Storystyling : Unsmoked Books (1 / 6)

boils & bubbles

Bubbles like blisters full of brownish lymph brewing inside an opaque spheric membrane. Waves of slimy moonlight rolling over the unseemly concoction. Each boil worthy of a sack of mucus torn along the seam—pouring an unlikely stream into a gelatinous retort shaping a simmering tar oval.

Beneath it, a caricature of camp fire stirs the mixture. Droplets of gaseous gum—like wax leaking from a gargoyle’s ear—dribble down the viscous walls.

Snaking between concrete-glass colossuses, sneaking amidst a huge urban labyrinth, through narrow passages—a reflection.

Spills its traces over the leaves just for a nanosecond.

we semibelieved that eerie instant.

--kesenem!

/

--Hey like wow, wassyo like name, ha!

--Hey!

Imagery machine persists.

In a dark corridor walled by forestry architecture, a thin flame shyly flutters. Just for a nanosecond, stale air makes a lazy move. Sagging back into rancid torpor. The abundance of vegetation breathes into the wi(e)red pathway the sound of vermin breeding amidst nourishing fecundity of unmovable darkness.

darkness of vermin, staleness of germs : that what spreads.

A thin flame shyly flutters. Infects the abutting mollicule. An ember flicker in response. As if awaken from the centuries of hibernation, like a settlement of bloodshot eyes in search of rescue from the mucus-crusted blockage from the outside world, miniscule quivering islands populate the invisible greenness of the night forest scenery.

Conquering the space separating them from each other, they cast light on the impressive site displaying a room dominated by the table. Stools servile in complementing the sovereign of the interior. In this fascinating castle, massive oak ornaments lend to the site a touch of grandeur enhanced by the ages imbued in the corridors, walls, columns of that architectonic grandiosity. Plates and silver placidly hosting the succession of nourishing specimens. The appetizer is a lump of freshly squeezed  lizard lymph glazed with encrusted snot. The entre is a combo of pickled caterpillar tendrils decorating spider web puree cuddling a rotten medusa fillet. The dessert is an embodiment of nearly irresistible decadence emanating into the spacious monstrosity of the dining room its poisonous charm with each vibration of mingling chocolate mousse, cheese cake, whipped cream, and cherry syrup. Washed down with the cornucopia of effervescent flamboyance sparkling with almost unleashed exuberance from the glass goblet seductively laced with filigree jewel embroidery, the fluidity of these nectars knows no boundaries--as they pour into each other, cheesiness garnishing the mousse is turning lavishly pinkish is turning rosy brownish. Like the invisible inhabitants of the creepy forestry labyrinth. Ornamented with numberless ember constellations.

Only, it turns out that those trickster sources of unlikely flame are but lit tips of cigarlike objects. Common wisdom has it that, confronted with the alarming spread of allergy, coupled with insufficiency of paper once manufactured for similar purposes, certain individuals came up with an idea to roll tobacco in the pages of books, thereby—they’d think—solving both the problem of unruly linguistics and deficit of the materials dissipating as new industries were taking over the market. They were prone to espouse the stand claiming that allergy could be inhibited by thermodynamic of the chemical ingredients spilled over the whiteness of paper.

we did and did not believe that somnambulist logic.

--kesenem!

/

--hey, howbout you – respectively – get yoselves getherto, ha!

a sneer…a frown…poise.

---hey, manners first, foYr fuck sake!

no lupus, no fabula : homo homini, ha! / not brains, not zis &/or zet, but may—me beg thee—the whole mafotherphunkie forest-castle be saturated with crappy ambrosiac craftsmanship. / immobilize the fucking allergy by pacifying the fucking urge to impulse & gedaphunkouttahere!

--Verily.

tales of obscurity, tales of opaqueness : that what spreads.

They reached a meadow. Like a horizon uncontainable by an eye, it was unfolding in front of them with each nanometer of its milky vastness. As if it had devoured all the forest, all the flashing trickstery, all the space, the ornaments. Just emanating colorless vastness into the layers of the universe protectively lingering, yet sustaining the distance ensuring the milkishness breathing into the wi(e)red passages the sound of germane vermin.

Imagery machine steadfast.

Only, it turns out that the foggy horizon is but an impeccably white tablecloth made of the finest fabric. Its threads are frosty kisses, its texture filigree dew evaporating messages towards the looks of the observers. What radiates from those whitish surfaces seems like all the electricity imaginable sublimated in the sheer simplicity of devices indifferently staring at expressionless eyes. They look at the information sent to them.

Facelessness at its finest, one would be prone to think—just for a nanosecond.

What is typically stunning, stuns them not. What is astonishing is not quite so.

once upon a time, there’dl be a systematic wonder running on a bureaucratic extravaganza generating endless demand for occupations appealing to many, but available only to the qualified, trained, and meeting the requirements. / some of them’dl be known as designer of the body paragraphs of ads, imaginer of the seams on sacks, oneirer of alphabet, frowner on allergies.

They kept looking at the static of the milky screens. Their eyes flooded by the whitish mist.

As blandness of faceless babylonian facades dissolves in an oceanlike void. As noise melts in the midnight blue haze from lit tips of cigarlike objects crumbling into dusty flickers stirring and simmered by the sound securing the consistency of the bubbles.

each boil worthy of the quirky mellowness of angular poetics one can understand and speak. and so can u.

spanning the orangepurple trajectory.

it’s called the poetics of the remix.