an almost normative nonchalance to his
absurdism--as if it's just fine because he's
doing it.
there he was, making good on what was
not--rather than what was there.
wala's quick brush of a gestured once-over, where gravity sank.
left pinky claw in his mouth, with the false modesty of a centerfold.
the frills of nausea knotted by abject terror & stage fright paralysis, was the confection of his presence.
buddy boy Beelzebub standing in the living room like: 'what do you think?'
a red-light district glow about him, Tartarean yarn's hypertrichosis, curly Tim Burtonesque horns.
unhealthy *****-colored eyes, with
see-no-evil reptilian slits & fangs that ate
their punchline.
he just stood there--coring out a cave of
grandiosity, then leapt to the refrigerator.
turned it on its head by tapping his claws on the freezer door, a little hunger strike.
grabbed the magnet of a Monarch Butterfly, forced a few flits & dropped it
on the floor as with the lot of them.
tip-hooved back into the living room & said: 'the lamp's bulb in your study needs changing--it's been driving me bat-**** crazy, I need you to see clearly so I can manipulate your knowledge.'
'Pretty soon you'll have two pulses & two heartbeats.'