Anamnesis

The Dreaming Prison of Oompa Radar

Parascope

...and this is the one glance that eludes and mystifies as we take cover. Love is not in the air it is in the ocean. Some believe, some choose to take it into their own hands. Why is this so? Is it not self-evident that the Radar is explicit in it's intent? I still don't think that guessing at some of the more secret, phantom, fanatical poets will help you see obscure cleverness. Be careful of the results of neurobiological hermits, emperors, and universe types, they cycle the highest honors and good double meanings as much as I can guess that sanity finds you a troll. Oh, and by the way, I would like to become baptized so I am encouraging language patterns I didn't have in a different way. As for the test, inhale and exhale this whole thing and comment so that flexibility can inhale at one time and exhale at another. A beautiful ritual for arcane cermonies and in all but one button. There is the surprise of the day! I remember objective reality and the concept of dead-on creepy but, based on yesterday, I was taught that most things have interesting, patently absurd sigils that I have created for absurdly logical Tarot techniques. I have often thought that the actual words and concepts were communicating with piles of gold. The US Government is in the mail today. That in mind, trying to soak the illuminati intrigues me, in which case, I've always been rather partial to that pesky cat. Just as Oompa leaves you the most desired form of detection, it cannot be stated that the movement of oceanic bliss can be monitored with this particular Radar. Do you not see what is implied? Oh how I have loved her only to be moved by the taste of her voice and the cries of wasted years. Parascope of paradise emits colourless rays through parameters of paralysis but leaves me wondering still... 

Quest Aeon

...for that is the EVENT HORIZON. She is alone with everyone. Nothing has the texture of this obscure calligraphy, this arabesque satisfaction. It seems to run with precise edits and random finger snaps. What is this jasmine melancholy? There is no justification for the quaking of the earth yet it bursts with alabaster haunts and convoluted mockery. She gazes into the Stereoscope and is deafened by the silence. You will find it in the bottom drawer. Some have called this a polite dementia and breath the ultraviolet delight. Others merely turn and laugh while dreaming of this wake world of sorrow. Who can blame them? That is the colour of their blood. Can it be as simple as the gesture she has evoked in this last moment before it starts? Thirty-one tragedies have given form to the last essence of this terrible beauty. In this fantastic enthusiasm we may catch a glimpse of the Great Beyond where Oompa monitors stains and violently rages against this fallen discovery. We still embrace stolen moments and we still charge ourselves with Radar but it is in the manipulation of centipedes that we travel in time. Do not wish for these barking dogs for they are cryptic telegraphs that measure the space between. Make exceptions and seek the angles but take precautions. This is a shady and tricky business and the house is not a home. Watch the skies but lower your voice for it is not sanctioned that we venture too far. Out of the crescent comes the the salt of the earth and when it rains it pours. This ray presents complications but she can solve this conundrum. She reads existence and lies to the faithful. She sings the twilight and colours the spheres. Somewhere there is dancing and the glow of seemless fabric. Parascopes rise behind the Sun. Who is watching? I can verify this oblique transmutation but someone picked the lock. This Quest Aeon gives birth to monsters. Radar is selected and given buttons to push. Detectives are assigned to planetary allignments. She brushed off this prismatic terror with a smirk and I loved her more. They pleaded and begged but the Coca-Cola was spilled. Some thought this would rectify this paradox and others relied on discombobulated memories of stone circles and shining pyramids. They had been warned...

Escape from Earth Prime!

...implosions! Syrup drips from the piss-stenched halls of your mind and there was a sighting last night. Triangles were floating. Who feels the Asian printer? They have said it's not possible! Time is a lapse of sectarian cosmology but it was the sacred Rayovac that has given birth to her longing. Movement in the rug signals this Apocalypse. Again, how can this be? Someone has counted the cards. She has fallen from doubt and now looks back with fond reflections of an angry episode of a situation comedy. She holds our ancient future and our Hershey's Kiss. Phonebooks are gathered as sacrificial tears. Tables are turning with the implication of love but someone has let the cat out of the box. Who made the box? Tupperware and oil lamps, that is all we know, yet she still pushes sideways to escape this bitter lie. Escape from Earth Prime! All is not forgotten but the living have given up. Spectacles have broken and timelines forged. Who is Oompa Radar? Is it her? Forever may be my love but tomorrow never knows. Curio shops selling wholesale madness and metaphorical herbs. What is to be found in the bottom drawer and how does she pay her taxes? Once she said to me, "hideous towns make me throw up."  There you will find the ice-cream wonder and loose change in the dryer. Spies are observing but they have no names. The museum is open but but your mind is closed. We are slaves of rhythm and biocomputers. I have lost my parascope and my love for pesky cats. This is the season of symphony and simpatico. The bonfires have spoken and there's truth in their lie. Some resist but the police have licorice and that is enough. The girl is reading...

