WP for World Piss: The Spore of the Words 08 (now Shannanigums Wave)


Merryvirgin forbed! But of
they never eat soullfriede they’re ating it now. With easter
greeding. Angus! Angus! Angus! The keykeeper of the keys of
the seven doors of the dreamadoory in the house of the
household of Hecech saysaith. Whitmore, whatmore? Give it over,
give it up! –James Joyce, Finnegans Wake Page 377

Juxtaposition without copula. Who wants to be a chinese written character in the end? i Work at the zoo on the planet tralfalmadore where various iconic specimens live inside glass cages waiting for readers to mix the unmixed spectacle with ticked imagination, engage in dreams of being a Chinese written character. Shaped as martial artists mimic natural forms exhibited in Nature. Spilled forth again, frothing rabid inside a circle of fifths, around about the brick Bridge, through nine looks and around the chainmakers ring road, a neverending story baggins in the middle muggle Westmiddleends amid the Golden Apple Bluetooth fairy ring of fire breathing green salamander gas, raised in dung over aeons. neighbor to Herrafrodo and Worcester. Orgone became resurrected, bound within the pages of supernatures magazine. 1958. God this turban. Agacider drunkenpuss purrin’ down the sour piss chute. Knee deep in memories. Wading for where the government blows. Deep in stamfordwoods with the diddy squad deep down in the woods at the rope-swing, smokin’ fags, drinkin cider acroxx the River we swung, River rats, satanists, boggeymon. Out from behind the tree. Air rushing up my nostrils. Up cavernous pipes and drains we played, right where the housing estate croxxed into motherbramblebrook. Down the cut where i wd Mooney the girls and they’d Moon ey back. Boyhood droops down from my mouth to my ankles. Red carpet unravels from my gob, have ya come up yet? dow in the sweaty grey underground basement beat scene. beats scene. Puzzled walls of hammerite grey mix sound of Archie Shepp and Mingus, minggling in the coffeegrinds. Stippled moosick crimpled broken ambient mornings after Ecstacy, Iz this doin yr head in? Waterfall road to the vine exchange, looks as bluack paint dripping The Birch tree where i used to hang out with a coke and a packet of walkers. Suck Coke! The harvester bell and the swan and the pinns, all pubs clubs toffee soft in my memory.

The Toad voodoo juice, smoke and drink and shoot pool under me guinness eyes. How can today be compared to yesterday? Dark chocolate evenings in a brownstone autumn wonderland. Again i slip back through time, Rolling thunder from heaven Echos Loud through the Bluack mountains, echoed roun Clent hills like a whole county chanting, Wind fanning fire, singing flames chase wood around the forest lungscoops, catcha fire in the head, unwinding a S✴ns love for his mother and Thother and sister and self. Unwound spring loaded pitch forks ploughing the stuffed clouds then streaking electric purple legs stretch forth, rain water ronnin down her side. My mountain eyes trickle down into lake pl:acid, drowned underneath the shadow of the silent majorities. Sun fire pleasure mountain bluack razzle dazzle flashing forks, one legged thunder enlighening, more fire from her lake. Congealled misty clouds atop misty mountain hats, moisture conducting heavens symphony; electro shock thunder enlighening. Allegro winds wood give sway to spaceship earth, catching the clouds in hemp sails, spring has come to lyf, moving her across a googgly sea; through rain and more thunder, lake placid. Still waters as photograph. Blue green eyes in the water, saltless tears still taste bitter trying to remember. Mountains shadow cast Re:Sun rays caught and reeled in from the wooden memory masts, fire in the heed. Line-ear with a nun-linnen-ear substincture, Fly’s wing glistens and does not glisten. Worshiper of chllorophyll, catkins and rolling skins with forests inside.

