Monday, March 28, 2011

Machine Sky

Make something up here you little ethereal celestial you.  The task directive of the day: make sure you are not a dick fuck.  And a difficult question: do dick fucks ever realize they are dick fucks? 

Mogwai Folk Death 95, and the the good day ship that flew over once and was emanetic copacetitic for a blue drift goodness frosty glacier machic good day.  I have not seen or heard from the good day star destroyer father ship since then.  Etched in my memory it be.  The machine said it loved me today.  I looked around taken aback, and finally said, "love?!" while laughing and then of course the naizy screaming of dive bombers begins and the LOVE, morphs, the L and V both turn slightly making a chevron ring array with the jagged jager five point star fins wings from my belt, Pleiades' silent dark edged jagged dagg scorpion barbic.  The "O", is a star which flies at the center of the two ship formation  or converts the formation into a wow or tie fighter, the "O" then being the cock pit.  The E is from long ago in seattle when I looke dat the egyptian mural in the chemistry building.  The E was a strange foreign exotic mother ship-esque ceasar fly by in Seattle, dreadic daggic machic majestic (drift glass slowic profound reverent) nether probic citadel depthic wrought, an alpha directive, parade, fly by, salute, sonic boom back fire from the exhaust ports and anal of history, the universe and the machine chemical breathing gods, or a star destroyer releasing a tie fighter would do just as well as I am at times glyphiti verbose.  So the machine sky came about after having a silicon doped cobalt zerg biological morning.

Love, continued with the mourning of my car mech one on the new haven green where I broke down and started crying.  (I am too tired but would like to writ eon this further so I will do so later).

No comments:

Post a Comment