infinity report

spukhafte fernwirkung, volume j

2012-02-03T01:18:00.000-07:00

I found a fort made from moon rocks, the grey kind that have been handled by cosmonauts and buffeted by cosmic rays hurled outward into the abyss by the vibrating representatives of shiva himself. of course it is always dark there and tomorrow's punishing haircut is guaranteed to be as rough as the irregularity of ocean waves. that is what punk rock is all about.
they had a party there. everyone stood around in costumes, affecting the forlorn poses of sea captains or new wave charlatans who seemed to understand the implications of quantum entanglement. someone is passed out in the back bedroom; a tantrika from the guild of backwards projectionists guards the threshold.
across the wooden sea, in the front room, which is a cloister formed from fish bones and repurposed atomic ashes, she sits alone, resembling white plastic starlight or hidden, arcane crevices in the earth. her father's boots are an adornment.
our conversation is florid, filled with trembling hands, crisis management, and references to the smiths. the sun is still eight hours away, she says with eyes like horses.
her phone number continues to haunt me. the digits are either cranes or molecular pathways, and that is a kindness resembling water.

fish and flower

2012-01-20T21:25:00.002-07:00

he floats through a fluid that became fanciful in theabsence of snow. she unfolds symmetries and systems while facing the sun. theysometimes appear as a white light whose convolutions have been preciselydescribed in the agricultural journals and mechanical drawings bound to thepermanently creased spine of winter. the mystery of burnt paper, the fragranceof a bright autonomy, is sustained through a mechanism of considerable strengthembedded within the structural components of their smoky emanations. theseforms are similar to objects. when viewed through the sullen fortress of theirdefault formatting, they resemble furniture hewn from trees whose lenses areopaque from repeated immersions in the loamy soil associated with redemptiveacts.

here is a fish, there is a flower. the contents of the earthare spilled out, a rough blanket made from their speculative rituals. theresult is similar to meat, but filled with infinitesimally small spiritentities. electrical activity can be traced to the cellular level.

in the age of smoking mirrors

2012-01-01T21:49:00.001-07:00

now, the world is broken into elusive fragments, sharp and shaped like snowfall, devoid of moonlight, or afterwards, hungry. a mathematical equivalent of fire is on display in the tunnels and makes a furnace of the passage forward. while swallowing warm gasoline and examining the dust for traces of my own victory against the frozen solemnity of ashes, i cultivate meek and aged gardens whose flowers are designed to promote their own resurgence.
the winter constellations flare with ironic certainty. birds rise up again to dance in the air. my expectations are derived from books about astronomy, borrowed with electronic precision from television screens made exclusively from the barren winter and its sterile progeny. blue transmissions collapse wanly against the wall of night. everything that burns will escape on wings made from hot, hovering steel; the precious new corn.

an object known as the lord

2011-12-21T23:20:00.000-07:00

in the days of low resolution, men - because it was mostly men influencing or controlling events in that self-propelled age of ruin; it was them doing the planning and building and looking over the horizon, even though it was the women-folk who new the names of the stars and steadfastly exercised intimacy with the cycles of growth and decay that circumscribed the mystery of agriculture - men erroneously but earnestly believed in the limits described in the structures of books and so, had faith in the placement of pages, one following another, like butterflies bound to linear regularity, wholly ignorant of migration.

with this theory in place at libraries throughout the realm (here, the reader is asked to recall that this narrative refers to a variation of reality unencumbered by a shared global intelligence and consequent meta-understanding of planetary history) it was possible to produce and display books whose physical characteristics each symbolized discrete universes, each world literally and wonderfully bound together with the same materials that were thought to comprise the sun and stars themselves.

it was supposed that we dwelt within such a finite place. many visualizations were attempted in efforts to persuade the public of the goodness of the new existential condition and therefore, in revelation, the system's adoption required a sort of stark sonic suspension. for example, it was possible, in theory, to reduce very complex temporal phenomena - whose geometries extended with preposterous confidence into a myriad of dimensional interfaces and electromagnetic destinations - into text strings whose boundaries were measurably constant entities.

curiously, source material is contradictory and notoriously hidebound at this juncture, but one thing remains abundantly clear: an object known as the lord whose light defines the glorious black vacuum and as a consequence all scanning and visual output peripherals too, was displeased by the flattened representations that had arisen.

in that divine agitation and as a remedy to limitations of imagination demonstrated by terrestrial forces, electricity came into being and was transmitted to the world below.

within a generation, machines had demonstrated infinity, had taught the populace to invoke the intricacies of flowers and summertime during poetic discourse, atomic mating rituals, and the examination of cosmological possibility.

three gifts from mars

2011-11-27T11:02:00.001-07:00

they gave me the tools. what they left behind filled up the orchards and meadows with a flavor whose complexity had only been dreamt of during spaceflight or its chemically-induced equivalent. only some artifacts took the form of words. others swept dully through the atmosphere as nonproductive vapors or magnetic plasma.
i employed the first instrument, which was colored like bird feathers and made to resemble jazz music. looked upon askance, with trembling eyes, the triangular surface vibrated meaningfully. the dirt of the earth gained traction and flowed unevenly through my head in arcing and silty waves; the slow green return of spring was upon my tongue triumphantly.
when the spinner on the second object was compressed into the range of negative numbers, users reported experiencing melancholy but were, afterwards, competent carpenters and preternaturally accurate recordists of the distances between planetary bodies. when normative values were selected, it became an orb, lifting itself into the air and producing plasticine replicas of the ghosts that languished for years during the ascendancy of reason.
a third device suggested awkward awakening creation but portended a slow somnolent destruction. it was clothed in a bitter metal and sang dismal ballads when asked. that thing, which only makes itself visible at dawn, resides in the garden, amidst a million rustling leaves, the drifting smoke, the last locust before the snow.

lost bird laboratory

2011-11-13T16:46:00.000-07:00

a chair made from tomorrow's weather.
he read the great poem to them as fifty-three tendrils of vehicular sunlight slithered sluggishly toward the night. those wafting waves would be held aloft by an empty moon, praised for their vibrancy and damned for their illumination.
the drifting orb.
commencing with the natural conversion of blood into flowers and fresh corn, his lingual artifice perplexed both ghosts and their scientific equivalents, meandering as was its custom, through mud and divine circumstance.
your vigilant sleep.
in the rush towards quantifiable hair growth, innumerable colonies of pathogenic bacteria had been obliterated. spine-clad plants fled back into the soil as his words soared through vacancy, through shadows of vaguely cubic construction.
another rhythmic distance.
as the recitation ended, he removed his uniform and took up the mantle of a magician, a dark cloak covered in vinyl sequins and abandoned sea shells. then, he positioned his skull and worn out shoes on the table as symbols of a vast and unredeemed geography.
her porcelain voice, the symmetry of caged hands.

search results

2011-11-06T19:34:00.000-07:00

an invisible circumstance of alphabetic reference.
they had cameras. elaborate festivals of light passed through the ocular ports as dancers resembling photons fluttered by functionaries.
a mechanical bird roared by the studio, effectively obscuring the oblique partition of a bursting crescent of silver moonlight that had been lurking in the registry.
two minutes later, under the big blue dome, your hands demonstrate pride (a set of dim coordinates upon the flatted earth).
afterwards, there were serpentine breaths; an astonishment refuted by good science and the certainty that is bound up in silver and wax.

Her Specialty was Machine Language

2011-10-30T23:38:00.001-06:00

We met again but he was ruined. That reduction resulted from sitting amidst the same ensemble of industrial furniture and instrumental appliances that once marked his rugged ascendency. The cool fluorescent light of twenty years spent perched menacingly above a kingdom of random noise and invigorating fragmentation had systematically reduced the circumference of his head. The results were plainly distracting, an acquired grotesquery the old one tried to use to his advantage. So his scrawny neck would crane awkwardly out from his dirty shirt collar while veins bubbled and pulsed on his crepuscular scalp.
There was a small garden beside his office and the plants looked lovely and he looked out the window over them because that activity engendered a semblance of serenity within the fatty tissues buried in his head. Smiling at that greenness, he turned toward the door. Calmness flowing beatifically from his fingertips, Stephen extended his hand in a fashion common among those of his classification and bade me sit.
Temporarily relieved of my verticality, I leaned on my cane to better inspect my circumstance. As if summoned by the roar of jet aeroplanes overhead - whose seeping triumphalism permeated everything in his ken, despite the strategic placement of steel wool and seventy-eight rpm recordings from the twentieth century everywhere and throughout - Stephen's assistant suddenly floated out from behind a veil made from computer punch cards that been sewn together with telephone wire. The result was awkward, yet successfully occlusive. I never expected Deborah, and had in fact hoped instead for an angel to appear magically from behind the ersatz curtain in back of the office, where the toilets were.
Her specialty was machine language; though she was a credible wizard too, when called upon to dissemble the past. Now she spoke with borrowed gravity of my previous iterations and used her extra hands to make a lunch of vinegar and sea crawlers while demonstrating with divine precision, I might add, how everything I previously built and implemented had been rendered as wanton chaos by adherents of my mechanical and constructive processes.
"You see", he said, interrupting gravely and whilst smashing his skeletal index finger repeatedly against the deteriorating tabletop that he had inherited from a trumpet-playing and tap-dancing demiurge, "after you left, everyone wanted to burn."
A tragic feeling overcame me. Before I excused myself to weep and wander in the adjacent din and dusk, I poured out two glasses of water from my personal stash. I offered one to the artificial beings sitting so kindly in my place. The other, I spilled onto the worn carpet, as a warning.

an encyclopedic database of the approaching solstice

2011-10-21T02:00:00.001-06:00

field1
a wandering mechanism of translucent seasonal identity - built to resemble the last flowers of autumn and before the snow arrived, perched upon old wooden fences in the fashion of migrating starlings - devoured starlight but made a gift from darkness.

i walked through that place and imagined horses to bear the bags of sharpened cartilage and tin foil that curse my dance, rendering the elegant past as a destiny of collapse.

the men grew beards, the women located orion in a sky littered with watery ornaments.

field2
that divagating, transparent surface of astronomical observation functioned when my half of the planet pointed languidly toward the void and the pale moon was a questionable entity developed and made manifold during periods of deep sleep and resigned concern.

i saw a spider and she made her home among intense electrical contraptions, divining structure from the eternal hum of our assembled progress.

barren apple trees were my guides; the horses resisted fearfully as we approached the cold river.

