The following is a remixed fairytale under construction. Enjoy
Deerunk upon way over maybe aboat thirteen cups for aboat thirteen months of a Kullendar, i guess eye was stumbling cristcrossin the bayouliffeystour outside the steppin stones pub, skippin cyclikal snare circle’s beneath nine babblin brooklynn bbbrownstone marrone-castagnu colored chestnut arches of the Liffeystour viaduct. Looking skylyke at starrysporia near lye town lyk – eye woz dayzed and derrunk, kungfused together with euphoria and i sed aloft –
“Oh wow Lady dee!
look at the stars man
Plop. Swurlysquirl. shheeeteyez fell into tigerskin-water, wetsox snakeflow. Oh no. Suckling vortexs pulling me under, Steerbridge undercurrents got a hold ov my heart now, no escaping love currents; strong and sturrdy. i’m a wet muffin.
“Death alive!” i thought,”i’ll be drowndeadderunken sunk silly me for sure! Swimmajikicking, Nuotare, Zwemmen, swommen, swimmin for me dear old flylyf. Armies twizzlynn; windmilling cedar branch after branch, covered in rusty salmon flesh and fuzzy dark guinness hair; beaver coffee toffee syrup fur. “Where’s my ferry man? don’t let me drown and visit the deepdead river soul’s, oh lord no, i must swim upinfinite stream then”
Summerhow eye manage to scramble ashore from churning miss Leafystar, shocked from headcold to foottoestitoes – confronted with a knu re:historic landbrushedscape, way way way before the end of the beginning of zepwynetymepiss, or so it feels to my frozen clotted-memoryburgs.
Cartoony bullbust above the whorizon-axis hung she – giganormous milky southern knocker of skypot. Peeping out through a kraftykut peephole in the starbra spandangled, blackbody background stage-curtain. “Oh’ laydee deedubs.” To the nord, est, ovest and sud eye gandid, nothing but bogclogga muckamuck and stale clay everywhence.
Bogboggeybhongbhangpuckpocketpouchpucaphookabolgamuckablagbagginz. Phoukin ell, I maybe stuck in bogscape for all eternity, Oh Shyty! Skratchin me yed with azure river pucapickled flingerpickers i blurted out me gob; helluva singing and boogie lyelabyebyes. Ode to our ladies grace!
ouch! felt lyek struckaneen or sumert took old of me gutter pouch and churned my inside tides aboat – tideturned – moonblender on a boat in my jellywhalebelly, i could feel my easter egg up-rising, it was early December in San Franstarburg, I‘m turning sickly bewildered, cramped and i’m wonderinglord what to do? and wonderinglord where blue tidalfeelings inside wood lead me if i started wearing more blue colored clothing and effects? My attention was highjacket by this very great grande full-cream knocker in the sky, in a thunderflash it had turned bluack. Blueberry sauce moonrivers bluack had bustbursted their butter blew wack bank’s and flooded her apple breasted surface with inky thick hues. Phuckin weirdmate, im tellin ya. We erd.
Moving fast, scrambled glitch descending from herveins; alianstrange, unfamiliar, utterly boglingus tin dazzle kamikazequetzalconda. Flaming technicolor. Sun blazing against piercing eyes. Bananananda legbeak yellow bus. Babies buttock capped his slick head. Very Slowly, as it drew nearer, the u.f.o morphed burningbirdish; battle of the planets ish, balded burningbird of fire scream creaming TzolkienParker bopplyk. Loud squarkin phukoff terrordragonbatadactals. Just behind this sonosovereign of providence the ghost of ‘Jimmy Hendrix fades into being; Mahatmamishmashmavishnukali Arckestral manuvers; raga sagas upon myndstage for a split secund; Sparking up his parafinn smuthered axe. A phantom dreamy Hendrix Just beginning to scream:
“Hot dam and hell fire, if six was nine!”
Swooping swooshdown the dinosaur gracefully lands next to me, looks me full in the moonlightface, So close. Eye cd/ clearly read the mottogandha shaved – wurrldsteel – upon hir crestnuts. “Wee the People of the Euroknighted States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this constitution for the Euroknighted States of Amirrorkle.”
Without using spokewords, eye communicated through dreamypalelogic many spinning cyclesaga’s of tymetrouble to the giant chickenlookin chuckchuck. Revolutionary Kullendear. Drunken turkey flyfall buzzed buzzard severnlyf brooks splashing, swimtripkick ashore, freestyle to bogpockland, severn county titles and choirs slungsongs; bewilderdead depressed lost lonely blues now, hopelessly lost, baby lion lynn, burried kittens mudpiemound dribble pillow lusty – ow phuk i’m pissed. The letter i messed up.
“Flyni,” squarked the dinosaur. After a lungful thought moment, “I’ll fly you right out of this stinking inferno. I got wings flinn i-boypod buddy, look at these.”
“All right! that sounds great, thanks man,” i spurted; beastrode the fliyebirdee; wondering why the firebird chose to speak english to me? and if a bird was able to learn languages somehow, which would it choose primarily, and why? Enochian? Irish Gaelic? Greek? Eyetal? Portchugeese?
