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2006-03-25 - 9:21 p.m.

Jeff Shannon writing called "The Braised Lamb from Millions of Tiny

A parade of horses with angry fowl's heads bucking under no material weight. Fall in a heap at the town square. They curl up and regress to embryo stage and are sold by the pound. Federal snipers are fed on the best bits, of which there is not enough to satisfy their hungers. (incentive to assassinate) University professors wander about aimless, lions spit snakes (p'too-ee): manes of snake, auras of snake, tongue of python. An ashtray full of fingernails. The tanned women enjoy stares more than the pale. My inverted life today. While the carts arrive dogs jerk on their leashes lunging at the horses, barking and frothing. An old woman's nose disfigured and scared into a snout:
�When I was young I fell on something beautiful...�
Her right arm is tattooed in elaborate obscure mythologies; the detail is exquisite, even after all these years.
�Welcome to the Hotel Adorno. I will tell you the story of the braised lamb. The lamb was fit for fighting, was maniacal. Heaps of defeated invaders formed the stinking castle walls. The rabbi raised no objects; neither the saint or the whores. The lamb must leave to find its beloved. The lamb's ship sailed with many men like a swan over the seas, only with much more vomiting, scurvy and buggering. From many shores native eyes watched the ship's windows reflected in the sea like throbbing mazes, and the ship so huge and useless and ambitious. When fall came the ship encamped in a stone shipyard. There were few other ships. The boards weathered but the crew was neat and shaven and drunk ashore. Then it was spring and the church bells rang all day, many monks taking shifts until they collapse in shaking fits, as when your foot falls asleep and it is no longer a part of the body. The lines of monks grew short and the vomiting swan prepared to sail. But the water had turned to blood that was quickly coagulating. And the monks became inspired and redoubled their tollings. There was no beer or wine, rum, whiskey, mead that was not rippling with the now hideous chimes. Women fled the noise and history ceased; there was only war and faith. All captains volunteered as food in these bleak times. The bells became the sole purpose. The place has been taken off any map. A giant toy piano. A crewman who had eaten the lamb captain became infested, shaking from the lamb's unrequited love, he sailed on the unknown river the only flowing thing, outside of toll, the untouched feared liquid, 'curs-ed' say the monks in Latin hisses. A long time, first repairing crash damage then modifying, overhauling.�
He is still sailing up her arm. The gushing surge, slow roll closer of jellyfish and the people under their lord, who is the sun, burning the fine sifted earth tanning living working lonely hides there was no terror but all the terrors when the boy shouted �the sea is bleeding!�
Love on some farther shore must this muck also still my bloods shut my mouth with yours, give silence and none emptiness the razor skate trailing gunpowder that stung where it settled powdered nettles that were touched with flames into the thin, deep skate tread bursting in cinema fits.
(Elizabeth I comb through your name with kabala. Nunca en la cabeza.
Imagination wrestling with storage. This is too simple for us, not: body-mind, life-matter, spirit-flesh. Woman Man. (Big Brother brand-name condoms) Love as natural resource, tapped, explored. A birdcage for candles. Love the last home of peace, self meaning broken through and colonized. Their missionaries fuck like two nine-volts. A primitive kneeling away from us his arms spread wide like tree branches between them a vast pantheon of faces primitive and sleek. Glass faucets.)
Dear Elizabeth,
In the field I began as a driver (was a cabbie for awhile, I say give the cabbies the levitating cars, they know their cab they can handle another dimension they want up and down believe me these other cocksuckers drive like crawlin newborns with no tit to egg em on...) for 'spikes' dumping the wines in reservoirs and rivers (they were guarded even early in the wars, probably even more heavily since the people weren't adjusted to consciously knowing there were being spiked), dousing cops priests bums babies anyone anywhere I could get us out from.
Elizabeth the rain falls the same all over the world and I never seen no one like you.
Elizabeth, what is the lab for us?
� An institution exists as a structure for the individual to join in a larger operation, the opportunities for interpreting its aspects as meaning and confusion inflate the individual's rancor sense of power over the world (time).
� The institution makes use of its members' talents. Where does this agreement turn into exploitation, into illusory space invented to funnel one's time and powers into, if these energies were directly injected, what would be antithetical to the agreement from the individual's position?
� I became physically ill and shaking. My love. I feel this psychic milk from you temples, your forehead, my drinking fingers lips, my thirsty head aching. We childless battery, (I) hazed in fury the poison flecks coalesced. The ruin of war the confusion of madness with language with ego.
I cannot say I decided except instinctively (which agreed I do allow).
� The war was on water, we were all fighting the water.
My drinking, all the people drinking and treadmills on the swallowing throat, on the slurps, on the blood cells, on the urinary expulsion muscles. And the machine hates. Elizabeth how can I love when to want to caress to fuck fuels the muttering gears of ever pinnacling murder? Murder and cannabalism embedded in the walls of meaning. Rape and suffocation wrapped with ribbon, thrown cheered parades, do even the roosters crow by their boil? There can only be must made new, love that does not slate that builds and climbers ever yearning, feeding, gigantifying. I want, & want desiring more than there is to me, what I have been-come-anciently-primordially-and-prophetically, all greed-cruelty-(unarticulate) lunges through time if light can blunder, carry ahead for you destination, destined, desired, indescribed in the hollow of now, now dancing now stumbling now weeping, roaring by into passive ears asleep in a burning bed of strung-to bones what sups on the marrows and tough ligaments devours for our meeting, malaria and AIDS massive course corrections for love; enamor war I could not. Some say- we are the laughing animal, the suiciding beast, the little-haired the clothed and cooked and preventative. Laughters of rejection; pleasure; balance; madness; maliciousness; confusion; community.
My list had spilled to suicide. The sun sent teeth, the moon fine knives by the bushels, the stars cut themselves paper doll-wise in my hide. You cannot blame a man for trying?
The air once again sanded me and what powdered desire replaced. And madness was its snack.
(hebrew gibberish)
Treadmills on the dunking adams-apple.

 

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