If you stare into the abyss, you will fuck up the abyss. Here’s a montage of the infection. Brilliant thaw dulls blood. Like the cellophane-like membrane of a cozy fireplace, Satan’s Morphsuit weeps raw magma. Organic gods stroke each others’ orange peel, trippin balls on Viagra. They have about as much fun as aliens visiting earth in rental ozone diapers. Amoebas hear in bland stereo, skin trapped in animated acne. Emphysemic Lego dances to its own farty clicks, sits cross-legged on Mars’s video game moss. At one point, universe-fat becomes the Bigger Picture. On earth, I failed every barbwired polygraph. It was relieving. Digging how chemistry accelerates self-awareness, at parties. Seducing stones out of hiding. Filling a crack in the door with limbs that try to stage a chicken uprising in order to run through the sunset’s Jurassic pancake. The soul’s dark matter now wears Christmas jumpers while its digital muscles mow the lawn, forming a big wound that spills trash from its gross sphere. Dials spaz out, eccentric shitfaced mystery-manure sprout erogenous touch points shaped like hooves. At last, in a fusing of channels rooted in worn-out spandex, the haunted-house echoes of friction are sealed in by the constriction of beauty.
Soothing crop circles, tucked in. Gems on Craigslist, fingered by a dick. Door latches melted by a meowed curse. Ethereal yellow rock, a product of jerking off. The ounce of brown sharknado metastasizing in a wood chipper. Buzzing human remains murking the coroner’s piano key teeth. Cum on the convenience store floor mapped in valencies of protruding stegosaurus bellybutton. A sandwich breaks apart as shiny suckers emblazon smiles into it. Shitfaced suicide teleports dirt. Haunted haystacks slough watercolors.
Quantum mechanics unknot a cop’s weird innermost jaw. A razor floats in the tank’s fuckable cranial chocolate. “I look like a violent model,” the cop says. “Crusher of criminality. Curator of unspeakable, breathing material.” The evolution of random leaks in the tank’s event horizon into dark underground clouds, farty pornographic headaches impregnated by dead things. Like a clubbed mother asteroid, a baby seal plays dead in traffic’s organic wave-forms. Decrepit shelves fall away in Minecraft as spoons cluster-kiss the grave’s double slit. On the holodeck, a human taste rips through lifelike sculptures; i.e. from a ruptured diva exits an orange, negative Bartman with smug tits and patchy beard; i.e. Riker’s cartoon muscles spit black blood into this sweetened UFO, himself. And OkCupid nudges another pushpin into Frankenstein’s monster, even though he’s jacking off to Flickr.
A spaceturd brains space. The funeral will be held
with tweezers. Crack-spat genies fistfight
relatively austerely, unlike the starving.
With the booming quaver of popcorn,
acid-stripped clots hungrily uncoil from
syphilitic skullcraters. A more overwhelming fantasy
than YouTube rhinoplasty is the spaceape’s hair,
which the curse turned into a vehicle for crumbs.
Once triggered, the entire séance had reflexively
stood back. The priapic prison from which Smaug
hate-poops is an obviously dead bud.
Two shits grow on trees. Moaning at diarrhea nuts.
Cum ripens on a heel. The rest of the sucker hordes
air-quote a responseless headboard.
Realistic autonomous foreskin. Alien muscle disembodied
by its light. A smoothie turns the dog.
From its core, the fart pillow vomits
a patch of gold. In peace, Karma’s tits
face-melt the Lawnmower Man’s tits.
Care for some of the primitive crap funky cartilage blurbs. Play Scrabble with the macabre cells. Self-cannibalized in a VCR suit’s holiday spines. Bogus elephant rays sexually potato up, like a meltdown of one’s Sunday oral cast, masking a clock of transmitted-cockroach. Bigfoot skateboards down the egg stair. Walleyed squirt of the Ark’s diabetes-heating. Hitler diapers Dracula’s thigh gap; open penis ghost-scrounged. Master sediment goatse. Bag-infusion exposing many a rotten tricorder. Software that fears the pizza’s echolocation, which is fantastic. Peach glossy eye-poop, buttons uneasy ego stable again. Of the butt sculpture’s awful pole down the mass chemical. Distortion of mood-entanglement forks for miles. Preserves the pale impaled sweater. Boring, affected as reenactments of the church surgeon’s butchering of artificial intelligence, in trans-opiate suicide unemotionally party.