The Text of The Texture of the Sky
The Custom - Reprise
The Center
The Custom
Text by A. Molotkov
Onto one side, that goes onto one side. Onto
another, this goes onto another. Onto the middle, middly meddling into the
custard-like structure. Travel along narrow corridor. Look to left, see no
future. Look to right, see no past. See travel, and again and more so. See more,
and travel at the speed of light. You travel, you a brain cell!
Again think of what had not think before. Again structure in bubbling mass of
pre-proclaimed nonsense. You travel, you a brain cell! Again remember don't know
what. Who cares. Blink: house on the pond. Blink: large people's people. Blink:
ball jump away. Seen this before, know this already. Where?
Comes the Carrier of Time, stops clocks, hangs dirty software hardware underware
on tired index fingers of hands. Time will be dirty now, covered with mud. You
travel through time as through dirty water. To one side, that and this. To other
side, this and that. Onto the middly meddle, who cares...
Carrier of Time sent by rhinos. Who rhinos? They the ones who eaten you. How can
forget? No, Carrier of Time no sent by rhinos. He Himself His own Carrier, and
of Time. Set by rules from aforementioned categories, and a posteriori
handicapped like dogs with no legs. He like dogs with no tails, like tails with
no dogs, or elsehow, the other way around! He set and condemned by you who is a
brain cell. So fly through time and space, carrying the Carrier and other
aforementioned categories. Who cares...
You bump into a bump, like who knows so...Once remember, but now no more, how
can recall. Know one thing: forget the next. Know the next: forget the one. You
fly, shift, puzzled question mark handicapped like brain cell with no brain.
Maybe should talk to someone, like the Carrier of Time. You the Carrier of Time,
how else can be so? Carry it on your shoulders, and carry it in your stomach.
Stop by the edge of a time-road and reflect. Scrutinize yourself, upon
completion scrutinize again. Dirty vomitware on the palms of imaginary clocks,
little tiny finger on the faces of imaginary watches snapped from out of
non-reality and dropped into non-reality again. Check time by the Fahrenheit
scale, measure in grams and miles. Who cares...
You carry time upon your face, like a scoundrel. Like an old beauty lost in
time. One reads traces of former past and pre-predicted pre-future,
distinguished by a dot of present and non-present. You reflect, stop again. You
brain cell.
Comes the Carrier of Time, tells you the story of adhesive people.
"Once upon a time, there was a planet inside a chestnut. Open like a music box,
but only from outside. So didn't know, perceived themself as big big grown up
world. So once drilled a hole in chestnut, saw what's outside. Since then
affected by peculiar allergy of adhesion, or could be a virus so. Them rhinos
come and mutate you into present form to be food. You bigger now than your
ancestors before you. Bigger, to more food!
"But where did the rhinos come from?" You inquire, you brain cell.
"They came from everywhere."
Travel along, move straight. Look forward, turn upward. See clearly, breath
deeply. Think slowly, twang readily. Who?
You a brain cell.
Think concentrate, no no think concentrate. Here come rhinos riding on the
shoulders of the Carrier of Time. In his hands paths of centuries. In one of his
eyes the past, in other future. How can distinguish? You travel along, move
straight, who cares...You brain cell, no stopping no more!
Comes now the Carrier of Time, tells you the story of the Sky.
"Sky upon once become the supreme. Upon it, everything else is dependent.
Without it, no much more to proceed or to establish. This to be the essential
rule, like one of those forgotten upon your awakening. No awakening no more,
sleep forever. This design of the Sky. Who dreams longer, receives more
favorable dreamings, more pleasant dreamlings, more suitable dreamdillings. Who
wants escape, or hunts for the Texture of the Sky, become trapped, no escape, no
Texture."
You move along, you brain cell. Know truth of the centuries. Witness usual and
unusual happen at one time. Some of it record in your brain cell.
Horses eat cats under sauce, mail through telepathic wires made of elephant
penises, strapped to the tops of telegraph poles. You travel through all of
them, you brain cell. Mustard bottles attack careless free-form juice blender of
no-no definition. Time shrinks and transforms into a piece of bread. The Carrier
of Time still here, he transformed into reverberating vehicle. Your family and
friends transformed into various object, dispersed along the surface of a dot.
Universal laundry of nothingness strapped around your ears. You like the Carrier
of Time, wrapped around your intestines. You like the dot, a piece of time
without a wrapping. Wanna know no longer, once and more like twenty and several
grams shorter. Who cares what when where...You like tail with no question mark,
like sushi with no software, no underware. Who see can tell, who know can
understand...
You who know, he who tell, the Carrier of Time. Shift and spin faster, you brain
cell. You brain cell, no room to escapade. To no room, you rotate in sauce. You
fry and dry, like tomorrow dipped into yesterday. The Carrier of Time tell the
tale of rhinos, rhinos tell the tale of the Carrier of Time. All subtracted from
each other, together in sauce. You float, in sauce, and in different reality.
You laugh and smile, He smile and take out his intestines, entwined and
subtracted from themself. You brain cell, who care...In land of adhesive people,
you like snail on the trail, like Plato on the plate. Who takes from several,
returns without, and versa. Who seeks in sauce, then masterfully crawling
belly-buttons, and vice. Uponaltogether, jump and swirl. Like no, and upon no is
no like nothingness less than the Carrier of Time. Dream swirl, dream tornado
Transform energy into butter sauce. This is your first assignment. Secondly, you
must detach all arthritis-ridden limbs of forgotten prophets from bodies of
unfinished saliva dolls. Finally, you must reverse all of your previous actions,
and do this in an un-timely manner, avoiding lack of space and claustrophobia in
time. If anything is unclear, refer to manual.
