Intersections in Interstices
Being
vegan, I eat by sight. Milkish static hisses treble vibrations. Across the
inviting spaces of the stately castle, they spread. They render those
enchanting pathways into an airy ocean. Fantasy of waves. Waves’ fantasy of the
glass facades endlessly splashed by the passion of the oceanic oneirscape (yo dreams are like stars).
Those waves of air snake around oak pillars. Gentle
stems in my nostrils sway with their tickling charm. I eat by sight. My appetizer
is a chunk of a hiss in foamy sauce. A whiff of mint lends to this nutritive
charmer a touch of an icy sensation. It burns my palate with its discreet
delicacy. I evaporate the sight of this quirk of taste. Cotton candy
overpouring from the liquid crystal screen melts into a soft window pane, a
slope to cascading raindrops (they are
everywhere).
My entre is a platter of a seductive combination of
energy and decoration. It consists of a warm summer night dipped into insomnia.
Beams thrown onto the walls testify to the vehicles passing by, dancing moon,
and/or the sound of a distant lute played by the fantasy of strings. Each
vibration spreading from that dispersed, yet not dissolved, castleness retrieves the freshness of
mornings awashed in fluttering pixel tiles (yo
cymbalness).
My dessert is a recurring smell of the steps
conquering the steppe of one of those fluttering pixel tiles. I rejoice in the
nutritive power. Like everyone else. Steady walk through the pages of memory.
Steely sky like a boy containing the urge to cry. Tears like a memory of the
moment that by superseding the antecedents was the past of the image of a room of
ink insomnia (cartographer of desire).
Being a vegan, I eat by sight.
***
I used to be an eater of digitized desire.
Electronic flora upholstered my intestines so abundantly that I could digest a
monster of a 0s &1s meal. I used to immerse myself in the relish I found in
devouring those lumps of virtual ingredients. They supplied my whole being with
an engine ceaselessly regenerating my capacity to conjure up a panapocalyptic
scenario for each and every situation I found myself in.
I used to smell images of scorching circuits with the
enthusiasm of a child discovering the world of play. I listened to crackling
particles, as those imaginary flows were decomposing, coating my indefatigable
potential for fantasizing with a shower of fluffy flakes. My eyelashes were
ashy curtains. My eyes craters of a glacier volcano. My eyelids gravity’s
apprentice, devout admirer, and loyal friend. The world was a kaleidoscopic
rhapsody of fluttering pixel tiles, constantly dispersing throughout the
universe dusty rain.
I used to be an eater of digitized desire. I used to
eat digitized jelly and drink vapor from virtual chalices. I didn’t know the
magic of such a cuisine was that what constitutes concrete forestry and a delta
of labyrinthine steps of shoes one worships, background to the walking suits
one is profoundly infatuated with, and the looks one is in love with. I didn’t
know the dust blown from my eyelashes into the universe was the sparks --
reflection -- on the buzzing forestry, the glistening whisper from distant
galaxies. Smiling constellations.
Now, I know those fuzzy lanes unaware of being
tributaries of the mighty river in their very midst. I know they carry the
steps of shoes of worship, suits of enchantment, and looks of admiration. They
might not know it. All they know is what they glorify. All they are is what
they wear. They wear their walks. They smell the path’s touching the sole. They
listen to their looks. I
don’t.
Being vegan, I eat by sight. I listen to the
interstices in the clinking heels. I smell droplets in their mischievous
adventure along and above the river crest. Moonoiling
is the sound of my nights. Sunshowered
my days are. My dreams are the mornings filled with longing, soothing noons
extinguishing sources of scorching agony, afternoons saturated with the reek of
damp foliage, and evenings of the purpleorange
trajectory bliss. My insomnia drenched chunks in chronos’s empire are the
feast of beams thrown onto the walls. In their playful patterning the surfaces
shielding the interior of the castle with the protective calm, I see the clouds
tainting the blueness of the sky with defiant whiteness. i like the sound of
it.
***
I am vegan. But not just vegan. There are vegans and
vegans. Not all vegans are criminals. I am.
Because in a dystopian world, there is no crime.
Because in a dystopian world, everything is legal. I am vegan. And a criminal.
I eat germs—remnants from the disinfectant washing
the water, washing the air in this deadly sanitized world.
After I digest these particulates, I open my spores
and breathe into the world that what spreads.
It travels through the interstices of this deadly
sanitized world.
I am vegan. And a criminal.
i vegan. And so can u.
***
mannerz first 4 fuck sake!
: like phunk!
Who the fuck
я u 2 claim that legality or otherwise is the crucial distinction!
: .
Their apps are nodes in a nonexistent web. But not
mine. Their suits are containers of nonexistent bodies in their singularly
material(ist) world. Not mine, however. The figures engendering continuous
strings of digits are droplets in the nonexistent flows of theirs. Not mine,
though. Their shoes are relics in nonexistent shrines. But not mine.
The chimera of concrete forestry unaware of the
river in whose midst it broods is mapped by the cobweb of rhizomorhic
capillaries. The silent swish of the mighty flow like roots to the sparkling
crest emanating dispersal of pearly foam. Nodal anchorage generated out of
hollow spaces where those unlikely soles tread.
I dwell in those illegal interstices between their
looks and dissipating desire for cosmic cartography. I feed on fading gloss of
their imaginary cafes, tripped up infatuation with mimicry of an urban goliath.
I breathe in the freshness of glass facades emerging from the night fog
enveloping abandoned avenues and dim-lit shop windows incorrigibly indifferent
to the pale aura around lamp posts drunk on melancholy.
Webwiered
oceanic splash washes their bright faces. Stellar reflection of chromatic
flutters wipes them with a wind’s kiss
sucked out of dry tears embalming grey barks.
Unmovable solemnity of those quirky dialogues
nourishes my gloom. Those capricious sonic encounters alleviate
the friction between scars. As photon waves spread, those oak pillars
carry the inc empire on the wings of an indigo whisper. all being palephotonized now.
Static dissolved in milkishness. Screens shielding
from flash. Yo castleness solace to the lux scorched ones. Nights are sunshowered,
just as days are saturated with moonoiling. In the interstices of gelatinous
miasma.
I am vegan. And a criminal.
i vegan. And
so can u.
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