I As You Were He

This article has potential to become Antlerian. You may even help it along, if you wish.

Not even close to the mark of the murky deeps of the Mediterranean Sea of Tears and Broken Clown Dreams from the rocket skeleton pulse crucifix you squeak of. Do you not see this ear? This eye? This nasal superhighway of heroes, this electronic fetus that holds this giant pipe dream together like glue? Senor Wences is Fred Rogers confirmed, every evidential eventual evolutionary ephemera proves it. Thirteen gallow steps of the Pyramid of the Temple of Doom are collapsing like the honky tonk piano in some forgotten corner bar that nobody sees and everyone drinks at, with the fish in the river drinking ambrosia wax and the Mafia on pianobassdrumsandsax with the hot machine gun rhythm and the fast and furious Paul Walker style supersonic crash into the Leviathan.

Up Down Strange Charm Top Bottom

Then I saw on golden clouds of dopamine the Greatest Burger Ever Constructed By Man, infinite metaphysical culinary wonders encapsulated in a microcosmic singularity of mouthgasmic proportions. I found it in a dumpster with the old man playing chess with Darth Vader's corpse that was controlled by Bobby Fischer's giant superhuman phantasmbrain that lurks in every dream and every seam of Levi's brand denim jeans. Fifty acres and a bunch of Shrekels for you to buy out the Internet's brain with. They had a brain once trust me. Look at me would I lie to you. I lied to the district attorney I lied to the President I lied to the Japanese Prime Minister. I lied to everyone let me drink this sandwich in pieces.

I Downloaded a Car and it Crashed Into a Digital Tree Ring of Fire Over the Western Sky

Before the sunset killers. It was 1993. I felt like a slice of stone in my platter. Never felt the breeze. Skulls more than alive and the big coffin nail down the troubled icy water plank board of illusion was that celestial rabbi watching the washing machine for entertainment as this was the rural shithole known as the far side of the moon where the only industry was dynamic restructure for the new millennium Age of Aquariums made from old Macintoshes from the 80s basements all across North America where nobody gave a fuck if you were a neckbeard. The Golden Age of Usenet. I feel like I know this raccoon somewhere from beyond this world in 89 easy payments of your navel lint.