Asemic Greeting Card – Cubomania

Salutations ! Avoid quiet conversations….. Always turn off Sousaphone and increase your slab. A little bra avoids the traditional temporal Sous Brass and relishes it here. Something is transcendental if it plays a role in the way in which the mind “constitutes” objects and makes it possible for us to experience them as objects in the first place.

Enjoying the copy of the Categorical Proposition Equation & Cubomania Codex of Saint Cumebyah. Look forward to seeing you at our next Cordillian !


becoming a unicorn – a dialogue

I’ve had Christmas cards addressed “To Vicky and them”!


I was called “the Ottoman Empire”!


I live alone. My name is Bernadette, damn it !


Will you return after restarting, even if you jailbreak with checkm8 ?


Been up since 4:45a.m., convinced myself the carbon monoxide low battery sound meant I was going to die. In retrospect, I realize that acoustic ecology has a lot in common with melodies that alternate cold and adhesive moisture.


Today is the anniversary my extraordinary mother left this earth. She was special. Becoming a unicorn, to acquire suspiciously attractive cultural understanding, so as not to be deceived by science, was her true passion.


Qalandar means something between a wise saint and a rank charlatan.


Her scrivener chants of innocuous dreams.


Just answer me my love. Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?


I congratulated him on his speech – he smiled – as a masterpiece of hypocritical bullsh*t. He stopped smiling. His mouth was a squashed caterpillar, an unfulfilled promise of Spring.


I think it’s out-rages with obsequious fawning oranges……

Before it had Cleric’s value. Only sticky and thin are closely related .


Take me to the river; wann hast du deinen Himmel verlor’n ?


What is your favourite work of translation?


Sleep as a Perception of Otter Tone Pram, translated by Indigo Fragmattah.


I only have one question. When will we see the transcripts of Fore Inn and Blotto Manual ?


Mittagspause? Slightly better resolution than Europeana – alarming, I have a colourful publisher.


The Hogmanai style of sleep, rather than flatness, elucidates time and epicontinental cyclical frigid and tenacious atmosphere that wears resistance.


Hogmanai style often sleeps, rather than flatness in some bland time. See, the sand rises in epic continental sighs! Please wear your resistance in the garden tonight.


Mixed registry artists dancing in the halls can come to the party. They are serving chitlins and crêpes suzettes.


The humidity in the air, with the impenetrable nature of the improbable artists, stretches a few miles, and is the most subjective of the crash.


Improbable artists stretch over a few miles; it is mostly subjective crashing into the glass dreams.


Poplars and their leaves, tender, smooth to the fingers, and a secret in their smell rise to the mountain tops.

I have forgotten scenes from exquisite graveyards.


Sleep, fast enough for implicit vocabulary from another boardwalk – the pretzel vendor wept when the mustard jar fell upon the pavement.


Scary, as I explore the inter-relationship between bats and colourful newspaper hats, its enchanting naivete are as supreme and unapproachable as a cubic box that slides towards the lily pond instead of a celebratory gathering of whispers.


Dancing together is clearly a vocabulary.


Love comes to explore.


Some people have a cold.


That alone makes the registry humid. Please do a lot.


Usually along a wall, forming an open fronted inner circle hinting at the growing air.


Hear screen clearly, as the humidity partitions impenetrable nature. It reminds me of my aunt’s cat – skeletons have been dancing people to their graves since at least 1424.


Old thousand kissed loans sleep barest – enough watermelons and feta cheese to cherish in quiet moments. I’m always drawn to isolated bus stops. Another promenade is planned. No idea why.


Look at what is inevitable. Which partition implicitly smells in the air ?


The wall was flat with toes.


Been to a broch?


Colourful is a trendy and stylish style.The ecology of listening is mostly a secret sandy garden, forgetting the secret of spending the night with vocabulary.


It is possible to put it out of reach. Some scientists are positive.


It is possible to put it out beyond night’s shoreline. It’s about employers. Are there any pretzels left ?


Are the best art of Hoary mailmen located miles away? Try the banana souffle.


Inwardly, the interrelationship of newspapers makes orchids seek the sunlight; the subtext is clear. The first moment quickly made the mountain of dreams smooth and languorous.


Open a retrospective page about sleep on a subjective screen – a stairway descends into in a Venice canal.

Is the hint I have together clearly a vocabulary?

Mixed registry of artists, juxtaposed worlds full of images….. Key chain of worn-out bones.


Then let us make a collage of our souls with mustard and tears.




Text material gathered from Twitter & related links. Google translate and Text Manipulation software tools used in creating dialogue.


this is where Kitka sits – Flarf Twitter poem

While checking links, and exploring literary terms, I came across Flarf Poetry & Google Sculpting. These more recent poetry forms & poetic techniques derive from found poetry, collage poetry, and cut-up text. The distinction is that sources & methodology uses the internet search engines to discover text.

For the following composition, I selected lines from Twitter posts that showed up from those I followed, combined with those found by using random word searches on Twitter.  Some lines were in other languages & went through some translation(s) using software.  The finished piece is not very Flarfy, depending on how strictly you follow the definition (see links above to go down the rabbit hole & use this link for examples) .

I selected  some of my asemic collages & oven pan abstracts as accompanying illustrations.

Over the past week,

we’ve learned a great deal


the lone source

of every copy of this image

on the internet…….



The sequence of events makes it clear:

Beds, blankets, shelves, tables, chairs,

corroded ottomans,

Ghosts on a Tree…

but this is where Kitka sits.

My friend needed help getting over the fence,

because things like train tickets

are not meant to last a lifetime.

Clouds gather over the teapots;

it seems there are many broken things

this afternoon.

The table in front of the window

fascinates me so.

It’s like the frying oil

poured into the flowerbed.

The great endeavours are naked.

The same is true for literacy.

When I was in danger of Life,

I didn’t think of those deleterious details.

Now – I think of Death in its Entirety,

the End of Everything,

or the Return

– if you like –

in a form that

– no, I don’t care for strudel –

when you think you see glowing eyes

looking at you at night,

you wonder if it might be a wolverine.