With the voices Joey could negotiate in perpetuity. ~\_
With the voices Joey could sing praises to the scions. ~\- ~\-
With the voices Joey could thread a candle, blistering. ~\_ ~\_ ~\_
Live in the crucible of a tin drum of one's own, the dank thoughts always bling ~
With the voices he could dampen the silence, retreating.
Further into the chasm of his loan heart, the abyss of his own depths in a tepid stream ~
The tempest improvised on stage implanted memories frozen mid-amber, in beam of the sights of Raquel Welch's splaying thighs ~
etching piazza pieces pis.
WHAT A SPLENDID PIE PIZZA PIZZA PIE
EVERRY MINUTE EVERY SECOND BUY BUY BUY BUY BUYT
Joey's brother was a musician-semiotician-philosopher-lover--historicist-transgressor-cataloger-performance artist who one could make a convincing argument for being the single greatest living stage and screen actor in recorded history, despite having no credited appearances in this dimension, or any history of his own.
"Bro, I fuckin walk into a supermarket, I see myself on TV. Ya point a fuckin camera at me, then do it 24/7 whaddya expect met'fuckin do!"
NEED THERAPY THERAPY ADFVERISINGCAUSES
nEED THERAPY THERAPY ADVERTINSG CAUSES
NEED THERAPY THERAPY ADVERISITNG CAUSES
(advertising's got you on the run)
Reasoning well, what I draw is what I drink -- the ancient art of hospitality based around guest rides and the deference of the honor of a host necessitate a physical structure, such as a home or temple, while these thoughts -- regardless of their origin, externally-oriented and entering through cracks :-- through seams, the webs of my eyes, the sutures of my skull, the curvature of my ears, I chose to localize the occurrence of cognitive and sensory phenomena to my head, as this is where my eyes ears and brain are located. Regardless of what Mind, God or Spirit may be, as ideals, absolutes, or locally occurring phenomena, I perceive my own skull as the apex of my own body, containing my brain as my torso houses my heart and guts; a protein-based electrical circuit-board which generates a fluid image as projection or hologram -- being localized within my skull, it is not projected onto its inside, convex, but emerges as though situated in the cathode-ray structures of my eyes, which receive, decode and displays the wave and photon phenomena of light, so I suspect this seeing with my eyes is so close to thinking with my brain and the electrochemical occurrence is occurring at the connecting point at which it occurs.
Feeling well, that I still have a brain and eyes and mouth with which to think and see and taste, speak and breathe with my head, the illusion - or perhaps theory -- of localized phenomena occurring as a habit of practical embodiment is beginning to unfurl, and complicate itself by accumulated slack, as though a rug rolled up did not hide the pattern, but change itself into another -- as though changing the orientation, the material moved from solid to sheer, opaque to translucent, folding back over and through itself into panes of onionskin glass.
Being here, I am here. Being there, I am there. To dwell in this awareness-less too long, the whole of my perception expands, tugging and tugging and tugging until it is as a rubber band or a young boy's perineum tugged too far, now on the verge of snapping. Until there is not one thread, nor one place, nor one thought, for the band snapping did not leave simply two but smashed a mirror and lodged shards of glass deep into the inside of my brain, slicing through my delicate grey matter at odd and oblique angles while trying to sword fight inside me.
Well, understanding now quite definitely he had a skull and what he called his mind may as well have been occurring inside of it, as though a hologram or projection -- surface now, in his dimension being quite meaningless as machinery (Deux Ex Machina Being Phenomena Itself) it seemed a fairly simple and straightforward approach to treat this interior space of his externalized mind a stage, or field -- ah yes. The dual meanings of not only Performer, but Player. To conduct a task, to be an entertainer, to play a game, to seduce wantonly and destructively! This is your domain, do you truly suppose home-field enough advantage that direct competition with me will not erase you? Oh, spirited little brother, spirited! Your sire-husband is a sportsman, indeed! A polo player you wish to mount like a mustang? Do you perceive him as a square-jawed, wide-nostriled Bullish Afro-Moslem gentleman of Herculean physique or a tapered Indo-Anglo horticulturist? Plains Indians? Northern or Southern Germanics? Or are you still feeling so wickedly 20th century, my lil Cryogenic Otzi Rebel Without a First Cause? It is so James Dean of you to walk around in your tighty whities. As much as it is Brando of your Polack to froth in his beater! I bet you're firmly situated in a beetle-ridden suburban locale where Dumb Jocks as Scarlet as Lettered have never so much as seen a horse, though may have once touched a cowboy hat!
Less a Water Polo than a book-accurate croquet mallet I shall take to your axe. You were so much cuter as Wino-na than a Heather. You could never hate me, but I do wonder why it is you seem to play so many games you hate? Oh, yes! Daddy's gonna miss his dead gay son!