Conversely, your protoplasmic annihilation will open way to outward
understanding of inward catastrophe that has begun before end of world and will
continue until beginning of time.
In world of lost interfaces, interplanetary rejections of forgotten souls
reflect their innermost insecurities in sub-depositories of reformatted death
layered with multiple levels of reprocessed memory. Universal washdry machinery
spitting hints of digested reflections into mouths of galactic motherfricks,
leaving chewed substance of telegraph poles and houses dripping down from walls
of sub-real chambers. Cumbergruesome Santa Clauses dressed up as postmen,
participating in game of anti-climatic manipulation of gore, juggling arms and
legs of overgrown gnomes whose very goal in life is to become detachable from
themself. You brain cell, and who cares...You Carrier of Time, and what's more?
Who remember, who forget?
Giant chickens with seven wings apiece, laying square eggs that stick to
vertical surfaces as if glued, attracted by unknown forces of
disgustingravitation. Reduced in size versions of elephants and snakes, running
protocols of self-initiation bound to erosion induced by shaky time.
Inconsistent parodies of dry-water fish smoking cigars and breathing
rhythmically, their lungs suspended on rubber tubes, hanging below waist level.
But you Carrier of Time, and who care...
Then yet more disjoint, it become so. Turbonuclear plants sucking in fragments
of last Monday morning, defecating in green pyramids that drill themself into
essence of philosophy and arithmetics. Secluded photographs of unidentified
thoughts extracted from brain cells flying by. But you Carrier of Time, you
brain cell, and who care...
Then bypass bypass, reject reject. Sustain sustain, reformat reformat. Okay, and
okay so. Bi-bodied and multi-brained, supplementary gorilla love. Crocodile
intersection, level anthropomorphic triangular sour cream. All in sauce, and to
be so! All in sauce, and to remain forever like at close range! All saucelike,
and digested slowly uninterrupted like reptilian canalization doors.
Then it make no difference. You no wake up, no to be so no more, or at least you
afraid so. Then it make no difference, like fur coat in an acid pool, or dogless
tail. Progress achieved through obedience, ultimate rule of Sky.
Dream swirl, dream tornado!
Text by Pamela Zero
You are staggering down a long
corridor.
All you have to do is clear Customs.
You know you're clean.
You are next
Can you do it?
Your nemesis!
What happened?
Folded accordion flesh.
Leave, just leave, the dream is dead, the joy scorched!
You have yet to be searched.
A simple patdown will not do.
You've nothing to hide.
Perhaps a strip search?
Senior Official with a Lot of Bright Buttons.
The flesh on your shoulder screams.
Is it is it is it contraband?
What if they find it, what if you're guilty, what if you are taken away
screaming knowing somewhere in you is something bad and the Officials will find
it?
They will split you open, make an example of you!
Your eyes explode, birthing, gaping, blind!
Where are your own hands?
Text by S. B. Reda
The growth experience has not yet
begun...
In The Center, the brain trust knows you still exist.
If we succeed, we cannot lose!
Soon, the dead will make their run towards the emptiness, a bright leap into
human apocalyptic capitulation!
All of this happens in less than 2 seconds.
All who were still alive died!
This is a direct insistence!
Text by Pamela Zero
1
You are staggering down a long
corridor. All you have to do is Clear Customs. You know you're clean.
You are next you are next you are nnnnnnnneeeeeeexxxxtttt!!!!!
You leap into the air over the Plains of Customs. You question your courage: can
you do it? SLAM! SLAMMMMMMMM again - and you have been hit, mid-air, engines
screaming and ground too close, flash of a grinning khaki face - your nemesis!
3
You come back on your front, surrounded by Customs Officials. Your purple
oatmeal-bruised shoulder aches and stings: what happened!? There! There he is,
the one who scorched you from your spread-eagled glory. Folded accordion flesh
leaking slowly into your eyes. One eye left - he fixes it on you, scornful,
triumphant - and then he is dead and hissing, evaporating even as you watch.
Leave, just leave, the dream is dead, the joy scorched. And you and you and you
have yet to be Searched...
With such gentle dismay, such impeccable regret, you are informed that due to
your unfortunate altercation with the apparent head boil of the rebellion, a
simple Patdown will not do. A Full Search, fine, you've nothing to hide, clean
as a babys whistle. Perhaps a Strip Search? And now arriving with unheard
cannon, the Senior Official With A Lot Of Bright Buttons swarms into view.
Perhaps, possibly, would you be so kind as to remove your clothes?
The flesh on your shoulder screams.
5
A mouth has somehowwhen formed on your shoulder, nestled in the center of the
pain, screaming, teeth gnashing, spit flying. You are panicking now, on edge,
reminding yourself that you have nothing to hide, but what if you do? What if he
planted something on you, stashed the goods? Your ear starts to pulse, a
grinding snap - and a fist slams into your eye. You howl, an Official grabs the
hand and begins to pry open the fingers. Whats in the hand, the mouth? Is it Is
it Is it Contraband? What if they find it, what if you're guilty, what if you
are taken away screaming knowing somewhere in you is something bad and The
Officials will find it! They will split you open, make an example of you! Pain
radiates through your back as each vertebra begins a jiggling dance of fist and
mouth birth. Hands pawing at your own flesh, fingers claw and scramble to
stretch into impossible chewing crevices. Officials have you down on the ground
now as you writhe in the grip of your own suffocating digits. Your body
shudders, holes open, fingers pry, mouths clench, grinding teeth refuse,
thousands of hands grab, hold, arms go through you, groping Officials grim-faced
and justified. Your eyes explode, birthing, gaping, blind! Fingers claw at bone,
slippery, triumphant, where are your own hands? WHERE ARE YOUR OWN HANDS?!?