Up and up we flew in quicktime clock-blue air. High, hoog, alto, up and up zoomin quick as berries.
“Where we eddin, sur ?” i said, as we flew over lyekingsfordbridge
“Hold your lymee tongue, fli, mind your own dizziness, and don’t be interfering with the commercio of others now.”
” Gli affari sono affari” eye imagined
“Shush flyangelo,” says the flamebird
So i bit my murmelen and held on tight.
Sleek and baldhead as kojack, with tagliente-blonde talons, still
gripping an olive branch and some arrows, he flew onward alla two dwar. Those piercing oogs reminded me memory of the stunning seal of the SicklyStatisticks of Amirikle. Something seems to be askyouwiffy, this strange bird and his motto. How can a bird possibly carry my weight and the Escutcheon, and a scroll? No wonder it skritches lyke that lucy, poor buzzards – overloaded and overbirdened – overgrown and over woostershe:her now. “Oh my goodness” Together we flew on thin air, and the firebird talked and talked…and he went on and on like a broken looping phonograph record; and we flew to my greatest astonishment, all the way up to Lady daybookreader hershelf.
“Flyni,” said the burred, “im tired after flying; get off me and sit down on the moon until i rest myself awhile. Hang onto that vadjra thunderookfinn sticking out the side of the moon over there, see it?”
“No way man, i’d flail ‘n fall again, that would be twice and Christ, i would be smashed to smitherrunes on the hard earth below; flat as a pancake, split like humpty O’raysiris. Djed eye would be, Deada thon a snail impaled on a doornail.”
“Not at all, Flyknee,” said he; “Catch hold of that hook and hang out a while, go on get off me now. Now”
“i wanna go ohm for phuck’s sake, that’s all.”
“Maybe flyni, Maybe.” bawled the bald hawk
“Foul bloody flirebird,” i said under my breath, in a sly black kuntree-eyerash dialcentuated cypher, for fear he’d know wot i said. Eye got off his back with my heavy heart, took a hold of the sharkhookfinn, and squatted down upon the great creamy space bub, contemplating telepathic jazz flatted seventh vamps in F#.
“Good morning to you, Flyni,” said the bird, wings fanned out, picturesque, spanish, spanning blackdrop slilver sunmu’n sparkle of spandangled outerstella regions. For a brief moment i grokked the whole seal – obverse and perversely spreadeadoggled – turning in the luce affinity between transvestcentdented stars and the familiar earthstar below. The precious metalmoony affinitea between star’s and sterlingling. Panspermia and panning for gold, spanning the galaxy for mold so i wos told
“I am the wings of providence and karma, here’s your manifest drama for taking my offspring from their nest, you stole my eggs remember flyni, remember those egg’s?”
“Ugly Amerikaanse eland, is this the way you serve me at last?
Mansteen! You really are a bird of pray! Faith, Il tempo e denaro. Arrrgh. Zeeduivel. U-bent devil!
My funny babble woz no use – sounded out of context and could have been delivered with more subtle nest – he spread out his mckarmic wings and burst out laffin, flying and laughing away he flew. I sungslang after him with my candy sweet lyelabye’s and bellard’s, chillin on one leg that he would return sun. Dolore…sorrow flippinfly awayz with him. Go on blues be gone. I don’t want you no more.
Stuck inside another pickle jar with Dutch pekelen i cryed and zang zouten tears for fears of grief, “why me? why fli?” i blurted. All at once a leak sprung in the middle of the moon, out the leak came oozing liquid mirrorstuff, swirling misteariousflee swurly half cream. Gooing morph started forming pickledographs in front of me oogs; forming the dude in the moony, eye knu im by his long lookin gray chin, and his cheesy cracked dry smile.
“Good next week to you, Flyni. Wot’s up with yourself?”
“Not much,” i harped, rather calmly.
“What in the world brought you out here to the moon Flyni?”
So, i reeled out my tongue twisted tale; i wuss a tinkle pissed dronken on maybe tirteen grails of sealsons and suns finest brew; slipped and fell into the river Liffeystour; swam for me lyf and then became stranded on a re:historick islandbrushscape. I continued to wind and weave my multistory with extra luminous details and spiritual outsights aboat the sung i singh and the rockthrone, which i had perched upon to think, and how i lost my way in the phooken boggaclog, and also i added how the slybird of prayer promissed to fly me out of it, but instead highjacked-me-up to the big boob, while telling me all about the firebird suite and how his Eagle brother was in the milliterry, and how they were planning to highjacket the moon very soon.
“Flyni, you must not stay here.” said the loony critter
“Eye don’t wanna be here man! did you hear what i just said? i was
kidnapped and brought here against my will by this crazy bird! yo, how am i gunner get back ohm tu buggeridge man? I know i must leave, but tell me moondude – how shall i go?
“That’s your bizzinesst, bee off in less than no tyme!” snapped the grumpy cheeseball. “Flyem doin no arm ere sur, only holding on fo my dear lyf by this vajrafinn ooky, i don’t wanna fall to morto and be splatted tommatoe”
“That’s what you must not do, flyni.”