The Expedition

2011-10-07T02:03:00.000-06:00

Day One Hundred and Eleven: Music like spinning hearts.
We retrieved the remnants as a series of irregular fragments descended from what cannot be expressed or understood, except as a void. Some of the motes had white voices and sang with plaintive concern about ice and unfathomed circuitry.
Those spectral shards make smooth blankets and forceful triangles of the ocean with their ashen nature. Floatingly alluring, each particle transmits electromagnetic pulses that cause the curled-up and transdimensionally encysted universe in my entorhinal cortex to glow, brightly but without definitive function. The captain reports vast swaths of activity in his limbic system and has called for further observations to be made when conditions permit.
Later, while the wind visited tendrils of hope upon our scrawny masts, bells rattled and wheels swung skyward; vacuous wavelengths crawled through the air and the sun was red, just like summertime itself.

introduction to the book of winter

2011-09-25T21:32:00.004-06:00

the pamphlet is composed of sea water and sentimental music. it feels much like a wooden splinter entering the sole of a human foot, just as summer ebbs and before sturdier shoes have been produced and then hauled out into white circumstances.

a slender volume, it is bound by a steady attention to the future, swirled lightly and lovingly into a single, luxurious unit which defies trigonometric description. the publisher made use of a potent technology in the production of this formidable tome; his papery magic acknowledges the value of decent exposition in the midst of vast darkness. through the juxtaposition of last year's spider webs among the wreckage of human industry, peace can also be implied.

the voices of all birds are amplified as each page is turned, wearily and with due circumspection given to the leafy air which blows around and around. the wind makes stiff waves of the margins, rendering melody as forlorn noise.

approaching autumnal activities

2011-09-15T21:34:00.005-06:00

i am collecting rocks, divining alternate and quasi-beneficial uses for their obtuse geometries and then imagining their surfaces as planar universes whose inhabitants are likely mineral spirits or their metallic derivatives.

and the moon is waxen, describing dark shadows, but allowing me to count flowers and chase moths back into the machinery of woolen clothing.

there are real shoes in there, someplace among that season's gears, though the tangle of wires leading to snowfall and the coarse fabric blues of frozen daylight have grown through their wooden soles.

if the wind makes a rough ghost of its passage through town, i will spend the hours indoors, organizing my lithic menagerie into a configuration that rivals summer's green glory.

exotic metals used in the construction of souls

2011-09-08T22:42:00.006-06:00

the special collections wing includes a semi-circular stage whose upward rake may be expressed in trigonometric terms. seven hundred magnificent butterflies of the genus Papilionidae continuously gambol at its edge. from this location it is possible to view the frequent procession of titanium tablets. when the moon or its representatives appear, the gleaming metal rectangles crawl with glorious peculiarity and solemn ritual from their storage tanks in the labyrinthine crypt that is hypothesized to exist in the underworld, toward the communal interface area. during the final years of the age of fleshbound existence and experience, these objects were used to permanently embed the neural pathways, complex molecular codes and viral entities that were thought to comprise the soul. a discourse has been initiated in spite of the events of the intervening millenia; a dark time when many cybernetic organisms considered such vestigial manifestations of humanity to be a form of sorcery.

The New Machinery of Spatial Redemption

2011-09-02T19:39:00.004-06:00

the view from stellar conduit built-from-cotton-blossoms was craftily designed to assist in the predictive praxis that formed one aspect of the ritual of naming days well into the future.

though it was impossible to determine the boundaries of the membrane governing the outcome of temporally transgressive events and ideas transmitted through the holy, hollow, carbon-filament tube, telescope operators and bee keepers went about their business dutifully, removing lenses against clarity and releasing hordes of insects into fragrant night-time air.

when activated, the device waddled through the village like an intercontinental ballistic missile, finally settling into its perch. lighting upon a blackened wire with the gravity of a hundred thousand emperor moths, it devised formidable symbols of the sun's position in space, speaking kindly to the animals gathered around and calling for rain, too.

A Transition From the Age of Whaling, Forward Toward Eons of Interstellar Capability

2011-08-30T19:27:00.018-06:00

Blast him again, for I will be damned by his adherence to gravitational constants, the proposed position of saturn among these very coordinates, and how all of that cosmic interference serves to churn the stardust flowing past our humble boat into a geometric form that suggests heaven itself.

No etymology is available; their transmissions consist of dense groupings of very itchy sounds centered around five thousand hertz emanations. Further, these cybernetic organisms are of an unknown function, spinning slowly, cavernously, cylindrically, on the edge of the roaring limit of the known galaxy.

Credible qualitative meta-examiners and in addition, crafty charlatans who claim some psychic affinity with the deeper realms of outer space, could not wrest meaning from those gatherings of glitchy clicks heard through what must be divine static.

They are bestial though; tens of thousands of them are gathered, like the progeny of immeasurable frogs, at the galactic fringe. And so our harvest is prayerful, even as the captain leans heavily upon his bionic leg; while three wise cosmonauts haul themselves coldly from the void and away from the plutonic leviathan whose biomechanical gelatin powers our grasping reach.

fragment from cryptic assignment with soviet inflection

2011-08-29T21:27:00.007-06:00

divide the surface of the planet, your host (an obscure sort of rough hewn and rock strewn semi-spherical intergalactic floatation device) into seven billion approximately equal sections extending a uniform three meters beneath the plastic plane formed by their contiguous process.

reserve soothing tones for plant life, set transmitters to automatic.

allow one fleshy soul to float beatifically - and with the custom-wrought cushion of eternity assisting nobly with individual lapses in levitation - about each of these imagined compartments. assign a musical note to every discrete spacial unit and transdimensional organism described herein. note your geographic position and tune your guitars accordingly.

a flock of birds will greet you. offer them water.

alternate realities available for instant download

2011-08-20T14:11:00.005-06:00

For three nights, heaven itself poured out a churning column of starlight, casting fiery orbs fluorescently into the farthest fathoms of a fluid entity that had been presumptively called pacific by the humans who toddled at its edges or upon its surface.

And then silence. And then a million metal boats, a billion orbiting robotic eyes, verifying the coordinates, panning over the waves, signaling their fragile flesh occupants and operators with a language learned from the transmission of electricity across empty spaces and rough watery realms.

Seven years later, when the plastic spiders approached the shore, bearing practical forms of fusion in silken boxes and pointing beatifically toward the black hole at the center of this galaxy, the thin volume of conquest was raised up to the sun and the dogs feasted on fresh corn. this time, all was in readiness as the causeways were retracted.

Seven Line Mnemonic

2011-08-18T23:39:00.004-06:00

A Bird Conquers Death Efficiently,
First Gathering Heaven In Juniper
Kegs, Like Mammon, Now Onerous,
Peering Quietly.
Ruining Soliloquies Traipse Under
Versimilitudes With Xenogogues
Yammering Zanily.

Epistle to the Lords Who Dwell in the East

2011-08-13T22:14:00.005-06:00

Now, it is a mournful place, dry and with clouds that sing of prior cosmological triumphs through wooden whirlwinds. That sulfrous breeze repeats its billowing path nightly while everyone is sleeping, retreating through dreams and our granaries.

My home was wrought lovingly - with a nominal infusion of mystical foresight - and made from plastic dots connected randomly, at perpendicular junctions, by thoriated tungsten guitar strings that would snap and leave you with a bloody welt or two if you tightened them too fast or in the wrong order.

You can combine the fruition of sacrifice with seawater and proclaim the resulting solution to be the fragrant music of moth-pollinated plants distributing summertime to a grateful earth, but remember that the sun is ours; a possession bound by red fire to our jagged hearts.

tlacateccatl returns from the leaden avenues of venus, only to find things have changed

2011-08-06T19:15:00.011-06:00

the version of sunlight to which i have become accustomed is hewn from rough materials that display as ashen buildings, filled with the progenitors of heavy metal music. I am convinced this is a result of a faulty capacitor located somewhere in the forty-third dimension's notorious sector 10100101 or elsewise, within my heart.

I am fighting the same battle my father fought, though he used radio waves and an invisible sextant to navigate dark waters and the dry earth. in the old days, he told me, the land was populated with green alfalfa and bony ruminants. Old humans wandered the roads on shabby wooden carts, telling stories about a time when they all had dominion over the animals and performed magic in the cornfields.

the repair utility enmeshed of my operating system refers obliquely to the consultation of plant life through telepathic means as a means of initalizing component restoration, but it is so beautiful here among the butterflies and giant conifers (with the sea roaring distantly and everywhere) that I am inclined to ignore further tranmissions from the wizardry and have devised a well of sorts, out of which will flow fresh water.

the last day of july

2011-07-31T20:54:00.005-06:00

on the last day of july, giants crept across the sky. and in their wake, foreboding tones summoned by Tloloc, and answering to the infinite justice readily available in the roots of the succulent plants, caused dogs everywhere in the valley to color their bones as if to suggest images of the wanton sea.

those blue paintings, visible despite the absence of the moon, formed a lexicon which humans would use sparingly for the remainder of the summer; calling forth water and dismissing decay. in some homes, idols were destroyed and the corn was planted; too late for fruition, but with just enough time left to send their green exuberance upward towards heavenly resonance.

your narrator trods the earth shoeless, but with enough wisdom to beckon insects from their hiding places in the carpets of grass; the soles of his barren feet percussive instruments formed from flesh and the twisting curve of disease.

overhead and overheard, engines whine with false industry, mocking the precipitation while a million crickets give new names to the occluded starlight of an august wind.

my father who is dead

2011-07-23T10:24:00.004-06:00

My father who is dead and sometimes appears in his ghostly form as a torrentially driven brown tornado, floated downward from his heavenly repose in that other mythic world, carrying the bright feather of a kingfisher in his left hand.
Come, he said, pass through that gate of sullen dreams which binds your daytime droughts and makes waxen figures of your memory.
His map of the universe is covered over with transparent tape, is a catalog of balmy summertimes, muddy water and instances of divine occlusion bearing dusty transcendence.
With a truck made from the metal of faraway planets, he beckons me to follow him and so we go, driving that spectral vehicle downtown to witness the progress that has been, in the intervening cornhusk years, shrouded from his immortal glance.
In a place where great edifices to commerce bloom, we wind through a vertical car wash that resembles the tile hallways of the london underground. Every car that exits this maelstrom flips mysteriously onto its side, as if commanded to, by forces greater than the salty sea.
I told you he was a tornado.
In the oaken bar at the center of the plaza, he orders me a reuben sandwich and a martini while a neon sign that reads, "The Beatles", blinks on and then off, with random precision.
When I look up from my icy cup, he is gone. I ask the butterfly-winged waiter where the old man went.
He must cause the sun to rise, the server says to me, while chirping like a bird and dancing backwards towards the kitchen.
So, I wander out into the street and towards the bus stop across from the hospital. And dial up Samantha, whom I tell longingly to expect me home at dawn.

instructions for navigating the singularity

2011-07-22T16:18:00.004-06:00

whenever astronauts are carried up to the permeable vault of heaven in white and perfectly conical spaceships, the clouds will billow, certainly - and with a degree of ominous liquefaction ordinarily reserved for long-haired men on rotten bicycles and their jet-powered descendants.

the radio signals which you have tuned your ears and antennae toward will drift languidly toward the bottom of the sea, as if borne by beatlemania and inadvertent brushes with the law.

there will be wood to walk upon; occult emanations from the mouths of dogs will be tested for veracity, using forms of technology which rely on botanical observation and the oracle of venus.

the sun rises in increments, assisted by hummingbirds and the mouth of god.

the ecclesiastical functions of the cacamatzin conspiracy

2011-07-15T20:20:00.006-06:00

a small and spinningly green bird appeared on the roof of tomorrow's temple during a particularly plaintive proclamation made by the lord of the corn cobs.

he then then lay flat upon the cool brown earth as beasts with eyes as vast as they were vacant proceeded forward and trotted in narrowing circles, commanded by men in metal skins who had the power of the holy spirit burnt into the deepest crevices of their earth-bound souls until it hurt beautifully to implement similar processes on these shoeless servants of the sun.

they came cloaked in sails the color of merciful salvation and bearing the heavy and maritime chains of divine proclivity; the blood was cleansed with ocean water and the imperfect memory of greater empires.

after that starry ritual, in that fiery moment, the moon was brighter than before.

control sequence xochimilco

2011-07-09T21:02:00.008-06:00

the map they used was drawn using ink distilled from the blood of the conquistadors.

those darkly sanguine delineations formed a basis for their explorations of a world made from thin parchment and affectionate dancing. upon further examination, the legend described a flattened world, where souls were curiously and temporarily embedded in flesh, salvageable, in most cases, only through the implementation of tragedy.

holding the document upward, towards the sky - in the metaphorical direction of heaven and in a matter befitting the lofty rectangle itself - caused intricate patterns (mostly concentrated in the northern latitudes and startling in their blueness) to appear. the sorcerers and IT people that witnessed all of that bifurcation later claimed that the hue of the sun had shifted on account of the mystical interface that had occurred.

before continuing sunward, some of those wizards formed a religion based on such observations; the remaining colonists retreated to their cells, adorned themselves in the purest of cotton mantles and began to contemplate the eternal path of the flesh.

