TWO WORKS
BY ALEX NODOPAKA
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SURREALISTIC INTERSECTING THOUGHTS
I come along humming and create a singing mouse with a paddle. The
futuristic glass of a modular concrete facade paradoxically reflects the
prosaic movements from the streets. The occasional car and passerby as seen
from down below from obviously here above causes strange dissolutions of
two-dimensional space. The sound consists of infinite pure electronic
frequencies that weave pulsations shifting slightly throughout my writing
creating sonic grids that parallel the linearity of my orthogonal writing.
A passerby looks at me from above even though she is below, while the
prosaic movement of the moon creates a strange dissolution of
two-dimensional space in a futuristic glass from which my eyes drink pink
ink. The drinking sound creates new sounds dissolving my sipping as the
occasional passerby below observes my poodle eating noodles while I
surreptitiously fluff opaque gases down the street.
The futuristic glass and passerby, as seen from below above, metamorphose
into a left-hand shoe, consisting of a flaming sonic grid that easily
riddles me. I daresay you'll see a truffle and a modular concrete facade of
me that's very curious indeed!
What the building paradoxically reflects is several harmonic electronic
frequencies that create yet stranger dissolving sounds that in turn
dissolve my slanted cursive alphabet. The sound creates a right-hand foot
transforming into a delirious dream consisting of a flame that I cannot
endure because the futuristic glass weaves parallels in my head that in
turn dissolve into a less concrete self.
The occasional parallel with its orthogonal image consist of several pure
dreamy frequencies shifting slightly through the walls when I try to focus
my visualizations. And when I come along humming, mighty soon the
futuristic glass consisting of two-dimensional dissolutions of nothing
becomes a ghost of me with a left-hand shoe in my right hand as I observe
the frequencies inhaling me. It definitely becomes a weird feeling at that
time.
Late in the day I focus my mind in an attempt to create more dissolutions
of several pure orthogonal frequencies that I can't yet make out. Well,
after breakfast I start singing words at a passerby who sees me from above
but suddenly faints horizontally. Yet I feel I am in perfect harmony with
these transparent frequencies consisting of nothing but my breath and you.
The occasional breath fogs a modular glass facade yet is a perfect
reflection observing the butter spreading on the toasted floor.
With my left-hand shoe on my mind I behave psychedelically and dissolve
surreptitiously my arm pointing at a burned out moon in flames. That means
that my excessive consumption of Vodka creates a futuristic glass below the
bathtub with crazy harmonic electronic frequencies. The sound in turn
creates a cigarette on my worktable! Now I know it's too early for me to
focus on my shrinking walls and I decide to shrug at the passerby as she
sucks on my left arm while I create a stainless-steel hunting knife with my
right hand. I come again like a humming bird creating truth, consisting of
a head on a hundred-dollar bill that I slice with giddy craziness
consisting of every type of heated holes through which multiple truths
evaporate.
I realize I am on to something very important when truth begins to burn and
seep into the modular concrete facade! As truth seeps into the concrete, I
think, "What kind of multi-dimensional space in a modular acid proof facade
with a mirror image consisting of me and some refracted shards from my mind
could dissolve my thoughts into a future harmonic electronic symphony." I
am really proud of this last strophe, as I feel it is a very quotable line
that could propel me instantly into Nobel and Pulitzer Prize rewarding
spheres!
I feel I am on top of Maslow's Pyramid and have reached subconsciously and
involuntarily the pinnacle called Self-Realization. But then of course I
know Maslow was full of bull and that he realized his Self only for himself
with no intent to share it, except through the sale of his book! Well, I
got one over him and I hope that this above becomes a guideline for future
generations of wannabe artists, as it is only a few minutes long befitting
our national span of reading attention.
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CUBISTIC GUITAR
On a wavy cubistic guitar
In a field of yellow mustard flowers
I seek the elusive ode to March.
I try to strum a lateral view note
But I have a problem with cubistic music
That to this day eludes me.