new gear

(AE Reiff)

 

 

A HISTORY OF CHE GUEVARA’S HAIR  

Two guys standing on the assembly line assembling heads, trading quips to the background noise of the heads  yammering (in italics)  in German. Plus a reminiscence of their arrival by underground boxcar with fellow captive, but once entitled Psyche, Sir Edmund Lockerbie. With a concluding postscript of the fgov. 

Me and Wold

You go below I’ll stay above, the Volksstamm Director thought, as directorate does. So be consumed, Agencies melt to stone. I’ll get back to you. Government functionaries, military illuminate kings and queens. The super horned rich from previous screens. Blood only brood, gene women mainly propagate new. Under cats. Will there be no men? Wie die Farbe witklich!  Will there be no culture but Stanford? Ground Blink. Human growth culture shock. Lit, music, art drugged, gene pools raise the children and their dogs. Controls oppose proles.

Shrunk heads are a comin, their ears are in sight. I didn’t think the disbods could learn, but they could sure talk. When I told the Company they were unteachable injections were served. I call it a Company. It was an American Adam startup that wanted finally the last of Gibbon. None of the buggers could hear, so we, me and Wold, sang to mock the engineers, the influence of a mind on itself, the dependence of what it does on what others have done and that’s how we found out the heads could talk.

Revolution is not to hold a dialogue with yourself. The thing that made this clone was that the shared experience was gone. Each Day brings out the test tube shot, to play it all again, but it doesn’t make you trust. A kind of narrative exists where heads detach. The hallucinated have come to tell you that yr utilities are being shut off.

I speak such riddles because the thing is not quite in the middle cloud of nuclear explosions being dodged. And the thing that is, is not. Another decap! Just two guys working on the assembly line making heads, who trade barbs of inward glory few can share. “Our mistress thigh is nothing like her bum.” It’s the same metric, it’s the same rhyme. Only the words are changed.

I went down to caverns measureless to man with no markings except codes, wandered 14 levels below the stairways Capitol.  Nun, seine Seele hat Schmerzen! The walls went down from stone to plain carved rock. They storeth artifacts, statues further down. I struck the hours till I found stairways up. None connected to another. I kept walking to an elevator, pushed Up, found myself in a non-public Capitol, told them I was lost. I had a clearance tag. To think I can imagine it. Passages slope to where the hearts are stored. I’m not supposed to say the halls are lined with liver. Busts of decaps escorted me to the main, sanctioned with different means of taking. Professor Filbert said those heads had been transplanted from someone’s empty neck. Prisoners rode that way out west with guillotines attached.

What do I do;
what do I say to myself;
how do I look at people?

Rows of heads exhibited at the Underground Met gave insight in three second bursts. Ten thousand times ten thousand galleons supplied a part to act as if the others were. But since Johnny would not head-off grandma subjects were delivered through passages in the mouth.

Heads worried that the bug would unify the H.
Heads worried they wouldn’t be able to fill the NASA quote
when Canaveral replaced Mauthausen.

Nobody knew the horror but Dick. Outsiders policed the house, more like themselves than not, the Strams Mundane Alien Corp. There is a lack of clarity about the imaginability. You need a lotion.

Then I looked up–and there before me were two women who lifted up in a basket Che Guevara’s hair. Comparing DNA hair from the mausoleum in Santa Clara, Cuba with his DNA body finally put an end to Time’s 100. Voice to skull technology, plasma conduit rendered. With wind in their wings like a stork, the eyes of Che burned with impatience. Wold and I could see every good disbob strung up to the Animate Machine: insectothopter, adiabatic qubits, augmented cognition, synthetic cognition.  Lewis’ Devine babbled like the Head of Cuchulain: Three deaths.  first when the body ceases function (meaning Licklider psycho acoustics). Second when consigned to the grave (neuro prosthetics). Third in the future, when your name is spoken last.

There were of course more than three deaths in this underworld. The first was when they took a head from its past and all association and harnessed it up. Bosses on the lookout for more heads sorted these by vocation. Philosopher Wisensteins, Wittgenstein’s head, pontoons of Huxleys, Aldous, Thomas, and Russell went down with McKenna. Oxytocin robot ethics, and LIDAR against fear. You nitpickers call in doubt what you don’t even know, that aircraft carriers were sent in that first attempt to colonize Neptune. Simulacrum never quite conceals the truth—it is the truth which conceals. My Borgs adore you human dyads linked up to machine.

