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Old 12-20-2018, 08:52 AM   #1
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Organiclly Organic Organics of a God Lost in Droste

Gentle sordid tears flow down as I recount my latest of fearful comedies and tragic mechanisms. I found myself weeping, down . . . . on bended knee. I knelt there for a time and realized my every breathe was pulling a tense, high-traction, lawnmower-chain-like energy beam that revved up some mystic engine powering the whole universe.

I could see a stream of electric chaos forming
upon my moist mucus membranes,
deep in the cavernous turbinates
where the flow becomes so damn turbulent that millions of microscopic little universes burst
into seemingly eternal little lifetimes that actually explode into and out of existence
in only a tiny little millisecond of my time.

Kneeling there, I felt as if I was a giant and,
in my mind,
I became stuck reliving life
towards the exact moment
of this very adventurous thought.

Then, upon every new reaching of this moment,
I become stuck
within every tiny little universe that manifested in the fertile nares
of said mind, reliving life up to that moment, a trillion times over; and, then,
when this moment occurs in each mind of those new-new minds and I have this same ingeniously imaginative thought, my consciousness will then be transferred into each of those trillions of other minds. Ad infinitum.

This is a cycle that continues on forever into some type of reel of simulacrum that flies by so damned fast the each still-frame of each separate lifetime rushes by into a tragically comedic, stop-action, 10-dimensional reality that was originally conceived by the original mind that conceived the original mind's mind.

Then the reel flies off the wheel
and is picked up by an ordinary man
in every separate timeline,
who, each of them,
inspired by such beauty,
took up the task of painting
an abstract rendition of
each scene.

Each scene within a scene
mathematically aligning
into perpetually self-similar
fractals of lifelines in a mind.

A dusty old narrative that is being sucked
down into a blackhole. . .
ground up like meat
and transformed into
an absurd infinity of
spaghetti westerns
that have all the
call-girls, whiskey, and gunpowder one could imagine.

Every tentacle of a timeline
born anew upon the shredding of
the previous lights,
Every twine of time
melding and melting
at the bottom of this black hole
into one very bright
liquidy light of energy;
like a hot tub of ivory white
electricity beaming
like the bright white beacon
of a yang shining in a sea of dark yin.

A new star is born
to heat up that diesel
engine of a material womb
that is ready to be revved
by every vital breathe
that one man can take
whilst knelt in his backyard for only a moment.

Gotta filler' up.
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Old 12-20-2018, 02:33 PM   #2
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Re: Organiclly Organic Organics of a God Lost in Droste

I read this and layered it over my current theme;

'Dear God, why is my nose so stuffed up and my head so lost in a fog?'

Piercing tickles of white light in the dark yin of my yang.
Achooo
Kneeling down with a Kleenex box
A million organics painting with razors
Those million germs born and revved
Ah, sometimes, son, it's gonna fill up.

Regardless. good writing my friend. Have a great couple of weeks.
Peace.
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