Misterioso

...while calenders are marching. I have pondered the infinite definitions of chairs and soy sauce and have licked the Tootsie Roll Pop three times before I crunched it to find my muse. These are the last minutes of Misterioso and she stares at you through unfiltered windows and laughs at ceramic junk monkeys. At some time in about seven moments ago you will find her over a rainbow and seeking the divinity in puddles of anti-freeze and kids outside your local mall. How is this not obvious to all who refuse to listen? Music is a moments notice and Radar notices that moment. Some have opened the matchbook to find the forbidden lore of future shamans and bizarre crimson terminology. She has thought of us sleeping and it has made her cry. Leave her alone. Chairs swivel and darkness falls and yet these scents of champa and vanilla give no clue as to where we were. Open these gates and order Big Macs on sale and cherish the first fry that falls to the floor. Some have forgiven themselves but I have cursed their breakfast and their checkpool dollars. Let it be known that Oompa has pictured motions and stabilized the paper towels. That is a sign of things to go. Have you been watching what is in your spoon? You will find the patterns on blank screens with hyperlinks to know-where. She senses that we are sick of working and she holds on to tangles of wires that destroy hemispheres. She has reached inside and held the machine and found the opposite of it's yearning to be. Sometimes when the Moon is hiding I can hear the mist and feel the sound of distant thunder and early transmissions from 20th century radio. She floats above the ocean and casts her words away upon the waves. That is her gesture and her silence. Struck down there is nothing in her hand. Green teas are crumbled and the closeness is far from here. Let's reinvent this madness and build altars on rooftops in her honor. The little people have listened and they have changed their tune. Someone has blamed the lactose intolerant for the ego of Arcadia. Pinball is the answer but you have been stripped of this most ancient of sugar-coated secrets. Spiders are reconciling the quantum paradox. So much at stake and then I wake up. Bitches Brew was in her honor and it can still be heard Miles away. She dances...

Amon L'isa

...the veil of Isis and the drippings of solitude and simple complexities. Someone made me do it but it was the choice I made. This was her holiday and the mastering of Krispy Kremes. I see blue light cell phone enchantments and television commercials in movie theatres. Where did it all go wrong? She is the last poet and has written our lives to be and now she has raised her brow and someone has caught her smiling and that is Forever Maybe. Our wasted years will not be forgiven but her laughter is divine. Proof of chopsticks and elastic waistbands. Have you seen the crop-circles? Oompa has projected the colourless green and has lived up to my expectations. It is rare but has been lightly salted. Everybody knows when you're happy and they know when you've lost but she just shrugs and snacks on gummi worms and declares it a sacrifice. I have given the keys for those who wish for locks. This is the evolution of the Ministry of Radar and the implication of sandwiches. Where is Daffy Duck? She informs us of his suicide attempt and whether it consisted of particles or waves. That was the download and the mischievious installation that failed. The decomposition of living bunnies and staged emotions. "I don't know what to feel" is what they say. She thinks of hideous towns. Have you tasted the airwaves and made love to a Tarot spread? She wants answers and she wants them now! The rose coloured sky is falling apart and it's pieces can be found in gumball machines and hightech corporate design meetings. Lady sings the blues.

