Flyblog O'Crillic




Deerunk over maybe aboat thirteen cups for aboat tirteen mouths of Kullendar, i guess eye was stumblynn, cristcrossin the mumblemore bayouliffeystour alongside the steppingstones pub, skippin cyclikal snare circle breath beneath noyne bubblyn brooklynn braunstone marrone-castagnu colored; chestnut arches of the Lyfstour viaduct. Peeping skylyke at starrysporia above lye town eye woz daiseyd runk, kungfuzzed  and i sed alofty brothly;
Oh wow Lady dee!
look at the stars man
check tha."







Plop. Swurlysquirly. shheeeteyez fell fallen tigerskin-water, wetsox snakeflow. Oh no. Suckling vortex pulling under, Steerbridged undercurrents got hold ov my heart now, no escaping love currents strong and sturrdy.
"Death alive!" i thought,"i'll be drowndeadderunken sunk silly for sure! kicking, Nuotare, Zwemmen, swommenguage, swimmin for me dear old flylyf. Armies twizzling; windmilling cedar branch after branch, covered in rusty salmon fleshmingo and fuzzy dark guinness hair of beaver coffeetoffee syrupuppyfur
"Where's ma ferry man? don't let me drown, don't let me droun and visit the deepdead river soul show, oh lord no i must swim upinfinite streaming
Summerhow eye manage to scramble ma'sage ashore from churning miss Leafystar hug, shocked from headcold to footsytoes, confronted with a knu rehistoric landbrushedscape, way way way before the end of the beginning of zepiwynetyme, or so it felt, and feels to my frozen clotted-memorybugs.




Loonytune bullbust above the whorizon-axis hung her; guyganormous milky southern knocker of skypot. Peeping kraftykut peephole in skybra spandroopled, backbooty blackground curtain. "Oh' laydy dubz."
To the nord, est, ovest and sud eye gandid;  bogclogga muckamuck clay pouches everyeveningwhere.



Bogboggeybhongbhangpuckpocketpouchpucaphookabolgamuckablagbagginz. Phoukin ell, I maybe stuck in bogscape for all eternity,
Oh Shyty! Skratchin me yed with blueberry popsickle pucapickled flingerpickers, i blurted out me gob; singing and lyebyes; Ode to our ladies grace!

ouch! felt lyek struckaneen poison or sumert took old of me gutter pouch and churned my inside tides aboat, tideturned moonblunder boat in ma poorly jellywhalebelly, i could feel my easter egg up-rising, reminds me early December San Franstarburg. I'm turning sickly bewildered, cramped lyme and i'm wonderinglord what to do? and whywonderinglord blu tidalforces lead me like lamb. Attention slyjacket by great full-cream dairyknocker in sky, a thunderflash turned bluack. Blueberry sauce slivers bluack bustbursted butter blewack bank's and flooded her apple breasted crates with inky thick bloodberry. Phuckin weirdmate, im tellin ya. We herd.



Moving fast n'scramble glitch spingboard diving from hervein; alien, unfamily, utterly bolgalung tin dazzle kamikazequetzalconda. Flaming madollar. Sun blazing out piercing eyes. Bananananda legbeak school bus. Buttock slick head. Very Slowly, it drew nearer, u.f.o morph burningbird; battle of the planets?, balded burningbird of fire scream TzolkienParker bopplyk be bop like bop, bop terrordragonbatadactals. Just behind this sonosovereign providence of mind Jimmy Hendrix fades into being; Mahatmamishmashmavishnukali Arckestral manuvers in the dark; raga sagas upon myndstage for a split secund; Sparking up his parafinn smuthered axe. Dreamy Hentrix Juss beginning to explain -
"If six was nine."


Swooshydown the dinosaur gracefully landead, looks me full in the face up close. Eye cd/ clearly read the mottogandha shaved upon hir crestnuts; Wee the People of the Euroknighted States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this constitution for the Euroknighted States of Amirroruncle."

Without using spokeword eye communicated dreamypalelogic spinning cyclesagas of tymetrouble to the giant chickenlookin chuckchuck. Revolutionary Kullendear. Drunken fall buzzed international buzzard severnlyf brook transnational splashbabel transformations, swimtripkicked up ashore, freestyle to bogpockland medium, slungsongs. Bewildeyedead depressed lost lonely blues, lost at last, baby lion lynn, bisexualpolar bear rap. dribble pillow lusty, oh phuk i'm pissed. The letter i mishmashed upstream.


