some "channeled" writings from eris
straight from the top of the dome
via the pineal gland of a big fan
received in low trance with ants in pants
i just noticed that (br) (page break
in html) is short for bong hits

one day all the strain will go away
and the rain will fall in great waves
on the plain drain game play staying
put on your tush resisting the push
and pull of the wavy gravy save me
from aiming directly at next week
creaking with steam and reams of
machinery that needs cleaning schemes
screaming for mercy from the reversing
fortune as the chortling furnace
is furnished with dervishes worth
wishes at wells the swell with bells
sounding tones from below the zone
cobra phone mirroring the reflexive
laxative from the apple jack planet
vanishing with each further stratum
of damage into a famishing land of
paths plans and manageable strategies
for doing as you please and feeling
at ease with your squeals and sneezes
sqeamish about the squeezes and freezing
over the shes/his biz squid liquid
dirt filled with bisquick fleas and ticks

boners are better than loners
the phone is not the tome
there is no way around the way
it is always in the way (the game)
you might say, but not today
thats not the way we wait
to get paid on this plane
still a game but not the same
still insane but it's not so plain
the stain in flames remains a pain
the pressure building takes the strain
the name in turn unfurls the curse
and spurns the worse the fluster bursts
we trust the lusting to muster thusly
listening as the glisten is glimmering
fixing to switch as the tenser remembers
selling a pitch with cheap ads for gladness
mashing cash in the mouths of madness
in this cloudy brown town of sound
tones unload the golden throne but if
nobody knows how to turn it down then
the rowdy clowns surround the frown tower
while the DNA squiggles giggle pills
in friction vision as the leak spills
and ooze infuses the zone of control
with a few of the things you don't
already know for a goal you can't
smell with your soul so you go and
you go even though you may not show
any signs of rewinding or binding time
the spine of the mind is unwinding brine
feeling fine when it can stop on a dime

i'm the grizzled veteran of one hundred and ten psychedelic
lessons, drenched with the sweat from wet glands flanking
the rank lands of stan the man with the plan stunned with what
was fun under the sun drug into new school tools for fools and
hierophant elemental elephants swell but not yet rent bent on
world domination keeping testy while the energy from next week
keeps you not free with disease if you please seize the greasy
cheese that stands alone the phone will roam from tone to tone gone
for not too long if you don't try not to strive in a lively jive
hive-mind triune of doom gloom judgement and fudge clenched in
spent jests and silk dressing veils of testing strength rating
flakes on a scale of one to ten plenty of sense emanates from a
den of hate with eight tentacles the seminal vestibule of thule
the rules the cool and spools thread from the spinning head
that wets the length of every bank with rank spankings and
stinky stark candles in the dark depart for the park on my mark
start running properly when you have a monopoly on property stop
when you flop from apostrophes colossal monstrosities sopping
with flea repellent elephants that the blind mind can find if
it times the right crime along the spine of the hungry monkey
stump with blood leaking from veins that remain unsafe while
the dial set to this place remains chaste and misplaces
the trial for awhile until the smile that we revile piles
up in the truck that one day must bust a nut and unscrew the
tunes that spoon out fumes into the tomb of the loose blue
fruits that toot with useful shoots and brooding galoots
that poop all over the altar of the smarter gardener harder
to slaughter the farts with water from sparta or martyrs