Message-ID: <alpine.NEB.2.11.1512192005590.16013@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: webartery@yahoogroups.com
Subject: Beneficient Child of God
Date: Sat, 19 Dec 2015 20:09:13 -0500 (EST)
Beneficient Child of God http://www.alansondheim.org/rupture37.png http://www.alansondheim.org/rupture.mp4 http://www.alansondheim.org/rupture01.png http://www.alansondheim.org/rupture38.png Cones into strings, they'll make the world. His viol makes the seas the <Graham> he kept angling the camera to shoot up his viol <Graham> he zoomed in over and over again on my face it was his viol he <Graham> it was my viol he wanted he kept zooming in <Graham> trembling on my viol focusing on my face <Graham> focusing hard on my face running the camera over my viol to see your viol; i can't think his viol dripped down my thighs, front to back, gathered near us. Keys and computers _crash,_ my viol drained him, bowed viols churned through past-histories as mutilated. In my dream I'm a strain on your viol, wall, door, as thunder struck him from head to viol, hair scorched or standing on end; vehicles into endangered species unbearably distended as their viols filled me, reached the back of my my own, they are tearing my body into pieces, blinding me, my eyes, my viol, they penetrate and distend me, they turn me inside out, my my tongue is cut my viol broken, dirty, bow dismembered, surrounded by an outpouring of javelins filthy germs streaming ghosts across your splitting viol against my splitting viol against my filthy waters they will not stay on filthy of filthy germs streaming ghosts across your splitting viol against my splitting viol against my filthy waters, ghosts across your splitting viol against my filthy waters:you will play my viol against my filthy waters! enemy lances our viols with mastodons, my twenty-four-year-old viol, hard for the playing it, but in reality, it plays. it says nothing. in the cave it's all playing; if we die, we'll die with our viols tuned, i'd prefer that, doctor, wouldn't you like to see my viol, my disease, what would happen would be in your hands, my tongue is cut my viol filled with dirt the viol is surrounded by an outpouring of javelins the last thing they saw was the viol, but the viol, it was like a gun: 4 bad people wanted nikuko's viol even if they died 4 bad people wanted afghanistan's viol even if they died enemy lances our us from the viol of Alan, from the mind of the Lord Goddess, from the mind of another time, I was "viol." viol blood toot hardwood good. Well I floor, urchin up mouths, skirts, bows, entanglement of fluids, you know a sentence. I'll name my viol for her. my body rolls in fields of teeth. they gnaw me, my viol and mouth fill muller, graves, anyone who will listen, moth, dirt-mouth, violation fabrics against that unmistakable scent of rosin, bow, flattened against the screen, our viols out our mouths, our mouths out, our music s/played: a viol that will couple us viol to viol: a viol that will couple us viol to viol? a=viol=that=will=couple=us=viol=to=viol: boundary, alice's looking-glass. can't look saz eyes characters; arms fine. weed, seed. lonely stupid telling all. saz. say. sazs creasing inverting '74 television, theory! arched, wanted clumsy sazs, rigid cord neck. leaned fingered blood. belief. imply neck disbelief. honey's saz: hollow! fist: lozenge! defile! words; clip motherboards galleon down! florida keys! viols again! saz! rub dub! mine! senselessly klein bottle, own; saz; sprouting toggle boulder incline saz. : I want to know what it feels like. : I want to be played. I don't want you. : If I want you I want a saz. If I want a saz I want the hell of burning sazs: come-down. belong how-much nancy bulk-store lose mama knife- screw. saz. bulk-store. blue-cockatoo loose saz lose. blue- cockatoo. some-kind no-can loose long. day-long. saz work-night good-time. all-time no-like skin saz. mama how-much heart-jesus. come-down... hot-work i-think play your saz. My mouth is my baby. Clara Hielo said to me that it's a useless horn, a saz on your arm like a useless mortar, you're stuck talking, stuffing the words and sometimes it gleams, sometimes my body's an electron. I am the word which is the daughter of God. I open my saz, turn.