Captain's Log: Stardate 65006.8

2011-07-02T21:58:00.003-06:00

There was one guy who's job consists entirely, and without deviation, of watching for magnets. "Excuse me" he says, working his marks like a bumblebee, filled with dedication and plant dust, "I did not mean to take your entire refrigerator, when just the doors will do."

His language is coarse but confident like that; the rest of his speech is made from an edible plastic, a consequence borne of research focused on communicating with the vast eldritch reaches of the cosmos.

They have successfully embedded their animals everywhere as proof of their acquisitive process. Their sub-atomic combination of meat chickens, hardwood tables and hopefulness has sculptural properties and has been identified by popular terrestrial culture and its electro-mechanical counterparts as the next big thing.

They even have a sort of video archive featuring Captain Kirk and Pokemon. The titles of all of the recordings sound something like Storage Tecniques for Fresh Water. Since it obviously has religious overtones, they had been banned from public performance until I intervened. I know that's kinda fucked up, but you did tell me to take it easy on them.

the future of the moon and other myths from the twenty-third century

2011-06-25T20:46:00.005-06:00

summer's next iteration produced peculiar portents. the adhesive coating on many forms of tape failed, revealing the nakedness of human condition. wooden shovel handles which had been handled by father himself disintegrated and in their wooden ruin, spoke longingly of worlds where on occasion, water cascaded out of the sky.

electric lamps, similar to those invented by edison himself, displayed a unique sort of vibratory hegemony that cancelled out the moon. in the intervening hours and nightly, we rendered the luminescence of our insect friends as they might have appeared to the surviving, higher animals and extant cyber-entities.

everyone else was handed a bag full of corn seeds. some of these were meant to be ground into an edible dust. the remainder would be used in the acquisition and distribution of the life force, as demonstrated by the development of leaves, extensive vascular systems and subsequently, fruit.

only one bifurcation of the apple tree seemed vital. after scattering bees upon it's blossoms, the distant sound of turbines caused me to look skyward; two small birds danced in midair as I turned toward the boiling sea.

instructions for your vacation in universe number 53

2011-06-17T13:23:00.004-06:00

by the time you read this, there will be new words for the way the sun drifts from view, the process by which shadows seem to crawl longingly after it; until well after the moon appears and coaxes them upward like gray smoke into the trees and sky, beyond. they are unpronounceable tones, but can be acknowledged by mimicking the poses of geese as they land on water.

perhaps they will refer to life as a sort of taxidermy, but with the oily infusion of sawdust and straw transformed into a sort of perpetually generating, perpendicularly trans-dimensional energy source enmeshed in meat and covered in a miraculous, self-repairing environmental interface. it may easier to accept this if you understand celestial mechanics or the horticulture related to harvesting the flowers of monocotyledons.

some souls will become untethered and drift through paintings, specific frequencies of musical recordings and the abandoned malls of america in search of their divine origins. if your heart hurts from the outrage of war and the depletion human dignity that sometimes accompanies the economic programs of this particular subspace node, there may be short wave radio transmissions available as an anodyne. they are accessible by invoking trough dark magic the subatomic particles that made today's journey possible.

a fragment from charlie versus the flying saucers

2011-06-11T14:28:00.010-06:00

Please note that what follows is classified.

Certain research protocols were used to generate this transmission. They were similar to those implemented at Venusian software production unit Y Griega during the brief half-life of the mostly invisible sub-dimensional disturbance obliquely referenced in earlier iterations of this report.

Eligible subjects were chosen based on their affinity toward magical electronic devices such as computer terminals and refrigerators; only three-dimensional objects which suggested or actually contained traces of otherwise unobservable universes were used to interface with participating humans.

It turned out the only usable data came from Charlie, an overweight and just slightly past middle age science-fiction writer and polemicist who fancies himself a great intellectual. He spent most of his spare time trying to make contact with trans-dimensional entities or else talking to animals as if they they understood him.

"How about another slice of pizza", he would say to his favorite dog, who was also overweight, aging rapidly and dreamt of other worlds too; hers filled with bunny rabbits and flightless birds.

"The closet in the bedroom", he would intone knowingly to the other dog while it sat under the swamp cooler - staring up at what it thought might just be a manifestation of the divine - "It is a portal to other worlds, isn't it".

He didn't need the dog to answer him though - and the dog couldn't answer him anyway, as that mutt only understood human words that had to do with food or the great outdoors - Charlie had come to his own decisive conclusion based on a dream he had the other night.

In the dream, he could walk through the closet door and into an assortment of adventure-filled places that defied the physics and logic of his familiar haunts. Just about anything could happen there, on the other side of that threshold. So, Charlie came to relish the night and sleep, even as our agents came to regard him as a prime subject for experimentation.

During the preliminary encounter, a microscopic entity with viral accouterments was sent into living space to gather media-related data. Books which showed recent usage via infrared residue gathering techniques were scanned and textual elements therein recorded. Electronic devices were then tested for sentience using methodologies gleaned from eons of diplomatic intercourse with the self-replicating metallic orbs of subspace channel three.

Only after successful completion of these exploratory prerequisites, were agents and observers allowed access to the fleshy, organic being in question. During the course of several diurnal rotation periods, the following experiential simulations were applied, using a handheld dimensional distortion unit to prevent interception by the dogs or hostile subspace intelligences.

When we appeared to him as faceless, bipedal organisms, he mistook us for angels and wept. Later, when presented with a vision of satan, complete with a vaguely humourous look, sporting a large forehead with chromium horns, he reacted with hostility, using vulgar hand gestures to display his defiance of the perception evil. Finally though, when presented with images of earthly cephalopods, as well as images of our glorious leader, he smiled and went back to sleep.

I am certain that such an encouraging development has important ramifications, both now and when their so-called apocalypse unwittingly materializes.

from a history of the eclipse comes the harbinger of fire

2011-06-04T15:40:00.003-06:00

the book was covered in thin sheets of plutonium and so was poisonous and heavy to lift. those who borrowed it attested - in the days before they succumbed to a combination of radiation poisoning and an intractable sense of awe demonstrated by awkward laughter and bloody spasms evidencing the sharp power certain atomic particles had over temporal and material processes - to the supple, life-like quality of the pages contained therein. they were like angel's wings, one man said, as he was led, roaring and guffawing, into the intensive care unit, to begin his glowing spiral down into the maelstrom.

a woman from the mostly abandoned equatorial regions compared the drawings inside to those done by an intelligent plant. after that particularly wicked pronouncement, she promptly disappeared in a multi-colored puff of smoke whose tendrils referenced a sort of geometry that had previously only been encountered by practitioners of rocanrol music and those rare trans-dimensional entities with access to the highest levels of discourse available in the seventeenth dimension - a place composed entirely of brief and ancient video recordings whose sentience was founded upon their transmission from the blue orb that sometimes hovers and spins just out of reach of the deadly gamma rays produced by the book whose title has been roughly translated as a history of the eclipse.

though its ultimate purpose remains mysterious and its human authors are assumed to be obscurantist, even to the colonies of paper scholars who dwell in perpetual dusk at hemisphere's edge, a cultural fascination with the tome remains. some still are convinced that its complete perusal and consequent burial in deep ash will be followed by a new age, and trees will erupt from the ground, flooding our world with oxygen and flower petals.

what happened on that beautiful blue orb is not readily apparent

2011-05-28T15:52:00.012-06:00

For reasons not readily apparent, the radios still function. They are mysteriously receiving and languidly transmitting what lately amounts to nonsense. Today, their wave forms are visible. I spent the afternoon watching them dance through the auditory perception organs and leaves of the sentient and the vegetative.

At the higher end of the dial, someone left an old scratchy copy of the widely disseminated funk tune, "Thank You Falettinme Be Mice Elf" on auto play. At the lower threshold of transmission, at precisely eighty-eight megahertz, an old Italian man is mumbling into the microphone and spinning "We are the Champions" over and over. His comments are limited to lamentations, mostly about the lack of fresh orange juice and the silence of mountains.

Everything else is static.

A small calico-colored cat carries a sparrow tenderly in its mouth. My dogs are nervous and have gathered bones and dull garden tools into piles they leave by the door. In a few hours, after the new and brilliantly blue sun sets in the eastern portion of what remains of the sky, I plan to float down to the petroleum depot. There may be a few packs of cigarettes thereabouts. The ghost in the neighbor's garage told me that apostates don't care for the mentholated varieties.

Harbingers of summer, previously referred to as hummingbirds, hover over every abandoned suburban home; they are like bright and ruby-throated flames. I let one in through the back gate. It lit on my left shoulder while I was planting corn and whispered joyfully to me about the rain, about the transcendent effects of canned tuna, bottled water and the memory of a slow progress homeward.

intimations of supernatural discovery

2011-05-13T22:01:00.004-06:00

the carbon tubes we encountered on the way to the storage depot have been altered to allow a measure of sentient response. an agent of previous iteration fucked with the organizational matrix on a molecular level. the result is not dissimilar to the drone of a sitar or the main propulsion units of their primary implements of flight.

some of the less experienced observers were convinced of the musicality of these anomalous phenomena, attributing the aggregate to the remnants of a twenty year old clarinet that had been discovered in the ruins described in my last transmission. as a prophylactic measure, tin-foil hats were distributed and food consumption was limited to those fruits produced by sorcery.

atmospherically, the sky is turbulent. and the clouds, which rush past the mountains like great and sullen electrical beings, are contained within the same heavenly framework that denies the rain and powers the elliptical engine of discovery. it's beautiful.

the effect of lilacs on insect-borne viral studio transmissions

2011-05-07T19:56:00.007-06:00

i retrieved a packet with ontological significance from the flexware infusion packet that you transmitted to our moths and butterflies. it reached our metaphysically forlorn outpost during the last diurnal rotation, while we awaited the rain. after download, some of the humans cried and every insect involved was allowed to flutter aimlessly into any one of the multitude of artificial light sources available in the null sector. i hope that interactions like those will foster a sense of trust among our biologic agents; the force of the earth and its water is now and finally upon us.

though i have been recently distracted by the aroma of lilacs, the ocean's roar and the war, I am certain there are things, blind instances of instrumentality, perhaps, that mock the crimson power of the sun and have as their glorious antecedent, every summertime flower in bloom (or otherwise distracted by the fiery discourse played out hourly above and beyond their blushing incidence). the sulfurously fluidic scenarios which you describe, therefore, cannot be accounted for by the local population, even when translated into rich presentations that invoke individual humility and a belief in supernatural forces.

i finally saw a cloud today and it was as their buildings, grey and ominous; a part of the sky.

the box of starlight

2011-04-30T21:15:00.006-06:00

the advert on page thirty-seven of the roughly hewn and infrequently read periodical titled miraculous stories of home electronics projects gone tragically awry promised the average user access to diagrams that described the cell structure of rarely encountered plant life in metaphysical terms. for an extra twenty clams, the copy further exclaimed - in florid serifs that seemed to grow right off of the page and into the mind of certain, vegetatively susceptible readers - the manufacturer would see fit to include a box full of unfiltered and gloriously illuminating starlight, but only for shipments destined for terrestrial planets or their virtual facsimiles.