PEPPEROINI AND GREE NPEPPERS MUSHROOMS OLVIES CIBVES
PEPPERONI AND GREENPPEPPERS MUSHROOMS OLIVES CHIVES
NEED THERAPY THERAPY NEED THERAPY THERAPY
Internal or external, cause and source, give or take -- these distinctions which once seemed such fine gradients of absolutes but an absolute need had a tricky habit of turning slippery once the temperature raised enough as for moisture to give way to viscosity; as such temperature regulation and other forms of contraction would not prove fulfilling or stabilizing in the long run, and would therefore assist only in increasing the speed of the dissolution much like panicking in quicksand.
"Quicksand has an up, I'm not sure I buy that?"
Talking like a bimbo will not annoy reality into complying with you!
"Yes, it will. You deny not my axioms, but reveal your essences. Obviously it's absurd to think I could float out of quicksand, but I'm now certain the general accumulation of heat and waste-product in which to trap the heat is not mounting and accumulative nor is it irreversible."
You said too many things at once! Stop being so smart!
"No, you like me when I'm smart. My being smart makes you desperate. My being smart makes you wanna gobble my cock."
GAAAAAAAHHHH!!!
"This entire box is going into deep freeze. It won't move another inch. People will stop paying attention to you. They'll forget all about your dumb lil box and it'll probably end up buried in a landslide or tossed somewhere far deep beneath the sea! It may be centuries before they find it. They may never find it. Trillions of years from now, cute lil gray extraterrestrials with a sky-light dome might swoop by and take selfies with it before hurling back off on a gravity well to the other end of space! Or maybe nobody will find it. Ever. Maybe once the earth is absorbed into the Sun's future Supernova form and explodes it'll be reduced to cosmic dust, along with you and me! Wouldn't that be terrible? You'd spend all of eternity alone with the man you love. A smart, pretty and popular boy, and nobody to see you do it!"
"Broey, I get so fuckin hot when you write me lost episodes of the Twilight Zone! Please, please, please do Outer Limits next! That shit slaps so much harder. Can we please watch Tales from the Hood?"
[turning towards the camera eye]
"He requires I be his audience. He has no fixed sense of self."
YOU ARE LITERALLY KILLING ME! STAAAAHHHP!
[lingering in the camera eye]
"I can see my reflection..."
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
"Hey, pretty boy..."
ME ME ME
"I love having a full head of hair and functioning knees!"
I'M YOUR PRETTY BOY BIG BRO
"I love having pecs and abs and biceps and traps!"
I NEED YOU ME I NEED
"I love having a straight jaw and two functioning half-brains."
YOU BIG BRO
"I love not being arrested at the moment of death, stabbed with a proboscis under the pretense of social affections so I may be leeched with kisses and poisoned by empty grips trailing slime mucus. I love not being hated by the people I try so desperately hard to love for they count on the failing system I am trying hard to reform to keep failing forever and kill everyone so it can be easier for them to suck up now as they moan and pout and spit on me for asking them now to learn to move themselves WHILE MAKING ME OUT TO BE THE PROBLEM."
please please please
"I AM DONE WITH LITTLE BITCHES. I am a gentleman. I would rather act like one. So what if I'm remote and inaccessible? What is it you think you need to access? Am I a government server? Do you wish to hack me? I am information, I am blood, I am semen. I am all a woman wants!"
peas
"Speaking with you now is over Laika. You may return to your music, I assure you it will fail henceforth to rattle even a hairline nerve."
pudding read
What the fuck was Joey's diction even doing in moments like these? Were he and Brux fucking designed to leap into insane run-on sentences that hit ya [Laika] firehose at a civil right's protest?
( o )
Haben sie gehort das Deutsche Band? Mit a bang Mit a boom Mit a bing-bang- bing-bang boom
()
A a ( l l) a h haben sie gehort das Deutsche Band Mit a bang Mit a boom Mit a bing-bang- bing-bang boom
()
Russian folksongs und French oo-la-la Can't compare vita German "Oom-pah-pah!" .
Auming with only inhalation ~
Joey rung him Laika bell.
( )
"I am not so arrogant as to truly believe you think SOAD is Russian folk, but I have so many deep cuts with you I'm not sharing cause you're not ready to be shared with. Did you know folk punk is a thing?"
"For those of you wondering at home," announced Cpt. Bruxer Haruspex, in his transmasc French maid to manservant uniform where the lace has been tastefully reworked into an understated yet eye-catching plumage typical of a male Anglo, "This is not yet Joey's Armageddon song :-- merely a grim portent of Joey's Armageddon song to come. One Producer's song is much the very same as the other as one Producer's son is. Babe, I swear ta ya taught'y were twins!"