Many on the waiting list received oxides under old grants. Encephalics breed far more imprints than they can use. Einstein was reassembled, all those autopsied divisions were false. Whole brains  in the underground had so deeply infected de Garis he couldn’t sleep. He stayed up late and talked to the heads. Consciences were swollen with predictions of the coming Third War. Etherized on a table, we heard him mumbling among our heads:

“jolted out of nightmare I see lithium, spraying mood stabilizing, bipolar mania, fine tremor, nausea,  hyperthyroid weight gain. I see Dante leave the malebolge toward the pit. Tuft by tuft in a century or so the hands of giant Nimrod. Blow a horn, other giants chained Abimilech, superior to Mordred, Italians frozen in cracks. It shake me. I don’t….”

We have reached the point exactly where the thigh beam ends at the haunch’s curve.

The palaces of our imprisonment were on the news. Lightning flashes from both sides of the brain detached the vitreous. The head detached-severed brain that minds think under control. Microheads call it dystopic to believe people would be needed. How else invite Colonization with the mouth of Presidents? Nobody has figured it out, but do not close the ears.

In his dream Lockerbie stood next to a jello baby in a carriage. Those pumpkins felt the dilemma of man on the steps of the universe. Wenn es vorkommen kann, illuminations like

“unthinkable and authorizing at one and the same time. First comes the outbound journey, search for the strange, voyage postulate of monsters, storms, then comes the savage. “I am powerless over compulsion. My life is unmanageable, but I want to do good.” Concussed by torches of fat, “Chaos resists  where most I suffered.”

Ninataka uji butter, vortex yam yarn, rayon fiber spinning, first viscose plant marcus hook, american viscose lewistown.

If you’ve never seen an A-head close, outgassed in its suit with the headlights on, these translator models hold dialogue with the Sophias of hierarchy. A-Heads can be promoted to Shiner after their induction–or disappear in smoke. Disrobes had a body, but a true Disbod had none at all. Disbod discarnates emptied into lit.

Lockerbie

Somewhere from a beaker sealed up tight Dr. Lockerbie raved about the giant complex of Vacaville Prison, latter day experiments, anectine on Leary and Manson. Lockerbie wondered that if he worked for all the  parties in question, and then went missing, which one would do it? His Jersey Report put the unthinkable gas on  tapes made during blackouts as they were dragged from cerebellums. Do you know where your microbiologist is tonight? They emptied the prisons first. How ’bout your local computer scientist? He end up in our Boxcar  missing. Seeing the world-vast war citizen, cheap seats in three second bursts, subliminal gold is what St. Stephen saw: you made gods out of stars, worshiped heavenly bodies, had a portable Moloch for your Saturn to carry the idols you worship. That’s what Sir Stephen saw in Weimar B.

Lockerbie gave these discoveries as we rode, information that under the Washington Capitol giant moths were loosed. The world big see. Disturbances covered up the reports that 500 Pumpkins Colonize Saturn. These rumbled down with the Cantwell Titans and their landings on Mars. Lockerbie had two mythless effigies drop in opportune, the severed decaps and the spinners, one by reduction, the other spun. Spinnrade Gretchen a little while.

Mag-lev shuttles repel below Lockerbie says. Eat the cake and leave the bread. Sakharov, Mayakovsky, Turgenev, Bogdanov injected the mice the fliege-hausen know. How far to make a better life for cows. Prion contamination and encephalopathies easy to sound. That rare Neanderthal Caveman Swelling stacked up at Sufi Port! Cage after cage of A-heads flew according to report.  Smoke manifests at the crater level of space invisible to the naked eye, there! metaversal flesh if you believe.   Would that the touch were employed to clean and  fix.  It wasn’t our fault the heads could talk. Maybe raise up the scopolamine levels. I worked the west where dissidents exited from their ships. Ships, trains, it’s a little hard to nonspeak once below. Don’t worry if planes are trains, or if they aren’t gesucht wird, hängt, It dependeth on what paradigm. Don’t worry if human cells have an impact on animals.

