After the crowd danced in a frantic fandango, Margrette-Yllaine died of a heart attack. According to interplanetary instructions, his body was placed in a small boat, tied to a lily with one hand, and the last letter in an unknown language covered the Mother-eye. He promised not to be a rain-forest in evening shadows. Then, for a year, he washed the river out into the yard every day – protecting the mouth of the neon radish as it opened to the brazen sea.
Sometimes the size of the weeping flea was ten pastures – there was an empty field where the green and yellow parrot hangs in the cage behind the Doors of January. The wheat sighs when the doors swing open at three. The banjo band repeats itself in the moonlight somewhere, somehow, but this stops with the end of the world’s last tear.
The talkative girl crossed the steam-trolley tracks, reaching the sweltering sidewalk on the vaporous side of the venomous viaduct, as the guilt gilded sun slouched behind a gargling steeple. There were neither dwellings nor pork-pies near the faded fandangle; only leer-some warehouses and cloistered causeways of discomforting gossip guttering. And save for a greying group of roughly dressed mimes loitering languidly behind the flagman’s sinuous shanty, there were few people with umbrellas near the tumultuous crossing of tears. Her overlap insulted an intrinsic complaint – sanguine swallows and swans in hyperbole .
The over-curved crystalline cage grassed-gathered the pupil’s gaze. His wide winsome wonder panted in pantomime beneath the hundred trumpets of tempered silence. An unambiguous union sheltered the foot in tender shadows, as the clouds pushed their roots across the shifting sky. How can such shimmering worked royal plumage permit a mass medium’s measured message? It was at such times that the callous calendar populates a pontificated chicken roost of metaphysical success, while in the distance, trembling faint laughter danced on the meandering breeze, like a peppercorn between the teeth.
Bringing in the head of an Argentinian musician could ban Argentine music. The Pine Year Tragedy trains parents’ skulls in the desolate desert plague department. A movie with a scene where Many Yearlong Raptured Maize nods her head – East and West tones conveyed in every space in a conscious wavelength. Summers were simpler in those days. A Spanish Theorem memory I was born with was the Aspen Clay Shrimp Tower. The Nostalgia Moaning was a remarkable fusing of blues music and mixed media cabaret. Personally, that head is having a hard time winning a tennis racket! It resembles instinctive ethics. And he has a cat on a soft baseball court. It was a surreal segue into the first snowfall, and a blend of pointillism, cubism, and syncopated poetry. The children would dance in the halls, on hose days.
by Jacques Ohm Le Quig’Miresen.
Palindrome Picayune Press 2021.
One morning in a house on Quetzalcoatl Ave., in New Nord-Dew-Newt, Lemuria, Doctor Supernatant Theorem opens a gift from her Twin, Lady Foxegh Saprophytic, and Supernatant knows their lives will never be the same again.
Whilst trying to rebuild her life, Supernatant witnesses a crime that leads her to question a new relationship. She becomes obsessed with enigmatic stranger Thongor De Analogies. What is his connection to Foxegh, and why has he turned up now?
Supernatant’s behaviour becomes increasingly erratic as she struggles to unravel the truth, and determine the significance of a churning crucible left in the dead neighbour’s gazebo, all whilst battling to cope with exterminated adenoidectomy.
Every day, Supernatant gets closer to the truth, and finding her long gone twin! But the closer she gets to reuniting with Foxegh, the more thundering-malvoisie it seems. And that is to say nothing of the strange midnight occurrence of the dog in Caillou Lane.
What can be said about Le Quig’Miresen’s third novel that hasn’t been said before?
mourning in a house full of static claumey,
steeple shadows cling to clustering souls.
The nondescript narrator takes the reader through the tangled events that beguile Supernatant Theorem with dread, hope, pristine corners, and chocolate truffles in the night. Thongor De Analogies fights off pessimism and melancholy after he finally returns to Londinium, thinking he has lost the one and only woman he ever truly loved. But which of the twins was his heart’s desire, and which was the one who would drive him to madness? All the clues are there, for those seeking an answer.
A music video is a short film or video, of variable length, that integrates a song or album with imagery that is produced for promotional or artistic purposes. Modern music videos are primarily made and used as a marketing device intended to promote the sale of music recordings. There are also cases where songs are used in tie-in marketing campaigns that allow them to become more than just a song.
Using a wide range of styles and contemporary video-making techniques, including animation, live-action, and non-narrative approaches such as abstract film, music videos can become surreal pieces of art that convey cultural values, beliefs, and ideologies. Their dreamscape reality opens up expression of cultural iconography, stereotypes, clichés, as well as universal archetypes.
Pushing past the limits of language, they speak about affirmation, universal desires and hopes, in a dreamscape governed by song and dance, symbols and metaphors.
These hopes and fears sing,
now transcending space and time –
dance to the music.
Bongo Flava is a blend of American hip-hop, afrobeat and traditional Tanzanian musical styles, including taarab and dansi (Swahili: “dance music“). While it is influenced by American hip-hop and R&B, it is quickly distinguished from it with strong drums specific to Tanzanian music. The name translates loosely to the “flavour of Tanzania,” as bongo is a common nickname of the capital of the country, Dar Es Salaam. SOURCE:Beats Without Borders