If you love, adore the moon. If you rob, steal a camel.

Stories for the Long Silk Road

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

John Pursch: Hamsterdamaged

Touched wonderkids crowd the spunlit Dread Light District window sills with hunky hottie bronzed cod bodice fairy tail, sought by pederasts and numismatic journeymen from Coppa Riminme to Palma Dazed Majority’s waxed political cistern of bloated sarcophagi, streaming Hegypped’em hired glyph-itch saleswomen on pedicab inferno trikes and horse-crawl terriers, bleeding sorely wanton festive spittoon contamination burps at grape school pilferers on tranny junkets, carrying impassive locks of dishrag heirloom hauteur into prestidigitation’s nautical shambles of nude preternaturally sympathetic troglodytes on shore leave from the U.S.S.S.S.S.S…S.S.S… Ellipses.

Posturing for pontoon ferry pilots, Hamsterdamaged schoolgirls climb aboard the lucky streetside metal pillars, shining clear smegmatic calling curds of bygone pigeon pachyderms with packaged pudenda, wowing febrile furtive furloughed fondlers with selfsame immolation rites, sending whole tramloads of drooling moldy cuckolds up in charcoal heaps of pyrotechnic spontaneity. 

Bleating copper ash thaw, sorority queens swoop in, walloping the hairless headstone shoulders pressed to Dread Light window dressing’s thousand eyelet overload of purple faction body parts in manacled display stand conquest’s elaboration tonsillitis breath.

Kabuki grins a million gleaming teeth-row hedge semantic raw-truth mottled foolery, addled by mere thought secretion whoop-de-doo of saddle shoes in Flying Touchman catchment sluicing aqueducts of newly piling bile, empirical in colocation seamstress switchyard’s Siamese assembly plant.

“Locking for lung-lost lanky leggings to speed off in feathered reaches, leafy wanderer?” his calm infested deadpan flesh repels halibut the gruel professional hookahs, ant he noses ‘em outa their sidewalk grotto pancake pouts easier than sunrise concurs with matey Massivehippie Rivet’s full reflective slurried face in Lucidana’s Deltoid dawn.

LL-25 just smiles and glitters early morning flashgun lobotic wax pulpit grease-gun wink, pops the trapdoor, deftly swallows Clem from Rotation Alley conveyor belt sidewalk drift to queued confabulatory hustling tank a floor below in musty wading rheumy octane genuflecting mating line. He flakes a number of retroactive shingles for perpendicular analyses, clears the shiny bar, hits disrobing sequence, picked to pickled harpsichord in tonal radiation, standing sodden naked schnockered on pre-shoot forgeries of wiggy highlight mosh pit ketchup-watching zeal.

“Keeps arousal’s plover fetch aggrandized highball statutory pairings, wad with canned stunt pasture raid of plush lobotic beauties, slowly pause here ad my window, shaving trendy fast propels us all from slipshod slow commotion crest to fuel autistic yardarm stupor soar,” Kabuki casual observes to fallow crass mates, encased in traction spume, readied for furious lunch.

Mowing slouch preliminaries, Kabuki stands negated, assembled lung weed endless row of whaling men intent on pure lobotic rust release in servile satisfaction gradient of constant wartime freedom, penultimate grail’s lonely enema retreat. 

LL-25’s atop him now in slo-mo interstitial mound of dueling alligator trappings, blushing matched illegible reducing broth to conned incredulous ingredients of whirled and widening oxen carts in feudal disarray’s engorging postal cramming paginated overflow with hairline whereabouts in dateline giblet chasm hordes of rug burn bliss for natal disregard, inspecting eyelid retinue notation’s frost retrieval, clamoring for pyramidal fiords of clots, orgasmic tone impinging from the cyborg’s missing arse.

And now Kabuki bites the capillary tooth line puncture, swallows hard his time-reversal loop instantiation gel, immediately swivels down with LL-25 to retrogasmic slippage shoot and triggers slo-mo colocation cream to run along her silken floss. 

They’re tumbling off assembly grid to timeline private corridor for extra balls in overtime of unclocked graphical entrancement trip mache. He manages to break off fragmentation tempo blast to leave them stranded then for hours no doubt till daybreak cleanup crew resolves the pyre of paradoxical temporal flak. He’s buried his face where any bile-flooded hulled Americon meal wood instinctively deposit it…

Course there’s shamefully no privacy in this whirled of time drug usury and Clem’s connection’s patently weighted all contingencies for this chance to hijack LL-25 in full erratic undertow for slo-mo interred rotation of her own -- yes her -- drat concocted connection’s mossy defiled at least a she, perhaps a she-bot, nuanced noses scan not hotel mastiff stereotypes or penitentiary tongue nest gyrations in feebly abandoned autistic temptress dirigible divulging sense parades. 

Antler hoot, connected feline time-drag dealer trips a switching spansule, plopping from Waxycan, Days Ago compartment to Dread Light District tryst in heartfelt beat cop flicker, deftly lifts timed frozen LL-25 from Clem’s collapse and takes awash undie wiggled slide, wad weed Clem safely stashed in pauseway pallet term for subliminal sequenced retrieval addled slated crime in slow-culled future.

Sewn from hetero to giggling curls extravaganza, LL-25’s enjoying ivory turnstile hop of turgid torpedo strudel flop this oh-so-fried hurtling morning. Even her lobotic intellect can’t quite parse this newly bound interloper’s secreted identity, though varied notions of self obtain in time drug spheroid entrĂ©e sway. Shaven so, tummies shun mired vision’s clod of hindered fistulas and garden variety croutons.

Treason timed rugs are banned from Hamsterdamaged Dread Light auction; whale, eat’s situations chest like dish. Now LL-25’s hashed senselessly outa time, on plausibly one-way bet mossy likely sampling fairy lung drowned-trip ducat through axed seeding leas and sentry seas of Elmo’s spurtingly furtively stun-mop orgasmic and preppily orgiastic delectation. 

Whale chesty shamble a smallish subway shed of her infinite loop, weed fiend of daft hollowing: Myopia’s finest parlance trickles, black through Moldy Groping Umpire’s palatial chattel, streaking pint as Moan d’Aardvark to shaving Hypatia’s lovely flame, teleporting Oleg’s Androidal library to…

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Silk Road Mantra

by Suchoon Mo

bury me not

in the lone Silk Road

I go and go

from west to east

I go and go

from east to west

bury me not

in the lone Silk Road


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