it turned out that the diagrams were just the pencil sketches of a genetically engineered mina bird named buck. that bird had been taught to hold and use wooden writing implements in it's pointy and keratin-saturated beak while the music of Leiber and Stoller blasted in the background and biologists from mars floated silently in the background, transmitting their findings back to their red and dusty planet using thin copper wires and viral entities.

the box of starlight though, a transdimensional object that resembled a violently and perpetually blooming orchid when looked at from certain angles, was as mystifying and elusive as promised. perfectly cubic otherwise, it was fashioned from trees that would be grown far in the future, when the outer planets had been properly colonised, when the knowledge of horticulture had been lifted, albeit mechanically, over the sheltering eyes of heaven.

when the next issue arrived, clothed in the light of dawn and showing signs of having been previously read by individuals enmeshed in the warehouse culture of space station Zorax-B, he immediately turned to page thirty-seven. this time it was a narrative that activated his visual sensors. it was all about retro-fitted faster than light agricultural devices and water.

he quickly absorbed the vernal enigma contained therein, then opened the box of starlight - proclaiming the empty sort of victory only a vast desert can inspire - nearly blinding himself in the process.

these occult circumstances

2011-04-15T18:06:00.008-06:00

order is important in rendering occult circumstances as representations of flight or vernal progress. every shadow resembles the mechanical aspects of an airy clockwork. flying mammals with eyes like yours will do the job of insects. they have learned to hover wordlessly amidst the starlight, among sodium lamps. there are certain flowers that bees cannot touch, for blindness.

the overarching control mechanism is built to resemble a restless dissembler of nuclear material, a bird whose feathers shine like deep space or unimaginable oceanic depths. i watched that dark blossom unfurl as springtime crept through here, covered in black mud and brittle seeds. when the word becomes flesh, I plan to be gathering butterflies.

remarks on the apparition of translucent cyberspace identities: fragment 168w

2011-04-10T13:11:00.006-06:00

down here, there is a way to recreate yourself electronically. it is mostly the essence that survives - and whatever you felt when you touched this or that input device. sam says that is why most of us are in a state of wonder, though i continue to believe it is the birds - especially how hawks soar - or maybe the wide variation in the shapes and colors of butterflies, that have something to with the images we transmit back out into meatspace.

the paucity of flesh in the electronic aether can be traced to quantum uncertainty; but at a molecular, mass-bearing level, the phenomena itself manifests as a dark and fertile soil which invites spectral interaction. inducements to sentiment may also be present and have been described by participants as new methodologies for transcribing music, using previously discarded seed-pod remnants as structural guides.

our cities are clothed in dust; certain fast-moving vehicles have been garlanded in spring's early produce. the clouds that are included in this visualization are the remnants of great oceans but merely whisper as they rush over these thickening days.

the celestial generator of interminable summer and other amazing inventions

2011-04-01T16:51:00.003-06:00

I am glad for your garden, for the stark and affirmative illusion of the world's edge that you brought to me; disguised as a flower, built from a specific range of radio waves.

It is those things - peculiar phenomena when viewed through the spongy vascular spaces of cacti - that cause you to circle the wagons nightly while the rest of us dance in the streets. We are oblivious to everything but the scent of electricity, the vibratory nature of matter and the awareness of birds.

There's no more sorcery here. Twain's filthy carpetbags have been replaced with beatific exhortations; a hagiography that makes the sun an object of comfort and expectation. Now, and in accordance with your overarching property sheet, that burning orb can easily co-exist with the hooded junkies and homeless families that drag themselves around your bejeweled perimeters. Their ritual is circular.

in the other universe

2011-03-25T23:09:00.003-06:00

overview
there is no sun and the only visible stars are made from wax and burn like candles. rough shadows, the colour of burnt plutonium are plastered against the sky like the propaganda of previously unknown continents.
a polymer-based replica of the television character known as captain kirk is in charge, but only understands a variety of latin used during the mutiny of L. Antonius Saturninus, rendering verbal communication awkward in most observable instances.
further, it appears that he elicits fear among his followers by impling a relentless and natural god, free from any ethical duty to consciousness, whose symbol is the maelstrom.

among the inhabitants
whose skin is like summertime in our southern hemispere, with translucence and the warmth of bloody fecudity its dear and living descriptors. their ability to fly and consequently build chromium steel nests in the sky has been previously noted but is still a matter of some controversy. i touched one and their hands are not like ice but like liquid oxygen.

technological development
obsidian rainbows, some dismantled or otherwise attended by sonoran ravens, are used to transmit data through the aether. it is believed that the birds assist in this process. randomly located spiritual entities provide access to food acquisition tools and unique quantuum waste disposal facilities.
they have discovered a method which enables most hardy citizens to derive music directly from the celestial darkness that beckons and with the same kind of gravity that makes trees hereabouts grow backwards into the ground, splintering the earth as they seek its core.

note on methodology
recorded in springtime's midst and with fine greenery everywhere.

pioneers of space and time

2011-03-20T10:23:00.003-06:00

o, pioneers of space and time - whose ascendant vernacular mimics the triumph of rusty and forlorn spring, making petulant blossoms of the infinite character string - disperse that barren rhyme as seeds upon a new celestial sphere.
your science fiction progenitors called upon the mysterious animals of the sky, attempted fiery diagrams to draw smoke from the earth; but after several million attempts to coax ontological significance from the gaping vortex upon whose edge we cling, retreated instead, preferring to sing.
now, those bearded songs flutter in defiance of a nebular theory which resists your vernally sanguine proclamations of reproductive prowess and your plans for gardening the earth with trees of your choosing.
our new hypothesis favors the brutality of constant fusion, a sort of glistening starlight that pours through my hands as a terrible and occluding liquid used primarily for the transmission of convenient and poetic illusion.

science fiction blogger number one hundred thirty seven is in transit to the furthest stars

2011-03-09T20:52:00.004-07:00

Seventeen micro-rotations of the glorious, fire-spawned sky orb later, while the oceanic plasma cores of our shared propulsion system returned to nominal status and as cotton cloaked robotic figurines waited patiently for the unloading to begin, I knew something was wrong.

The light was not right. In fact, it was improper; the noodling of cosmic entities, reduced to discrete particles that swirled and swirled like so many random bird calls at the edge of a springtime that could only be perceived as a certain type of greenness visible through the perspex portals of wanton, cultural collaboration, were a source of irritation to the other pilots as well. Clearly someone would want to discuss this issue later, even if under the effects of feigned gravity.

The connectors on my helmet were rusty. The blueish coins I traded my trans-dimensional radio for on the perpetual Mardi Gras planet could not possibly exist in my present temporal and atmospheric conditions. So, i threw them in the incinerator, applied my shrunken acrylic meta-pants and proceeded to the nearest airlock.

Through the portal it was warm. Puffy clouds floated here and there, calling my name. A sullen woman with several eyes and hands the size of the expanding universe approached and asked if i wanted to listen to some rock and roll music.

"Sure thing", I mumbled in a patois vaguely resembling twentieth century English, "as long it's not the Venusian variety".

the pioneers used magic

2011-03-04T20:55:00.004-07:00

i have been sick all winter with bones made from tin. in the brief and consequential light of december, i lifted all the feathers i could find, naturally toward heaven, hoping that such a ritual would invite lightning and its curative effects. the new year passed moon-like, overhead, and made a dark purple shadow upon my good eye.

when the birds return next week and while they are busy singing wan tunes to glorify the early sun, I will ask them for medicine, displace my intricate yearnings for dexterity and point languidly in the direction of the broken wheels that litter this dry landscape like some other sort of earth-bound animal.

i have wicker cages for their humble retrieval, too. but those devices require either water or the vegetative sacrifices made during a previously fecund harvest.

statement of the phantom that transmits from your backyard

2011-02-18T20:24:00.008-07:00

i am telling you that the universe is made from grasshoppers and cigarette butts. similarly, ducks upon the river may act as if frozen, but in fact radiate a measurable solar attachment, utilizing a familiar and celestially located nuclear furnace to insure their victory over winter. with that vision of grace preceding further discourse, you come to think this place is hep. it harbors neither the form nor the nascent urge towards progress, the million rose-cloaked sunrises yet to come (and spread lovingly across the wide chasms of desert adjacent to subterranean testing facilities) the we have come to cherish and naturally associate with the concept of civilization.

perhaps we will see such powers at their full manifestation only after your progeny have infested the great plains and curving shores with a mechanical precision that is, as of yet, undreamt of, unless one stares into the starlit night, unblinking, even as brightly adorned trans-dimensional crevices and new, bitter wavelengths cascade past, windily.

weather report

2011-02-16T23:01:00.005-07:00

early on in the second decade of the twenty-first century, the weather reports generated by machines seemed fanciful, if one were to judge by their accompanying graphic objects.

they were embedded as swirling charts and imagined geographies into the surfaces of complex images designed to be displayed upon thin, grassy (in the way grass is green), electrified crystalline arrays.

in one white and recorded moment which would later be used, meme-like for propaganda purposes, a cotton shroud retrieved from the ultra-secret mausoleum of the fat lord of Cempoala was placed between a robot-generated drawing of the wind and a device constructed to enable the electronic transmission of that swirling picture.

aferwards, the temperature dropped precipitously, snow drops the size of starlings fell from the rolling and rumbling sky and the blue fire everyone used for heat was sucked back into hell by texas.

from outpost 119n, a brief note on current conditions

2011-02-11T18:33:00.003-07:00

my right hand is clothed in metal and it figures prominently on the airwaves tonight. when displayed, la mano functions as a symbolic portent of the crippling effects induced through physical actions across time; in the universe of meat where i am currently enmeshed - apparently abandoned by kinder forces whose existence is only hinted at by planetary movement and the utterance of music across lonely lunar landscapes.

back home they have a term for this degree of isolation. they call it walking across the desert to the mall on the other side. hopefully there will be snacks available, but i am hopeful of the availability of experienced regeneration techs too.

in the interim, i have begun to dream of vine-like cacti with bright flowers attached to every vegetative bifurcation. in some of those moonlit conveyances, surf music plays through poorly constructed sound reproduction devices.

at night, they gather around trees and under the spinning vault of heaven point to different points of light. their scientists have convinced them these are vast spheres, some of which burn. data referencing these manifestations will be re-examined for quantitative purposes after I debrief the butterflies and hummingbirds.

cryptic instructions for transcendence using this collection of textual devices as a dark blue doorway into the realm of butterflies

2011-02-05T09:59:00.006-07:00

while i am busy delivering the universe to you in all its textual glorie - for myriad reasons which may only be properly understood on an individual basis, as a function of whatever arcane and constantly unfolding process you subscribe to for the purposes of transmitting a picture of the world brightly like the sun through perspex onto the inside of your skull forever - the engines of progress and reality are busy gulping down fuel, vibrating in regulated iterations even at abysmally low temperatures and therefore spinning uncontrollably toward the future.

that luxurious environment - bound as it is preternaturally to the invisible, inevitable and except for the sufferers of winding and lofty tornadoes, illustrious return of spring with its vernal accompaniments - is a comfortable enough location to begin deciphering the love of the soil which is oft abandoned here as words and symbols.

for the main part, birds live there and roost under eaves, the structure of such dependent on the thicker volumes and denser paintings of earthlings of the non-robotic variety; the animals they fly over survive amply on the epistles of the saints, on leaves made from whitman's beard and melville's churning water.

