How I learned to love the spider (preheat)

I don’t know how many people were there
in this boggy meadow somewhere in Florida
a festival by day
a carnival of oil pastel lights dipped in naptha at night

thubwomping teepee’s with spinning
thingamabobs in the center with handles
that I sat on like a tornado—
burning incense—wearing sunglasses—
(It was the full moon)

I wasn’t on molly
until later
didn’t want my head
rubbed by strangers—
I was being guided
through hyperspace at light speed
in my tent—the mountains of spice would melt
and we’d pass it down five or six times—

Meli would run off and I’d be all
holy shit oh my god
at my first real breakthrough (that wasn’t) but

Who has time for terminology
when you’re lead straight
to the terminal for the first time
by something that
never showed their face again

I was doing flybys of planets that looked artificial

The control panel audible like
six diamonds had come together 
and formed cubes twisting, a knot
in another dimension

A yantra

So what does any of this
have to do
with the spider
you may be wondering
as I exited the tent
indolebreathed and metawinged
into the meadow
lit up by the moon
chain reaction
you can invision it wavelike
always twisting to and from
itself collapsing opalescent and alive
a mix of pastel and neon
synesthesia whispers to accept
like the untying of a lace
or your legs made of lightning

It was just the most majestic thing
to be and to be disintegrated
off on the outskirts of a meadow
listening to the musics mesh
on the winds without much difference
eyes shut, eyes closed

Except when… it ran up to my sandals faster
than my choked perception could calculate 

before I even knew what the bone white hand
on the ground that could rove faster
than I could—than anything that I knew could was—

I was flailing goosepimpled
acidwashed insane
down the grass meadow faster
than I ever had in my life—

I thought about the times I’d raced
Raul in fourth grade and won every time—he was so hopeful

I ran—my soul screaming—my body in flight
to the laser dome fishnet cushions
the giant oven on fire—my synthesizer—
the stuffed animals
sewn together that wouldn’t burn
they would liquify
in love—mystified by the terror
of your trickster curiosity

14 thoughts on “How I learned to love the spider (preheat)

    1. pseudonymous Post author

      Thanks, I sat there thinking about what being surrounded by active subwoofers was like, and that fit gelatinously resonant like the frequency of a throat cavity. You know I’m not opposed to cut-up or the thought of words as memes! More to come on this series tomorrow maybe…

      1. pseudonymous Post author

        I love this question so much I’m going to save it for a cup of coffee in the morning…this is important to me and I dont want to half ass it by being half way somewhere selse

      2. pseudonymous Post author




        When the bass is reminiscint to a kick to the chest, harmonizes with the resonant frequency of your throat cavity, and/or you can hear with your skeleton.

        “Holy shit these function ones are thubwomping bro!”


        To turn empty air into woody and/or rubbery sonic spheres of semivisible geometric electromagnetic decay with local proximity healing effects that diminish exponentially by the amount of distance applied from the amplitude.

        “I saw the music thubwomping through me.”

      3. pseudonymous Post author

        I once built a subwoofer that could produce subsonic frequencies that you couldn’t hear but you could absolutely feel and see. I might have to write a poem about how much fun I had with that damn thing…

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