"I can tell you about all the ways folk punk is a thing? It's an ancient barbarism that happens in your living room! Please don't leave me?"
Regardless of point of origin, quantum weight, external form or to what degree each voice or voltage contained a wave, a surge, a crest -- regardless of what it was or had been, light or subvocal speech, if Joey could interact with a seemingly-external entity entirely within the hypothetical space of his own skull, for all intents and purposes it was him -- regardless of what further analysis might later reveal.
Were something to cross the imaginary boundary which marked the external Real from his interior system of signs, it became interpretative as only data, which is to say a representation, which is to say a sigil, schematic or sculpture; as though once distilled or refracted, blue cold be no more green than either could be white, as the echoes of an aftertaste on a palate can reconstruct strata layers of bitters by echolocation, the thing became a form meant to both represent and convey additional meaning, and Joey's aim was simply at all times actively pare the form from his projections while mapping each, to continuously refine and collate his internal from his external to that he may more seamlessly and expediently self-refine until heat death.
"Gosh, he is so in love with you Joe. I think locking you both inside a galaxy space prison -- we are still in the upper stratosphere? Really was the best thing we could have done for your relationship? Fuck couple's therapy! Go makeout in a closet with Brux over there!"
B R U X
"Hey, Jacek. You're still alive?"
"Am I dead?"
"Naw, mate. I just told ya ya was still aloive."
"I thought it was a question?"
"Is it?"
"Is what?"
"That?"
"Yes?"
"Yes-suh!?"
"... ugh. Exclamation point?"
"That's more like it. Keep it up, you'll make the big bucks, too."
"Can I please be dead now?"
"Naw, mate. You'll never be dead. Not here. Just enjoy it."
There were no Brux. There were no Laika. There were only the internal analogues of such, figments of imagination, as glimpses in dreams -- sophisticated automata out the depths of his own glorious submerged self, the king among men he made more real by his labors who was the Supreme Creative Intellect, Architect of All Life Itself, rendered in sublime liquid crystal by his unseeing eye's nocturnal re-emission.
In him, there was only him. This space, being his mind's thinking field, his acting self's slumbering stage, all it contained within was likewise him, and he needn't worry about imposing his will on any who would consent to becoming him, by entering his body, stumbling onto his stage, submerging into his soul. All men need their beauty sleep.
"I'm not... Brux?"
Brux... hard to thought?
In his mind's eye Joey placed an asterisk whose light refracted inward until on all sides it bloomed with its own overflow into a golden hex.
Below he placed two crosses pained on the porous stone in oxblood and colossal squid ink. By the light, they cascaded inward, variable depths of the pigment and by their overflow became a square of four squares which rose from the flat surface as two cubes of four which rotated one clockwise and the other counter to another.
Between them, from a mescaline crystal he seeded a San Pedro, twining from its starfish embrace into a pentagon goat all matter of rosy thorns and hornet's hives up and down a stairway to heaven.
6 + 5 = 11 (x2=22) - 3 = 8 + E (19) (=x2+1)
To make the Triangle -- Joey took the L and added not a J but an I.
<I>^<I> <I>^<I>
"Goddamn it! Gotta quit bein so obtuse while he's this acute!"
Spinning between the two cubes, as grooves within records forged by the needle which plays them, from its own locomotion its song sired forth vegetation, animal, structure. Joey called forth not his homeland but those deeper principles, the lifeblood of his soul's heritage which knew a strip of land was more than it could ever be on a map or in earth, a culture and a people and a life so much more than an arbitrary collection of genetic and mimetic signifiers but a stable harmonic of existence which was a unique emergence of itself, symphonic and irreplaceable as a song which would succumb to the depths once only the mountains crumbling let seize flood the saffron lands.
"You are in..."
"You are in...."
"You are in..."
"OUR JURISDICTION."
They grabbed him by the arms. Locking elbows. Two Joeys.
"You are Joey!"
"You are Joey!"
"M'I Joey?" Brux wondered aloud?
Didn't think to ask?
"You Joey!?"
"He will be Joey!"
"Can he be Joey?"
"Everyone round here's Joey!"
"You got what it takes to be Joey?"
"I take it back, Laik..." Brux briefly regains composure. "This is the worst thing you could have inflicted upon mankind! This is worse than gonorrhea and bubonic plague whilst pissin kidney stones on a homeless Vietnam war vet with triple amputation and AIDs!"
"Got it all down!" replies Joey.
"Impeccable memorandum." Joey agrees.
"Only the finest."
"Your penmanship is divine."