The Rivers and industry meet, Shopping trollies litter River banks, Banks litter the shopping street. Where do you bank the River bank? Order? Cash FLOW. €conomic$ LINES THROUGH IT ALL. And lies. And nature forever bound to lies and untruth. As long as the word-symbol lies. Rivers of industry run orange, blocked by trollies traffic cones and “believe” bars. Trickle down theory turned to treacle brown theory. Planet earth waterwildworld. Many die without clean drinking water. Many die, many are killed. Cherish your Rivers, be thankful for your clean water. To Wash away flaky skin and Usury. For renewal and updating flow of Mindustry. Love your bodies of water, as you love your body. Mind the wake, cleanse Nowhares Yacht. River Arun, Orwell, Avon and Seven. Thames, Mississippi, Tigris, Nile. Rocks old as great great great clocks. Before time She was running nutrition and foodstuffs to us Apes For god sakes. She transported, fructified and washed our tiny machines. Now she’s the machine in the steel eye of industry. Her future is bright, toxic and Orange. She runs through your brain, a hydrophobic-ally caged single Electron q-bit. The smallest indivisible unit in language or physics. Clean drinking water appears only bottled. In these times of raging Global fires our Rivers weep, she tells meimposition of order = Escalation of Chaos. Up through the earth, right through the earth from an underground spring she rises unbounded by gravity, clear elixir of life soaking headwater cloaking the rocks sparkling curves of a siren sister, fresh water wyf running back home on a River of laughtears saltless but brought on by seasonal epiphany i join your groove, carving plans over earth years how can this freshness be bought by our money flowing global networks from undervalue to currentsea understand the embankment and investing in renewal rejuvenation of the sacred springs life expectancy preservation of the goddess and of her drewel she’s mainly concerned with herself

Swimmers are all surely concerned with the environment, shine not winning 28th jan 06. poverty of imaginashvilleham. Went seeking more family in America and found the luminaught-tearooms at burningham now I’m back i think, back in the woidlye looking for a job. Looking no furthur than Netherlands. And a party after. Soup flie, blackcuntry. Shower i cook up some bacon butties Cup of tea and then i write, read and make music. Thats it for me. I Talk to the dead pig in the sandwhich: Pigasus for Prez of Swineland 68-69 & 08-09? Pigs in Space, pigs in time; in the Chinese year of the pig in 2007′ i’ll put my pen to the Tusk of taking all pigs to heaven. Napoleon & Old major pigs, Ministry of Pig: 1984! Porky Pigs limbs litter the swine factory floor, Pig as profanity! Pigs as the Police authority, Pig Brother. Animals used as insulting metaphors for humans but Machines, Poisons and sleeping robots rule us? Ass drunk and/or stubborn as a mule like Pigasus parroting the whole dirty Bay of Swine thing, War pigs crawling Begging mercy for their sins – sang Sabbath, But the four legged HOG that the word PIG refers to is INNOCENT of all crimes leagilly piggily crimes! Just a bristly pink critter! There seems an intricate Telepathic Conspiracy afoot against the animal kingdom. And against the Plant Kingdom and supernature, from a human-plants point of view. Orchestrated by humans or machine/Robot/poisoned humans. V’ for Vegetable Vendetta. Other than rolling in mud, eating shit and sometimes their own litter (Which makes an illuminating metaphor for modern Arms factory economic practice, invented by Humans), Pigs seem peaceful and intelligent to me, they don’t make Nukes, deploy troops or go to Church. The Hippopota-muses lament for their HOG kind Treated like Swine, the pig has become the Animal word used in Western Civilization that reflects the characteristics Of Authority, Uncleanliness, consumerism and greed. Greedy PIG! A poet in solidarity with the lush Miss Piggy, Hogzilla Napoleon, Old Major and pigsy, Wilbur, Professor Strangepork, Picasso, Pigasus and Porky – i hereby swear to clear these Swine of their stereotypical image quickly and their Stereotypical place in human history and knotted Language as Stupid dumb and dirty cheap fodder; useful at Christmas time with a little gravy tea to dip my TOE into. Dirty grunting Ugly pigs until Served up With a little Sauce. The pigs will have the last grunt as the year of the pig makes its course. —WORLD PISS: THE SPORE OF THE WORDS BY FLY AGARIC 23

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