The Opiate, Fall Vol. 7
Mortmain Joseph Harms Let us now resolutely turn our backs on the once-born.
William James
Atoll about a sun selenian, aseptic; skunk and petrichor; the elms’ temerity redacting clouds; in fen the pumpkins jellied blenched and squirreled: derealed as wont (limicoline unease longedfor wherefrom a joke might still be told or heard though halved of course) when at a thought (why not exult and praise this awe so alien and cold that makes of us a nil? Orgone… Orgone…) a bevy strident, myriad (unseen, unheard till then) exods from elms nosoling cloud and sun (the maledict a glimps behind patina where the kennings can’t be found), a school, a dream: saltstill I stood.
46.
