Ventra Quenada: Letter-Couches, a whole ocean of them, bobbing stupidly…



after jumping from letter-couch to letter-couch in that vast alphabet-couch=
stew-sea
Torreadoor, Bocky, and Lady Chula with her vaginal bat-imps lay down to wat=
ch
the corn grow.

The world is a serious place said Torreadoor.. I would much rather live in =
lost anchorite fictions packed in infinite gauze
stacked discretely among the descriptions of cat-play.

Purple rays of light play across Lady Chula's face from her gilled breast b=
odice.. growling bat-imps rustle under her blunderbuss dress flanges
I cant see what the use is of any of it.. What Real use? Simply to say it e=
xists and it is important belies a whole strata of interpretation
which constatly beseeches me with rows of solid silver ram's heads, blood f=
ountains, where continents of chlorophyll house the vampire snail-nymphs
in vibrating square gelatin chalices, giant mechanical ticks run by tribes =
of miniature blue boys..

Bocky is suffering say Bocky saying Bocky is suffering say. All the world i=
s suffering. Time-Food. All time food. feeding for saints of electron indus=
try.
Fixing sins in the chaotic horse. Yor nose twitches. Bocky sails into grave=
yards. Why the Real. Why live there at all. Its very unpleasant. completely
unpleasant in fact. Bocky say language a fiction, hence reality a fiction, =
hence death a fiction, life a fiction, etc etc etc.. you see, Bocky crazy n=
ow.

The Real is even more unreal than the Real says Torreadoor. It cannot be ma=
pped accuratley, predicted with conviction, believed in entirety, understood
in its infinite complexity, The Real is more Un real than Real, We sleep. T=
hat we have no control over. Just like you have a nose. Or poor eyesight.
One day you step off the train in Istanbul and you see the fairy fathers br=
eathing vermin into the lord's tower, great balloons full of rightless anim=
als,
they are just air to fuel the sails of journalism.. The great agencies of c=
ulture are the only living things, we are snailmeat hor douvres for the lub=
rication of the timeplates.

The letter couches bob on the open sea.. Bocky is using hooks and fibers to=
string the couches together.. see how we can make an island a road from th=
ese floating letters.. how endless this sea of soft and safe letters.. lett=
ers have no opinions, their forms are morphology only with not relation exc=
ept to line volume mass
circumference, but when they are linked together become states, islands, ro=
ads, trajectories, politicisms, garbage fallen from the grace of geometry,
the turds of angels..

Geometry is God says Lady Chula, Words are shit, says Bocky.. Torreadoor wa=
tches the corn grow among the 23 moons which pass thru the giant glass toro=
id castle
where Ivory robots shave their loin horns with jagged steel clams…