“The circumcision has already begun…”-Sean Magee April 16, 2004, 01:02 everyone’s been saying that vienna’s so charming. {twilight} "Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the greatest happiness without ENVY.” (enter Sidebar Strand) (The acappella barber shop duo, Codeine and Camera, sing their newest hit single, “Nvatalie Yours and the Global a go go” to a packed audience) The widowmakers and their men of war were hand in hand, selling Emotions for 10 placentas. “Angel looks down at him and says, ‘Oh, pretty boy, Can't you show me nothing but surrender ?’” as we were swingin by our nuces our last plea was touch a vibrato of staccato was my iron toungue our tea was latching all the moustache wax the companies they eyelit since we’re back on a track and I’ll take the right tramp You take the left Cause if this serpent stops breathing Then we’re over and dead [MEANWHILE:] snuff the harlots; the men of war Cause if the fire’s always burning then It’s jungles rules, man. She’s playin both sides She was the best And as we looked into the sidebar There was nothing left to to it. [ARCHETYPE PROTOTYPE:] “She knows your falling for her fragrance You want misses, well you’re blowing all your kisses She’s just decided that all men shall be divided So if you sign on the line I’ll make sure Love is Dead…” The finger tramps were weeping for a mercy shove But tying thirteen in salvation is called the Velvet Touch Their eyes were dialing a receiver for another try But as the secret sidebar’s smearing, leering; rolling snake eyes I’m shaking; Pune Bine, she never rests Cause when they cut of all your digits It’s just evens and odds to them We’re timing double for solid ground So when the sirens are a singing Be sure to point the flat notes out. [ARCHETYPE PROTOTYPE:] “You hear a whistling like an SOS, are burning tigers really what your flame desires? We’ve all decided that the end will be united, So when you poke out cupid’s pupils You’ll see that love is dead…” (unscathed, Pune Bine and her Chinese Finger Tramps retreat disguised as chanteuses in milk mold) {dawn} kneeling - wretched Robert H. Moe wheelchair district [The Czar’s cure:] Using Cutlasses and blunderbusses to whip the so sad to a whole lot of nothing. Sharpen up teeth and demand the cure, cure. Soft light polishes waiting rooms of a rabid Syringe Symphony in Sterile. CZAR: “The Viennagram’s have gotten bit stale, fish scale, but when I step on which scale it says perfect?” then the pavement black listed. Hectic isn’t it? That little queen leech calling from the pay phone bare bones. Listen, hang it up at the gallows, take it up in carving? Milk white black lights and the serpents smile of wine, Celebrating true love in all the wrong places Castrating romance for the monarch of the dailies. {midday} breaking the blind of either side come the crying jags from the Japanese flag. Red= the hot lights of the big time, waltzing in wonder Only to be stamped by Czech; the clamp and crosby. White= sugar, salt, dirty hands full of blow When do the viennaeggs hatch and attach to success like the sultry queen leech. Red= the barren roses of stately siren’s calling out in Iodine. It’s too much to handle, when you’ve been lost in the kaleidoscope city fever, Heirs to the horrorshow, Heirs to heaven’s sweat patrol, We will be the ones to kill all the stars off, So the black watch of Czech will gleam all the better… {sundown} “On the electronic front, there's the free-wheeling manipulation of dials in control rooms; sub-sonic sounds that you feel, not hear; machine noises; feedback; tape echo; viennagram” As the city steam claps a coffin surrounding the inverted sun, we shave with the tarantulas and mock erections in our hot air balloon. Shrieking the tunnels of guilt and apology, “Heresy, Infamy” screams the Duchess inside her cactus skin, While sailing above the sky are the twin engines of narcissism; The Red Barren and Dopple-Pheramone are racing the sins to hell And stealing the wishes from the wells, wearing vulture croons, they tattoo the naked night sky with the strobe light perfume. The withering bouquets, the shriveling spindles The hour glasses thrown into the scorpion bubble bath, We listen to the Red Barren first thirst for electric lovers from the yellow: “Angels versus muses, Dopple- Pheramone eats the