“im not let tin go mi hold you phoukin moonatrick. I’ll be djedead wunt eye.”
Without a word he pulls out a massive crooked Qcumber from hiss crack house and gives two bhang’s on the sharkfinn huck which wuz oldin me up, and wallop! – it split’s in twice.
“Good morning to you Flyni,” the spiteful old moonguy sez, as he watches me fall, rolling, tumbling, zwerverin clappers with half a vadjra tight in my grasp, falling Luce. Again. Moksha.
“Ghod alp me” i mumbled, on my decent to the unknown, again. Must i flie to stay awake?
And no sooner had these wurds left my lips unto the air that whizzum – what should fly by my earwig but a fluck of whirled geese, all the way from me ohm town boggeridge, how else could they have know me? The old gander who was their general turned his noggin and cried out to me;
“Is that you flyni?”
“The samesame,” said eye, not a bit fluxed at what he said for flyni was, by this time, experienced with bewilderment, phase, verbijstering, trickery, drunkenness, hallucination and surprise. Besides, i knew him from back in the daze before tyme. It felt like we were brothers for a moment, bonded by birth placenter.
“Falling falling fallen you are, Flyni,” says he
“An understate-ment your honor!”
“And where on earth are you going so fast?” said the commander gander, since i just noticed his stripes, so i unfolded to him flibagins snake charm; too much woest worden honingsap, the fall, the swim to isola re:historica, stuck in the stinking muckapucka, and the flagming struisvogel thief who flew me up to the moonmiller while rappin ronin strange axis stories of his vortex brother in the barmyarmy who planned to take over the under udder with a fabulose race of ‘Princess Annuki Chicken Hawk Eagllette’s, and how the spiteful old moldy dudemoon man, who should have been a woman called Dianna, snapped the kalkamandollardajra with his crooked Qcumber which was keeping me up and sent me tumbledumpty down bouwvallig; sovereign sungold coin flung dropped wishingwell.
“Flyni,” said he, “I’ll save your sorry ass, grab onto my legs and i’ll stop you falling any further.”
“Sweet, dolce is your hand in a pitcher of honigsap, my gioiello,” says i, and grabbed the gander by the leg and we flew off fast as gofast with the rest of a six pack or dozen wildeyed muther flockers.
We flew and flied and volair and flown and vliger and flew, till we came right over the wyde oceaan blu. Where the phook am i going now i thought, where to? The Ocean of potion, the knu whirred Wu?
“Fly to terra, fli to land, if you please. Sir!”
“it’s impossible flyni, because you see we are flocking to Slyberrya. We all like to koryack around june 21st each year.”
“Cyberia! that’s phunkin month’s away, in some foreign part of the world, it’s gonna tek us yonkers mon, i just wanna go Ohm, please take me ohm.”
“Hold your flipping tongue,”
Once more pleading for my dear lyf i pray for Amirrorkle and sure as war an oil tanker sailed into sight below us, carrying stolen loot from the miggle est back to Amirickle i guess.
“Can you just drop me off here on the oil tanker Gandhi mate?” i asked.
“if you must, you must, i think you have mist it though. There you go…take your own way – and don’t call me gandhi again flyni, all right,”
With that he opened his claw, dropping me down to the blackpirate tinkertanker below. Sure as day i missed the boat and came down sploshington into illicHcilli oceanpond, sinking down through the churning asparagus broth schimen, down, deep downgreen emerald, falling lucifer mossrocks, eye gave up on myself then forever, when, out of the ruddy hulk warters a porpoise came swamming right close up to me, right up close enough to kiss me, and i think i might while she’s skratchin her blow hole, and stretching her finns out after a good nights sleep i bet, yeah, she looked me full in the face with some Hunab ku transcendent oogles and never a word of English she did say – thank goodness – but, lifting up her tail, she splashed me all over again with cold salt water, the wet stuff, not the words here; until there wore a dry stitch upon my boggysoggy carcass. I remembered the firebird and how he reached my mind without words with them pickledgraffs, and i was beginning to receive signals from the dolphin about spacetimespace and outermindbrainplace things and holographic thoughtfacetime stuff, then i heard a distinctive angel’s voice, slightly pissed in the murky distance; a voice and tone i mecognized.
“Wake up stephan you lazy phuka!”
There she was – a man eater – splashing agua all over me hop-stinking carcuss, my beautiful wyf had metamorphosed from a mermaid into a raging bullhound alarm clock. I was ringing wet.
“Get up, stand up!”
“Why do you lye under them ould walls of boggarigapooka huh? it’s such a mucky stinking baga wind. Honeysap maybe the death of you Stephan…one of these daze you’ll stay drunken sleepin and never wake agen! Never in a month of sun days will you learn your lesson from them moonshine bird brewers.
Spun from an Irish fairy tale about Daniel O’ Rourke, collected in County Cork by Thomas Crofton Croker (1870)
Re:mixed by Fly Agaric23/Acrillic
Copyleft 21:12:2012 Fly Agaric 23