The Book of Pages
Mid-West Mythos
Rituals of the new rain
Long dawn when the dew cures the leaves, mellow breeze drys them hanging on the clothesline. A flapping fanning of leaves like autumn hands. Now we spread a light layer of flower resins. Little hard clusters of sugar that raise bumps on the mushrooms that grow in the shelter belt after rain. The long dawn when we bake masks of bread in a red brick oven. The symphony of birds surrounds us.
Slow splendorous dreams in the hammock breeze. A kingdom made of thought. A light mist of nutrient rain. The smoke of savory herbs in the silent wind. When the crows die we remove the beaks and paint them with bright glitters. They hang in clacking mobiles and in clicking windchimes.
Yellow grains that bend and flex in the wind like the water of an inland lake.
Morning lows in with curls of floating mystic fog. Birds rattle and chirp, strange ever-changing feathered folk songs. Soap made of grub worms. Shampoo created from frogs legs. The long dawn may never end.
Tomato God
Deep underground, hundreds of pounds of red ripe larval substance. The Tomato God is fond of sacrifices and masked dancing in all night bonfire rituals. Red blood, red tomatoes. When the patch is ripe, take a life, blood sprays on the hungry plants. The higher quality life fed to the Tomato God the finer the product. That's why football players from nearby towns are a prime target. A good healthy strong jock can feed the crops for three years and produce the finest yields. Red ropes hang in parents closets til the nice sacrifice dance.
With these new seasons come new holidays
These who are gifted among fields wearing strapped on wooden beaks. The others nodded. A new holiday for the fifth season. He that hath me spring and summer, in Suspension cities. "I heard the voice book, The Lion from the book talks like a man". And I remember seven mountains. Watching them from the round window of my cell in the suspension city. Tall jagged mountains said to be the thrones of long-dead gods. And I beheld delicate and sensitive merchandise. Fine things crafted by Elvin hands on the dark side of the moon. Biscuits baked with the nectar of the eon flower.
Gushing of abominations worships him that, Primal Analog Forbidden beast voice. Fucking in a dark of God sent blasphemy, walk in it. Blind sex with rubber gelatinous beings. Gouts of foul-smelling cum drags the breeze. Dead bodies of Men who did not survive the ritual squelch under walking feet. These four-decades-long weednaps. Twenty-thirty years in a stoned sleep. Awake one midnight alone in the field, miles from the nearest small town. Get up and walk, there's nothing else to be done now. Holy, holy, LORD trumpet. A fanfare that shreds the hills. The villagers cower under a rain of frogs. Workers go hungry, replaced by cogs. Townsfolk marched away at gunpoint, the city devours another town. Forced to relocate to a dirty unfertile lot.
Strange variations of religions go on crusades to smight the sinners in other towns. the differences between themes get more extreme over time. The kids chalk the sidewalks with strange new sigals, the images of new gods not yet known to the adults.
This is why we can't have any OK things
I didn't ask for my hat to be converted into a flat rag bath. I do not recall nor do I recoil on how or why you boiled all the soil for the radius of several blocks. I go down I slow down. I sit and chew my chalk. Let the political world go by, as long as it's not me that's poked in the eye. Keep rushing, gotta hurry, got a date with a grave in a couple decades. Rushing about and prepping things. Getting all tan for hells eternal flames. Shining shoes and a bright top hat. I can dance a couple ways and I am ready for all that.
What gives
Many drinks into the night, Jack Clarke started playing some tunes. The Crispy bacon 23 and a half started the sound with rollicking walking bass lines and flange soaked didgeridoos. Bells and atonal whistles, and bellowing from a far off confrontation caught on field recorder. Next up, the Ripping Rippingtons. Slide sitar and Jim Whiskey's famous edible drumset. A long bluesy dirge that takes forty-five minutes to hear. Jack was drunk as hell by the time it was over. Next the punk power of 80's lesbian rock band, the Cunning linguists. A valkrie war cry of five fat blonds packing power onto power and rocking Jack's socks off. He never found his right sock again after that event.
When the night writhes
Statues of clay
For thousands of years, these statues rested under the lake til the great drought brought them out. Pre-human statues kilned in forest fires. Gilled amphibian humanoid beings.Of course, shortly after being discovered the Smithsonian Institute came from nowhere, like Men in black to gather up these ancient statues and take them somewhere to be smashed into dust.
Sticker farm
The childhood farm grew green tall and lush. Lizards and turtles and frogs filled the pond. But then the wealthy nearby county damned to river to keep it to themselves. The land grew dryer. Many lifeforms died or moved on. No more lizards, goodbye frogs. But thorns, stickers cockleburs, basically about anything that can stab you but is not a cactus grew all over the farm. These stickers had extractable chemicals so a truck's flatbed full can net a farmer a couple hundred bucks. A hell of a price to pay for toiling to gather tens of thousands of these nasty items. Sticker farm, barely making enough to feed the fams and pay the taxes. Burning stickers for warmth in the cold of winter. I still remember dozens of broken off sticker tips burning with mild toxic throbs under my skin. Cold, cold sticker farm, eating grasshopper meats.
Other uses for Silos
That certain field
The door only ripples
It took me three minutes to get up off that worn out easy chair. So hammered with the booze and pills and greasy sea-food salads. I belched with every step with a sporadic bass hits of staccato flatulence to make the beat complete.
A Plant's hell
Plants hell even signs Wilton the really intense sunlight. Dragonflies can practice combat patterns to get her across the right. Cobwebs do a spastic Dance of the intense Breeze. Mulberries Moonfire on the branches. Old foundations revealed in fields buildings that have been gone for many decades many years murder victims of some forgotten crime lambsquarters begin to grow all over the place you know and take over the earth a big old Forest of lamb's quarter old foundations revealed and feels building as I have been gone for a mini decades many years murder victims of some forgotten crime family reasons why can't I am lands quarters begin to grow all over the place you know and take over the earth a big old Forest of lambs quarters prego phones and frame deserts it was more City shotgun a shell last longer than the goddess of shot though activating metal them fading plastics of bright colors. Tell I was filled it was so nice to have a talk with constipated rusty steel slowly crack with a violent you make the freaking items I make the night Diana's sign I got the hills bubbling roads overturned steals this song is this the screen less to shoot people the ground from Burlington divorce lawyers house can get to the tummy ache every 3 days official can use a Superman there they going down of that Snowmass there's a heart full donut holes as a guy with a pair of underwear making fluffy out of Wilburn grasshopper heads there's a whole street construction sirens made into ritual suits and ties. Previously unknown animals now or something. Matt and class and flaps of Russell and now they help this to get your armpit whole morning pies going to make you choke and I bet you'll be loving it be loving and 11 11 1130 you I miss you love you love you love you love you love the turkey is the age of the moles of mommy late everyday this is the age of the summer subway is the age of field completely eating to the red by chords of angry right locust with firing stains and Firefly lives in space to propose is the age do not know if the h2 wish it would know but the heat is here forever but the heat is here forever against of the group tomorrow at the reliable trailer back to the real thing though I've got a knife out of sticker Pennsylvania Avenue
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