Sunday, July 24, 2016
text || Wayne Mason
Subliminal Syntax (Excerpt) Negotiating Metaphors
His smile is nothing, nothing at all. This place is purgatory. The beast told them, stranded ambivalence, noise, emission of comfortable ride. The stars will fall from the sky while I sit in neglected devastation spread holy languid nonsense fled the body of the human condition. A pulse and contraction of the hungry, and suddenly want to consider more than a prophet wasted time. I lost thousands of breaths against the dark sanctity of Zen brothers standing in silence. Stimulation of the world exists in darkness of rapid pulses hanging over their heads and bare bones. I want to be a terrible deity shift limited by a dream, now obsolete, blind or scraping crap surreal twists laughter.
Give flesh. The fire spread. Waving, hissing machines, metal singing echoed my voice. Soak in with swollen ears a real face to a solemn sky, you are informed that the great and terrible. Capitalism withdrew from the final ghetto. The mind is wandering and roundness, without wisdom drowning out the sounds of the streets, and fools laboring in vain talk. Frozen factories scattered between sunset and humping machines hanging there on American television screens. Buddha’s camouflaged drop dead here in the last factory on earth oozing inter-dimensionally as apathetic gelatin, narrow curves and penetration self. Lonely ephedrine makes fantastic dreams … the ears of the moon, the work of the early days.
Melancholy lifetime of Mondays in the hearts of men, is he playing back the sound of growling machines?
Stubby fingers push the tiny holocausts, and the world out of its mind. Heaven and Hell is incidental, walking in the dreamy, sad, happy desert fractal summit of dreams. The city speaks to the total isolation of the shadow … with dreams just as empty. While people put their tired heads to pillows, our feet stomp to pervert the silence.
We still sat on the strength of a dream.