hearts of the losers Behold her silken shroud of tempt and debauchery, white as the waxen moon. Her egg shells are vapors of underground orchestras Complete with the skins of a new born defiance. Say, Dopple will you weave the sidebar uncertainty? Oh, Pheramone will execute the ultra-violet jury. Dopple will you spray deformed tonight? Hiromshima of our inverted romance Will barren us inside the burning convents” {dusk} [LACTATES WITH CONQUEST PILOT:] the secret police close in on the Hi-Fi Internationale in the red light district. Due to the recent [CONTRACT:] of a May 6th [VIENNAGRAM:], the gang has been off the chain. Some kind of overwhelming, underlying score that will be settled on that night in May. As I have said, this will be the beginning of a never ending pendulum of art crime. Which leads us to the secret police… We were cutlassed and branded, confused that the Internationale was the red barren. The widowmakers secret police staff confiscated the original copies (casual cones) of treaties between the virgin astronomer and myself. They read as follows: S: “beguiling bistro undressing her mandolin, Will you break my sweat in the kitchy sink, A fleshy rendition of spear and we. Theres a hair in my philosophizing, mademoiselle.” AV: “Tram and the scam: New York Style. Tell me lies. Lot and stamp other the free wheel of lamps and hamper therapy Silks and suit tires: temptress of the mucus mile. S:” walking the coalesce in clamshells. Vote me out of vesicles vinegar, waiting for the omelette of total desire in the me-onlys.” AV:”met lots of canaries at the rice plants and low tide reflections. Of reflections in the corror bored (note: upside down ‘the/rapist’) And strike with light milk.” S:”impuded impudence in faint with light hand rimbauds eating the seeds of the sea salt and waiting for mailorder strains. The dust of my corpse food while NVATALIE YOURS torches glowing pasts down in austrian bungalows.” AV:”the blonde and to blanche simple people, salt of the earth. What about martini, what was that salt worth? Over easy, it’s too easy to ‘throw shit out’. My patron, my patsy Sign the will and join the plastic mouth patricia What else are we all looking for? Salt. Wincing like orphans.” S:”dissolving distrust or automatic Thursday atom splitting Friday. Embellishing tuna sitting next to the bishop of hallem harrrrrrrlem.” AV:”wicking and waxing is so so. Blow down dart gun fun and rings of sin and demise. Striken wine like a wife, putting for the effort or Black shores of island best of vices. Went to a funeral of my friend and we spoke the plastic maggot mouths or a dowry.” S:”what tapestries? What tapping thumbs?” AV: “holy polyester high roller. I’ve never seen the rivals in upheaval. I was just cashing that barren that you threw at the ovulating twins. Back behind a bottle burning, a modern marvel As big as his ex wife, They’ve stolen the sick skin and custard for your mustard crust MONA LISA.” Nearby, a geometric moon teaparty dispatched clouds of flies. They suck the last droplets of syrup Like debutantes soaking up the sun. And the day boils over ecstacy like KERRI DeSOUSA’s first kiss. Like flies for pheramone embrace and attack desert mirages of flush skin. {twilight} The stars above rusted for me The centipedes have hatched: there ain’t no best, but the best of the best we hear the siren’s call, but we just can’t resist even the gangrene were dismissing beliefs she was the last of the last, of the stately, stately sirens she said “a czech, is a czech”, but this czech was a wreck she had a hundred thin lies, but she just can’t resist inside her false eyes slept her other disguise: was she the last of the last of the widowmaker’s vulture’s? I seen that ring on the beauty of queens I’ve seen attire make a liar of desire so bless me then, thou tranquil eye and a periphery of the greenest envy but the sirens were singing: “the widowmaker wore our mother’s skin the sun had sold us out again” she loves another, a new world order she was the last, of the last of the electric-lectric lovers who was the gang who watched the riches to rags? You shrieked aurora borialis But I will keep my fingers trapping, I’ll be dying like latin Like a crown of thorns, let’s get to the point Or As Sean Magee said: “The circumcision has already begun…” [END VIENNAGRAM:]