"F'li," squarked the dinosaur. After a lungfull thought moment, "I'll fly you right out of this stinking inferno, I got wings flinn i-boypod buddy, look at ma flapperdadies."
"All right! sounds great, thanks man," i splurted. Beastrode the fliyeburdee; wondering why the firebird chose to speak egglish to me, and if a bird was able to learn human languages somehow, which would it choose primarily and why; Enosquarkian? Gooselick? Beek? Eyetalian? Portchugeese?
Up and up we flew in quicktime clock-blue air. High, hoog, alto, up and up zoomin quick as berries.
"Where we eddin, sur?" i said, as we flew over lyekingsfordbridge
herbengarden.
"Hold your lymee tongue, fli, mind your own dizziness, and don't be interfering with the commercio of others now."
" Gli affari sono affari" eye imagined
"Shush flyangelo," says the flamebird
So i bit my murmelen, and held on tight.

Sleek sealhead, kojackish with tagliente-blonde talons, still gripping an olive branch and some salmon arrows, he flew onward alla two d'war. Piercing oogles reminded me memory of the stunning seal; Amirikle. Something seems to be askyouwiffy, this strange bird and his motto. How can a bird possibly carry my weight, the Escutcheon and a scroll? No wonder it skritches lyke that lucy. Poor buzzards overloaded and overbirdened, overgrown and over woostershe:her now. "Oh my goodness" Together we flew on thincrust of air, and the firebird talked and talked and i tumbled into a dream...
In my search for a way to illuminate myselfs to the infinite flux of being, i once upon a time found an old old heresy, hidden inside a riddle within a riddle within a riddle. it is hidden, and it is hidden, and it is hidden. So, i played hide and seek for 9 years with this riddle, infusing myself into different aspects of its being, moving around the intangible pieces of its puzzle body. Grabbing at fragments which occasionally revealed themselves to me in actuality; only to find when i opened my hands that they had actually vanished, and soon after i often had the feeling that the thought and memory of it's being had vanished along with it like a soap bubble - poof. I was often left excited and bewildered at the same time, foolishly thinking i had something in my possession, which i most obviously on second and third thoughts - did not.  Thus the game of hide and beek continued day after day and time after time again i got my hops up and then let down again, chasing my own tale with my puzzled tribemind, looking for an objective thingymajig, looking for loveglue and time bondage devices; the only remaining ideologies i believed were actually capable of making it [I]real[I] and tangible in the flesh, the only method of keeping it here, keeping it reel and present. On and on the river flow, and i got pulled and swished around by the undertow, painting puzzle pieces into my flesh, drawing them on walls, translating them into different frequency vibrations, music, poetry, yoga. I tried to split the riddle in half between my ego and self, between the moon and the sun, between the microcosm and the macrocosm, even between life and death itself, and after all my suffering and heartache, careful attention, patience and suspension of disbelief; i still found myself running in logical circles each morning when i awoke with yesterdays wisdom on the tip of my tongue but with incompatible, speech pattern recognition software, uploaded into my domain. My dome, my human bio-cumpooter.  I felt lost in spacetime on many an occasion around about noon or 2 PM;  just as the stars were congressing, and i was getting hungry since having just a blueberry donut for breakfast, and some electric kool aid around 12:12 this afternoon. Some days i would keep it real way through into the evening hours without deluding myself too much, it bacame kind of psycho-sadistic for a while there, i would neglect even my notion of "I" in the confusion i felt in the early stages of divining between ego, self, super self, super-ego, supra-conscious and the stoopid unconscious. Round and round like a caged mouse glued to her wheel at full spin cycle, i spun for reality. Eye spit out spider words, consciously, or so i thought, directing them toward solid structures, biological systems i could swing between and blend myself into, but most of the time my web of words hit a seemingly solid structure which would without warning turn liquid or slippery and unstable, i found myself wondering..."can there be such a thing as an unwobbling pivot? I doubted it, and doubted again. And for all my doubting i just recall the pain. The suffering of seeing through the veil, of seeing my fellow human beings impaled upon alphabetical empires and squashed like grapes inside the imperialist sovereign empire; the super proper gandhi machine; crushing the fruit of wisdom with the sheer weight of metal currency. Choking the natural abundance of wealth with ideological hierarchies, similar to the Christian blinker which obscures the infinite flux of being with finite spells 'ABOUT" the infinite flux of non-being, or the death of manjesus and the resurrection of the super-ape being; christ. The supreme being of infinite stupidity and ignorance, this seems to be the same being as the being who the money gods worship, the abstracted spirit from the symbol, resurrected through the ideology, the conscious projector of prejudice.  With Dollar symbols and Pound signs leaving their trace every which way these suckers look, and every way they indent grace with their vulgar language and ugly categorical rhetorical dream of a mericle; a dream in which they can cash in all their stolen ideological loot for the real abundance of natures wealth. The worshipers of the money gods dream of the day that Christ turns their golden bonds into another symbolic system, more dissproportionatly riggamortis, ratio-edited so that they can steel more actual natural abundance with their pirate monopoly money; their empire enforced credit; so called wealth. They are dreamers who created a metaphor of my own spiritual quest for the elusive infinite flux of being, wherever i turn my gaze throughout the havoc and haze of this life i pull down the veil, to no avail. People do not stop and stair, they walk on into the bank of heaven, and reinforce the trixsters of the finite world in their project of world domination through flipping the poles of infinite and finite to produce a world word war of terror; the national pride and collective ego play the role of abusive farther priest to the only begotten son; the individual, the self evident infinite flux of immortal spirit, the Chrudder self, not bound to any book, doctrine of ideological symbol system by necessity, but, by choice. The sheeple need a sheperd, or so it seems to me, even though the fences and social hedgerows have been refuted and denied to exist as limits in any way shape or form since the begining of time. Since the onset of self consciousness and self realization we are.

