Wednesday, September 30, 2009

the Golden Third Eye


of the united minds
of a medieval role playing environment
went about plotting the downfall of
*
blue panda |;p
*
There was a great man, in the sense of property,
by the seashore pondering times past.
Relaxing in old age, smoking a banana flavored cigar.
Recliner chair, waves tickling his feet, beer spattered
across his naked chest.

There was a great man, in the sense of experience,
pondering the usefulness of barbaric past lives
to the trials of the sweetness of the present.
Middle class, he fed on energy bars
and energy gum.
He was fat and black
and owned seven women
and one manservant.

The crackling Third Eye
of the legion of demons & angels,
ghosts, shape shifters, blood fetishists,
imaginary friends & beings,
an astral virus seeping
into the astral virus.

Gargoyles guarded the doors in the
chat room text-shooting thru:

[GregJeevzs] Was holding a glass of milk to his lips ponderously.
His energy detected the presence of a lycanthrope.
He hated the wolves. He was surrounded.

[Kryslar] Chugged whiskey. Chugged a lot of whiskey.

[AniseSouth] Tapped his foot, anticipating the dragon's entrance...

cartoon man
zipped into
comic book pages
gathering the
ninjas and samurai,
drawing the
cactus spikes
delivered to
murder plot

astral eyes,
he pulled
the divided
into astral paradise and read hindu scripture
arbitrarily pre-recorded hindu scripture

There was no great man, in the sense of spiritual attainment.
Medieval mountains bled into modern day living,
Jebediah had seen the past three seconds sustainably.

Memories of fictional characters meditated
within the folds of the psyche,
conjuring the energy to counter.

Fat Frank shook a flopping wad of soft potato
as his eyes became the plague flies.

His potato fell and he tranced out,
vision divided into three million insect perspectives.

It was his style of conjuring.

Diseases invented by the governments of the world
spread thru the plague flies.

The War to Conquer.

The language
unfolded
upon the pages of a book
unfolded the language of the desert sage who was
the forest bear dancer.

The man of property was
hit upon the head
by
a
soft
rock.

The man of experience committed sins too terrible for American consciences.

The unifying third eye of the city dwellers healed
the sickness inflicted by an enemy tribe.

They carried upon their backs,
The joyous tribesmen,
the weight of the whole
of the city.

Machinery calculated to eat holes into the spell
of binding inflicted by the radio,
virtual reality
& hacker kabbalah

Drin eldwich
and his rapist body double
entered my dreams
and jacked into a
yellow flow,
the urinary tract
of ultimate power.

A frequency had been unleashed
to awaken the madness of the frog people.

Anyone with moles on the body,
especially in great number,
was likely descended from
the human-frog people experiments.

It was wondered why the frog people
waged war on the humans,
the humans of little ill will,
who kept to themselves,
ate ice cream,
and drank beer.

There was a great man, in the sense of belly.
Santa
-Clause:
brought `round presents from
every corner of the planet,
carried he a sack o' toys,
jiggled his belly did.

A great man in merriment, in kindness, in magic.

The factory produced tulips

in great quantity.

The tulips were watered by piss,

a black heart of a sun nourished the tulips.

The tulip factory spit out baskets full

of

maggots.
They crawled upon their stomachs,
haunted by the shadow of the hellcrow

where they spit poison,

exploded into
noxious fumes
lungs withered to pieces

and terrorists pretending to be Christians killed everyone.




--by K.B. Updike, Jr.



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Adam Bolivar is an expatriate Bostonian
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David Agranoff's
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David Agranoff is the author of the
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