[zygote]

Man, utterly ruined by libraries and museums ruled by a fearful logic and wisdom, is of absolutely no more interest to be given. So abolish him in literature when written. Replace him with matter, whose essence must be grasped by flashes of intuition.

ABSTRACT DESCRIPTION OF AN ORCHESTRAL PERFORMANCE.

Whirlwind-man-bird attracting the crowd, swinging claw-feet dragged through the ground as tractor and oxen fight how the grassland is ploughed, scare-crow-wheatfield standing magnanimous proud, an audience speaks creating rapturous sounds when thunderclapping the clouds, sheets interrupt and fathomed aloud, stages locked and captured profound. An intense wait overnight, shadows on shrouds as drapes levitate via poltergeist, freeze under weight of the polar ice, passively bound glacial immobilized, orders drilled for the training of soldier types, bayonets raised up to shoulder height, barbedwire psalm-choir played where the notes reside. Ships ran it aground start-fire with an alchemist blend, oversized mortar-horns soundoff in the trench, out of sight out of mind into cloudcover ascent. Glorious-gods that look down on the dead, ratsacked the town a Little Albert of dread, the outermost ledge of a mountain of flesh, an oversight expounding on threats, unnoticed life before timing-out and reset. Back and around to the mammal-like pests behind vaulted doors, notarized dormant force, a bounce in its step totally overhauled, an exhausted bore drawing water from a chorus call, born for slaughter on the forest floor, sharp-flats its countenance clenched conquistadors the amalgams reject. its something physicists and chemists can never do, notescale resembles ledgers and revenue, shrill and dissonant sounds hard boiled and charbroiled, the trombones arm coiled like a gargoyles, farms toil through dark soil for collection of palm oil. From now on, the heat of a piece of iron or wood interests us more passionately than a smile or tears. Survive for years when silence feared. inside a pictures-less frame, backwards we crawl into a vision of fame from a position of pain. is it a game? mental disintegration again, last week was my suicide note, zygote is dead, you thought it was some kind of joke. nope, evolution into Zygomaticus Major – because that’s the muscle im using when I get to read all of the leagues participant's papers.