The Eggtooth Blog: Schrodinger's Phoenix Ticks
Reborn language lives and dies at once here. My constraint is now obvio
(it aint)SUNDAY: silly putty horse apple sitar




UNBUILT ATLANTIS :
The Stranger's Technicolor Hog Jowls
"Just think about that mountain" Wix said to himself sitting on a stump outside of his house. It loomed over him at its wide flat peak,tapering symmetrically to either side of the horizon. He was just sitting,whistling,flipping pages on his laptop,just like his granddad before him did, on this very porch. Only grandad did his flipping with his newspaper.
Wix listened to other opened tabs scroll interviews of artists about themelves,while reading other blog entries.
So eager to be there,so filled with a sensation that their work is alive. He kicked a boombox near him with a weird foot.
"ooooosheeeeeeeskraaaw <^> : :: ::&....buddip buddip bup bup bup, solidarity went the scrawl...screeeeeech... abyss its black and stopped up...skrooooooohnk... a tingle before an old sun worshipping holiday.yes! thats right,tonight only. .. i saw the color yellow. what there was and it tumbled the sagacious snowman. "
A teleprompter with irridescent eyes slithered its thin body out of the side of the boombox. He wore motorcycle boots and looked like a backwoods wizard,only more into beer than liquor. His peculiar size seemed to become irrelevant when listening to him speak. A thunderous voice,like boulders rolling own hills. A rush of emotion that knocked you out thinking about a name you care much about, but hardly ever get to hold. Wix picked up a soldering iron and walked over to his arc welder. His old mig was in the back of his refrigerator,covered in silly putty and surrounded by osage tree fruit. The teleprompter knew Wix had been slowly losing his mind, so he decided to pay him a visit.
"Whatever, you don't know what yr talking about." Said a voice from somewhere i the sky above him. Jeff heard himself and stopped writing because. his. eyes/ were ,gettin ears that are.listen able."
"What?" Wix jumped startled.
Posted by eggtooth at 9:27 AM
Thursday, September 11, 2008
WEDNESDAY: Hewlett. Packard. Sliding-Scale Clinic Craft
...............The whole provocation behind this is actually kinda straightforward. I went to the sliding scale health clinic yesterday and waited for an hour (the previous experience was two)-to be told i didnt have something i needed in order to be seen. it was kinda my fault,but they coulda told me before. I was reading H.P. Lovecraft during the hour. .........






Yes, I was visited by a shape I know not of, from unfathomable reaches. Its time told of expanses in which I could not gaze. Across treacherous undulating masses of dark stickiness, an undescernible mass loomed on the gaseous horizon line. I abandoned my boots in the mire,feeling the shitty wetness slip between my toes with every forced forward trudge. The thing's shadow grew. It had cartoon thought bubbles pouring into the sooty grit that was the sky. I held a grasp of my mind, like a rusty massive anchor to the center of the earth from which I was born. I could not resist the burning letters,they seer my mind even to this moment. Days passed and I saw a funeral procession of creatures hunched,moaning a slow angled path across the scorched landscape. I fell under my own weight at some point and experienced an agonizing din of nowhere,one that almost resembled escape. Sleep is but a thing in between other nightmares, so I awoke with the vision of this shadowy shape - handing me a prescription on a small sheet of 4.25" x 5.5 inch white paper.:
It read: "You must go to the Department of Labor and get paperwork proving you are unemployed so that we may review the results of your bloodwork"
The madness consumed me! I tell you the sense of it was undawnable,no sun could refract or brighten this location of my brain. I ran screaming into the path of a Marta bus filled with poets,feeling it pass through me as if it were some semi-permeable ache,some ancient spirit,damned to merge with me over and over. Like chocolate being accidently stuck in someone's peanut butter, a childhood sick day,a commerical break during The Price is Right .
I walked for who knows how long. My attention saw the shifting burgundy and black heat waves of the horizon wobble transparently with a haunting viscosity.
Then I noticed them. Their plans. I gazed at the Munchian shapes on the distance, wavering pitch burnt silhouettes on a gaseous fumed shoreline. The lanky wine fermenting rot of a sunset arched across a couple, male and female spines entertwined. Loving for a moment, if nothing else. They kissed and smacked an evil treacherous jealousy, like nothing any Norwegian spiritualist could conjure from any Nordic symbol of depression.
My shit stained feet slipped on a thin mirror of melted sand, cracking loudly through it and off balance, I gasped, gouging effortless incisions through my femoral artery. I dangled through,and feeling the bottomless expanse of my own emptiness, as if teasing some unseen beast's massive clear razored mouth, my own truth.
My own lies, heart shaped drips of blood divided and fucked themselves,leeches from some deep preternatural cavern emerged to consume my life,little lamprey teeth and tongues sizzling the heated blood off the jagged grey heaving soil. On shattered mirror,I pulled myself up from a place of unknown dimension and bone cracking cold,to rest in the warmth of strange unwordly firmth , undescribable skeletons and putrid alien flesh.
I felt the stench from my own rotting philosophical corpse abate in a breeze,the strong waft of the shadow's presense. It stepped up and over me, hanging a fecal length of discharge from an unspeakable orifice. It draped in slow rope like undulations across my face. I thought briefly of Lou Reed and began to laugh insanely,only to gag on maggots embeddded in the putrid offal of this demon's bowels.
The prescription I clutched all this time, drifted from my hand and lilted in the air,to land curiously on the bridge of my exposed nose. I noticed that I had an appointment with love,and that I was too cowardly to have made the date. My hairy belly rippled from five years of sedentary excuses. It was in october of 1988. I still had my wisdom teeth. and I had missed the bus. Dammit all to Hell.