The chains of law have been broken, why don't the people want to play anymore. "Don't be afraid of the riddler" was a mantra i repeated when i thought about the imaginary walls of authority enforced by the imaginary essence of occidental identity, and maybe, the solution to the problem of identity being the explosion and brutal destruction of further investigation, or fair, reasonable, deductive criticism by the blind hammer of monism. Certainty. non-doubt. Your either with us, or against us. Duality must be smashed and reformed into a pure sword of truth, a sword which, although sharp, and well made, can never split anything in two, because by the very nature of it's forgery, it can never create dualtea, just stir it up. Everything it cut becomes reformed and remoulded by the power of a singular God. Christianity has multiple identiteas. A sword cast from many chemicals allied with the use of magic and mystery, and a sword which has been known to have a mind of it's own, to be unpredictable, a sword which turns into a lightening bolt or a stream, this sword is now the principle of metamorphoses. Christian English rhetoric and thought described in the western tradition through metaphysics and super abstract propositional functions bear about as much resemblance to their signifiers as a pharmacists typewriter resembles the Amazonian rain forest.
These are the thoughts which sometimes came to visit me on an evening, if i ever get that far into my search for the infinite flux of being inside the finite flux of this keyboard. I have found that on my quest the spirit knowers and so called psychics are annoying and irritating to me, what you know cannot be a part of your nature i used to shout, but after the first round of saying this i realized my own infinite regress and fall into meaninglessness. Since that time i have being constantly vigilant for any knew techniques or methods for transferring my insight about my conflict with the flux, and yet avoiding the many pitfalls and come down's associated with psychological showvanism in the western mindspace. I invented myself as a superflux hero with wings and bionic powers, but at the same time, i still had to take a shit and shower. One day i turned my critical insight upon myself and discovered a hidden garden of passionate and vibrant energy fluttering between scenes, always on the move, everchanging semi recognizable but...very interesting. She was interesting, and she was a female. I must confess what happened to me myself and i when i found out i had a women inside of me all this time, and that she had never raised her head or made a murmur until this day, the day the earth stood still, summer, and "I" came to realize myself and her relationship with the other; my other brother, our mother and great great great grandmother identity; flux.
She made me mad as a poet, mad as a street cleaning vehicle, it was a miricle how i ever found my way backto back here, into a sentence with a semi logical flow, a sentence with a release date somewhere in view, rather than a prison term called life, with no end in sight, with no new beginning possible for that very same reason. She had mistaken me from the end of the beginning and backtoback through the middle part, and onward to the beginning of the end on so many occasions that i had become, a timelessness critter of the immortal Tao. Well, that's what i call myself now in this alphabetical plot to tie a knot into form with structure wrapped around your cranium. Vibrant, beautiful well watered geranium. Tao the way everyday, everywhen, everyman, everywomen, all the time and all-at-once. Moment after moment, before before and after after, the now Tao has a timetravel function in which it can construct a future universe scenario and aim to apprehend the event. With a bit of luck i hope to apprehend Christianity with the Tao before the monotheism and ignorance of the western religio-political predator eats my own mind, or bombs to smitherines anymore whom will not swallow the godma of tyrannical nations; hell bent on acting out their favorite parts of their favorite book by their favorite author. Beware the critter of one book, and be especially aware of the reader who takes the infinite literally. Beware the Supreme sovereign farther of the divine identity. He may rape you, steel all your belongings and take advantage of you with His grand title. He may sentence you to death with a poison pen or mistake you for the villain inside His own rotten heart. Beware the monotheist and the naive realist, beware the saviour spells; question authority - and on and on like a broken looping phonograph record; and we flew to my greatest astonishment, all the way up to Lady daybookreader hershelf.