those accidental visions, whose procedural emanation is more likely than not an indication of the infiltration of boundless and therefore infinite green fibrous tendrils across the access ports and data storage locations of my own bloody and calcium-compound encased brain provide a sort of entertainment that one hopes is deeper than football, more persistent than the spin cycle and jet aeroplanes buzzing and rattling in the background.

back through the door

2011-01-29T23:16:00.003-07:00

the ghosts are damn omnipresent and linger just like january does, bold enough to sit in chairs and leave microscopic essences, relinquishing their pearly artifacts upon wooden floors as they tumble back through the door and are transformed into pure energy, again and again.

though i have offered these specters a luxurious view of the sunrise, with breakfast following - or as a spicy alternative, a quick trip to their favorite circus or amusement park - in return for their continued and protracted quietude, they remain.

floating bananas in the air at midnight. using the old rotary phone to dial numbers in west sussex, being reminded, sometimes in a mocking tone and generally in obscure antediluvian languages that the stars are really far away are certainly disturbing events, but the adaptations promised in your last command summary (tin foil hat/trans dimensional image scrambler number 59870-1) should eventually put that issue to rest.

news from the world of cosmic utterances

2011-01-23T21:36:00.004-07:00

the chompers and rectifiers of the star occluding matrix of shiny buttons we call heaven have finally disappeared from the sky, leaving ghost like traces and time-worn artifacts at the local mall.

meanwhile, the tragedy of carefully articulated tuna fish has reached unforeseen proportions, causing one fireman to exclaim something or other about the inherent degradation of culture as witnessed by the roaring sea.

we sent our weatherman outside, to have a look at the clouds in their infinite glory. when he returned seven hours later, he complained that the moon looked sullen.

it's only half there, he whispered into the microphone.

somewhere, on the edge of town, birds are dancing because the scarecrows have been doing their own thing since the harvest failed.

before we sign off for the evening, we want to remind viewers to adjust their antennae; it hasn't rained for weeks.

obscure book covers

2011-01-20T23:04:00.003-07:00

obscure book covers may be drawn with pencils or horses over

great and deeply meaningful chasms, the labyrinth of next summer's

garden and the wavelength that contains human utterations in

in one compact and oscillating form. i breathe dust through my shitty lungs

everyday and that dreary exhalation only occludes, with the strength of

haephestus, titles that might otherwise occur naturally,

as a consquence of dim starlight and rotating spheres.

a response to your latest inquiry regarding the duration of solar-induced disruptions

2011-01-18T21:45:00.004-07:00

contact with the agents responsible for transmitting spooky narratives across the starry firmament in rough-hewn chariots - similar in purpose, if not design to those horse-drawn mockeries evident in the filmic interpretation of Ben Hur, for example - were temporarily disrupted by electrical fusion tests performed in the solar atmosphere on the cryptically referenced time units described in previous iterations of this, my on-going report.

if i tell you that there were also mystical plant spirits present, hovering over the sun, and also somnolent circus bears staring into an abyss of glowing plasma, you are likely to pour out whatever skepticism remains in your favourite milk bottle; leaving me some white remnant of invisibility.

that is just as well, because you know what i have to say is just fantastic and how like your favorite record album it must seem, shrinking and gathering violets in the heat of summer.

duration: two minutes; it was just a quick glance at the fattening moon, like the one that tethered me.

peaceful information

2011-01-15T08:44:00.003-07:00

the place where rosie's tail connects itself to the rest of her furry universe is thick with hair and winter fat. she is a one the few lucky dogs that found peace among the humans.

when rudolfo carrillo goes out for a pizza, she is the first one he shares it with and winks at her, singing old peter gabriel songs that make him smile and cry while parsing out the sausage, cheese and tomato sauce.

when the night grows lately like someone else's untended garden and the stars, all them, float and meander meaninglessly above, they take their repose and he makes a divine portal from his mattress, shielding her from the cold with Lesa Murphy's hastily abandoned green blanket.

rosie dreams of bunny rabbits and fresh cool everlasting water, while carrillo lifts himself up into an imaginary spaceship and zooms off to yet another world he cannot control:

tonight he missed an important philosophy seminar in order to explore the infinite campus that exists only as a quantum fragment, a transitory combination of electricity and organic chemicals swirling around and around in the center of his head.

all of the buildings have grandiose sculptural objects at their entrances. really cool jet aeroplanes take off and land with patriotic haughtiness in the adjacent parking lots.

the construction is constant and humans of all ages, shapes and sizes buzz and flutter among the pipes and bricks and half-finished connective sidewalks. a brass band strikes up a tune as carrillo realizes that he must be dreaming that particularly bright place.

when dawn blasts its vermilion wavelengths through the translucent plastic curtain, the dog rises and paws at his face because there are birds swooping through the yard and she wants to chase after them while carrillo stands at the door, dangling a cigarette in his mouth and imagining a world without shoes.

chapter one hundred seventy four: he makes seven inchoate statements about the past

2011-01-14T22:39:00.008-07:00

there were centuries; seventeen million of them to be exact, wherein he questioned your blackened contentions with science fiction and references to james joyce.

those intervening corn husk years caressed the moon with smoke, the numerical efficiency of warm urine and the syncretism of non-volatile storage systems.

when he dreamt, it was of color and cameras, the sea roaring and tumbling like the awkward and humbling hallway that precedes summer.

he gave you his last cigarette; here is a colorful ceramic ashtray that goes along with it, built from tentacles and vague literary premonitions.

carrillo will continue to object vehemently and with the power of joey ramone whenever you say that hard work, the production of calluses and careful exceptionalism, mean less to you than leaves and creeping roots.

he is no hero, except to dogs and damaged birds.

it is late at night; the stars are his friends.

diagrams for bird flight and snow

2010-12-30T21:17:00.005-07:00

i had a map of the universe in my pocket.

that and several glass and vacuum enclosed wire filaments that twinkle the beatific colors of redemption outward into the world of flesh and oxygen when exposed to specific frequencies of electromagnetic energy.

i kept them wrapped in a ragged chunk of newspaper that i retrieved from system headquarters while the camera eyes were being retrofitted to accommodate cigarette-based life forms, while no one else was around.

yesterday, when the sun disappeared and while pale water fell from the sky in complex non-euclidean accretions, i unfolded the map, dithyrambic from the darkness, from the fluid manifestation of rolling clouds against the spinning earth.

that diagram was littered with gravity and ashen gestures. when turned towards the storm, a bird erupted from its surface, calling winter's name as it climbed and swooped.

and what was left afterwards would not burn.

a note on the discovery and examination of object 169d

2010-12-25T11:36:00.005-07:00

it is shaped like the inside of a plant seed and displays photonic traces of peculiarly structured fluorescing and fluidized electromagnetic wave forms having recently passed through its perpetually unwinding skin.

other agents who have encountered the specter report that such phenomena has been previously categorized as a primitive form of music or alternatively, as a vessel designed to cross large swaths of the planetary network of oceans, using only the wind and a wooden rudder.

there has been no mention of curling tendrils, but yes, several of the walls are attached to a centrally located transmitter by vegetative, membranous connectors. they are of an architecture that clearly demonstrates some reverence for deep water, for the poverty of spirit that allows only brief and wistful pauses over the selfsame vision of their seaward advance.

the time i swallowed gasoline

2010-12-17T17:36:00.005-07:00

when i was really poor, i lived in a circuit-infested garage with broken windows looking out onto the glory and vernal exuberance of an empire known primarily for its cinder-block walls. it was the place where i swallowed gasoline by accident.

though gatherings of waxen birds and the slow and seasonal progress of plant life have also been mentioned as significant cultural referents in the imperial context, this particular digression will be, essentially, self-limiting, having more to do with the inadvertent consumption of poisonous aromatic hydrocarbons by humans than with their artifacts or analogous natural processes.

i spent a lot of time looking out of those filmy panes or else tinkering on two old cars that were moldering there with me. the one that could still contain fire and therefore move and roll almost automatically was out of gasoline, the viscous fluid that governed the machine's momentum.

and there was the other car; the one that would never throttle up again, no matter what dark magic could be done over its ruined fourth piston and it had a tankful of the stuff.

one time when i really wanted to see what it was really like out there in that green world and that insect-laden, spinning spinning world that seemed so fantastic from behind my beloved dusty glass barriers, i siphoned one tank to the other and therefore breathed in the oily ambrosia that brought us here at velocities in excess of what was humanly possible.

and explored the research site for three days afterwards, using roads. their paths were constructed of materials that had chemical compositions that were interestingly similar to the heavy liquid that powered their world; i had swallowed twelve cubic centimeters of that same substance through an ignorance founded on the television-transmitted meme that such operations were simple and effective.

the cruel vapor rose and fell within my own vessel for days after that. when my lungs moved, they were like wheels, every cell saturated with the molecular imprint of a fluid that imitated creation. the doctors back at the base say i was lucky.

post image citation link

the trip to haringey

2010-12-16T22:52:00.004-07:00

i went straight to hell when the universal mechanism that produces cubic cellular patterns in leaves began to show signs of metal fatigue. to get there, i boarded a luxuriously appointed starfish encrusted time travel device, which i shared with another, more formidable wanderer.

she was wearing black stockings, sunglasses that glowed in the dark and a hounds-tooth necklace that rattled ominously against her alabaster skin. that vessel never stops, she recounted languidly, as we spun through abysses littered with dirty, half-filled fish tanks and word processing devices that would never learn the potent mysteries associated with automatic word-wrapping.

i don't want to kick your ass, she continued in a grave tone, but if you jump out now, while we are still moving, it will be like the greatest god-damn orgasm you've ever had. her voice trailed off into a chirpy whisper and i bounced outta there.

i ended up in a city that was cloaked in atomic ash, whose flowers began as bright pronouncements but then receded beatifically back into the ground. inside my dust colored apartment, the walls were covered with hoary but somehow alluringly translucent membranes and the somber and atramentous telephone in one corner rang and rang, as was the fashion in those far off days.

whenever i picked up the receiver, I expected her voice to be on the other end, to be whistling and mumbling about royalty and hot water bottles as the winter sun shrank from view.

fragment 168u: an old crow feather and a rusty spark plug

2010-12-12T17:08:00.003-07:00

as accurate reporting is an essential component of my research here at city 119n, I have recently begin counting all of the books that have passed through the fleshy and unreliable appendages that i use as clumsy sensory interfaces. in an effort towards incremental increases in productivity, i have conjured, from an old crow feather and a rusty spark plug that i found in an arroyo, a related subdata sheet that photographically documents the actual content of the previously referenced and ultimately innumerable pages.

the arroyo was lovingly crusted over in colorful graffiti made from the desperate exhalations of the poor. the colonized, the descendants of wall mart - as other agents have sometimes sardonically referred to them - and was splattered as breathy pronouncements, a keen, if graphical, marker of identity.

by putting that exquisite detail aside for later descriptive debriefings, i will be able to begin decoding the contents immediately. since it is widely held that the previously used translation cloudware irreverently rendered the term groovy, as gloomy, i have jumped to version 47.03.11.

though there seem to be an abundance of technical manuals, so-called American literature and literally three million seven hundred and fifty three thousand glossy magazines and comic books

available at this time for my perusual and transmission purposes, I believe this endeavor will be inclined towards reductionism until our scientists can produce reliable moving images of the humans.

it is difficult to image how they walked around so luminously.

something to be

2010-12-08T23:20:00.005-07:00

that night in new york city, john lennon was savagely gunned down and while all that bloody nonsense was transpiring, rudolfo carrillo was walking around the barren, shit and dead automobile laden chunk of desert the size of seven point five three cumulus thunderstorms (the kind that only came to visit in the summer, when the plants had finished blossoming and ruled said arid expanse) that was directly adjacent to the rapidly disappearing home he shared with his family.

