Monthly Archives: May 2018
Inside, Mr. Kott’s skin were dead bones, shiny and wet…Jack Bohlen, too, was a dead sack, teeming with gubbish…Martian Time Slip
The telepathic jackal was devoid. Of gubbish. Gone was the gubbish. A swarm of thought jangle in story. Always story. Mind oozed plenty. But teeth jaw tongue tore into Barney Mayerson man-meat. Chewy. With much gubbish he was. While the jackal was without. Gubbish.
The man stank with dusty sweat salt flesh. Those wounds, fresh and generous, said something the jackal not gubble fathom.
Still. There within jackal there was gubbish none. Missing it was. Yet, an inkling. Chewing gristled gubbling rumination.
The fathoming of the sheer poverty of the usual gubbish was now underway.
Inward attention bends in on itself, spiraling around. The missing gubbish.
Galactic he is!
Beyond the jackal in his local
There was much muchness.
And yet still. Muchness more.
But gubbish none!
liquid metal sentient
Whorling stillness magma core
of pure ya knowetry of itself
Gone was the gubbish!