Automatic Writing

[shanmonster]

What spews out of my head is a silver chain of music, dissonant and filled with pigeon-flavoured cheese. My stomach feels like the cloaca of a marsupial, yet I cannot helpt the basket by my toe. Where did all the bangles go? Are the candied chinchilla shits really edible if they're orange, yellow, pink, white, and from India?

This I know: Jesus resides in my long, grey woolen sock. It must be the truth because there's a hole in that sock, and Jesus was crucified, so it all adds up. Who knows, though? The rest of him might be in the shirt with the hole torn in the side, or the ripped-up gloves thrown aside.

A plastic gewgaw rests inside one of my homemade rings. Out-of-bounds.

Ok, that's enough of that.

Comments

[fourcorners.livejournal.com]

The surreality of this post is most awesome, and reeking of cotton candy

Re:

[shanmonster.livejournal.com]

That's odd. I was eating prunes.