astro zithers

if he flaps and gyres his emerald wings and inflates his chryosprase throat pouch to impress you, semaphoring like an ancient pharos, that's a green flag

studies show that the prime numbers are disintegrating, every year there are fewer and fewer, like the mathematico-physical framework of the universe is developing dementia

every night i handfeed you from my dream-vine: persimmalons, floranges that smell like bees, one luminous lemorine. i theophanize as the goddess of vitamin C

simply recruit the tongue of your cortical homunculus for computation and you too can effloresce with divine genius

people occasionally become self-theophanies or a hivemind of angels and sublime up to heaven in a paroxysm of grace

hrorngry is when you're hungry, horny, and reading beowulf

a head bobs up, submerges. puckers part for your spoon, quizzical filaments entwine your fork. oh, you don't want grandma's traditional bioluminestrone?

we're going tesseract, i say, entering the supermarket. hot tesseract buns, hypercube cumbers, tesse rack o lamb, glomegrown tomatoes. for the food pentachoron

there's not a lot of grass here, just the dog park, the astroturf, and the hills of the extinct volcano

real orbs come from the javanese orb-tree, are blessed by vermilion wizards wearing wafflecone hats, and turbocharged with monsoon mojo

outside, stars quiver, lightning hums, green lumens tumble in under-the-breath xylophone cascades. "who's murmuring phosphorescently?" i scream out my bedroom window

i knew him by his salty beard and oozy locks, by the patulous velellas plastered to his nose, and his fleur-de-flotsam crown: the wrecked and mildewed king

i don't always heed the sea's demands, but I did walk to the nightly shore in an organza mantilla and fluorescent lipstick to supplicate primordial ooze

i never figured out how to make the time machine work, but occasionally the box would emit archaic photon granules, lazily drifting sunset hues, or wet ultraviolet light

cherubs are seraphim with holy fire quotas, angels are archangels with lower halo bandwidth, and thrones are rate-limited ophanim

lady of the lake, vixen of the void, damsel of the dark matter, puella of the plasma: the universe teems with strange women extending swords

mermalade is jellified mermaid tail, graded smooth, scaly, or flukey. connoisseurs let jars of orange-tailed minimerm "breathe" overnight, until the swimming settles

i saved all my curliest glyphs for you. "limaçon, lissajous, rosette, harmonogram," i chanted, until your screen buckled into hyperbolic flowers

an original music. not that i'm a proper musician

rem glitch, by Qualiaflow

track by Qualiaflow

eating toothpaste is a sublime experience, like putting your whole mouth on a stained-glass window depicting god's creation of spearmint

why is 6 afraid of 7? because 7's heptamerosity misfolded overnight and 8 now answers to "several". 6 has begun counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, sixth, hexagonal, >5, y e l l o w, orange

hot metal-spearmint ruminations

Qualiaflow (@qualiaflow)

I believe that Hot Metal-Spearmint is a solvable problem. It requires what Andrés Gómez-Emilsson calls "scent factorization", a technique for isolating an olfactory quality (wetness, say, or creamines...

if you knew that our hands would scatter into plumes of tachyons between the basil and tomato sauce, would you still enter the chicken cordon pizza timeloop with me?

"it's a me, mario". but it wasn't mario. i beheld a caterpillar mario, a nudibranch mario, a planarian mario, the deep marios knotted and intertwingled