💾 Archived View for procession.flounder.online › cutups.gmi captured on 2022-01-08 at 13:55:21. Gemini links have been rewritten to link to archived content
⬅️ Previous capture (2021-11-30)
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Cut-Ups
1.5.22
The shack. It is the sour stink of gasoline. Nocturnal excesses In the secret of the tall grass. And behind them; Dust spins up the indefinite color of darkness like the inside of a roaring chorus of articulated, rapid, breathless utterances.
hard gravel nuggets pop the inconceivable mystery of a soul that knew no restraint, and ping off the underbelly of a bruise colored Pontiac.
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1.3.22
Booths of torn maroon vinyl kissed the wind-driven moonlight. Behind windows rolled up against the streets of blue-violet, away from the lights. Like the coming night, colors melted across the sky, Around the base of the crackling dead cornstalks and vomited rich a lonely song.
Dirty gravel and shattered glass on the Mantilla hands holding something that looked like it had drifted in from among the mosaic of the highways. A figure huddled behind a single long bone. Swung onto his whiskey, lips fell softly away from the amber bottle. Stars that glittered in the richest mouth brought it to burn on the corner of the highway, the painted wooden sign. singeing as hungrily as this twilight.
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9.18.21
The psychedelic night and all of the sky pressing down on our heads, only occasionally to point skeletal fingers that wanted us to see a curtain twitching in the shadow of the corridor. Plundering the rotting wreath of funeral roses. the moss gazing through the luminous scent of magnolias. The grave treasures me in the intimate sweat, and The perfume of thought preyed upon us as we spoke of a freshly night Mass.
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8.19.21
Whispering without moving her lips.
Raised his cut and dripping hands to the night, compelled to reveal the contents of this conversation. Gazed in the rear view mirror. A man with a skewed jaw. A woman with a flap of skin for a nose and mouth.
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8.12.21
It was as though she walked out of the sound of her voice on her silent, naked feet. In a skunk-skin vest and burned sticks, he died before noon. The widow lifted her eyes and let her gaze wander the room. the figure of the Harvest Lord, a pleated mantle of bright scarlet swirling behind him. It’s contents hidden by a wrapping of husks. The Moon of Sowing, the fear and despair and the old grief of blood.
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8.7.21
Its image threw nine shadows; revulsion is the fundamental virtue; the flat and inhuman nose resembled that of a lion. Eyes gleaming and teeth showing. The whiteness wrapping around all things, the void streets, and muffled silence. Wondering at the stirrings of black waters.
The flesh was black with the passing of the centuries. The bad moon has risen. Hissing the ghastly jargon. Another sprawl of bodies.
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8.5.21
and my blood too is tainted with its infernal cunning, so full of hate that it filled the secret places of the soul with terror. charm placed behind its teeth each day, before evening prayers, strange figure passed me by craving materialization. form of a wraith
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7.29.21
Features swathed in grave cloth. Ghostly fingers yawned, groping withered myrtle. Evolved from an invisible mouth. Ghostly communings of inarticulate howling. The ceaseless procession of grey dead manufactures fresh atrocities in runic figures. An obscene mask foully besmirched stimulates a mysterious language of signs. forms and faces uttered these in the blood.
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7.28.21
An eloquent scraping of his vision-areas revealed there spread an endless black gauze. Crowned with waving ash..
and the mysterious music flowed into its milky depths. saw the blood exploding in the sublime emotions of pure devotion. Formed a mournful sound of languid eyes.
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7.25.21
Rotting hands unfold like blighted tiger lilies. I have memorized countless “eternities,” and excreted them. Nightmare collage gorged on the flood of primordial memories. tracing the origin of a custom. secrets that had lain hidden since awaiting him who should dare to morass.
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7.18.21
The original candle-stick was basically of an imagined city of one of our greatest finds: the strange crypt’s patriarch, more of a grim stone deep down.
The absinthe cauterized my throat from those times as I spiked a stick, on which the fancies laureled. It was that of the curse candle. A hearse of sunset. Learned to enjoy the taste of a French word signifying a unanimity, absurd character. the swampy light had taken the skull. They had to see, were dreamers of a dark ceremonial purpose. ‘To the funeral lilies,’ I replied, and to the calm pale bones.’
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7.18.21
Earthen walls-claws like Something that glistened and drew blood over his skin. the night expression sliced her eyes, her windows gleamed sullenly. But the world was unraveling, dignified once. It’s entirely evident as one gazes mind: a memory, a similarity discoloured and blurred.
While the sly corrupt mask hunted eagerly. An usherette advanced with the same primordial light so completely beyond fear that she packed together in the phosphorescent haze and limped violently away. It was now glowing, given off by the stone walls that within terrified. Looked, standing beneath the lamp as the dry and whispering things had without dates of birth and death.
She had remembered it was struggling to emerge into this face frozen with rage which she could not read. The buzz of indirect lighting and candle flames blazed on him from the dark. Trailed obsidian shards that shivered with night. Squeezed their hands mirthlessly and the scrambling legs of numerous accounts rendered in borderline gibberish..
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07.18.21
Moonlit waves were frozen. His readiness to manufacture images slowed down. it seemed so loud. He paced. knocking ritual, Traces of old dreams. Overhead the clouds were thickening, and felt the hollow sound of The shadows.
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07-17-21
Plundering the night. Some of the things have petals stuck to them obscene rising like islands from the mud. Here faces thrust out of stagnant pools. Figurine of a saint. Yawning eyeless decorations. Dreamed for as long as he could remember, churning like some toxic black wave. Howling crumped mouth.