The exquisite corpse, horatio holds up an x-ray of a twisted skull shape, beams from the light filter through and overlay onto his face. His sunglasses are removed to reveal the red, ravaged eyes of a soldier.
Weekend. Shapes spiral and run amongst each other like the squirming sargasso sea, the urge to gnash. The reincarnation and replacement for you is alive and well most likely. Alternative dimensions lived out in plain sight. Murder. Blowtorched plastic face moulds smoke in the empty cities. Attempting to change the environment and not eating meat. He force fed animals lipstick.
Don't carry it around in your hands, make sure to pack it safely away onto a two dimensional infosphere. Rock and roll, man. Loose cut foot. Duchampian wedding shards laid on the floor. He tilts his head to push the sunglasses back up. The alpha and the omega. "I'm walking here!" 1926, Philadelphia.
The body lies on the sheets lit by a redhead. Flaws and perfections remain slotted together seemlessly. Black lines emanate from the hips, beneath the ribs, the nipples, the corners of the shoulders, along each thigh, streaming out across the vision like tape. The play button is pressed on a dictaphone so that it plays a speech about overpopulation. It is then rewound and recorded over with a joke about a truck driver.
