Sunday, December 9, 2012

CELESTIAL CHIMP - 40

In the Belgian Congo, Tintin thought maybe the primitive skateboard the locals put under the turtle was supposed to serve as the turtle's legs, mentally.
But there was nothing there except wooden turtle.

Maybe only darkness suffers from halitosis.
But there's nothing there except darkness.

A corset tied tightly around pharmaceutical vase water can fix the incontinence of somebody downwind. Make room for a lot of laughter, because a whole face is returning – make room for a face returning – a whole map of a face.
The language of eggshells articulated skintight in hubcap pottery.

The Crypt Keeper basically only rakes in what's left of the darkness.
In a car's headlights, darkness is a ruin of darkness. Darkness goes out with a glug of enema eyes in unambitious curdle.
There is restless saturation in any sluggish toilet paper, mental or inanimate. A face haemorrhoidally dim with beached chin.

100% defacement of a turd run over in traffic and/or gas bent saccharine.
The sudden loss of sound when a car radio is turned off is a shock and a distraction, sometimes.
Fossilized toilet paper is now the weird annoyer. Leathering back to leather on the fossil's toilet paper side.

You can't see the ninja because it's invisible. Talking to the ninja is like talking to a plank in the floor.
Stand very still and don't make a sound.

The natives imagine what Tintin must look like through electronic eyes.
100% chameleon-green, but flexible, responsive to color – a psychosomatic trampoline of circuit board alchemically haemorrhoidal on the robotic sock of weird electronics.

A dream is a balloon that bleaches instead of pops. Like a monster toppled, it becomes transparent. The look on the bleached haemorrhoid's face is of a face given back its normal pH; the look on its face of a face drinking its own spit.

On the notepad beside the telephone the haemorrhoid Tintin had doodled out of boredom with a sharpie haemorrhoided – out of boredom – into a daylight-impaling haemorrhoid.
I'm here,” Tintin wrote on the daylight-empty page, “in a primitive country, to study the vagaries of growing one's pocket calculator inward.”

He later awoke in the wall of the doodle.
The footprints he left on the beach were alkaline. 


THE END 

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