String Theory

I put the upholstery foam into the waffle maker.
I put the bandages around the waffle maker.
I’m talking about a new emotional system.
I’m talking about pixel tears.
They’ll flow from the waffleplex you‘re grafting and if you’re wondering: Why bandages? It’s because emotions are things that heal.
One sour goatspurt and your emotions – say you have two emotions –
eclipse the light in you, it’s like they’re shrinking but also growing bigger.
They block out the light.
They’re two conjoined grime particles. 

Furthermore, you’re keeping every elevator you enter these days smelling good.
If you’re sick, say with leukemia, you keep your leukemia from sagging in places. Because you’re the captain, you go, Captain’s log:
‘Went to a park.
‘It was gashed right through from fence to fence.
‘Why, I sewed it right up!’

Captain’s log: ‘In a way I’m fixing a broken couch. Hurrah!!’
The foam comes from a broken couch, after all.
The rest you threw away.
The upholstery you took and put into the waffle machine.
But meanwhile the couch’s carcass is pest-free because its emotions are put
to good use.

Failed Species – the pilot of the patchwork quotidian – deals in junk.
Give us a valve, a valve you don’t use anymore, Failed Species can screw it in and, pressing its little robot clitoris, bring the ghost out of the shell.
He made a tool that turns a sneeze into a hyperbole – i.e. Beautiful junk that will change your life into something new with each sneeze. It will leave you with blue crackles of wonderment!’
It was a piece of discarded flint. It twirled in the vortex of the sneeze.
In one episode Wonder Woman sat down with The Failed Species;
he gave her a Facebook virtual gift (more on that later). OK, it was a piece of ratty flint tied and knotted into the form and consistency of a burger.
She took that, unraveled it, tied it to his neck. Check this:
That night when he sleepwalked and went out to go hunt deer? The flint yanked him back over a distance of three miles and he bounced back AND HE BOUNCED THREE TIMES ON THE FLOOR INTO BED BOUNCED THREE TIMES AND FELL ASLEEP.
Everything’s made of string.
Everything can be tied with a piece of string.

Got broken tears? Here’s a good computer program that sorts, dusts, and puts special mosaic cement between their pixels.
Got a major eclipse on your hands? Call in the lynch mob: see Dexter leading them with scythes into the shadow.
It’s like a curtain tearing from the top down, forming a thousand bright triangular little baseball flags.
‘I love you,’ fell from the Failed Specie’s lips.
It literally fell.
Wonder Woman did something eye-popping: she made his eyes pop.
How?
She undressed.
No need for waffle machines on that score. In typical give the pinky and take the hand fashion, he gave her a stripper pole and bugged it –
she knew it was bugged and when she practiced on it, when he wasn’t watching but was listening in the other room, she whispered stuff to the pole. Stuff that made the pole nearly knot back upon itself.
He lay in the next room with an O-expression.

A Happy Meal asteroid flits through space, enters the atmosphere, and Lady Gaga catches it with her mouth.
Who said some objects needed to be turned into something useful?
An asteroid can already be a Happy Meal.
A glitch can even be meant to be a glitch.
The world should stop going by the stupid philosophy that the world is made of Failed Species and therefore everything’s got to be fixed.
A jackhammer’s fantasies radiate from the bulb, so when it lights up my heart throbs – du-du-du-dududududududdududu.
This is a HEALTHY fucking heart.
The Failed Species wanders around in IKEA, down in the warehouse with his slip. He’s been down there for three days.
He hasn’t eaten.
He hasn’t drunk anything.
His only digestive feat so far is that he’s taken a shit in two different places. IKEA is the world unfailed. You don’t have to assemble anything it sells you. Nothing in this dungeon demands assembling.
Who’s your philosopher now?
Now he hears the messages Wonder Woman kept murmuring to the pole while she practiced and which the pole, via the bug, relayed to him in the next room.
It’s a sweet message.
By God it inspires him.
It keeps him alive.
But really, he should have kept that virtual Burger he’d given her on Facebook.