Cross-hairs on the Angel

art and story by shaun lawton 

The Blue-bell of riddling bays, the facial ponds of Straven Avenue, the bird nest under the magnifying lens, lurking on the beach beneath the Caribbean winds. Focusing on a memory quite beyond the ultraviolet. Stepping down the stacked stairs of water down the well. In rapturous memoriam. Reflection of a harlot. Cross-hairs on an angel. Getting erased by the violet dusk with the sun's own rays. Dissolving one granule at a time into the end of days. 

 Drowning under the sands of eternity. Glimmering under a blanket of haze. Breathing in another aqua marine dream. Granted passage by the agents of echo location. Enshrined by the ceremony of forgotten birds. Preserved for a very long time under the pitiless gaze of the shunned indigenous council of solitary beings. Captured under glass for posterity in a glossy full color photograph taken by the panopticon with a series of long since fallen apart cameras. 

To dream of transubstantiation in a bottle of moonlight

 Broadcast after dark in the shadowed mists of the forest

Bleating Parts

Furrowed palate fits together 

Bone fissure slit allows sunlight

In from a pole standing ten feet

Hide stretched over eye cavities

Motionless processions survey

Every cycle of the moon's drop

Lifts more waves of bound waters

Poised along a crest held aloft

Wind chatters along pebble crest

For moments while clouds look

the other way at star's approach

from the dark sidereal blooming

4th phallacy

Okay my blog's set up now.  As of today, March 6, 2017, David Gilmour's birthday, I've finally managed to get my blog under control (more or less).  This post represents one status nodality of a myriad published over the years on blogger site. I've annexed as many bylines and criss-crossed as many interwoven hyperlinks as I could in the span of thirteen years. Over hundreds of blogs and many dozens of posts haphazardly applied in an unpredictable array of subjects and toss ups, I can finally begin to recognize the Azathothian quality, call it an outspread manifestation on one of the folded origami corners of space, or an outward array of chaotic issuing streamers as fine as white hairs, or a deranged sigil of sonic sibilance ushering in the oblique microgravitational wavelengths of our own cascading unfolding hyperdimensional moment in the herenow we like to think of as spacetime. As the senseless psychobabble ensues across the audial and visual spectrum we process through our ears and eyes every day of our lives, we adapt in a myriad individual ways. Erasing the bottom line of reality remains everyone's speciality.

SALT LAKE CITY 2016

Our Luminous Molten Star Slowly Dissolves

Into the Inversion During the Afternoon Sunset

Intercranial Depths

http://ceruleannocturne.blogspot.com/2015/12/censerliteracy.html

Sin Seer Eater Feed Her Peter Don't Delete Her

A seer sees a series of seas he's seen since he seated himself at the seeing table to season seared seaweed ceaselessly since he insisted his sister said certain significant systems seemed sinister to her. After asking her Alice automatically answered at an astronomically advanced abstraction an affecting aesthetic he'd never even heard about before. Really he said. 

Yes you yammer and yap and yawn all you want while I warn you we're wasting away here when we're wanted for weeding out whatever was in our way. The manner in which he stared at her could have filled a silver plate up to the rim with warm drool from the moon. 

Ew she said, why are you looking at me like that. I want to eat you he whispered. You mean to make a meal of me she seethed. That is exactly what I mean he snicker hissed. She got undressed and splayed her what he paid for. An intimate relation with another member of the human family. 

Wham blam the trick is dead. Get an executioner if you want to get ahead. Beat a batch of butter balling in the bed. Raise em praise em might not phase em but they'll graduate to hate well fed, well said, until we're all quite dead, go ahead, tell you what, why don't you instead do a good deed and take the lead, I think it can be agreed, what we feed consumes us, and assumes our identities too. 

Please realize we have eaten our father and passed him on as waste for the process, why yes he would be elated to find he was fated to play the next role in his decomposition to help fund raise the growth of the land which the hand understands was handed hand in hand on a grand scale to apprehend or wrap your head around before you were found down town drowned in a crown and worn upside down with you bloodless and hung up from the ground held up dry and bound to whether to wither away altogether or wander on the wind one must wonder, so the seer shook his head and took himself to bed to rid his mind of the reddening sight and what did he find in the middle of the night but a dream of a red river running through his head whispering  heatedly that nothing true was said.