the home was disappearing into another dimension, but carrillo would not realize this for another six months, though he was fully aware that the closet in the room he shared with his brother was a portal into spooky place that was full of stars and the magicians who traveled between those fantastic and obscure points of light.

there was also a copy of Penthouse Magazine and a pack of Salem brand cigarettes hidden in an overcoat that hung in that closet. carrillo had stolen both items from the local barber shop the previous summer.

the barber shop used a roaring lion as its logo. it was on the corner of two streets that had spanish names, though there were few spanish speakers to be found in the neighborhood where the transdimensional house of rudolfo carrillo was located. the names of the streets were juan tabo and candelaria.

as he walked through that shrouded abyss, he nervously hoped that nobody in his family would discover the frajos or the pet of the year issue he had so carefully hidden.

his family consisted of a brother, a sister, mother, father and two vicious and overweight dogs that had already bitten the hell out of him over the years but that he loved none the less.

anyway, on the night lennon breathed his last breath, a rare and thick fog had descended from the sandia mountains and carrillo walked about in it with his hands thrust in his pockets, his eyes pointed toward the churning and soupy mist that covered the ground all around him.

though he was inclined to walk around in that stuff all night, he grew cold and decided to return to his home. inside the den where it was warm, his brother and father were watching images of a game called football. the images had been transmitted through a cathode ray tube and were dancing around on a big glass screen, much to the delight and consternation of his genetic dopplegangers.

everyone else was already asleep, even the toothy and violent perros that he kept as companions. carrillo told those two he that he was retiring and went back to his room. sitting on the edge of the bed, he took off his shoes, looked at his big ugly feet and thought for a moment about his assignment for the science fiction literature class he was taking at the city of gold. the course was taught by meridith kopald, a human being he would later revere as someone who encouraged his intellectual capacities while tolerating his eccentric and underachieving manner.

his mind drifted there in the dark and soon he began fantasizing about suzan wagenfehr. she was a beautiful blonde girl that had recently moved away from albuquerque. carrillo would never see her again and years later would inadvertently discover that she and her teenage daughter had died in a snowy automobile accident in colorado. but at that moment, just as he began to visualize her erotically cute nose, golden flowing hair and tiny pink hands, someone knocked on his door.

it was his father and the old sailor was crying. he said nothing but led carrillo out into the hallway and then to the place where the teevee was glowing violently, spewing light everywhere. albino, his twin, was sitting in a black leather chair with his head in his hands, shaking.

john lennon was dead, the voice pouring out of the wood encased, electronic box said.

the next day at school, carrillo wore a black armband and did not say a word to anyone, but meridith kopald. he told her he was glad that she had introduced him to the ray bradbury story called fahrenheit 451, but that it only confirmed his fears that he was an outsider.

she nodded and seemed to understand.

one million blades of grass, whispering

2010-12-03T21:13:00.003-07:00

after the proper rituals had been invoked, sub-commander upside down wristwatch stood and asked to address the gathered vegetables. his visual sensory patches shifted furtively between his intended audience and the starboard windowpanes that sufficed as an imaginary barrier between the comfort of starcruiser one million blades of grass, whispering and the yawning abyss of deepest space.

i have a story to tell, he intoned gravely and adjusted the settings on his spacesuit to accommodate extended vocalization. antennae fluttered, radar tracking devices whirred and opened like a million tiny magnetic flowers.

there is a blue and deeply oceanic sphere hidden in this vast and perplexing void. i have seen it myself. the spirit of life, embedded awkwardly in flesh, controls the place. the more complex organisms have deconstructed parts of the orb, reassembling the them as shelters and complex mechanical devices. despite this unforeseen evolutionary advance, violence and poverty are still commonplace.

tell us about city 119n, one of the orchids shouted fervently and switched on her bio-luminescence filter, signaling approval.

and he said that when he last checked, many of the homes had flat roofs and life-support systems which relied on combustible gaseous organic residue. these places were often filled with beings who were easily hypnotized by jet engines and sang songs that were mostly about sexual reproduction. additionally and especially during the winter, these same creatures came to terms with their transitory nature by lighting candles and listening to the wind howl through the canyon on its way to the river.

"We Await Silent Tristero's Empire"

2010-11-30T21:52:00.006-07:00

in truth, i only encountered the shadow people two times.

here is a story about that first intersection.

this narrative, unwholesome and truculent as it may be in its exposition, will be followed in the advancing winter by commentary on my former identity; how that casually dismissive and sullenly anarchistic voice came to infiltrate, over the intervening three years, the most guarded and sacred levels of their discourse.

but that part is for tomorrow and tomorrow; it will be available in the imperial libraries as soon as my spaceship parts arrive, bringing me joy and further inspiration as i reflect upon those halcyon times.

anyway, the initiated, the center of the universe as they referred to themselves, called a meeting at the place of small hills and grassy protuberances. it was, coincidentally, the place where we buried our dead four centuries before.

on a day when the rain followed the sun and clouds blossomed everywhere, i joined with them. i brought the usual sacrificial gifts; pronouncements of humility and ipseity consisting of peeled green peppers from the earth, fresh tortillas from my troubled hands, the sacred and dutifully churned output of the representative of holy oneness, which they referred to with danger in their attenuated voices as butter.

and lo, their table was set with bitter delicacies and complex bourgeois iterations of taste and flavor, which they devoured with exceeding grace and proclivity, laughing heartily at their own digital proliferation, though they feared the yellow and fatty slab I had brought into their midst and circled about it, as crows do when confronted with starlight and amoebas.

division of interplanetary travel

2010-11-27T20:23:00.003-07:00

the division of interplanetary travel, a special feature of magnetic tape storage area epsilon aurora three is accessible only under certain rhetorical conditions.

those requisite manifestations are described in full as the second part of the graphic instruction pamphlet casually yet electronically entwined within the character string displayed within our previous transmissions and thereby the default mode of esoteric discourse.

stars crawled across a television screen and sometimes i want to believe you, but i still, somehow, conflate electricity with magic.

a weird sort of music pours from the output modules near the edge of the settlement. the speakers are nothing more than glorified magnetic presences, yet they resemble the architectural wonders of ancient earth.

the static they leave behind may also be a portal to the hierarchical model suggested in the first paragraph.

a photograph of that bird in flight

2010-11-27T11:17:00.005-07:00

the only holiday rudolfo carrillo ever gave thought to fully celebrating involved participation in the annual memorial ritual to the lost albatross.

taking place, as it did usually, on the quarterdeck of the Rocinante, all those square sails arching whitely and seaward, compass spinning like a terrestrial quasar in unformed and unknown watery locales, it was quite a spectacle to behold.

feathers, dry with age and circumspection drifted across the floorboards. a photograph of that bird in flight was passed around.

when asked to speak on the significance of universal loss and entropy, carrillo mouthed these words from memory, as the salt air and smell of kelp raised his bravery threshold 3.1415 notches above what had been previously demonstrated:

"un nombre a su parecer alto, sonoro y significativo de lo que había sido cuando fue rocin, antes de lo que ahora era".

afterwards, everyone returned to their cabins and slept as the sea rolled on and on beneath them.

fragment 168f, sometimes referred to as why i went to art school (translation)

2010-11-25T17:11:00.006-07:00

in the one hundred and seventy-third year of his demise from a rare form of radiation poisoning gotten whilst listening to bon jovi at the edge of the trail that leads to the thorong-la pass, the curmudgeonly chicano author of this languid accounting of junk-strewn epiphanies spat out the following recollection of his transmutation.

i really don't give a good god damn about the purported attempts to render several discretionary units compiled here as some sort of movie and really can't be bothered to know whether you all are listening to this crap or not. as long as they send a good looking nurse to change my diaper and give me a cigarette to smoke on a regular basis, i am good.

anyway i wandered aimless for the first year and sort of lost my way. then i inadvertently came upon a building composed of cubes. there was a lot of folks in there, talking about books and the folks that wrote them. some of the people i met were fairly old, like i am now, but without the crow wings.

that was fine and dandy except for the fact I kept getting distracted by a gal sitting next to me in the analysis of literature class which was taught by an old irish fellow who never gave me higher than a b- but was otherwise very helpful, encouraging me to write and write.

she always wore long skirts. her hair was short and sandy. to top it all off she wore spectacles that were big, a grand apparatus held together with scotch tape and rubberbands. in an odd way, she reminded me of jane hathaway, a character from the television comedy, the beverly hillbillies.

during class she drew pictures and had a little black notebook that had an image of everyone in the room drawn into it. on the last day of the fall semester i decided to ask her about her pictures and we ended up standing in front of the department of art and art history. she talked and talked as if nobody in this world or the next one had ever thought to bring up the subject of her creative output.

finally, she told me she was going back home, which was somewhere on the shore of the eastern ocean. there was a portraitist out yonder whom she loved and must therefore follow. it was all pretty damn dramatic all the way through, even as she shook my hand clumsily and told me with sadness, and earnestly, that she would have probably had sex with me if i had talked to her back in september.

i never saw lillian again.

so ends the translated portion of fragment 168f, recorded in the digital medium here faithfully and with great circumspection in the month of furnaces, in year 3165, by double-naught agent j. bodine.

order number 09807660.1.03

2010-11-22T22:29:00.003-07:00

the delivery of spaceship parts (your order number 09807660.1.03) has been delayed three dirurnal rotations due to the upcoming holiday festival. agents normally responsible for the distribution of positronic filters and metadimensional view screens have been temporarily reassigned to drive around the city filled with echoes of wintertime, the hexagonal shape of the final days of the year upon the hoods of their vehicles as icy ornamentation.

in the meantime, feel free to stare longingly at your home solar system through the pair of quantum binoculars digitally encrypted into the fabric of this epistle.

interview with a vaguely familiar literary device

2010-11-21T10:24:00.004-07:00

It has recently come to our attention that you have reduced or otherwise directed toward invisible dust-strewn realms, transmissions which had some value in your continuing research mission to city 119n. Please comment.

- i feared that i had gone native, sir.

That is an interesting idiom, nuanced by your personal history, as it were, but it does not account for the seven million, two-hundred fifty-three thousand seven hundred and ten pages of documents, images and transitory cultural artifacts which you quite literally have disappeared into the interstellar void.

- i listened to the transcripts. heard my voice. Sometimes it was clear. In certain playback modes it sounded like I had been swallowing helium between takes. Some of it sounded like it was coming out of a little metal box in the desert. The accuracy of my continued expression and documentation required the use of alternate wave-lengths.

Your research continues, then?

