that zebra look

Anabelle had that zebra look again; the one the nuns at St. Formica's always took the wrong way and BOOM! there goes: "Anabelle go sit in the sanctuary and say 75 rosaries!" and she always said 'em all and now after so many unintentioned zebra looks and rosaries, she saw how it was actually better to sit alone in the quiet sanctuary for hours uninterrupted and sucked like a whirlpool in---better than having dead people snore even.

Anyoe, Mikey Spuvada put his feet in the compartment under Anabelle's
seatdesk one on either side which usually she liked but today everything was in another language and everybody was like windup and even Mr. Galiene the custodian (who was usually the BEST person in the whole school to talk to) looked like a drawing of himself somebody on acid made. To top it off, in the middle of the night last night, Mr. Scrugglenuggles, the Persian catpet, threw up big juicy hairballs all over Anabelle's beloved 8 x 10 glossy picture of Solidago Walnut Hornbeam she had sent away for and it took SIX WEEKS to get it and she JUST GOT IT DAY BEFORE YESTERDAY!!!

All of this contributed to the zebra look on Anabelle's face which was now
in progress and which Sister Perestroika hadn't noticed as of yet just wait.
Sister P. had the oddest habits of any of the other sisters there at Pius
Umbeeda's Drive-through Church and Cataclysm Class and she was definitely not a zebra fan. Suddenly time moved like a peach somebody runned over or stepped on and then it was yet another "Anabelle, go sit in the sanctuary and this time say 83 hail marys and 68 rosaries of beer on the wall, 68 rosaries of beer..."

It was so quiet in the sanctuary, Anabelle could hear the drips of blood
from the lifelike full scale model of the founder and saviour hanging right
there in an altared state on his own doublecross at the front of the
sanctuary. After about 42 hail marys, Anabelle could see the stained glass
changing colour like a slow kaleidoscope. There was so much space between her heartbeats, she could slide right through between 'em and fly around for hours before the next heartbeat would come. The electrical edge of her skin reached out into seven other layers.

Suddenly, sitting next to her was the most bizarre little shrunken man all
dressed up in a brown wrinkled leotard with a long funny brown cap who spoke in a shivery giggly voice. Essept he whisper without movee he lisp. "By now you recognize everything, don't you?" he inquired and Anabelle never uttered a sound when she answered "It is always new and yet I have always known it."

The brown man said "In stillness you move through the plasma and
hypnosyncratic synaptics open and close like little fish mouths strong
enough to make fish-hickies." and with that, he became a newborn baby who grew through his whole life on fast forward time lapseleap right there in front of Anabelle. When he was the oldest man on the edge of dust, he waved goodbye slowly and made a silly face and his cells moved apart just enough for the cohesion of his aggregate form to break down apart and through. All that remained was a faint dusting of bluish brown powder.

Anabelle smiled quietly to herself and even the drippy lifelike full scale
model up front giggled a little...

ah so the sounds of this veiled planet return to me as i swim to the surface of the ocean of dreams to refocus and awaken, to shake off sleep (always delicious morpheus dessert) and see shapes solidify and cajole arranging their barely cellular matter in forms i have come to recognize and even think i know. still it comes as a surprise to me each new waking that light is caught this way barely visible and yet seemingly oh-so-solid and "true".

whatever are we to do? I've been thinking of water: how it is the same water through all "time" that rises, falls, evaporates, freezes, condenses, accumulates into lake, ocean, river, snow, hails, quenches, sweats and the waters of our primordial age or even from 8th century time of huang po all the same water now. an actual physical demonstrative wo/manifestation of time's simultanaeity and us, these beings with souls in process, nearly all water and the same in molecular as saline sea, our blood and tears and sweat and saliva animated in some crazed water that is too, edifying fire that can neither be destroyed nor created. in the depths, our arcspark of electric elasticity is pure life moving through all the kaleidoscope of forms but not dependent on any form for continuance (continuous nuance). the beauty of course is that this inspired soulmatrix will continue, does continue, cannot uncontinue no matter what we outpicture in life as we insist it must be.

