distant quasar sounds…


Sacrilege, I say. You say, poppycock. I say we go for ice cream on a pear tree, and the partridges be damned.

I have the eyeless in guaguanco player piano boll weevils in exploding plastic shades. I have a plastic covered couch and a handheld cassette player.

I have gutted all my visceral fish and lived a livestock week in panoply and cornucopia. I have called upon Mr. Pharmacist to make my life more bittersweet. He only succeeds at distant quasar sounds.

Oh please be here because I am and I don’t really want to go there where you’re not.

I have well trod ways of going off the rails. I have multifoliate multivariances and polyvalencies of texts. I have Brakhage films to screen and John Cage bubblegum to chew.

And thus I have chosen.

“As the jingle has it:

‘Brothers my first obligation
Is to tell you outright:
We’re in a tough situation
With no hope in sight’

Friends, a wholehearted admission
And a wholehearted UNLESS!”

— Bertolt Brecht / “The Truth Unites”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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