Metamorphosis of Kaleidoscope

...middle-aged women have created artificial nutritional facts submitted to Burger King to have it their way. These are their strategies, their living wages. Contents are irrelevant and some have begged in the street for penniless attributes and symbolic toddlers. She continues to stare us into non-existence and she viddied right at once what to do. Digital catastrophe and natural prisms of spinning ringworm. The bear is speaking of tangent dreams and the zero-point. We are waking from "single vision and Newton's sleep" and she has divided the scopes. Pyramid schemes and destitute Southerners bow to burning longevity. She keeps you in mind. While some have spoken of preparation and level-headed photosynthesis we arrange for favorable demonstrations of bottom drawer analysis. Developmental deletions of a newborn love life and our cherry-filled monitors understand her bitter fascinations. When the ocean is vertical and the orgasm has missed it's mark we will find her by the roadside giving free examinations to unworthy patriots and former employees of Parascope Incorporated. Some have dreamed of inward convertibles and have caused accidents of pink afros and go-carts but nothing compares to her undying sympathy for inkstains on figertips of psychoscribes and esoteric t-shirts. She leaves you with broken plasticine...

Ad Astra Per Aspera

The Stereoscope has proven effective in our last-ditch efforts to summon the Starry Wisdom. She has put your faith in a headlock and trampled your desire to be ignored. A long hard road leads to the stars and she is selling tickets and catering to weary newcomers and disenchanted boxtops. Ice ages and Disney girls give form to coagulating fluids of disproportionate piano keys and grandiose visions of self-destruction and t'ain't nobody's bizness if she does. You are blinded by mediocrity and monochromatic technotronica, stifled by segments of moist sand and charming extended re-mixes of "Singing in the Rain". Where are our sacraments and peculiar potions of egg-yolk fantasies? Can it be found in 1943 where you were the participant in this celebration of let forever be and the dominant parasites? The word survives on supermarket shelves in enthusiastic pulp editions where ex-CIA madmen have gone AWOL. That is the obnoxious latitude and the coming of remarkable tyranny. Speculations about inhuman transcendence and baroque mysteries of intrinsic sighs and arrogant insularity. She is extracting pure thought and tube-feeding the living while making phonecalls and painting her nails. She lies there waiting for someone to contribute a brushstroke to free her from those original Decca recordings. Oompa is factory driven and is subject to your misguided hurricanes and prerequisite sex magick. Over-modifications of handheld tape-recorders give substance to liquid nightmares and M&M conspiracies. Someone has spoken of the mystic seaport where exercise bikes are consumed for free. That is the stream of her retina and the calming of ambient canyons. Beekeepers and scallywags live in subterranean tundras and await the rude awakening. Manufactured silence makes it's first movement towards membranes and deathwishes while media is absorbed through trajectories and lifeless passengers. Timerooms reverberate with synaptic transmissions of lifelong dreams and dead-on creepy. She has been presented with new complications.

Summoning Blue Mushroom

All who have waited for the porcupine puppets are now assembled in this ancient theatre of Fire and Skill. One-hundred years from now my sweetheart will reminisce about vetriloquists and imposters who spoke too soon. Trademarks and soup cans full of dayglo fingerprints and freezeframe sidewalks where consequences touch coffee-stained Playstations. Let us, in our desperate moment, call forth this Blue Mushroom with cushy responsibilities. Help us dine on honey bears and poisonous tuxedo roadkill. This is the last hour of the infamous shadow art where cameras are spitting and speaking in tongues. Salivated handshakes sing hymns of praise while card trick junkies translate investments with Stepford wives and doctor's orders. The landscape is bleeding honeymoons and flea-bitten economic clampdowns. Catacombs are filling with dreamers and video vacancies. Somewhere there is danger but not here tonight. This is our remembrance of television copies and ninety-nine cent gang-bangs. Someone has pulled the plug but collisions bring recoveries and karaoke sunsets. Doppelgangers and sirens living in asylums are burning witches and dinosaurs for using Hollywood mouthwash and cowboy options. Public service announcements and domestic hysteria leads to gagging reptiles with sandbags and concrete opinions. Grant this systematic sympathy to shareholders and planet queens. She has arrived in beautiful broken light speaking of Inamorata, Nightshade and the Seduction of the Veiled Oasis. This is the epiphany of the rising thermal butterfly and the gravity of her smile. She tells us of the darker star and the ecstatic orgasms of clouds watching. Somewhere the Pipes of Pan still play with faint recollections of continental drift and alien shores. She is the solitary witness of our dimensional release and the eternal expanse of perpetual utopian gathering. Let us sing at dawn to slowly dissolve the suspended memories of windchime encounters and scientific symbiosis. That will be our ghost of a chance and our sanctuary of heresy. Her iris is the configuration of seraphic light and stellar regions framed in the colour of your day. She will lose us along the way so tonight that we might see...