The notion is that if a head is missing you can supply the brain. The brain bypasses. Inject both Kirk and McCoy. That’s how Lockerbie found out the hundred ruses a programmer got. Made to be a Gotling, a goatling deduced from secret signs. Planetary companies invented thousands of substitute names. Many Made One! [MMO] Many Be One, druga, druga! Shaman, priest, prophet, ruminate.  Heads back, that is, before the Anectine. Their dementia synthesized and marketed a search for the old afflatus.

F Gov

If you wonder why I’m telling these staged events as real, they’re not. Clues thrown out of the circle discover a consciousness no one wants to know.  It’s not the eyes that see any more than the ear that hears. The brain fools the eye, the eye doesn’t fool the brain. If the scene is unremembered is never “seen,” never was, even if passed directly into consciousness from Control.

 Somewhere undergrounds monitors turn blank. That slogan, all institutions are demonic?  Three hundred pyramid levels below, Hawthorne found the government roof failing. The history clone died talking.  No outside sun, new to many. If colorless, it gives no sign. Watching algorithms, cameras, microchips, blood pressure, heart rate, brain shift, It was conceivable they watched everybody all the time. Et Tu duty, outside Revelations 18. After losing their first encounter on earth the Neptune forces gave out drugs and meditation.

The unconscious anybody can see these Ararat divines in the EU parliament and in Breughel, or in the Guggenheim and Denver. The FEMA train beast, animated within, originally carried cargo manacled end to end. There must have been a market, there must have been a market.  Rocketing down the night tracks sealed, no cracks in the floors like Weissmandel, rabbi of Slovenia, cut with a dull blade through the bottom of his  Nazi box entering Auschwitz and escaped like Lockerbie.

When it comes to planet, who gets this base? The daemon Blum recruited when the trolls fanned out. Wenn du also sagst, du habest. Natives tranked, stored random guineas, the best and brightest genes of f gov know the calculated ehad Selective Service complements. They tranked.

Infrastructure trained in faculties underground.
Programmers foresaw that iconoclasts must go.
Presume you go where none has gone before.

It is necessary to distinguish two governments in this, but the government Underground did not forgo the home market guillotine use. Who would not want a guillotine they grant, where a stray rooster could be dealt, or cut bread. All who join the guillotine throng assume the honor of Sir Thomas More, and if his head is not yet battlement be a subject for Madame Tussaud.

Forty foot containers have a guillotine end.  You find yourself in the Amtrak Beech Grove of the Jersey Report among those martyrs who oppose the gods, who lift the veil, as judged by Psych. Even though Lockerbie escaped the Gundersons, airports and underground bases it hardly seems a bridge to peaceful mind. Under that circumstance the Psych revealed the tin men and undersea rebel tentacles, half human half animal crabs, bots, mutants armed with scales, paramecium, hydra, parts of butterfly wings, scales, fish with teeth bared, snakes that looked like Klansmen and shattered eggs, defecating upturned eels, fins, helmets, wasps, falling geese, clams on half shell contending, angels with red and gold armor with the disc of white above, against the creatures of the water below.

                                                     Before the semiotic tip of hat at DuPont Circle the left ear of a secret architecture inhabited by the entertainment patriot matrix, you can get cozy. They said he was a good New Order guy, aught Virgil, ‘fore Homer, revival of old Apollyon, nee Abaddon at the Altar of Denver-Pergamos CERN. Screwy acronyms like MOAB, Mother of All Bombs, tipped mine shafts nine craters deep. Locked in the ninth vault of Virgil was the Seal of the United States. It still needs to manifest. Various feedback loops connect this last to what the spinners in formation say. Read these texts asleep and then awake.

Note:
All disbod speech is in italics.

 

AE Reiff has taken the first degree in surfactant hydrocarbon remediation. He twice escaped PopTart nomination and investigates leftists at EncouragementsForSuch

4 Responses to new gear

  1. Raymond Farr says:

    Philip, terrific poetry! Again!

  2. xtx says:

    fuckinbadass

  3. fez says:

    They’re so grand

  4. Compelling. Shared on Twitter.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s