Im knotted even envelope olive
buh bah
aha hah ah ah ah ha
buh buh buh buuh
oh ah oh ah ooo
no no
its because
ooooooooooooooooooh
u weight
boing buh boing bing
buh buh buh baaah
oh oh uh oh uh uuuuh
baah baah baah bow
ha ha
HAHA
haha
HA HAAAAA
ha haaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaahaaaaoooooooooh ooooooh

FRIDAY:






Suppose a cellar. in yr need.
shameless, oueuesence. palindromes and
sequestered preaknesses.


Salamander's metronome, a return,
courting. fantagiblient. racecar delights
equal quests, street avians.












SATURDAY: Ensconced Bibliomancer









The formidable task that ancestry had ensconced within and throughout my bloodline spoke in grey whispers,alluding to seasons of future nightmares. The kinds of tales one learned lineages ago to not even utter half remarks of. In quest of these seemingly purge-able falsehoods, exaggerations of the mind, I set upon the goal of finding the truth.
I made a journey. I visited a relative that I only scantly knew of, not even knowing if he were a myth himself. Placed in an asylum he was, not too many miles from the remains of the lost village of Heathersworth. I recalled this place from childhood.I'd climb up the rickety drop ladder into the heat. Scrambling over rat chewed decrepit stacks of boxes balanced delicately on splintery rafters, I'd finger through pictures. One set I recall included those of the town mentioned. Many of my family had perished in homes that once stood in the barren scorch, now not even classifiable as a ghost town.
The avoided expanse of foreboding desolate land was now but the scrapings of some demonic terminal moraine. Normal human paths for decades had given this region an instinctive birth,even the foulest of animals rarely tread directly through its course. Some spoke of overnight demogeological or alien strippings. As if in an instant, slowly trudged eons of heavy black inhuman shards deposited themselves, leaving the earth infertile,only capable of capturing and dulling the life and light of the very air. Not even the breath from forced heaving lungs seemed to move forward in this suffocating environ!