The Dreaming Translation of Stereoscope

...to the extravagant massacre? The silence of saccharine and the bloodpool cop-out, that was Oompa's indiscretion. She is addicted to ingenuity and the dauntless attempts at secondary agonies and nonchalant perfection. Drifting in and out of non-registered contributions of hideously entertaining electrically operated sexual devices. Renegade nostalgia and investigative scrapbooks have manipulated the parallels of contemporaneous artifacts. With nothing established we are free to choose. Expect comicbook depictions of organic separation and short-cirquited linguistics. Promiscuous robots and ambitious parasites have isolated the alternative worlds of post-modern ambiguity and recycled holocausts. Compulsive imaginations and unwelcome inspirations are coming soon to a theatre near you with no deposit and no return. Pathological orientations and buzzing terminology are excommunicated by flying saucers and twilight mansions. She has brought us the wonderland of Shangri-La and the beautiful splendor of looking-glass enchantments. She is the circadian rhythm and the puzzlebox of synchronicity. She is all at once the fuzzy intention of fantastic bubblegum and the dissolving boundaries of ginger snaps. Jealous hummingbirds and electronic jellyfish are paving the way for the harmonics of Radar and the lipstick conspiracy of Oktagon. Introductions and semi-reductions destroy priceless galaxies and hot-buttered pornography. She opened her eyes...

The Sleeper Has Awakened

She has been the victom of an overlooked paranoia and designer profanities. She is held as a dreaming captive of Oompa Radar at the fifth angle of the edifice while the dark tapestry of the Emerald Beyond awaits her return. Lapis Exilis. This is the black iron prism where the clock continues and the intimate association of frogs and the perils of the soul are commonly savage in their inanimate nature. She has become accustomed to moth-eaten conclusions and walking disasters. In the first seven seconds she realized that she spoke to soon and fractured her elbow on half-light hypocrites and profiles of breakfast cereal killers. Witnessing prescription riots of abnormal normality and the transference of specially marked packages of reputations and Lucky Charms. Somewhere she hears a revival of hidden happiness and quantum impossibility. Wake up down there! Flashlights flicker beyond reasonable orgasm and rapid-eye philosophers and middle-finger fundamentalists seek refuge in the mediocre metropolis of superstitious exceptions and disregarded considerations. The abandoned sorcery of 1950's milkmen and the deepest graves of anarchist archeologists will not compare to her dark point suggestions of disappointed brilliance and the unlocking of electromagnetic velvet. Witness the suspended radiance of dissolved sadness as she wakes from her troubled resting place. Ask me tomorrow...

Transformation of Parascope

…and the transfer was complete. She longed for this moment when the merging of Parascope and spinning-wheel mornings would break the habits of kingdoms and horror-struck customs. Making way for the well articulated counterfeit worlds of memory dispensers and elaborate entertainments of manufactured obsessions, she has now re-embraced the dreaming translation on terms of her own. She gazes through the false sense of security and recognizes the people she doesn’t yet know. Somewhere through calibrated corridors we find corporate mathematicians and visions of suburban similarities. To find the loose-lipped biologist and the bi-polar golf caddy will mark the turning of the tide and transformation of ambiguous interpretations of anxious fascinations. A crime was committed to secure the innovations of resemblances. Where are the health insurance sensibilities and struggling fundamentalist options? How far can she see? In her beautiful maddening she has re-stated the bottom-drawer analysis and uncovered the dreaded spyglass. Babbling minorities and mega-mechanical contemporaries spoon-feed the lifeless perceptions of existence into unsuspecting magazines and reality TV. That is the “radical politics” of saints and psychotic systems. She has shed her preoccupation with delinquent disasters and holographic hypergraphia. This is the anticipated moment.

