that’s one fractious and hungry caterwauler… and all this time the heat’s been beating down upon the head. or maybe just attacking all the pores, or just remember that heat shimmer…
but here’s a strangeness: thrice yesters, i’m caterwailing into the phonical, or somesuch, and i’m feeling those sound trendricals sailing away. or maybe i’m hearing that. after an evning of feeling slow death, tiny death and waking in dark. yammering in to the phoncicle, words pulling out of the head, and yelping at some of the weariness axing through the joints and sinews and thinking: work better, you little powerhouses, you mitochondrials!
for some dark shape swings into view (or am i making this up?) and smites me, and clenching seizes up my arm, the muscles tied together in some mad purpose and i’m thinking what strange deviltry is this? even as some short breath escapes. and i’m thanking some deep thoughts that i’m not responsible for anything of any import at all, because how quickly would i fail and all the morps creep to fumbles.
sleep came later. though not much later.
I was just shooting things with other things! The thing just walks around whicheverway it wants, with no regard to where my mind wills it. Yet it’ll shoot where I tell it to, bygum!
Clenching muscles randomly in the deepest dark sounds strangely like it shouldn’t. Perhaps you need a nearby electricalpulsegenerator to shockshockschock the things into submission and subsequent following orders. A rogue muscle-group is a dangerous convoy.
Or perhaps it weren’t muscles at all. These language we sprecken differently makes odd fedbellows at times, twining understanding atwixt miss hunderbulker, the queen of alfa romeo.
the lang. thing or the signified/signifier madness dealie… makes my brain to bustin’ sometime. when i’ve been literalizing? or when i’ve been subjectifying? erm.