mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli

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shrieking idols (azathioprine).

so we're lying there in bed & i'm moving my mouth. words are coming out of my mouth but i'm thinking of the pacific ocean littered with human skulls. i'm thinking of a cactus, who's thorns are a swarm of ants. i'm tired like the colour grey. for a while i'm playing card crazy.

yesterday was the yssdrigal chopping woodsman in the post-cyborg epoch. i mean, i got up around the usual time. mosied on over to mister (mr.) the fallen optimist's pad. he had a girl there! a cool girl too, the squarep3g. good thing i'm a peter lorre psychopath. we three kings made our way up to fort (ft.) tryon park. we played around on the monkey bars & the swings & were swung. at the cloisters, mister (mr.) the fallen optimist shushed us alot. then we all made like a bannana & split.

thats part one (i). opening act. drop the red stage curtain, switch everybodies costumes. all these bug-eyed camera lenses peering out from the aisles. the ochastra does their mid-play tune up. saint (st.) benjamin franklin rolls over in his grave. unhallowed is that bone orchard, tombstones crowned with frost. the curtain peels back one act two (ii).

eventually we (the jenny monster & me) fumbled our way into the sanrio store to meet reigh-bugaholic. pour on the butterscotch ripple. now we're the vampires in new york's wine cellar. champagne is brought to the rose of india. they try to poison us. everyone has poison; its so much fun. chaumurky is today's clique. reigh's being the mohammad to my metatron, to jenny's magdaline. we go to our old mother hubbard apartment, bare as the back of a hand. fourty ounces (40z) of colt forty-five (.45) get guzzled. a fish hatches in our bathtub & reigh burns her fishnetted feet. we bail water. back at the clubhouse, jenny sleeps while reigh sobs & i insist i'm sincere.

today is act three (iii). reigh & i eat sashimi in bed. she's such a sneak. she exits stage left, like crowley's left. [REIGH BUNNYFUCK, exuant]. jenny comes home early. i'm the baroque space-ship, grounded. i'm so fucking tired, like all these god-damn whitechapel cliches. but i am good at sex today. so rock & roll & dnd salvation still holds sway i guess. 'cause a shadow of a doubt never over-rules a certainty.

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