Aeohk

The creature builds its palace, in time it would be perhaps six months ago, but they and the body remain ununited. Time’s threads pour from the machines now like unto light and torn fire.

•

Them and they of the body are still. One must begin to see plastic dolls coming apart with a flame bisecting the limbs. And no one is trained yet. The assemblage continues to pile up at the threshold where doors will appear, but that is later. This speaking breaks apart and joins the limbs via cracks in spark.

•

From the sides of the holes in the pit two hands emerge and cross the black gulf, clasp each other and ring. There is nothing there, our arrival disappears.

•

Still the limbs and gore arrange themselves in piles, like a language of birds suddenly aflame with their flights and feedings.

•

A voice begins, “Each time we must again put the form into plastic, like dolls, like plastic dolls!” The wish speaks patiently to the wall, a warm and deep blood, measured through the hearing of one’s skin.

•

The bell does not keep its corner, but buries its ring in the limbs. A red mind flashing through transports of the dream.

•

Creatures arrive, drawn to the scent of skins. They want the skins, these skins. Had been living. Had lived in the area.

The temple.

•

He, like you (the gap is the never, of those to have died while constant danger slept) died while retrieving the skins. The attempt was a crossing, to present the recording as a breath; as anything overtly demonstrated annihilates itself for the sake of the echo.

•

The tiny girl is a white speck among the throng and chaos of insects. Her blouse drenches itself in purple light, comes apart, liquidly falls at her feet where the microscopic gods have gathered to feed and sing. Her skin, perfected as in the term “occlude”. She awaits the moment when the monstrous insects will raise her up and carry her to the sky of mating, where her bones will again be wrecked in the deep hum and ecstatic crash of their joints as the join their bodies to the great perpetuity of species.

•

This is the way you will and must…wear what is given. Each of the wrists contains tiny fissures of recorded language; these languages mark out points of entry along a vast and permeable wall. The right wrist maintains gravity and the left the corresponding points from which a departure will be arranged.

•

They all look…by the marks and armor…differently. Put on this questioning. This series of screens…seeing a strange…what is wished…new clothes…beautiful and clean…voice of the “sermons”: to crowds…then disappear…were something…this.

•

What I want is them which have died, their vast bench now metallic and ancient in reflection.

•

The creature examines the penis and begins the graft with a secretion from its salivary glands, with tricks and leaves, to the front of the palace, near the door, retrieving the dead parts of the things it must run from, screaming in tones while it builds. The sound, lost among wind and passage.

•

Them and they of the body are the elements of the living structure. Having the ability to magnetize blood and draw its myths into a series of discreet and interpenetrating codes. A series of screens before which is seated the untrained angel of the true church of cells.

•

Heat slips to the surface of one. The E of sound held forth and ejected, hitting the floor with a vast and silent explosion which organizes elements into discreet systems of exchange.

•

Absorbed in their sound you can keep the space for just less than a second. Calibrated, probably held them in his one. You are that of need; of floor like huge bones frail with necessary weather. The prisoners exert their years as a single hand. Recall and permit these glittering tears.

•

The refrigeration group assembles nearby. Sometimes hitting it because I want. Everything to feed, grow, shatter. Is nothing inside…only food…known to be missing now the many areas where the hands are buried in secret. Maybe I would miss it at the appointed moment, fall shivering to the ice, perhaps the air itself would become my enemy and erase my history. We are translated into the depths of field held in the orbs of their eyes. The eyes of the stones in the field.

•

Prisoners must be fed from the surface of the water.

•

The heresy cage section holds friends, would call themselves ‘a piece of glove’. Rapists thereputing themselves in dirt. When they taste holding cell they would call on ‘top mind’; revered segments of language. One of nails, to think we have nails from the great operation still attending to our structures.

•

Then you have think. Of blood friends. She forgets to have seen it happen. Slowly consumed in rust. The ghosts in naked parade are gesturing to the base of trees where a silken light gathers and shifts.

•

Asked why they pneumonia. Wants to keep you like a kind of heresy map. About a heaven of has stopped . We are a mixture of thoroughly dried and burning lens. This…out of the world. Clear lens. As though anyone was capable of actual patrol. She thinks that you have the A R C H I P E L A G O of me, these pieces of induced electrism.

•

You will wear that to obtain guns and the body is still. Around his body differently machined weapons to imply a God so great. 1996 is the group who owns the circumference of being dirty at the end;

of them that call “blood” to become “offerings”.

•

A neck, or used badges buried in the harvestland. They who have examined with cellular time…dropped out of clothes and they want the skin to code me.

•

The emaciated other licks the wall of the palace which is not yet complete. Well aware of the whisper who is energy and soaks into the stone with careful articulation. One heart manages the insects and the girl simultaneously, expressing itself as alien stigmata in the wrists and circulatory systems. Patterns of flow invisible within a colorless atmosphere.