the lifetestgrace we've perpetuated comes again to transition of form. once again we blindly overprocreate (go ye forth and subdivide) stripping resource off a dwindling roll like so much toilet paper. once again we have made our distractions a way of life, more important than evolution. once again we've incarnated and forgotten why believing this veiled world of maya to be true, the only true and do so little to persue the soul virgin birth as conscious pilot maintaining breath and clarity integrity. still souls who do maintain the spear-it of who they truly are becoming and theirs is powerful medicine of vision and re-vision for these times not the end of an era but rather the ear of ananda. souls who bless our lives with vital force as we, by daring to question and process, BE clear blessing creation in endless reciprocation. it may not be "world unbalanced and babelling" but the crisiscruxcrucible of opportunity to be multidimensional now and not overly attached to form, sweet as this human tragedy can be.

all i know is the miracle of now of each sequential revealing now through movement now and perfect return now as the space between idea and outpicturing is close enough to be synchronized and the spirit that is self aware and self reflective is indeed (and word) what conscious-ness implies. all this now a steamroll of thought to break fast upon my return from the mountain of night embracing sweet cool fragrancedance of new morning now in these forms. i hear from wide open souls i encounter and mirror in travel how multidimensionality is more each turning of the sun and moon, how psychic worlds and physical gifts overlap into etheric. surely the medicine is appropos to the level of dis-ease and commensurate healing in condensed time like this (day is week, week is month, month is...), outside of routine i am humbled amazed andtruly abzellirated by the liquid implication of the panoply of light, texture and sound. sometimes i can even glimpse what all this movement is about, what the entire body of lifework can look like as sculpture, poem, song or piece on beyond zebra word and certainly outside conceptual thot. there is order, there is chaos, there is sublime simpatico in our dee licious revel-ation a worthy cause for celebration calibration celebration calibration ad infinitum into the vacuum river of soundless endless: hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ...mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

your cornforest spondent and eye conduit
Elmo Questopopo

Chopped Beef, the one and only erzatz interpolator of the entire massive dog corporation, scratched his three-day facial foilage in obvious startling distaste. Spitting on the carpet, he de-livered the onion ultimatoe: "If we don't find Noondo Bisqueeta pretty damn quick, everybunny's gonna cancel the fanclub perscription of a lifetime and we'll be amazonned without native guides! Ring up Andy Porstaleenda immediately! Only he'll know what alternate coloured diversion to plan for. After all, he's the one who pioneered the Green Wildebeeste Foundation in its mercurial infancy like no one else ever because!" The others in the room agreet. Andy Porstaleenda was the only choice.

Mere hours later, a delegate of six loose baggy windup Larrys met outside Andy Porstaleenda's teeming squalour in order to convince him of their plight. Each one carried a thoroughly cooked gourmet slugdish to present as a worthless token of their esteemed up kitchens. Andy, true to form, greeted them as one might greet a turbanned maestro from another eventual dimension. Upon collecting their well-used dishes after the delipeful and repulsive repass, the delgate spokesman spoked in a bloated table manner:
"My dear vested Porstaleenda, we have come to you in a time of great
defacing confirmation in our darkest hour and now we beseech thee to---"

"STOP!! I know why you've come! Do you think I would've eaten your wretched slugmeal unless I knew your ulterior decorative motives? Yes, it is true: I did have something to do with the Foundation when it shimmered but that was long ago. Most of you were only mere glimpses of scant possibility then. NOW look at you... We were capable of endless possible mutation in those days and these days, the "Foundation" can't even agree on how to spell WILDEBEESTE anymore! Can the ideals upon which we flounded have scraped against so many cesspools?"

