Tuesday, October 20, 2015

cut-up text || Wayne Mason

Subliminal Syntax (Excerpt)
Effigy of man burns by the sea, like people inside their private inner suburbia holding the collar to lead in the excess of personal euphoria.

America’s ominous moon highlight cracked sidewalks, shortcuts through alleys of bleak stories, scrap tattered boats, darkened rash, cardboard, open sea coast with waves receding into the Sartre’s vertigo of consciousness, a collection of books that knew all his stories.

Crosley lights a cigarette, "Yeah ... I guess the patience is in a bit of poetry, I cannot connect with you.”

He saw old maps and erotic churning steel, bright broken glass in the hands of days amid the sound of the restless crowds. Peeling paint, windows of dreams, and nothing time. Lonely saxophone moans and inch by inch, you crawl to the sounds of bones clanking the boneyard percussion of death.

"If we had freedom….." Trailing off, I have nothing to give.

Unspeakable creatures crawl in unknown spaces illuminating the wilderness of time, until you came up a smokescreen.

"If I do this…" He pauses, "Hiram sent you to the table, huh? That is when tested, gives death?  This is the study into the investigation of the being.”

"Not quite." Crosley retorts.
A faint buzz kicked in singularly like open ocean. Red crept into the south, but all morning a hunger grew and I could still discern the horizon, hints of veins extending around like spider webs. Inside of a hallucination eight miles wide bullet riddled with trails of bright haze we co-existed.

A spectral man with smoke wisping up out of dreams with a careful nod, “I warned you.”

Distant physic vampires thrust themselves into notorious jungles of self-loathing. I sat there paralyzed hungry bloodstained. They squirmed and fanned out on the far shore. You did not feel.

Murmuring self, the last resignation walking roads, sidewalks, fences, poverty returns to the vacuum of time. Bouncing lights, nervous tension melt down screaming hollow bullets. Music dies in a cloud of smoke.
He steps forward through the red door.

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