble pleads with its own reprehensibility, penchant for aspirational deaths, crossing its chest — a mysterious willingness to merge anywhere anytime —

And deterg — On the mighty whats it. On god of Night.

As beauty had to touch it — where evil takes a proverbial crash flash spin — to come to know its merciless plight, crazy tragic puissantness, caught where fraught, where sweet enemies of fate, ring most defiant.

Berceau cerceau puceau pourceau — cradle hoop virgin hunger (homme vicieux aka porker) —

Loopy and roped to it somehow, preferences preferences? Tediums despair, shifty, violent, seductive treachery after infeasible scope — Dell leaped and fell.

Stove goes beep beep beep beep beep etc. Turn it off turn it all off.

Oh what — what was it all for — fucking transcendence?

Where drizzle bawling sizzles, suddenly breaks out sweet and wild, everything becomes hunted, skin to neck, gestures naughty haughty —

Shaking alive, with quantum impermeable apitpat of death.

NOTES next dig thru and be incorporated —

This piece is not yet accessible. Bbb** gets to accessible through repetitions and reversals. Repeating words usually three times — just by itself perforces immediate reverb. Also he is playing like some salubrious contagion with verbs and french pronouns.

Oh Cave of the Winds. Immediacy — the reverb.

Call call call. What to do about Dark and Stormy. Leave him off of list? Brings out the absolute best is worst — I know. What is important to me is that “its safe.” And not threatening either way in any fucking way —

Bunny. Call the caw to order —

Where is what is —

The fond ferocious negatory species of dig out the nut, questions burned with sizes obscene, humor turned them perverted?

Transgressive fiction, probablement. And yet — not completely —

Of what lingers — tenacious notes of crystal impotence. Flickers into an unspecific smile.

Naught Parker’s defiance is a murderous (closet vampire) client, think of it as impossibilities meeting up with the possibility and let that become part of the process.

Who said that? Foster Wall Ace.

Shimmers reverbs. Where lingers tenacious notes of crystal impotence. Flickers into an unspecific smile.

Foster Wall Ace finger, a question — footnotes too?

**beckett, checking work

Following are just a bunch of fast notes —

Flag

Morose pissy perversions arrive, as counter cafeteria burns into a mist. They are considered highly intelligent cartoon mutants, stray litter of conventions and subinventions.

That as horror would have it, worm up treacherous but brisque.

Where would one be one has to wonder without the reckless and the damned.

Decisions

Decisions themselves bounded out from somewhere submerged.

Felt like glue for a hot gun, propped up in liquid.

Jared the Jarre saays anytime comes in liquid comes with Jarre.

Bottle and ship. Its a madhouse on ocean of lovely borromean rings and other deaths sinthome.

Oceans are numbered. And filled in. To keep them “straight.”

Observance and horror. Pillage and thirst. Racing through with pillage like thirst — and willingness to kill or die for it.

And at bottom, speaking in depths, Myrtle lures of something vigilante subrighteous. Borrowed and blue. Purest of curses. Or else, nothing.

Love and Curses

Plug Ugly chars. Dell falls into sequence of the plug. Plugs have many consequences.

Makes gothic witch its clone a vital clown. All clowns are vital however moany.

Falls awake pains indiscriminate.

Dell’s heart rioting with violent hopelessness.

Flags waving. Where are you.

I dont know. Fee fi fo fucking fish.

Sizzle

Begins to sizzle, alert.

Something wants to turn violently unpredictable, purple and yellow — rub against danger,

yet phantoms who hide and abide stand guard undaunted,

as jests, guests sweet LuLu on mortal curses.

Blue Hills of Kentucky a band of broders sing Pynchy song to “unwind with wind.”

Old out and In

Decisions themselves are somewhere. Bounded out bounded in. Strangers live in it and abandon, with plague of gloom and beauty. Plague is an ugly word. But it follows from god spik.

Blame sin for mother nature’s perverse coils, drew drops of beauty and plague.

Piss Off you Plague.

Eager loopy stupid loving stupid fervent, where toadie submerges, turns into collagen — whatever that means — physik. In french its with a K?

but its not sweet, its mortal hell —

Yes but not all the time.

Oh but that something indefinite crushes of fiinitude caught in ancient anchors of auspices with Lord of the Stray.

The many bugs flying

And willingness to die for it. All for its beauty and emptiness.

Emptiness assumes tasks of beauty.

Drink allows for lures — to get through door. Wouldnt go anywhere unless came through my door.

That didnt make sense.

And can burn like mud into something “absolute” married ferried carried like old charms.

To protect from abruption. Rape, abduction.

Abduction envy truculence and curses, well thats a happy semester.

All the time looping through circus tragic clowns merciless and frenetic.

Capital Nouns

Fuck me Dell said to Lady Bunny (a bluebird of masturbation and death) —

I for one, says Lady Bunny, am relegated to omission and happiness.

I suck on it, its wicked but sacred needle and screed, first cursed with martyrdom — evolves into waves of hierarchy.

Insists there are depths.

Where Saturn heads for rings even more than hills (0r beans?) —

As beauty and her tyrants shill nill spill mill rill for love and death.

Crash, into everything (All Word) wrapped up in well of all souls where depths burn after beauty.

Depths do not inform the surface. But churned into butter, made of bone and blood.

Chop Sui Cide

so many times dying with angels. The death was vindictive and tormented and plush and crush.

Nothing else like it.

The demented, cheered on like voodoo in a purse. And became relished and cursed like a poisonous jewel.

Sword like wings that hung from nail to nullah in rivers devoted and devoursome, penitent penitrating riveting with molten gloom that glowed with glowered wonder at its fierce and tubular reprehensible swoons.

The Edge of portugal on terrace caped in forlorn moon and mourning morning glories says — put a pipe in it.

Dell was suddenly not alone. A window appeared by French knitting needles.

Zoom is The Case, where Dell com piles make. Tragic helacious la bou (doiring) reamer steamers, Hap Ackery, death abounds, not just moist and polluted.

Washer women wack at clothes with paddles (tisk tisk, no not her the other one).

Down under that spell of itself — to whose mysterious voyage comes screaming out yet barely making sound. Slow, small, wicked curses in silence abound.

Tricks of mother earth? is a kind of moving in darkness.

Mealon Katundra shows up and with fingers twitches at nose and then he flips one to Case of Zoom.

Okey Dokey. I did your doing.

A clown dances out of him (with a burrow in rope tow). Jolt but walking slow. Then flaps ears, rustles beards and falls into La Trou, french for Hole.

Nothing mine, Dell says, nothing whens say nothing really mean all all all.

Angels come when slipping into eternity — at thresholds of death.

Like a warrior butterfly.

Woodies into Goodies

Did not know who the others are. Neccessarily. Could walk into a roomful of the other and be shocked just the same.

Somehow reeled back in time to where wet dreams grace and pace dazed and focused, ruffled up and eek sometimes mean. Violence is token. In wonder through land.

Wet dreams held steep prices — just when touched on absolute vagrant vermin turned giddy, and ruthless and meaningless.

Shocked Dell found out — until could strip it down to nothingness –still felt breathless and wretched with awe.

Too wit to woo rabid forlorn delights savaging the hills of Dante and sanctums of wantum cum, at indeterminate procedural levels — that echoed with shunt desire — and landed Dell back fishing in hell.

Hunter said it was disease, diseased by the instruments of their beauty. To a disquiet of unpredictability, rendered useful as lice.

That, Hunter would say, could be called into equivalence with Vampire. And hooking a thread — Vampire’s Wife says — he generates blood lines.

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