Uchromnesis 1.1
1 "A body is in trouble"
A force through the Narcaine. I sleep green dreams, furiously. They said it would be black and I wouldn't sense a thing. No pinprick in movie cardboard backgrounds. No noise.
My cells hold taught struggle like broken bricks. I want to tell the paramedics I can hear them.
2 time without colour
We walk flesh and shape through the crypt.
The sandstone slab of the altar. Chalice. Mutters are heard. You tell me it's dark in here. You're breathing funny. It's musty for me too.
There are no symbols bar the smell of wet books and stone. The drip and the moss rise and fall. A spotlight with no source beams showing the dust as snow. You walk through the wall and I follow. I haven't told you I loved you since the last time I saw you.
3 Delayed Precursor
Photos of you at Nelson Bay marina. A photo of us somewhere I can't say because you'd lose your job. It's not anything wild or illegal.
An electrical shock goes through my neck and shoulders.
A partial image of you trafficks through my ribcage.
"Let's whack 'em again"
I'm laughing in my stomach. The crystal I'm caught in, glass chains catch on the muscle flexes.
3 undocumented operations
Wilted flowers are laid indiscriminately. Some are scattered as if in revolt. A globular stomach excavates away from the table. The fluoro lights of all the screens lapping through closed eyelids. I am being opened up. A nozzle sprays finely.
The water is waking me but I am sick to retching point. All words in sensation. Every skin pore becomes an iron ring I breathe through. For this moment I am all surface. I can't feel me anymore.
This injection feels like a big dollop of toothpaste through a surgical needle. Any purer and I'll OD with confidence and not many secrets. My flesh takes in the fluorescence. Under my eyelids is the multiscreen shimmer. They are rotating me on the table.
"Hold on. We're gonna mow this garden here. Get the clippers Lawrence."
The fluoro is freezing.
How paralysed I'm becoming. Abstracted crosswires.
Here, being held aloft by four wheeled legs. This stomach bloats. The skin has gone sheet blank. I am about 20ft tall. I am facing up taking in the sun or a ceiling fan in at a nondescript hospital.
4 Reassemblages
My liver function is of a 64 year old. 20 years older than I am. 44. What's a number? I ask the doctor. "Inappropriate affect" she writes. 44 scares me as a visual and in numerology. 4 is Shi in Japanese. This is the same as death. Imperfect transnumeric.
Our number's come up. Twin sails in the sunset. Two axes. Graphene catamarans and slipstreams. Island life is worth living. Tropic of Paradise. My memories quarantined.
Outside, the sky has aged.
A number is a consistent transplant the clinicians are saying.
It's a metonymy from lines in the sand or the coastline itself lit by an aerial beacon by mappers. Somewhere's there is an interface. Nature is mathematics and bubbles forth from within.
A loop. Spheres. Geometry in nature. Geometry as nature.
Perimeters begin to appear. I can hear every human that has ever lived chattering in these conics. I am being ferried.
5 Retrosynthesis
The room is dark and it's day. I hear my breathing and words spoken by me and others. There's not an open mouth to be seen.
I got challenged to remember everything.
Like a connective purification and gel-igniting a vault. I go back to what I imagine my conception was like. Glint in the sperm. Another axe. Another street drain.
Recollecting my comet pre-existence under the moon and other glands of the cosmos.
The idea only is black with absinthe fay green circling, flaming and then it clones and that collapses on its side, flat. Still as the grass outside from here. Meiotic amnio external duplex of trust and nothing else. I reject the return to today as the same person. I and vertical identity.
Run recognition algorithm and dental records through the electronic records. Bit by bit, particle unmanifest, wave, the dynamic foil. The shelved array as timed identity.
Here I am two, the past and now, both at times plan for at least some days in advance - cracking jokes at xrays.
The process may have never occurred without affliction. those who wear hubris as gowns laugh at a distance and wail in private. I could've done without so much danger
The bone powdered I've breathed in convexes like cloud genetics. less the threat of death, more arising with instruments.
It's a field of the grass outdoors receiving seed by a love-winged wind and pan-anemophily. The grass outdoors and I am green vortices in pre-existent black, stamped and bound on this swapped material.
