.begin flodis no.28 .the flowers of disruption standing in the park at night i can't decide if i should focus on the porchlights of nearby homes or at the planes and stars in the sky. put all the lights in this city together in one big ball and you still won't have enough light to grab the attention of starships barrelling through space. but if you took one of those houses on the horizon and shot it out through the atmosphere, its flaming body would look like a shooting star to some. if i were to take all the forlorn old notes that we wrote back and forth and roll them up into one big ball, and focus all my love and depression into a flaming burst of energy within, perhaps i'd be strong enough to launch all of my memories of you out into the atmosphere and watch them burn up and melt away. then i could walk back to my house and fall asleep, while two lovers out in the moonlight made wishes and kissed. here's a story from zaff ron erect sweeney. at at ten at ten you ate attenuated the relation between form and substance is attenuated and the relation between truth and lie is attenuated ideas fly off free floating through the plenitude but in the process genius is lost. vitriolic and unclear. that's true to form. to say it again turn it over again something is twisting spiky and barbed spinning and spiking its way through helpless gray matter. capitulating the neural networks forcing reconstruction while there is still time for increased complexity. it's a race agains the clock and thoughts of you during the reconstruction always come carpet bagging through. to say it again to put it again philology recapitulates ontology as numerology recapitulates ontology as alchemy recapitulates ontology as witch doctors and philosophers sit together smoking post-prandial cigars and writing paragraphs on the sublime. so here we are again in the ontological garden the phenomonological garden or i am who knows if you made it or not i know that you are not what you used to be you are disguised as yourself and i ask if you are trick or treating. (you don't get it, but the tone in my voice is your cue that you ought to feel insulted.) again, later sometime different (and the you, is a different referent--i am always tricky about my referents. always check your references.) you have been in all of my suicide dreams lately. No! don't be insulted-- they are my favourite dreams all the colours spiralling out of control until the scene of my dream the crowded bar where you are tending and making martinis (i wonder why in my dream you always make such lousy martinis) the mountaintop apartment where there is a party and we are drinking screw drivers or irish whiskey (the kind my dead uncle used to buy me) (tulamer's.) until as i say that scene has exploded and there is no more personal identity amidst the shifting colours and the shapes also blend into colours and all that remains is a soupy kaleidiscope and i know i am dead and wonder why i didn't do that to my brains the night i sat wanting to. except that it is a simple proposition: a bullet to your synapses, a bullet raping your neural networks and nerve clusters will not let them grow back together with an increased complexity and complexity is what i live for. once i saw a little girl playing with an old old cat. the cat must have been twice the girl's age and arthiritic. when the girl squeezed the cat happily, though it must have hurt, the cat made no sound, just accepted the hug. i smiled. it was the sweetest thing i ever saw. )(*&%#@)(*&%#@)(*&%#@)(*&#@)(*&% underneath the firing pole a man stands waiting for his wife. "come hither", she once said to him in a fancy restaurant in the mozambique. and hither he did go, and love became them. a family did follow, children and toys and dogs, and a financial crisis somewhat like a crash. spiralling down, down, the pit of despair. a dirty front lawn and a broken lawnmower in a run-down old shed. shingles steal staples and the wind never ends. but the drugs aren't free, and somebody must be responsible for distribution, so our man took the job. and his family did live, once again, in something other than desparate depression, and our man sold and swallowed contraband chemicals, making him a very happy man standing at his front door to answer a knock from the men in blue who busted on through and said his rights in a language other than english and once again, spiralling down through locked-up cells and ending up with a lonely wooden pole. the focus of gunmens' attention. arms at his side. waiting at a table in the mozambique. gobbledee-gook is never mistook for something with taste in mens' underwear just as hamper-with-cheese will always displease when served up for dinner for chinese government officials. so OFFICER stand guard while i go pee on these nearby children it will be funny for a laugh because no parents are nearby to beat me silly and i will scamper back like the homo i am and we can play patty-cake on each others' bottoms. lovers' lane. lois lane. louis rich. richie rich. turning round in spinning gravity from the center of the fountain. forming blades of fully-armed force. i push in my arm and get cut in half. "ouch," i say, and wince a tad, but once the pain subsides, i make up my mind to jump in and join the cycle of things which, once conceived, continue endlessly to exist. like the flowers of disruption, my young pumpkin! taste the wine of my scrumptious deli-o. ain't that somethin' special? now stand on this table -- here, let me assist -- and look out at the top of the wall. not so scenic, eh? well i will knock it away with my SLEDGEHAMMER duh duh WHY DON'T YOU CALL MY NAME duh duh I WANNA BE your SLEDGEHAMMER duh duh AND THIS CAN BE MY TESTIMONY and now what do you see? plaster. yes. let me knock some more away. ok, now? a sky. mmm, scrumptious. no, the hole is not big enough to fly through. no. well, maybe some other day. right. let's go. .end flodis no.28 .nov 5 1999 .though mickey rooney loves to eat paste .some good popcorn will just become waste .and who can define that particular taste .of arsenic mixed in with the baste? .gobble gobble .fry fry .chew, swallow .die die