"Flyni," said the burred, "im tired after flying; get off me and sit down on the moon until i rest myself awhile. Hang onto that vadjra thunderfinn sticking out the side of the moon over there, see it?"
"No way man, i'd flail 'n fall again and that would be twice and Christ, i would be smashed to smitherrunes on the hard earth below; flat as a pancake, split like humpty O'raysiris. Djed eye would be no doubt, Deada thon a doornail."
"Not at all, Flyknee," said he; "Catch hold of that hook and hang out a while. Go on get off me now."
"i wanna go ohm for phucks sake, that's all."
"Maybe flyni, Maybe." bawled the bald hawking
"Foul bloody flirebird," i said under my breath, in a sly black kuntree-eyerash dialectical cypher, for fear he'd know wot i said. Eye got off his back with my heavy heart, took a hold of the harkhookfinn, and squatted down upon the great creamy space bub contemplating telepathic jazz; flatted seventh vamps in F#.



"Good morning to you, Flyni," said the bird, wings fanned out, picturesque, spanish, spanningish blackdrop drip slilver sun mu'n sparkle; spandanangled outerstella regions. For a brief moment i grokked the whole seal; obverse and perverse; spreadeadoggled; turning in the luce affinity between transvestcentdented stars and the familiar earthstar projection below. My precious metalmoony affinitea; stars and sterlingbling. Panspermia and panning for gold, spanning the galaxy for mold so i wos told
"I am the wings of providence and karma, here's yr/ manifest drama for taking offspring from their nest, you stole my egg's remember flick, remember those eggz you egglish tea leaf?"
"Ugly Amerikaanse eland... is this the way you serve me at last?
Mansteen! You really are a bird of pray! Faith, Il tempo e denaro. Arrrgh. Zeeduivel. U-bent devil!

(My funny babble woz no use; sounded out of context and could have been delivered with more subtle nest.) he spread out his mckarmic whigs and burst out laffin, ha ha haa flying and laughing away he flew hue huw. I sungslang after him with my candy sweet lyelabye and bellard opera, chillin on one leg he would return sun. Dolore...sorrow flippinfly away with him. Go on blues be gone. I don't want you no more.

Stuck inside another pickle jar with Dutch pekelen i cryed and zang zouten tears for fear of grief, "why me? why fli? i blurted. All at once a leak sprung in the middle of the moon, out the leak came oozing liquid mirrorstuff swirling misteamilk swurly half cream. Gooing morphwards forming pickledographs in front of me oogs; forming the old dude in the moony, eye knu im by his long lookin gray chin, and his cheesy cracked dry smile.
"Good next week to you, Flyni. Wot's up with yourshelf?"
"Book all" i harped, rather calmly considering.
"What in the world brought you out here to the moon Flee?"
So, i reeled out my tongue twisted tale; i wuss a tinkle pissed dronken on maybe tirteen grail of sealsons abyss and sun finest brew tang; slipped and fell into the river Lyfstour; swam for me lyf and then became stranded on a rehistorick islandbrushscape. I continued to wind and weave breeze through my multistory with extra luminous details and spiritual outsights aboat the snailsung i singh, and the rockthrone which i had perched upon to think, and how i lost my way in the phooken boggaclog. Eye added how the slybird of prayer promissed to fly me out of it, but instead flyhjacket me up to the big boob, while telling me all about the firebird suite and how his evileagle brother was bad, and how they were planning to flyjacket the moon very soon.
"Flyni, you must not stay here." said the loony critter
"Eye don't wanna be ere man!  you hear what i juss said? i was
kidnapped and brought here against my will by this crazy bird! yo, how am i gunner get back ohm tu buggeridge man, I know i must leave but tell me moondude...how shall i go?
"That's your bizzinesst, bee off in less than no tyme!" snapped the grumpy cheeseball. "Flyem doin no arm ere sur, only holding on fo my dear lyf by this vajrafinn ookyducky, i don't wanna fall to morto and be splatted tommatoe"
"That's what you must not do, flyni."
"im not let tin go mi hold you phoukin moonatrick. I'll be djedead wunt eye."
Without a word he pulls out a massive crooked Qcumber from hiss crack house and gives two bhangs on the sharkhandle huck which wuz oldin me up, and wallop... it split twice.