•

Rearrange the letters and words until a voice comes which is not of self and yet unestranged. Objects may be seen as ‘held in light’ or phrases of enduring wisdom may arise. Pay these no heed other than the moment of noticing. Continue the arrangements employing semi-mathematical precision to the prescient act. For within the sequencings of words and phrases lies the (undecipherable — guessed to mean non-referent action which must be performed to continue).

•

Feel the vulture. Its pulse, its living flight above the dead. Hold this ghost-bird while it vomits forth the great secret hidden in its digestion. My confession of the holding cell aims, whatever you may decide about your own desires, at the field of skins. At love’s eternal neverness. The only necessary attention.

•

A bubble allows the burning wire to pass through unobstructed and closing around the incision. She comes out of everything, her own body was the gap in the procedure which made breath. Found perhaps in a single hair or piece of skin.

•

Some few are again obliterated with the day. Uniformly bright in pain. The secret of the visit is “I am here to make”.

•

The creature’s oil is of green song held perpetually at the edge of coming forth. This oil is used to join hinges and limbs to the palace which is like three fingers held aloft before the naked light which raises the mountain and the flea in a single gesture.

•

Do you know that food is permitted to be turned off? That tampering with the word is the heresy of making? Sit down and code me, my love, the tongue in black outline against a city of wings, the intention of your hands is a dry burning in my chest. But I am not the husk destroyed but that which comes after, my rind is a sweetness glittering — active and transparent.

•

Do you know that the ceiling can make your sound? That they and their hair have sound perfected and none may hold out long for hair or a piece of sound or to group against these particular members at any time? The group believes only in Novemeber. A uniformity placed into the box of the ceiling. They say to one another: Do what I tell these skins to do and November will be perfected.

•

Wipe the bits of golden wax upon a paper land. So that buildings arise who will and can melt at being noticed. The clothes of another fire their guns into the rain. Their fibers can and will field cells, place friends into the paint where they will obtain a magnet. According to a person I met, the backs of the laborers continue to calm the fields during the night. She said: I can feel cells.

•

Actually what she said was this: “I can lose arrogance under beauty to where it becomes swimming in your own sight or seeing through the veil of seeing a but it’s hard to translate; a brick at the place where it is an oil of the eyes that look upon it.”

•

The newspaper would later say nothing again at great length.

I own that the vehicle is like a way distressed by observers. The car can make you like the ones who do all this. They see you and they equate the taken with the blood of the taken. Observers open and they do this inside the air of eyes. The fact that the prisoners are fed is humiliation gone completely cellular.

•

I cell…dreaming of a smell better than the Gob. We like London…(gap of clay with a razor or a piece of bone through it and it’s true) due to its glass. What we are about to do or begin is constant danger. Active about recognition requires being hauled up out of your skin. Open these things from the point of the eye’s body…the “rind”. In the world you can wire a message like this: “The Prisoners are being fed.” You can tear your clothes and one person will see a sermon. Another only a strange worm glowing briefly and then a small rust-colored line on the earth. Click > click > click.

•

Ask you for your tears. Of the clothes and an amount of air alike with “sermons” to crowds. I’m dropped out of medicine and finally there are no more experts. Three new fields gained the disguise of fragments (1991–1998). And days fire their guns. There are cracks taken and so the Armour is become a sign to others. Offerings.

•

She is a nomad of your skin. Mine may have been, but they keep it now and have removed both you and the pneumonia from the book. I will show you that someone croaks deep in their throat in the dream to make the squeaking sound. Do this desperately until a heaven of pulse overcomes the storms where objects thrive. When awake I think of empty, when empty of loose, and when loose the mallet shatters the mountain and it rains again. Then the little wooden people are unburied and dance in the valleys, knowing that a good season of food is being born in the sky.

•

She pulled 1991 deliberately out of her neck and set it on the table. Friends would later remark that everything was intact except yesterday. I have anything that surgeons who are members can do in my husk. They go desperately at the bits of skin and process where they hope to freeze something. The walls come off like clothing tricks leave our hero next to garbage. The ‘rind’ is wasted effort, except that it be left intact.

I am insatiably curious about the nature of living beings, intelligence, language, and the origins of our species.

As a cognitive activist, my dream is that my work may contribute to our ability to understand the origins of our strange situation as modern humans, and assemble effective replacements for what our modern cultures are but the broken remnants and falsified costumes of.

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me via Patreon — BuyMeACoffe, or Venmo… even a modest, one-time donation is extremely helpful. ( All of my writing here is public and doesn’t require a subscription to Medium. I don’t allow advertising here or on YouTube. )

Links: Facebook • Organelle • YouTube • Wondercloud • Tumbler

My writing is a gift that I hope may inspire speculation, wonder, discovery and new relationships. If you enjoy it, kindly take a moment to share it, connect with me personally, comment, ask a question, correct me, or tap the Recommend button ⇩ ☺