Trembling visibly, noticeably ableist. Atheist, pejorative term. Agnostic, butter on your flapjacks? Nihilism, entering pure geekhood. Tom Green epitomizes this when taking a live mouse into his mouth. Existentialist dilemma, life & death? Yea, Life! One quarter of the dial.
Insert coin, sir. The Game of Chaos is “Out of Order,” reads the sign. Semiotics, baloney, or shall I spell it Bologna? Touche! En garde! testing the limits, language hangs it’s hoary head.
Saffron, and the robed monks sally forth, begging bowl in hand, and of course I share the wealth. What little I have, in contrast, to the world at large, it’s vast. Their vows may include but not necessarily be limited to, silence, chastity, poverty, and perhaps other austerities. Thousands of mantra per day would not be unusual. Shaolin monks perform austerities. Purification can be an ordeal. How about maintaining that?
So, you’re from the mainland? Landlubber, huh? Landlocked place, then an inlet. Islet?
working on my post-doctoral metathesis, then got involved with another person and began to lose myself, along with the thread which went from God-particle and Cosmic Joke to universal language to vibrating the very etheric web for content and lo! the goddess devours me! and she, like santa muerte, our lady of faith and many hands, adornment and garnish, not garish but flair, tempestuous, tumultuous, arrogant- eroding the foundations, the bedrock, plantations, plutonium, Plutarch, prestige, the privy. Proust? Pliny? Remember the preamble, parsnips, parsecs, persimmons, pears, pairs- P.U. FF. Now the alchemy, darkness, internal heat, a swell, cresting, ridged, visions. spirits. Glesil, Mesok. Names, Mostafa, Mosfat, Mesfin, El Mercator!? Effigy. Articulated movement rescinding, in decline, marsupial navigation, feeding frenzy. Rubbish galore, an gallery and Spanish Galleon. Conquistadors & Inquisitors. Burgess Meredith & Ron Paul. Ron Jeremy. RuPaul. Rutabegas. Silk, Satin, Mercury rising. Penultimate everything. Zero-Sum.
See, I kind of veer off into tangential impartial sub-nirvanic nuances.
nothing personal. censors. apropos. his-story. hidden gods. incarnation, what in tarnation. abbrev. hips don’t lie. lips do what. tongue tied. MD. Faust. Oust. Rouse, Roast. Rasta? Regulus. Romulus. Rebar, Rhubarb pie. Dandelion wine. mincemeat. minstrels weave a billowy tune. Impugn. R&B. RTC. R-itself. preamble. predestination. pre-post. diag. gnostic. dia. dire. dichotomy. demon est deus inversus. Rich man’s genius. player’s game. breaks, breakers, brevity is the soul of wit. wildebeest. chicken breast. beef bourguignon. somebody make me.

Following that response, a long breath was drawn. It seemed to subsume and cloak the world, smacking it’s cloaca like a beak with a vengeance. Unheralded, that come-hither stare, stars in the eyes, and little birds chirping around the Head, seated at a table, a council of Nine.
Jubilation, sparks, entrees served in rotisseries options, a growler filled brimming and spices, rank pulls, I got carried away… in a stretcher. I’m sitting in an ambulance typing this. I don’t know what came over me. I just stood up, passed out, like crazy. Everything went dark. Guess I’m still alive. Guess I could be somewhere else since the situation is malleable. Mercy!? Peace & Blessings, season’s greetings.
Checking my head. Took it off to examine it like I was Data from Star Trek. Like I was the Bionic man or some such. Like I was a robot in my future life, with my future rhyme-with-life. Makes me happy. Nervous tic. Various gestures, so called. rambling, occasional bouts of lunacy and near-depravity. Entourage ala absurdity. I mean entering there, abandoning hope. A Samurai hesitates before leaping through a portal of fire. No Hesitation! Quick intake of breath and like that leap into the very jaws of destruction, a great dragon. that one time. Brb boss fight.

Through what seems like a column of flame, immense, a draft wells up and swallows whole in freefall into a cushion, subsiding, and the drift of melancholy flames, wandering epistle, a leery vestige and lofty vantage, crested brows, a weary one leans a hand on your shoulder- and you, are young.  The next over older still, and demonstrating the scintillating currents of the ages, a ripple effect, and tides of man, of blood, and washed clean, all manner of things might clash, and clang, and crimson run, and rivulets or random acts, and incidents or snarling, Gashdig, with the hounds of Hades, dogs of reason! Act! Cerberus, sit! Stay! good doggy.  wag the dog.  Here comes P-man.  He whistles, and the mutt is heeled.  Well shod, no shanty town this, on the edge of madness, downstream is delight, and upending fascination there floats in the sky, anchored as it were to the abyss, and we may wander these wastes forever in a day.

Shades come then, and shivering souls, and through a dark thicket a rustling quick, perseverance & determination! They rush, not unlike violent thoughts, these specters grim.

A gang like crew, a see the way through, madmen, rough types, people who populate these regions, nether they may be.  Ideas like Never hold sway, a sort of mystical place, approximation.  Remembering the before and after states of consciousness, in life. Carving then a butcher, making sutures, ruptures, a vault of ruination. Stapled, punctured variously, fingers steepled, tea steeping, our friendly neighborhood psychopath, nay, villain epitomizing human evil, personified, typified, everlasting archetype of the unholy, that, them worshipers.

A swarming bout the sepulcher, a toppling stone, no standing blanch of rock, outcropping, or quarried.  treeline, hemisphere, demigods, archons, fallen angels, giants, nonsense on Earth, a little hell is madness, heartbreak, pain of loss, fear, empty triumphs, melancholia, mortality, inhumanity in humanity.  Ubuntu, maybe. What would help, really? Buddhism?

Confusion is a big deal.  The whole swarming aspect is now a fact with which to reconcile.  Behold the majesty, I suppose.  One shell in the furnace.  Freddy Kreuger showed up, after Bruce Lee & Mother Theresa.  Something would appear like a cameo, or memento.  Fancy things, objects of fascination and sentimental attachment, bonded to a thing in a way, my precious, no like a cursed object one can not let go.  Not the one ring, no.  Freddy Kreuger’s not real, that guy’s not even dead.  I doubt the other two are in Hell. Maybe This isn’t Hell!? Maybe I’m … confused.

Facing the swarm, like a dust storm, and the scene shifts to desert, with djinn.  Trek through this wilderness, if you will.  The hero’s journey, defying hell & death somehow.  Glare, gaze out across this trekless waste.  Remember the tundra.  Remember the vast open sea.  Dream of deep space, dream of the organism and the machine, the circle squared.  Pulsing into the sea, the alien technology, and the origins of life, how peculiar humanity! Perhaps Cthulhu will awaken, if the stars are right.  There’s three, close together.  Matters little, invention, convention, contention, conversation- just skip the boring intro get right into the good stuff.  Truffles.  Armadillos. Orangutans. Ocelots. Badgers. Beavers. Damn.  I miss the truth.  This F’ING SWARM! Now like storm, looming- swat them away, will you, whisk them away, what majesty? bah! Behold, again, it’s saying.