"Good morning to you Flyni," the spiteful old moonguy sez, as he watches me fall, rolling, tumbling, zwerverin clappers, runk with half a vadjra tight in my grasp, falling Luce. Again. Moksha.
"Ghod alp me" i mumbled, on my decent to the unknown, again. Must i flie to stay awake?

And no sooner had these wurds left my lips unto the air that whizzum, what should fly by my earwig but a fluck of whirled geese all the way from me ohm town boggeridge, how else could they have know me? The old gander who was their general turned his noggin and cried out to me;
"Is that you flyni?

"The samesame," said eye, not a bit fluxed at what he said for flyni was by this time experienced with bewilderment, phase, verbijstering, trickery, drunkenness, hallucination and surprise. Besides, i knew him from back in the daze before tyme. It felt like we were brothers for a moment, bonded by birth placenter hoods.
"Falling falling fallen you are, Flyni," says he
"An understate-ment your honor!"
"And where on earth are you going so fast?" said the commander gander, since i just noticed his stripes, so i unfolded to him flibagins snake charm; too much woest worden honingsap, the fall, the swim to isola rehistorica, garaj mahal, stuck in the stinking muckapucka, and the flagming struisvogel thief who flew me up to the moonmiller while ronin strange axis radio stories of his vortex woman called Dianna, snapped the kalkamandollardajra with his crooked Qcumber which was keeping me up and sent me tumbledumpty down bouwvallig; sovereign sungold coin flung dropped wishingwell. New Flesh for old.

"Flyni," said he, "I'll save your sorry ass, grab onto my legs and i'll stop you falling any further."
"Sweet, dolce is your hand in a pitcher of honigsap, my gioiello," says i, and grabbed the gander by the leg and we flew off fast as gofast with the rest of a six pack or dozen wildeyed muther flockers.

We flew and flied and volair and flown and vliger and flew till we came right over the wyde oceaan blu. "Where the phook am i going now i thought, where to? The Ocean of potion, the knu whirred Wu?
"Fly to land, if you please Sir!"
"it's impossible flyni, because you see we are flocking to Slyberrya. We all gather summer fire around June 21'st each year.
"Cyberia! that's phunkin mouths away, in some foreign slice of the world, it's gonna tek us yonkers mon, i just wanna go Ohm, please take me ohm."
"Hold your flipping tongue,"
Once more pleading for my dear lyf i pray for Amirrorcle and then, sure as war, an oil tanker boat sails into sight below, carrying stolen loot from the miggle est back to Amirickle i guess.
"Can you just drop me off here on the oil tanker Gandhi mate?" i asked.
"if you must, you must. I think you have mist it though...there you go...take your own way. And don't call me gandhi again flyni. All right,"

With that he opened his claw, dropping me down to the blackpirate tinkertanker below.

Sure as day i missed the boat and came down sploshington into illicHcilli oceanpond, sinking down through the churning asparagus broth schimen, down, deep downgreen emerald, falling lucifer mossrocks, eye gave up on myself then forevergreen, when, out of the ruddy hulk warter a porpoise came swamming right close up to me, right up close enough to kiss me, and i think i might while she's skratchin her blow hole and stretching her finns out after a good nights sleep i bet, yeah, she looked me full in the face with some Hunab ku looks and never a word of English she did say, thank goodness, but, lifting up her tail, she splashed me all over again with cold salt water, the wet stuff, not the words here; until there wore a dry stitch upon my boggysoggy carcass.

 I remembered the firebird and how he vivisected my mind without word with pickledgraffs, i was beginning to receive signals from the dopefinn about spacetimespace and outermindbrainplace things and holographic thoughtfacetime stuff, then i heard a distinctive angel's voice, slightly pissed in the murky distance; a voice and tone i mecognized.

"Wake up stephan you lazy phuka!"
There she was - a man eater, splashing agua all over me hip hop stunkin carcuss, my beautiful wyf had metamorphosed from mermaid into bullhound half human alarm clock. I was ringing wet.
"Get up, stand up!"
"Why do you lye under them ould walls of boggarigapooka huh? it's such a mucky stinkin baga wind. Honeysap maybe the death of you Stephan...one of these daisies you'll stay runken sleepin and never wake agen! Never in a month of sun will you learn your lesson from moonshine brewers.




Spun from an Irish fairy tale about Daniel O' Rourke, collected in County Cork by Thomas Crofton Croker (1870)


Re:mixed by Fly Agaric23/Acrillic


Copyleft 21:12:2012 Fly Agaric 23
 
 

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