A force through the Narcaine. I sleep green dreams, furiously. They said it would be black and I wouldn't sense a thing. No pinprick in movie cardboard backgrounds. No noise.
My cells hold taught struggle like broken bricks. I want to tell the paramedics I can hear them.
2 time without colour
We walk flesh and shape through the crypt.
The sandstone slab of the altar. Chalice. Mutters are heard. You tell me it's dark in here. You're breathing funny. It's musty for me too.
There are no symbols bar the smell of wet books and stone. The drip and the moss rise and fall. A spotlight with no source beams showing the dust as snow. You walk through the wall and I follow. I haven't told you I loved you since the last time I saw you.
3 Delayed Precursor
Photos of you at Nelson Bay marina. A photo of us somewhere I can't say because you'd lose your job. It's not anything wild or illegal.
An electrical shock goes through my neck and shoulders.
A partial image of you trafficks through my ribcage.
"Let's whack 'em again"
I'm laughing in my stomach. The crystal I'm caught in, glass chains catch on the muscle flexes.
3 undocumented operations
Wilted flowers are laid indiscriminately. Some are scattered as if in revolt. A globular stomach excavates away from the table. The fluoro lights of all the screens lapping through closed eyelids. I am being opened up. A nozzle sprays finely.
The water is waking me but I am sick to retching point. All words in sensation. Every skin pore becomes an iron ring I breathe through. For this moment I am all surface. I can't feel me anymore.
This injection feels like a big dollop of toothpaste through a surgical needle. Any purer and I'll OD with confidence and not many secrets. My flesh takes in the fluorescence. Under my eyelids is the multiscreen shimmer. They are rotating me on the table.
"Hold on. We're gonna mow this garden here. Get the clippers Lawrence."
The fluoro is freezing.
How paralysed I'm becoming. Abstracted crosswires.
Here, being held aloft by four wheeled legs. This stomach bloats. The skin has gone sheet blank. I am about 20ft tall. I am facing up taking in the sun or a ceiling fan in at a nondescript hospital.
4 Reassemblages
My liver function is of a 64 year old. 20 years older than I am. 44. What's a number? I ask the doctor. "Inappropriate affect" she writes. 44 scares me as a visual and in numerology. 4 is Shi in Japanese. This is the same as death. Imperfect transnumeric.
Our number's come up. Twin sails in the sunset. Two axes. Graphene catamarans and slipstreams. Island life is worth living. Tropic of Paradise. My memories quarantined.
Outside, the sky has aged.
A number is a consistent transplant the clinicians are saying.
It's a metonymy from lines in the sand or the coastline itself lit by an aerial beacon by mappers. Somewhere's there is an interface. Nature is mathematics and bubbles forth from within.
A loop. Spheres. Geometry in nature. Geometry as nature.
Perimeters begin to appear. I can hear every human that has ever lived chattering in these conics. I am being ferried.
5 Retrosynthesis
The room is dark and it's day. I hear my breathing and words spoken by me and others. There's not an open mouth to be seen.
I got challenged to remember everything.
Like a connective purification and gel-igniting a vault. I go back to what I imagine my conception was like. Glint in the sperm. Another axe. Another street drain.
Recollecting my comet pre-existence under the moon and other glands of the cosmos.
The idea only is black with absinthe fay green circling, flaming and then it clones and that collapses on its side, flat. Still as the grass outside from here. Meiotic amnio external duplex of trust and nothing else. I reject the return to today as the same person. I and vertical identity.
Run recognition algorithm and dental records through the electronic records. Bit by bit, particle unmanifest, wave, the dynamic foil. The shelved array as timed identity.
Here I am two, the past and now, both at times plan for at least some days in advance - cracking jokes at xrays.
The process may have never occurred without affliction. those who wear hubris as gowns laugh at a distance and wail in private. I could've done without so much danger
The bone powdered I've breathed in convexes like cloud genetics. less the threat of death, more arising with instruments.
It's a field of the grass outdoors receiving seed by a love-winged wind and pan-anemophily. The grass outdoors and I am green vortices in pre-existent black, stamped and bound on this swapped material.
