12/15/2019
Floyd
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The God of Gluten in Babylon's log cabins
Apparently endlessly an old needle cracks in the last groove of a shellac record, attracts all dust and smoke statically charged, which dances in the room in a flickering glow, sends the sound through a shell-shaped tin pipe, Sumerian formulas whispering, lost in the ether in the white intoxication, creases the sound like embers in the fireplace.
Are you really here in the small log cabin, in the night black valley in the wilderness? Have You mixed all the woods which You have gathered hastily, unknowingly, in knowledge that night will fall and You will dip into its glow as in comets? Do you now dawn in ashes and gluten, in the hissing of the sweating drops of the animal, which smoulders in pepper and paprika nobly sweet and stews over the fire here? Maybe you'll dream your way even further into dark green forests of roots and moist leaves and other fiery herbs later on? Or do you crawl over paprika chips from your burnt apartment over wooden planks of your terrace into the rain-wet garden?
Do you ask Nibiru, the Babylonian deity, about the passage between heaven and earth? Is she the giant celestial object that destroyed us in 2012? Or does it equate planets to comets, is it the point of the moon at the solstice? Deceives you Nibiru from being something else, a crude scent only at the end, which in autumn and winter opens rooms to you in warm-düst're fantasy in the spark glowing Sumerian cloak mythological astronomy?
We recommend reading the statements of Ergoproxy, Verbena and Yatagan and of course Caligari!
Are you really here in the small log cabin, in the night black valley in the wilderness? Have You mixed all the woods which You have gathered hastily, unknowingly, in knowledge that night will fall and You will dip into its glow as in comets? Do you now dawn in ashes and gluten, in the hissing of the sweating drops of the animal, which smoulders in pepper and paprika nobly sweet and stews over the fire here? Maybe you'll dream your way even further into dark green forests of roots and moist leaves and other fiery herbs later on? Or do you crawl over paprika chips from your burnt apartment over wooden planks of your terrace into the rain-wet garden?
Do you ask Nibiru, the Babylonian deity, about the passage between heaven and earth? Is she the giant celestial object that destroyed us in 2012? Or does it equate planets to comets, is it the point of the moon at the solstice? Deceives you Nibiru from being something else, a crude scent only at the end, which in autumn and winter opens rooms to you in warm-düst're fantasy in the spark glowing Sumerian cloak mythological astronomy?
We recommend reading the statements of Ergoproxy, Verbena and Yatagan and of course Caligari!
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