Postcards Series B #24-29


Continuing on in aiming at people involved in “helping” professions/industry.

Some things do not dither.
Altogether dancing, round &
round the maypole… query
not for diamonds, nor for
glia, but see into the heart
of the northern minx. See
that the paperclip chain of
dreams is brought to fruition.
A series of errors collapses
into new & unexpected forms
Alack & Arrak! The studious
sleeper sparks into ideopath-
ic grief. A moment’s thought
A moment’s recklessness…

The catfish in the mud
toil & they do spin … Recall
it, the old Monkey & the
Coconut trick.. Become re-
wired to the tunes of ancient
astronauts .. But this is
idle; no one has a dream
anymore.. Rescind & Replant
, the spaceship-greenhouse
is coming for thee. How is
it that Alice can pronounce
15,000 tones of music at once
? To this, only I hold the
key. Do not discard the bones..

Frickin’ Frack…. this place
is filled with old bed springs
& radiators & dead tube
TVs… what could ever grow
here? Ah, but I do see
a weedy flowering vine
trying to come in .. Amazing
with such darkness about
… Chaos-clear, the magistr-
ates decree that all will
be abandoned & reset. The
endless cat & mouse game
shall continue. The Ancient of
Days calls you to clarify your

Sequence of thoughts accrues
individual meaning, yet all
chimerical. Not to be taken
too softly or too serious,
she is weathered by stages
of crumpulous drama .. So
much for sunk time! Yet
in the morning, yet again,
a new sun; Yet each eve,
yet again, the ominous
pitch black. Pay no mind to
the gremlins just now! It is
late, but you purge text w/o

Oracle restricts latitude
while also supporting. Yet
sometimes we must also
break constraints. Let no
fruit bat pass unsaluted.
While samizdat was before
mimeograph, yet even
telegrams become interc-
epted, still the onward
march of reason does not
abate. *zzzz* let not the
American Irrationalism get
you down; it is but a partial illus

Stilting along like endless
egrets in the endless mirrors
of the mists of the marsh…
No end of trouble to this
phantasm ‘true love.’ The
inner workings begin to
silt up, and dead cars pile
interminably … Only an atom
blast would re-clear the
reservoir. So many rat-squ-
irells swarm over the skele-
tal refugees of capitalism’s
aspirations. Don’t be a hero.

300 DPI free to replicate postcard image

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