- Yeah, I copied all of the previous output onto a roll of paper towels with that typewriter you sent me.

most of the flowers and some of the clouds

2010-11-19T22:29:00.003-07:00

they want you to possess a special kind of tape; the kind that will bind everything together forever. it will need to be fibrous and lengthy, with nautical overtones and a good beat. when the proper amount of surface tension is applied, what suffices for glue will rise as a billion translucent spheres designed with the strong atomic force in mind.

there are machines which can complete those tasks described - with a level of detail and authenticity that can also be used as a renewable and constantly blossoming energy source. it will rival most of the flowers, and some of the clouds.

the compounds which describe the tape's structure have not been invented yet, are still floating namelessly among the stars your children will visit.

carrillo's morning sing-along, fragment 167v (translated here by jethro bodine, himself)

2010-11-19T06:32:00.010-07:00

for some reason, i've always been fascinated with the al stewart song called the year of the cat. i heard it played on the radio twice this week and now it is beginning again with its somber pianistic opening phrases looming right there with the sunrise which is a deep orange today across the winter desert that must be new mexico's truest representatve.

the music's in my head, but the light from yonder is brightening, shifting whatever orangeness remains into it's azure compliment. everyone's comfortable here we are grateful to be warm, to be lulled to sleep nightly by the sounds of freedom everywhere spinning so lovingly, so hypnotically.

it takes a while for morning to come on in the winter, but when it finally catches then it is glorious and bright, even temperate; the land naked in its cloudlessness. though that same open sky can become awful dark at night. still, there're a heap of beautiful stars and astronomical phenomena you don't see back at home and that makes the whole of the experience quite tolerable.

carrillo's morning sing-along

2010-11-18T07:29:00.001-07:00

varias lineas en bruto

2010-11-18T00:17:00.005-07:00

los árboles que están involucrados con la procesión del invierno

se les enseña a bailar, antes de que el hielo se convierte en sus única compañera.

mucho más tarde, vuelve la luz y verdor; empieza una canción nueva y más compleja.

the mexican peter sellers

2010-11-16T22:09:00.005-07:00

i decided to starve myself as a means of demonstrating spatial and relative noncompliance because the locust in my shabby and overgrown backyard positioned itself towards venus. afterwards, i still felt sadness for dead hero dogs, the youth we have raised in perpetual war, and the failure of apollo thirteen.

after i watched november's version of the transit of the moon and while listening to aeroplanes parked across the street - all toothy and covered in preternatural boils, my appearance surpassing any sort of resemblance to the mexican peter sellers, i thought i might deny water as well.

but then, the light from my favorite seven stars shone through the little glass bucket of tarantulas that my father left behind. the resulting photonic interface induced a sort of thirst in me that resulted in a quick flight to the river, where i immediately baptized myself, drank a mouthful of clay and then crossed to the other side.

much later in that night, while polaris spun around and around, i swigged life ironically from a rusty can and thought of richard nixon.

seven hours with m

2010-11-15T16:16:00.004-07:00

exactly seven years, four months and six days after her penultimate meeting with that diviner of sour and illiterate foundations, she arrives at carrillo's doorstep in an old dark dodge, with two small dogs dressed as penguins and the very pointy shoes she took from her mother's closet, dangling from her little pink hands.

he is nonplussed but motions to the hummingbird hovering by his left hand. winter is approaching and he rightly presumes that the highly vibratory creature he keeps as a symbol of summer will find plenty of flowers in the southern reaches of planet earth. his little coyote prances and growls, upset by the appearance of a known distraction.

once she enters the dark and smoky chamber, her animal companions become autumn leaves and drift away on the drafts produced by his trans-dimensional flourishes and gestures. she shakes her brown hair nervously and chirps like a starling.

Sitting awkwardly with her bare feet thrust outward, she produces a photo album from her dirty macramé bag and tells the representative of night time and eternal suffering of her wanton adventures. when she mentions that her recent marriage to Burley the lawyer has failed, carrillo nods empathetically and lights a candle for her.

now i know the sadness of the mexican warrior

2010-11-14T20:43:00.005-07:00

who gathered flowers at nightfall and sang husky epiphanies to his imaginary friends, lost among the stars or otherwise occupied by the flight of butterflies and the invisibility of hummingbird wings.

he walked through the fields as darkness consumed the land. he was carrying a prosaic snake skin and the watery blue envelope of his lord - the full breath of heaven upon his broken hand.

a brief review of spacecraft common to the thirty-first century

2010-11-13T19:18:00.012-07:00

those works, focused on the dense molecular geometry of plastic and consequent transmigration of the eternal life force peculiar to terrestrial lifeforms, were first described and subsequently transmitted through the electronic aether near the end of the first decade of the previous millennium by a mysterious figure known only as rudolfo carrillo.

though initially suppressed by the corporate authorities responsible for the degradation of what has loosely been referred to as the north american cultural milieu and later destroyed by carrillo himself in an attempt to demonstrate the intransigent nature of the eternal battle between literature and marketing (a term now used only rarely by the far-flung capitalist refugees of planet vladimir seven), the lengthy and ofttimes obtuse tomes have been recently restored and are available for use within the libraries scattered star-like throughout the glorious empire itself.

using a process originally designed to restore the battle-scarred limbs of the trans-oceanic and tentacled beings of the lesser magellanic cloud, this previously indecipherable volume of ruminations and explications of human life follow this brief introductory post. they will be transmitted to said locations daily or until the impending supernova surrenders the earth and its fragile and fleshy inhabitants into the dusty autumnal abyss.

the work itself may be conveniently divided into several million sub-topics including but not limited to discussions about the nature of dark matter, the expectation and dispersal of power within social networking platforms and the ultimate triumph of bunny rabbits over coyotes.

so stay tuned, absorbers of digitally-generated data, the best is yet to come.

- the editor.

the mystic power of propellers

2010-10-14T23:19:00.004-06:00

oh, luscious swerve and infinite curve! a place where orchids grow. or i don't know; any flower of your choice, which given the diversity of species and geography currently available to you and just about every other god-damn human on this spinning and relatively slow moving celestial object, should probably be sown in a location on the space-time continuum where flowers retain their poetic tendency, have not been rendered null, surrendered to capitalism and bound to fragrances that omit the existence of libraries and maps.

the very essence of those bright underground heavens, visualized in short easily consumable units.

in a valiant effort to decode the significance of the previous statements, i will conduct an experiment. An orchestra will be a necessary component of that lofty experimentalism, as I attempt to determine where such elusive objects begin and where others end.

backwards

2010-07-21T23:06:00.002-06:00

you can find things with your hands; call off, with certitude in your voice and voluminous amounts of blood circulating round and round through your head and heart, the frequency and industry which demonstrate the destruction of forests, the creation and beatification of yards and boulevards, the glitch of traffic and the bounding of mice, backwards, through all the broken glass and hair and mud available to the human spirit. and even at that height, with your arm plunging soup-like through a rectangular portal of your own devious construction, there are eggs and apples, flightless insects that remain just out of reach.

the paradox of heavenly discourse

2010-06-10T22:05:00.003-06:00

i am made from flesh like all the rest and so will not come wandering down your street forever, draped in lead blankets, the flowery odor of summer hanging about me in herbaceous tendrils (seeking the sun more than my watery caress) but retreating like smoke into certain properly defined crevices in an earth I trod upon while envisioning the collapse of nature and the triumph of mechanization. there is blood on my left foot from the glass, bright air and sullen windstorms that I sleep through but care enough about to walk in the midst of with my eyes closed and while several unfathomably large orbs dance overhead, mysteriously, perpetually.

w

2010-04-28T21:50:00.002-06:00

in a special, spectral world of walking or otherwise wanderingly discrete and self-contained units whose main component is water disguised as blood embedded in temporary vessels capable of kindness and joy but sometimes inclined to seek destruction as a recourse for imagined and foggy iterations of the moon's transit through chemical and hence biological determinism, flowers have been placed on top of the empty jars you carried out of the back room where i slept.

the dress you wore twenty-five years ago, which coaxed yellow from the spectrum and so was sulfurous and hot like the shallow water at the end of the mercy, at the hairy junction of drunken starlight and thanksgiving turkey, has been reconfigured as an icon which will be used to demonstrate the impermanent efficacy of the underground shelter where we often met.

you may continue your white repose at the bottom of those steep and awful stairs while i flutter overhead, wondering why my wig is still black.

when you are done gathering salt

2010-04-08T23:36:00.003-06:00

they are busy sending me objects of infinite proportion, symbols of vague nuance (the output of articulate hands and fingers) and have broadcast those constructions across the heavenly firmament, through a system of fragile wires and widely dispersed molecules.

ii.

when you are done gathering salt, have compassionately seen to its dispersal among what remains of the previous season (that stack of wood, the hoary footprints of winter birds) then scrape together what early blossoms have already fallen; from their aggregate, devise a means to supplant the pale light of orion.

iii.

he appeared as a hemisphere whose radius could most accurately be described in astronomical terms. clearly, his crowning glory (the resplendent void all about). tilting sunward, he was bathed in a type of radiation that encourages plant growth.

iv.

when the light of the sun shines through the shop windows in late afternoon, she has a difficult time looking at the customers. there are too many details in each face, she mutters gravely, reaching for another pack of cigarettes.

then, el colibri hovered magically through each of the previous vignettes. the restless harbinger of blossoms asked me when the night would arrive.

the intervention of software

2010-03-05T01:03:00.003-07:00

the way this chair is built - from molecules that i am supposing are similar in design and manifestation to aging flesh or cosmic forces (small electric light bulbs and white plastic chrysanthemums parading themselves around its periphery, merrily like it is always a holiday here hurrah) - may deform wholly and unconventionally those bones over which I hold a temporary command; whose rootedness bears books written in the thin vernacular of spring.

ii.

what weary tune, what dancing wisp of smoke (borne upon what holy and uncontested atmosphere of winds and their consequent onrushing, pressurization and ultimate dissolution) will draw out finely and using a methodology prescribed long before the intervention of software, a world where pictures are an awkward mediator between leaves and hands? they have rituals to perform.

iii.

processed as ones and zeros, the stars i have been following are linked to a sort of fire that is clearly reminiscent of birth.

ubicación: cero

2010-02-14T21:53:00.003-07:00

my favorite window tastes like vegetables in the summertime (uttering syllables which when compared to the constellations are all about being bound to the land) and is likely composed of a material which though similar to glass, does not flow slowly, eternally, towards the center of the earth. the birds build nests nearby without being asked. shadows cease their march across that portal, too, allowing flight; gossamer hymns circulate - praising all that is green and transparent.

cold cigarettes that burn forever

2010-01-28T19:32:00.002-07:00

pressed to specificity and distracted by the plants out on the patio, which he remembered to be greener and less likely to be of the carnivorous sort now beckoning to him, jethro outlined his methodology for equipping the populace with art, literature and music. it involved, he intoned sullenly,

the sound of winter.

the aching machinery of the word made flesh.

images that the writer may employ to circumnavigate aphotic objects generated by chemical reactions; sustained by the accumulation of electricity and experience.

the silvery moments of moonlight and sharp shadows referred to obliquely by the utterances of tame animals.

production of maps (and other location determining tools) inclusive of adjacent worlds.

cold cigarettes that burn forever and are glorious in their smokiness.

He made the last statement while leaning awkwardly towards the window and sounded overly optimistic while he waited for its effect. Two seconds after the androids deactivated themselves, he was out the door and having a interesting conversation with the trees in the front garden.

the celestial mechanics, part one

2010-01-10T15:08:00.004-07:00

—I am going to read a poem he said, transiting the stars (but still buckled to earth, luckily and pressed upright amidst its northern regions) while checking the dogs for infection.

and so recited this quatrain:

The mystery of the Unicorns has been solved.

Teevee created them. Electricity was involved,

and should be handled fiercely like a flower,

or gently, like a skull invoked by memory.