The delegates swung open with pages falling out like too many bookwormed volumes. Nervously, they looked at their identical official yellow rubber yashoes (bless you!) shifting crenboe from foot to blistered foot. After a long inordinate awkwardness, the Aged One With No Teeth spoke: "Andy, Andy, you're excrement comes as no disguise to me, your throat so long unused and all, but it has become apparied to me that you outdistant your bumgroob by too many to one and somehow you neglect our decision of long ago to bear in
mind constantly the depth we all aspire to no matter how we choose to spell it. No matter how you carry on, the question remains thus: Will you help us locate and further abnegate the dissolute Noondo Bisqueeta before the fanclubs dissolve or must we all forcibly disgorge the contents of our recently filled stomachs all over your precious living wall to wall furniture?"

The Magic Living Report Show was about to begin and no one could say anything to the contrary. Their eyes had all grown cold and vacuuous and clearly reminiscent of important federal holidays where lately nobody showed up 'cept the creaking of the floorboards. And so it came to pass that haf pass midday, Andy Porstaleenda find hisself making he way through the overgrowd wheatucky bushes on the northern perimeter of her Noondo's Hideaway.

"Howd I ever let 'em talk me inta this?..." he grumbled, "If Noondo
Bisqueeta wants to disappear, he has every ability to and whoom I to
stoppim?" Though he knew Noondo's favourite places to hide, he had never gone to any of them before much in the same fashion that others had not come to his regardless of how much he had hoped. Now here he was stalking the wild Bisqueeta and Euell Gibbons certainly had nothing on him for the trail was not an easy one and any minute he could be up a creaky tree or lookoe for pimple rocks on the bottoe of the ribber. Swarms of bees told him obviously fabricated stories trying to divert him and he began to question his dedication to a situation which implied very few little if any. Nonethelest, him struckle onwurz in splattering persistence of memory.

All at once, a little voice box called from underneath the sacred mushroom flowers: "You'll never find me 'til you take off your dress-up shoes!" So Andy taked off his caked-up wingtips and LO! there stood Noondo Bisqueeta, a mere four inches laughyready. He was dressed in maginary teeveeshow wrap and he spokee without moving his lisp:

"Andy, I'm surprised at you after all these manyo soupstocks! When was the last time you came to see me? HA! In those days, we usta just sit in our respective doghouses and let jellyspirits shoot out of our imaginary doughnuts. Continually we promenaded together and yet rarely did we really be in the same fiscal radiance of city and town. Come, Sloppo, what brings you here anywise?"

Sunnedly, Andy rememblur every aspec of doughnut jelly spirits and haveta smile warmly to heself. As his smile spread like warm butter, he get to grow smaller than even and by the time he stop laugha, he see Noondo eye to eye! "Shoulda took them shoes off hours ago!" Andy Porstaleenda'd. "At last I recall vague notion what humane dirtgrinding is all about! I very nearly got lost in the trapping of the trapezoidal trapeze after I thought my favourite radial diversion station got pinched off. Ah my dear Noondo...do you still lick rosebuds at dawn?" Bisqueeta chuckle heartily "We gotta lotto catchi up to do, eh Smoley?" Andy do a recapitulate double take.
"What th-? Nobody's called me that since Lectric Sophie lost her gazebo somewhere near Kenya!!"

"Hey Noon'! Let's go pile our exhalations like we always do and see if the ponies are still talking! And they both go through the field past a ladybug big as Sammie Dolinda's house singing two-part Papa Oom Mow Mow as if they never stop yet.

The moon was splendicious and nearly evaporated any dangling participle
anyone had left right yes no because I told you that was the last time and
all around trees and the ground beckoned ever closer with reflected
poignant light that was in itself a mere efficacioius reflection to ponder.

Ozymandias apologized to the driver and all the other passengers for
getting drunk on Minnesotawater right there in front of them. The Greyhound had to promise to leave the driving to them/us and nobody forgot how good that black man in the orange suit smelled even after he ate his cheese and crackers that he brung all the way from Houston with him...