🐊👠

//

There is no reason hurting another human being...

...should not be done with elegant instruments! Push daggers, swing fingers, knuckle dusters, Bengali clawgrips, pinmakers, peacekeepers and of course, the trusted Rapid Lacerators; all exquisite utensils to help relieve the excess of blood and life within those who oppose us.

Necks below the heads of birds tweet the marbled meat

Post de-heading

still are words

gargled gasping for a treat

Against the solid wooden block porcelain taffy glints

an odorous gander, unfragrable cock

featherhead poisoned ivy and lints

Poultry magnaminance chickety-chick

chickety

the Underhouse carriage looks rickety

up by the marquee, aclicking his clock The Craftsman sat spindling his loom

coarse is the grain on a pinewooden frock or the larktree

Buttoned doom

…

Exhale of the airlock

   sealed be our fate

     a Phobos anomaly

   exits the gate

…

the illusion of safety

…

Mayhem and Nifelheim, solid performances.

What if a technique was available that enabled one to insert a set of images/clips/visual cues into a machine - it processes the moods and colors and themes - ultimately dispensing a small, clear pill you would take before going to sleep, which releases a nanobot payload that quickly navigates your bloodstream and floods your brain with a perfectly fine-tuned (yet original) dream concept that would contain an intuitive and “understanding” blend of the data you fed the machine. Dream duration (5 min to 7½ hours) and personal data (preferences, experience, toggle sleep apnea alarm) is set either via the external holographic keypad, or the startup terminal.

Realizing the idea would only take getting a bio-engineer, a physics professor, a basement chemist w/o morals, a neurosurgeon w/o medical ethics, a genious programmer, couple of Intel people and the 2 Davids (Cronenberg and Lynch) together on this.

…

fetish -n    \ˈfe-tish    also ˈfē-\

an inanimate object worshipped for its supposed magical powers or because it is considered to be inhabited by a spirit.

-

... when I die, bury me in my straight-legged britches / put on a box backed suit and a Stetson hat  / put a 20 dollar gold piece on my watch chain; so the boys'll know I died standin' pat ...

and lay me to rest in a climate-controlled facility between rows upon rows of server racks, discreetly humming their workers tune while grazing the endless fields of data, ultrasonic

—

Arya Stark