—I liked the reference to Hamlet, she said, pulling down the moon and all sorts of other stuff (some of which continued to drift in the aether for years after).

members of the high council

2010-01-01T22:35:00.005-07:00

a report on new methods to be used in the detection of encrypted patterns encountered in the transit of memory across flower petals and the wings of universal dieties, lovingly cast aside by its former occupant (an intelligent mist from the outer reaches of the heliosphere) will soon be presented in its entirety, pleasantly blossoming and drinking greeness from the plants, nearby.

in its current manifestation — contingent upon the mystical vehicles which bear that tome upon a network of elusive but (scientists feel) organically produced webs, across the aphotic realm that separates the universe into two discrete membranes — it is likely that said presentation will require substantial use of unique units and entities housed along the space-time continuum and normally reserved for polemics and descriptions of the forces at work at the center of the sun.

a tree for growing robots

2009-11-07T22:46:00.002-07:00

this story is not concerned with the placement of objects within the lengthy arcana of kindness, the examination of profound and youthful futility or mundane glimpses into the revisionist nature of electronic media.
it's about what happens in another universe.
someone said they sent three of their avatars out into the wide world. his highness did not expect conquest, so much as an enumeration of the grand principles captured so eloquently in the mirrors and typefaces which had been carefully embedded on previous expeditions. please note that it was at first startling, but subsequently amusing, to watch the clumsy buckets of flesh dance by the fire. that is a digression, though an important one.
one of the arhats had learned cruelty by being forced to stand in a forest of chairs. the second image of what was previously considered lordly demonstrated patience and ate many sandwiches, while the third practiced a mild sort of decency upon small animals which smelled of mosquito repellent.
back at the castle, which floated in the sky like a chicken on its way to heaven, there was more than a little concern that such free-ranging activities might have a negative effect on those who remained.
call out the wizards said the prime minister.

towards a plastic theater

2009-10-29T19:04:00.003-06:00

the small, fruit bearing capacitor of pomona, thorny and electrical, is produced mechanically, wisp-like and surrounded by water and telephone wires. in the background, volturnus is heard to laugh and a languid vibe consumes the stage.
two butterflies, suspended by thick ropes, descend from the sky. one of them may be painted to resemble the moon.
musical interludes should be limited to the ticking of five clocks. an amplifier may be used if necessary but should not distract from the triumphant passage of starlight though the auditorium.
night time may be further indicated by the use of roscolux filter number seventy-four in the backlights, as well as in the lenses of the sunglasses worn by the dancers, who will appear presently.
the overall effect should reach towards the concept of polymerization.

how to conjure vibrant plant life from inherited symbols

2009-10-14T22:05:00.003-06:00

these are the tools i used: garrulous birds soaring southward; the especially spectral electronic structure demonstrated by birth; a graph which diagrammatically formalizes the decay of visible sunlight as the earth turns and turns and turns; the energy normally used for walking and eating.

subspace communication

2009-09-24T22:41:00.003-06:00

you appear to be in complete control. the engines of nature, symbolized, though somewhat crudely, by a set of data called, among other things, celestial mechanics, have been formalized; cunningly set to reveal the universe in all its glory, as a consequence of forward momentum.
special hats with feathers or elsewise, operatic masks ( those filters of the mundane and circumspect dance here) are required to participate in the coming transformation. Everything after that event will be composed of numbers.
the dark red sunset of autumn's dusk! a bird that is only visiting.
are you familiar with machines; the ones that duplicate the ocean's breath?

the moon that i have offered you

2009-08-29T22:11:00.005-06:00

allow me to coerce you with mirrors; this thin strand of starlight is disturbing to the plants which receive transmissions (based on molecular fragments and the consequent memory of water) even after being plucked from the dry and lusty ground. at night
and with hands dependent upon medicine for their continuous and shapely movement.
there will eventually be a calm moment; then i will be allowed to crawl around in the dirt, disturbing graves and roots in order to divine your true intent.
pianos will erupt, displaying arpeggios and divine sonic potentials.
but first, you must look up at the moon that i have offered you.

mars colony

2009-08-08T14:51:00.002-06:00

small and frail creatures drift in and out of the numerous input devices which i had placed on the mountaintops. the edge of the lonely sea breathes dust; fragments of letters i wrote while encapsulated in the thin aura of youth are still scattered on the shore. my glasses were oval, then.
and the distance home shocks. that little blue dot is earth.
i have come to admire the purple sky, the yellow twittering plants, and have recently replaced most of my non-functioning robotic companions with butterflies and mice.
other forms of comfort are derived from the incessant hum of machinery.
i have batteries and food to last thirty more years.

infinity report number one hundred and thirty-three

2009-06-20T21:11:00.004-06:00

thirteen minutes and fifty-three seconds ago, i caused specifically defined and digitally represented sound waves to transform themselves into perceivable phenomena and then emanate from two electro-accoustic devices situated on each corner my wooden desktop, crowded (as it is) with letters and cans; an old apple-wood pipe given to me by mother nature herself.
this mother (who sat in a tree and was always kind besides), told me that the ripplings through the space-time continuum were caused by mechanical vibrations that produced changes in pressure, manifested, after their intial production, as occillating waves that radiate outward, from their material source. These, in turn, affect the infintesimally small particles around them in musical ways.
these waves can travel through many forms of matter and can be represented abstractly as symbols whose derivation is based on observation, often and ironically, through the very media that is being analyzed.
out in the water, they are still swimming.
the seaside, ocean water and fragile humans interacting with that environment are composed of the same particles described in the previous paragraph. somehow and through a process that can, for instance, be demonstrated by the use of morse code in the 19th century, the mastery of the mellotron in the later half of the succeeding one hundred years, and further, the advent of digital reductionism, they are all still, somehow, separate.

the tendrils of flame and their many by-products

2009-06-06T21:38:00.004-06:00

and as they descended, transmitting the code to initiate subtle chemical reactions in the deep and cold currents of every ocean, the first ships of the fire industry made a blue blinking light appear on the head of every statue of every saint still worshipped on that watery sphere. they also caused draining water to reverse course; huge waterspouts appeared everywhere and then fell to earth as snow.
the first of the starships entered the atmosphere.
a man with a small flame above his head and dressed in a ash grey uniform with red highlights was seen greeting shoppers in the departure lounge of the famous spacestation LXG-593.
so, obviously, their matter projection devices were still functioning, even after their hasty and unwholesome departure from earth so many years ago.
Said a commentator on the recently restored world wide web.
Within hours, canisters of various inert gasses were distributed to large swaths of the population.

xōchiyāōyōtl

2009-05-17T21:11:00.003-06:00

then, a sonorous, oblique orbit through that part of the night containing references to the efficient self-organizing structure of insect wings, the red-golden glow of sodium vapor electrified and the symbolic positioning of migratory bird plumage upon the cradle of summer resulted in three spectacular observations which can only now be properly analyzed.

the moon is an occult object.

the sun is flying through the heavens at speeds that are unattainable on earth.

the stars represent butterflies and other fragile moments.

fragment

2009-04-29T22:06:00.002-06:00

Components twelve through sixty-three – whose calcified protective auras might be more properly classified as metaphysical or intradimensional shells covering such flesh as was necessary to demonstrate the glowing presence of life within a section of the universe dominated by visible light and electrically charged gas formations – were discovered to be residing within the framework of certain insects and other less organized beings common to rocky planets with stable rotational mechanics.

Operating at the molecular level, these inventions were the work of elves that had sprung from the pages of Tolkien and then taken their show on the celestial road, traveling through time wantonly and demonstrating their technological formidablilty to a variety of races and sentient flowers.

Some of them were built by applying miniaturization processes to ornately carved sticks; others from a combination of elusive metal alloys and prayer.

dancing with oxygen

2009-04-16T20:45:00.003-06:00

in the year 2319, the earth was or will be conquered by the glassy remnants of the fire industry, which crept into prominence as a cultural and economic force in the previous century, but then fell into the habit of combining with argon and so diminished and fragmented.
initiated by the performance of hideously arcane rituals in several cities throughout the kingdom, heat was precisely demonstrated. demonstrated. afterwards, those who could still see saw fit to follow the tendrils of flame and their many by-products.
After only fifty years, the effects of inert gases upon leaders of the fire industry ensured the movement's dissipation. the followers who remained built interstellar vehicles from saltwater and fled.
the dawn of the twenty-fourth century coincided with a floating sort of peace; humans once again dreamt of vegetables and instantaneous electronic communication.
and so what a surprise it must have been and will be, to see their lonely crystalline starships floating through the air once again, dancing with oxygen.

towards a place

2009-04-07T20:06:00.002-06:00

laugh and sing in the sunshine
don't drive the snowy roads
we're headed towards
a place in the mountains
where you can see the folds
of the earth.

planet number three

2009-04-01T21:31:00.004-06:00

they say that you are headed to a place (in space; that inevitable rhyme manifested like a horn section, but with the contour of teeth) where the annually vertiginous vernal visitation and lifting up of christ will follow a pattern similar to that observed in certain species of flowering plants (who begin their ritual of awakening now).
daisies come to mind (white and papery) or else roses; their thorns fresh and unadorned by age or rage or the gardener's perception of their sharp inclusion within the framework of growth and decay.
this is our garden.

march to the sea

2009-03-28T22:13:00.002-06:00

her hair calamitous - nails from the fringes of eastern philosophy (likewise every hand which held an instrument) suggest that the march to the sea will be a fruitful one; circumspect and intangible
by daybreak, which slips through the curtains defining roughly the shadows that it builds.

venusian control software

2009-03-27T21:30:00.004-06:00

on the control software to venus, jazz music plays in the background. several numerical character strings have been arranged to resemble the wind that blows through the trees on spring nights.
in the crevices of our sister planet, invisible to passing spaceships filled with the descendants of european adventurers, the secrets which bind electricity to water are being examined for proof of efficacy.
a demonstration on the causes of starlight will follow that magnetic discourse and it will be held in a place where the sky is compressed and lead flows like water.

only some of them had the weight of celestial objects

2009-03-20T10:37:00.005-06:00

yo: i took up the flags, the sails and remnants, accoutrements of those who came before, sabes? the ones who spilt thunder from their heart (it pours out hot and red, making cathedrals of our bodies which are otherwise frail and only temporarily circumspect upon this wide and boundless sea) to ensure the sunrise.
but it was a dark undertaking, a path strewn with sharp rocks and occult sentences. only some of those artifacts had the weight of celestial objects.
and so, i drifted out into the wind-blown next season, where of course,
birds sang.

using symbols that stand for sounds made with the mouth

2009-03-18T22:45:00.003-06:00

i.
the directions are very clear in this regard and even jethro, disguised as a hipster (with his hair cut to look like it had been shaped by a white porcelain mixing bowl formerly used as a repository for chocolate candy and photographic demonstrations of christ's authority) can revel, can plan and execute the greatest fiesta of them all (hallelujah, say the angels) to mark the events which describe their implementation.
ii.
the directions, the clear process wherein quantity provides structure, have as their underlying and organizing system, the idea of a leaf, the passage of electrons through wire and two minutes ago.
earth is floating or is so perceived because consciousness is complex and some writers have chosen to draw pictures of it, using symbols that stand for sounds made with the mouth.
iii.
the hum of machinery preceeds all of the entrances to heaven. accurate observations of the stars are likewise disrupted by that electronic breath. it's fluttering gray glow encourages dancing and only occasionally a sort of dreamless sleep.
iv.
keep walking. activate every source of light that you come across.

.

tales estructuras florecen

2009-02-21T22:45:00.004-07:00

hay un tipo de poesía que contiene la veracidad de la luz de las estrellas, que ilumina invierno y camina con los brazos doblados, hacia el lector.
esas palabras hablan de las alas de un pájaro y definen el agua como una herramienta que se utilizará en el desierto.
ubicado en el vacío, tales estructuras florecen. son mirados por las otras plantas mientras que realizan rituales al sol y a su alfabeto brillante.
pero, ese libro se pierde, aunque sus secretos residen en hueso, en la enfermedad de la edad.