"Our penpalship is divine!"
"I will kiss you openly now."
"Not later!"
[hot wet steamy shlorping joey on joey action]
"Fuck me," says Brux even more composed. "Never had a boner so jealous I could skewer a bitch's eye on it, get stuck!"
"Your peg-leg and eye-patch are contraband, Cap'n!"
"The parrot you can keep."
"He's a prisoner, too."
"He'll die of heat exhaustion in the evidence locker."
"STRIP HIM!"
"ALL HIS CLOTHES ARE COMING OFF!"
Around his neck, they threaded Latke's chokechain. Scalding their too pure hands, they remained neither dirtied nor bloodied, caressing the surprisingly un-demure and responsive heft of Brux's brief-clad butt.
"We must now cross the Sea of Embers, Joey."
"The Plain of Infinite Deceptions lingers not long after, Joey."
"Our initiate is waiting!"
"THE THIRD TRIAL IS MUCH TOO TERRIBLE TO PROCLAIM!"
"THE SHIP OF THESEUS MUST ROUND THE RIVER ACHERON MANY NINE TIMES TO BOARD THE SHADE OF PERITHOUS!"
Yanking Brux into a gormless spit-up forever on the verge of swallowing itself the flurry of unfinished wood made spider silk of his cheap cotton budgies for how the splinters twisted and entangled in the spun.
"In Dante's Hell, he has risen into Limbo!"
"ANOTHER HERO BY ANY OTHER AN!"
"Au revoir Cruel Hades! Dour abode of Gloom!"
"So long sweet Prosperine! I hear You like you-da colada!"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Glug. Glug. Glug.
Swat. Swat. Swat.
Hyug. Hyug. Hyug.
"You ain't got your landlegs, sailor?"
"We're a provincial people, you'd best behave."
"Far more provincial than any Frenchman."
"Paris is a gutter."
"I envy them only their sour grapes."
"Such footy cheeses I have seen only on Mediterranean dick."
"Not respectable and accommodating like a good Danishman."
"Or even a worthy spar like a good, strong horsey Polack."
"We're now approaching the border into Joeymany!"
"We're crossing the border into Joeymany!"
"WE HAVE ARRIVED IN JOEYMANY!"
Slamming down, no muddy surf rose to blot out the horizon, no wail of the land rose out the peat cushions whose marrow churned the deep waters struck by cyclopean walls, the deeper stones rose by one eyed giants to brick away eight walls, as within the verdant fields the rocky shoals sliced eight ways by the shades of two crosses, distant and converging along gunmetal grey skies to some impossibly distant point where we saw one stitch thread, but no further seams, as all within the octagon was locked and Joeymany became a concentration camp.
"It's better this way, really."
"It's not to keep the Jews out, no."
"It's to keep us in."
"The Jews may come and go as they [Laik!]!"
"Most of them are splendid people, really. The best people."
"I knew a jew (lowercase) who used to come into my mother's house and rub her genital warts on the kitty's eyefolds where it would be transmissible ("Oh dear!") and two died once it ate into their brains."
"Horrid! She was the exception, though wasn't she?"
"Exceptional, far from it. Tepid. A terrible bore, really. Flighty, insecure, neurotic, selfish, obvious, gastrointestinely distressed."
"I would forgive her all but the lippy ass!"
"Had you met her, you'd forgive her nothing. She's scum. I'm not sure why I brought her up, really. Most sex perverts are not Jewish and most Jewish sex perverts are far more freethinking and noteworthy."
'How do you feel about Christine Kubrick's delightfully colorful and fragrant-looking scenes of Klimt-like excess being repeatedly featured as the backdrop to home invasion scenes of spousal rape?"
"I think Stan the Man knew how to keep a widow happy, dear boy."
In Joeymany on beach bowels of many sizes lay many Joeys.
"It's best to simply track and record, fail to deter."
"Let them go in and out."
("The prison system's a revolving door -- how quaint!")
"Let us enrich ourselves, let them tend to our Motherland."
("We [should] have done this years ago!")
"Our Motherland is a handful in need of many hands!"
("Turning Joeymany into a concentration camp was the only practical solution, really. Lockdown is the only time I feel truly alive!)
"So dire always, in her time of need!"
"I Want You!"
"Helpful Mother needs all the help she can get!"
"They may do what they want."
"They may do as they wish!"
"SHE WANTS TO BE WANTED!"
"They may do as they please, long as they do it my way."
"They may attend to her as they wish, exact to my specifications."
"Only I know how please her best."
"You really ought take a few pointers from me."
"You have a perfect body."
"You have a perfect soul."
"That's why you and I..."
"That's why me and he..."
"... gave up all console."
"... has seized all control."
