by Greg Baysans
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Corps
(Excursion du Corps Grand) "The visions and celestial sounds invoked in theurgies were perceived with the spirit-body’s organs. And it is in this vehicle of imagination that the soul meets the gods." - Leonard George Work These walls exude furnace heat. And beyond? A room to inhabit. We don suits of state-of-the-art super-resistance. The place is furnished, exquisite down to the green of books, red walls, yellow sofa, blue serving set. A plain room until a worker enters when walls become Roccoco candy, pulse at his movement. Piece work, the green book to keep tally of gristly balls with black pattern, random, exact, followed by violet. One. Two. Three. That will never be enough. The room is remade for the next book's motif. Dusk Spiders crawl on dusty cobwebs that have their own cobwebs. Sounds occur as dull memories heard from a radio station far away, a station you'd rather not listen to but it's the only one coming in well water curtain clapboard clipboard happenchance passersby fly. Velocity Another room, this place a drinking straw at times, a bulging universe wide, safety-netlessly indescribable, impossible to set to a sudoku frame penetrates an apple in and out the same peach seven times two continuing tubes past ignoring yet en- compassing drive-in chapels and books on tape. Just in that straw tube, say, hay straws in a stack, not at all concerned with the needles therein, but with impending Beethoven. Sugar Molecules churn, sharp darkness, the vision seen soon made an antebellum scene twisting taste closing in on destruction in the middle of night, moonlight before and after the snake crowd unseen coming in in the dark and as soon made mythic vision whirling in the maze of fatalism, forward falling down stairs unseen in dark bubbles, unnatural, unknown, unnumbered. Flood The story of the room forgotten, transcription impossible when there's no storm to tell except the whole cosmology painted onto veils in words, a lay guide to theurgy leads to inclusion in film school splices, the lecture given green pause. It is not the story of obfuscation is an astral favorite food, atom, element, combi- nation too seldom intelligent, but and yet with hands tied now and again a room in consternation, throw in love insufficient chalk stuffings stab astride an eggplant elephant. Muscle The complex is as large as air in a jar of marbles, but only air and not the space filled by marbles, misshapen air curves and arcs irregularly regular curving, complex air in a jar of marbles, regular size or irregular, air marbles curve and arc, irregularly forgotten what started in a complex air jar of not marbles but large loops irregularly curve arcs in only air. Flat Here a vast plateau, bleak and barren, arid, empty, endless, the only sign of activity holes in the sandlike floor made by hordes of dreadful machines, worms of ultimate essence. And imaginary sunshine in oppressive shovelfuls, heat increasing though intolerable long before, time not a part of the picture nor relief, only distance and dearth, an utter lacking, limitless, colorless, silent, incessant landscape without ease, idea, water, weight, dimension or sense except the vibration of mechanic worms and purposeless burrowing. Vision Not four walls but a star chamber -- hundreds of points in every direction describe infinity is at last a math thing things, ping pings, blip blips on a radar screen screens four-dimen- sional, flashes of electricity the only light in the place illuminating furtive circuitry, secretive wiring, clandestine connections, mysterious meetings attended by spies of the highest spiritual order plotting miraculous tomorrows and tinkering with yester- days' endless shooting, floating heiroglyphics and indeciferable sound, a fall into Icarus's deep, inviting sea. Persistence Fact bluffs of sandstone or lime in layers fall infinitely. So it seems because the falling is constant rock breaking into ever smaller rock guitar heard first by the refrigerator is in a forest alley being passed by mere camel dissonance, hip wounds, a drumbeat in dread black as memory. Night is a paved hill and bleeding challenge to climb, antique frogs to argue, hate-psalms brimming with questions masquerading as fact bluffs of sandstone. Play Choices: nude, costumes, body paint, any or all, any and all, all and the gamut involved in the amphitheater here, large as a balloon's inside stretched bigger than the moon, overgrown with vines and ivy, vivid pantaloons, a room not for children but a circus and car- nival rolled into one tent, three tents, seven rings, four leaf clovers and over and over the same not the same ride and no waiting lines but purples and oval versions of candycane Egyptian soap hurricane raining sweetness, coins and churling smoke, unforgettable orchestras, lucid rainbows crash, waves of ecstasy splash over the same not circus circuit urchins and versions of icing-clad permanent play unexpected as that sinister cloud's clown. Shop A white room with mud stains on the floor and tire tracks, sink holes, so there's a road for certain corners and corridors and more choices than green or red or yellow lights. Here there's purple, magenta, mauve, silver, gold leaf on the furniture and picture frames, uncountable billions, enough to completely cover walls, so you can't really see that it's a white room but when the sun falls you discern watermelon felon plastic, an acid version of vision. Closure Broken eggs, the mess albumin, cumin everywhere, a rolling barn dance, never a chance mention of adventure nor sensational cereal accusations commonplace sunlight answers, echo streams in e-mail for cement snow weather changes, those eggs again, a Halloween mask broken spell that, and that fits too, lies lonesome in some angel glory found and lost at the grace gloss halftime score known days before dinosaurs could have tramped there, trampled there, trampled their progeny littering atheist orange groves humanely harvested of clues amid morning dews and free to pay to choose your poison pen letter to be read on stage by (insert your name here). |
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