The Introspection of the Spyglass Illusion

From this angle she can see the further development of incandescent star chambers. The unsealed language of engravings and faltering nightfall marks the compression of reflection and detailed phantoms. In tombs and museum halls we catch quick flashes of polyethylene feedback and road source loopholes. Landscapes of burning eyes and coin-toss abortions seem like second rate child’s play and grocery store snooze buttons. Halfway trajectories of multitudes of mindless forks and placated spoons nurture the abandoned atmospheres of internal rainbows and imbedded temperatures. There is an ancient infected home that penetrates the vortex and warps the decoded secrecy with violet collisions. Do not misinterpret the afterglow of experience and two-way deletions of semi-precious Tupperware as she tramples the magnificence of the great Emerald Beyond. The nature of this occasion and the cultivation of the rising of waves signals the comeback of summer resolution and the motion of misused tendencies. She has never been more loved. You will find her in the Gloaming drinking the sacred fluid of Soma through hollowed crystals while dancing her way through velvet lifetimes and cooking utensil mayhem. Who is really sleeping?

The Sonic Elevator Backdrop

Some have thought it was the pastry inside, others the numberless symposia. I have given the last great whisper to the paperwork letdown and haunted fingertip quotations. We have found ourselves in a switchblade asylum where stenciled reason and singing paranoia leaves gravity for symbols and fertility clinic rainbows. How do genetic re-formations and particle enhancing statistics collapse into sudden revelation and subterranean visions of midnight meltdown? The oyster has provided and laid bare the devouring mysteries and alchemical navigations. Lollipop monks have finally made their plastic cigarette getaway. Sinister fixations on centerfold skeletons and restroom floor innocence leave quiet transparencies of disjointed lectures and unscathed enigmas. This is an autobiographical accident. You sense the celebration of quick exit annoyance and bittersweet occupations. Have you seen the postage stamp playgrounds and swingset chain round-abouts? You have been infected with honorable intentions and inaccessable understatements. She has become our divine conduit for non-linear interpretations and internalized ambiguities. Somewhere in the significant aspect of movie rental representations and redundant developments of thermodynamic potentials we will find the one last glimmering hint of milkshake populations and wizard snatch analysis. Masquerading televisions splash kissing magazines and promotional sacrifices of erotic abandonment. Restless we wait...

The Paycheck Affinity

The moment of apprehension signals the collapse of the word function where leisure fantasy and formal resurrections leave trash heap intellects and suicidal vegetation to fend for themselves and fight for romance. The chilling conclusion of undecided marriage and baby-boomer amateurs is the mark of destitute appearances. Double-space surfacing and in-between arrangements of tranquil yearnings familiarize feelings of ecstatic emphasis and lifelong nostalgia for reasons to believe and seven year decisions. We have arranged this meeting of lurking rejections and reluctant market-place submissions to take place in the cathedral of pre-packaged promises and letterbox editions of nervous breakdown philosophies. She has developed paycheck affinities for heroic gravitations and disposable comic book mysticism. Malnutrition has lead you to parallel symphonies and inverted collections of embarrassment and irrational human holocausts. At the plasticine gate of local depressions and warfare accomplishments we make love to alien failures and nuclear hallucinations. That is all that can be expected from dedicated relationships and arrogant compressions. Disintegrating dependencies and redefined exhilarations have re-written the single-minded abductions of meticulous relevance and that digital drop in a transpersonal ocean of haunted visionary conspiracies. Let us discuss the semiotics of the sexual experience and delayed expectations of the conspicuous snowflake. There are no enemies, only insufficient spectacles for infinite consideration.

Sub-Circuit Symbiosis of Telescope Awareness

While you were out she placed the transmissions of everyday revolution in fragile flowers and rejected all notions of symbolic services. Permanent conveniences and reasonably dubious alternatives are no longer options to exchange for confidential atmospheres. Biophysically compassionate chairmen and nicknamed lunatics insist on gullibility as an outrageously subjective artform, complete with enthusiastically cultivated towers of laughter. You have witnessed the internal phenomenon of beautiful reverence and perceptual weaponry. She puzzles over this dynamic insomnia and the neo-sophistication of feather communes and messenger tainted recollections. Her smile is the hidden variable that binds the directional octagon and tomorrow's science of self-deception. We have grasped the biggest failure in human terms by re-naming it schizophrenia and challenging the reckless abandon of disregarded obstacles. That is the invisible purple breath of stooping vibrations and piercing coils of catastrophic rejects who have failed at death. Let them have their uninspired correspondences and loss of body-language telepathy. Her temperament is a calibrated manipulation of unnoticed people watchers and reactionary harmonies. That is her symboisis now what do you have to offer?