Only a hollow underground silo had remained. At the base of a jagged outcropping,beneath wet and mossy lengths of some sort of tiresome growth,was a hinged rusted door in the ground. Wrapped in ages of thick stubbornly dead roots,tiny treks of iridescent poisonous ivy growths slyly wired around the twisted writhing mess, mucous coated muscular rootings,gripped the door damnably shut.
I saw this place in my maddened relatives minds. He could not say much,but a look in his eyes ,one of pale blue fright,shone through what was left of his fragile shell. His skin was but an endless trap in some vast emptiness.
I heard one word from him and it was enough. Silo.
I have known in my own recesses of places I dared not look, but once I found one, it gouged a true abscess in my eternal being. The route was sickeningly addictive and curious.
There was only one place I had ever heard of a family silo, and that was through some chance readings as a child. A distant family member had lost her life,trapped in this underground safety chamber, beneath the thrashing body of a dying cow. The cow,having been hurdled by a freakish wind storm,landed on her. She had left the above ground door open while arranging her jars of various pickled regional vegetables.
I found myself some days later,ambling down a lost road, long open darknesses unfolded, removing me from any other human voice for days. A blackness shadowed my mind for what must have been thirteen dozen hours,when a branching dirt passage, flanked by a thorny hedge row presented itself. It seemed to pull me into its center. The sun rose and advanced across the sky and into darkness in one instant,pointing to this entrance.
I quietly slipped in, the leaves and branches as cold and brittle as animal spines crunched under foot. No moonlight on even this fullest gibbous evening penetrated this wing-like canopy over me! So dense and leathery was the foliage with its spiked points indicating themselves in its obtuse evil ever-lingering arms.
A maternal and distinctly feminine presence filled these woods.
Not since young and the recollection of a closeness,in voice and understanding, had bare and exposed skin been so bonded. In this place screamed of an eternal rip in this oneness. The shadows of branches longed to curl tighter around anything with warmth. Understanding admitted and nurtured and even tasted,only to be torn. An emptiness, a horror of mind peeling sickness,wrought with a thing crawling all over the word "angst" and tearing it, tears steaming on it, even as it tore it asunder. Claws, reminders of the blood clutch of knowing together, sank deeper and I felt even more removed. The sentimental drift of hours that were taken for granted, a sadness that turns to horror when it realizes it has you. "You always get what you want",I almost verbalized.
A blinding light erected in the path without warning. At first a gentle high feminine delicacy in this stagnance. But then I saw. A thing, like a banshee with a range of pitches in her eyes, she danced a blinding swath in hourglass death-like spirals. The woods scattered and spun human desifned jagged angles from the light she threw. Angels that hid in the fabric of nothing, the spaces of reality resembling what was left of God in this agonizing Hell ,covered their ears, and then fell stone dead from out of creation itself.
I stood horrified and warmed so intensely. The swirling sensation of being nowhere else I could possibly be. In a shrouded looming smile, I dug a boot into the soil and marched towards this entrancing mixture of sickness and fertility. She pulled away and into the air, presenting various images of my father to me, embracing her as they were in their younger days. And those before him that competed. On the surface of my skin dripped a stickiness from the resinous leaves of this forest. I heard wood splitting and the smell of turpentine filled my lungs, so foul was my internal heat! A Hatred I tell you! The insides,my intestines, I saw as foul yellow snakes dying,but alive with acidic spit and a pain. The thought twenty times worse than a wasp's stinging, perhaps imagine a serrated black oily hook,a fat distended barb gouging into a rotten tooth's exposed nerve. or something.
I did not know for how long I gazed at that womanly woodland web. The forest and her presence. She dissolved into a negative development against the black and then reversed. A reality so forbodingly similar to anything else I could create when by myself, I forced myself to recall. I took small steps through the shape,realizing it was not real. She simply guarded the Silo, I knew this.
I began to argue with myself and noticed a large smooth seating rock, a place that looked perfect for resting and to ponder. I even noticed a cigarette ashtray stand and a fresh pack of my favorite brand. A pack of unique looking matches accompanied the lamp lit situation. I heard myself debating the value and the context of this motherly spirit, the truth in it and felt multiple tangentially beautiful courses present themselves. Of course, there were legitimate talking points,one's that required logic and facts. But that's not entirely human,now is it?
Youth holds on with a grip that forces crow's feet to crackle the surface of those feeling rather than doing, left somewhere in between.
I walked past the stone with action in my doings.
It was then that I noticed her body. Covered in milk, she rained from her sockets the fluid,thick and filling the air with a cold refreshing thickness, I almost craved cookies. The corpses of shriveled and cracked skulls were carefully stacked behind the stone. I saw the cigarettes become a pack of tiny poisonous dart frogs and scatter.
She wailed for attention,slinging her bride-like evil white shroud,another one of her sons lost in the mirth,flailed in my general vicinity,unaware she still had him clinging to the side of one of her aging sagging breasts. His body stretched and thinned into the atmosphere with an apathetic but satiated groan, a smear of his last climax trailing into his disappearance. Milk covered the forest floor and I turned to run. I found paces rolling under my panick stricken off kilter feet. I floated through a cloudy burning mist, eyes filled with visions and thoughts. So many options and so many paths. All of them partially worn and boring. I began to tire in my spirit and wanted to simply to sit down and weep.


And then there it was, I saw the silo door. Standing on top of it was the person of my own center and reason,in the place inside of me that looks outward. I loved her more than anything or anyone in this life and It stopped me still, in confusion at who I was looking at. Was I that lost from myself still?


I needed to pass through this door and began to approach her in relief and comfort. Words and actions began to form at once as I became closer. My mind was on the loathsome cow-headed tome kept within its deep chamber. She stood before it, with all her protective nesting instincts in full Valdeez oily feather glory,she opened the inside of her wings to reveal sheets of mirrors. I kept my mind from what I saw, trained on what I wanted.


A skull, filled with writings that told of ruling legions within my spirits - Family's of families for times to come! Planets of lifeless scavenger scarred walking carcasses assembled metallic flying objects. They had artifacts,religious stories,even ideas for forms of government! And of course, massive bones for burying. All for turn-key Planetary Assemblage Readiness, my family was the franchise starter of all franchises.We were on PAR, a deliberate play on golf terminology, something my great grandfather apparently adored. (Please contact 404-277-6191 for details about purchasing your own franchise!)



I saw the symbol,the same as the one said to be on the Skull itself! Its cavity spilled over with shrivels of jailhouse toilet paper. Writings to someone's mother from someone named "Tyrone" were scrambled and vexingly masticated by evil mandibles,almost hopelessly coding the opening of the gateway.


I looked her in the eyes and felt a moment,I forgot and believe that she did as well,that she stood on top of the entrance of the Silo.


And then her cell phone rang and blew the whole moment.