de quidditas et bedknobs

It's not a smile, it's the lid on a scream

—Julie Goodyear

I'm going to be a star

—Withnail

(Oh the shock has pretty teeth, dear)

who anyway, not Lotte, the male, sang that opera?

//Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in mini-series

the magician in armani the guru

stands there looking like that

i'm going to be a star he says

with deep sheepish ignored

or (try got better( therapy from my future

think of him there that day all flowery

and embarrassing with his trying

(as they don't say in whales, Keep your Aberaeron

keep your bloody Abertmesisaeron!)

imagine what they will think of us

in 200 years, how cruel they will think

how cloddish and stupid, how unborn

how dead to technology and sophistication

/where is this line of the god flew up

what Hebroo scrip what desert codec

rcds this friv?/

¿but is anyway unborn dead

or only that sunlit moment each morning

before you remember she is gone¿ 

[singular they for instants 

when i tell some a joke they laughs haha]

hoho you see like unto a god that flies up 

it is as a heron what lifts water at dawn 

rises into silhouettes

of maddened saccade beatwingxz

over perhaps Dresden or othermother

flaccid with potatoes

O those mericans and their exorcised lingua

shorn of antecedent at all opportunity

down to mere function

for why should one waste time 

with the waxing god when one can just ask straight 

out robot I fuck you now—if denied

move quickly on it is best for all

¿why flourish and perform why¿

get it out of your mouth quick

so it is over efficiently, without superfluity

without Greek or French

and with as little Latin 

as may be contrived

for language cleansed of excess

to clinic sex-negative utility is all atavism

of the expressive, sharp, decisive

nostratic and primal grunt such a height

such an idyll from which we fell and fall

thankful at last to the elbow in the teeth

of a pre-PIE Webster—little wonder they elasticize

& plasticize each into triphthongs

of unknowing, delighted, savoured necromancy

the reanimation of the banished the instinct empathy

for/with the slain or bootstamped facial zones.maybe 

then nothing is dead but still

from crevices

where the lost invisible god jumps up

(do you hear me when you sleep i have died?)

wordy, well word up

fuck you, he says with his dripping schticks, I am Nature

watch this car.keep watching

80 miles per hour face first into a tree he attempts

to become one again with Nature

but only succeeds in dying drunk

on a bright day dripping his most ambitious inevitable

no you ain't phoney no more, J

hey

youse all murder in sunlight new york fuck

love 

as they don't say in whales, there is a taid

in the affairs of men

and a god flies up

.