Claws - Absorbed in the Nethervoid
November 13 2009 at 01:13:53 PM
I have your boyfriend now, Nancy. Bile, blood, fluid cerebrospinal showers. Bare-footed hopscotch through rotted carcass roiling animate… brought to flight by locust, buzzard. Genital crab magnified million times chewing, smackin’ bladder, spleen, intestinal tract. Fields o’ stool wrought red as blood-slickened ass it blasted whence. Shapes sudden and fleeting. Generate, regenerate. Canine, insectoid… Washed through birth, afterbirth, life and death at once and illogically separate realized in howls shaking splintered, uneven. Pulled from becoming, pushed into other and bullied back, torn into rotting jail of stasis. All this. All of it. As much of it and more. The whole fuckin’
Fangoria back ish collection ‘n’ enough whip-its ‘n’ Haffenreffer around to allow it to sink in, fester. Take hold. Walkabout. Small hours’ gooseflesh, shadow-scared. Something to the finger-waggers placing blue-haired caveat on too much horror. Surely. Tim Kittens? Calling Tim Kittens…
Lasse’s had too much, not enough. He’s quick to make Death Metal purebred. Made of Macabre. Caused of aggression, ennui, angst – all puppy dog peckers Kierkegaard stroked in precious print. Impressive outing for a bedroomer. No fuckin’ shit. Don’t have to know the lyrics, the song-titles, even the record name. Could resemble hundreds of other Fins with practice hovels, windows rattling, woodstove smoking, booze aflow as Martha Dumptruck menses. Who needs phenomenological handling of artwork when you’re saddled with preteen mind? No stack of dryhump Q&As going to make me dislike this fuck. Yessireebob, the nothin’s-good-if-other-people-like-it holds forever, always; only way to make it out of this ratbag life without bringing folk to unmercifully messy ends via buckshot ‘n’ battleaxe is “goin’ turtle.” Shell dwellers, unite. Don’t let “them” get a hold of this one. It won’t age as divine as Dunaway.
[Stewart Voegtlin]
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Walt, what up, dawg?
Nope. I take another look at the box. Kroger's brand. "Crisp Berries Crunch". I'm an asshole. But generic still tastes like generic. Next time, I'm getting the real thing, no matter how long I have to look at the boxes.