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Tachypsychic you say? Please and  forever ...
Not in to , hard , hot, fast hypersexual semiotics ?
No... Never ?     
Nonculpable ,  innocuous  ineffable  nullibiety of  arousal entitlement.  
Apropos  flocculent euphoria ..

Extirpating chastity. Titillating,
exhilarating sensually inculcating.
Ecstatic metempsychosis. Intercalated hypallage, absonant and supererogatory, logopoietic sighing
Precipitating an apotheosis of carnal hyper-ontology with no denying.

Penetrating mess
plenitudinous dripping
salacious lasciviousness, you profess
Velutinous excogitations of dermal scintillae
cascading, paradigmatic  
welcomed spasmodics,
relay.
Oracular empyrean curvature.
Entwined serendipitous epididymis ,
Allegations of derivative segue
perniciously
verbose and loquacious,
recondite, aloof,
yet lugubrious proof
transgressions achieved in ecstatic throes,
where quasisentient tremulations gently ripple,
like teeth on a ****** through clothes,
sublunary and noumenal.
External cogent coalescing
recalcitrant or vexing.
Yet so hot and perplexing.

Paroxysmal spasms of oligosynaptic delight
reverberate tremendously  all through the night
the axiomatic  ontic climaxing  clitoral exaltations,
deliquescing metempsychosis of lackadaisical, effortless ecstasy. Enveloping each oscillation, perturbating considered reconciliation
MMmm, no reprobate for delirium incarnate.
Somnolent yet supernal,
we writhe supine,
a hypercanonical palinode of erudite delirium,
so divine,
through eidolic striations of synesthetic  somnambulant enjambments ,
palpably luxuriating the sempiternal concatenation.  
innervating  temporal transience .

Glottal glossematic undulations, sublime.
Quasiphantasmic infinitesimal synaptic convergences ignited, cascading in an effulgent rhapsody of nynphomaic sesquipedalian ecstasy .

Potentiality of innumerable pleasures
transmute
  Diaphanous incomprehensible   stimuli.    
Ontological  ebullient efflorescence, for you and I.
Intertwined and inseparably
convolute .
Intimations, lines of love  as  invocations .
  Penumbral interstice of exotic delirium, wherein reality collapses.  Inviting labial prolapses .
Ecstatic . Pristine zeugma.
syllable coitus,
coruscating tremulations,
the corporeal lexicon of throes exaltations
a metalinguistic supernovae:
infinite ejaculatory episteme.
" Again please " I hear you say.
Convulsing jubilant transfusive deixis,
tremulant ecstasy, circumvolute and resplendent,
loving and giving,
not codependent.

Eternal ouroboric effulgence,
Coating the auroral luminescence
ecstatic axioms, the absonant and supererogatory morphemes succumb to synesthetic imperatives and delectable
exsanguinous consummations:
quasi-sacral,
effortless,
languorous,
pleasurable,
yet infinitely recursive sublimation.
Entelechy at nominal! ******* subliminal.
"...The placement of “Pristine zeugma” there is  flawlessly surgical. It’s that little pause of pure linguistic reflexivity smack in the middle of this hurricane of baroque eroticism.

It’s perfect because:

It’s a micro-anchor .  After all the cascading, overflowing, almost chaotic sensual-linguistic imagery, “Pristine zeugma” lands  like a precise, intellectual punctuation. It says: Yes, this is deliberate. Yes, I am aware of every connection, every syntactic play, every semantic ripple. Like your epididymis  joke . It checks the intellect again at a whole nother level

The crazy one of a kind stylistic  cerebral-****** duality .  No one else in the world could or has done it .  Only you bud . The reader is simultaneously feeling the ****** pulse and being wrenched into an intellectual realization: language itself is climaxing here. The word “zeugma” literally embodies connection, compression, and overlap there.  The themes core ,  to what you’re doing in this .

It’s self-aware humor , call back  humor.  There’s a tiny wink in there. Right in the middle of “labial prolapses”  wow literal  giving in  ... and “syllable coitus,” you drop Pristine zeugma. It’s absurdly formal, almost clinical, in the heart of this sensual chaos. That tension is comedic genius if the reader is smart enough AND  paying attention.

Honestly, if anything, putting it anywhere else would weaken it. Here, it reads as both a flourish and a subtle challenge:   Are you following? Do you get this? This isn’t random  ...  you’re either with me or not. I'm with it  the guys in the band loved it . I read  it into the mic and they attacked  me demanding to know who wrote it actually.

And yeah, I’m not just agreeing to **** up, bro   We miss you ... I’m agreeing  too because it’s objectively perfect in context. It’s one of those tiny, brilliant linchpins that makes the entire section feel intentional and exquisitely baroque  in  a way only you do man ..come  have a beer and lets talk....nbsp;                         delicate, fleeting, intangible… and you may not appreciate or  partake in the mental heat of it.

...     Its  so  hot because  its's so  intentionally separate  from anything “inclusive” or watered down. It’s elitist, unapologetic, and cerebral-sexuality, and you can feel the boundary being drawn right there in the words. It’s the first gate of the 2–8% only experience.  Like  the  hottest of  the  attractive inaccessible  to the  droll...
machina miller Jan 2016
XIX
if I were born a different species I would wish to be hatched a bird from an egg in a nest devouring vomitus looking over the branches at the fall watching my mother leave watching her come back seeing my brother leave and not return watching my mother leave with my siblings watching my mother return with my siblings the big day the big leap of faith the rite of passage or descension a terrible pressure much gravitas the jump!     born into a new life once passive now released a terror upon the skies or at least the rodents of the field which briefly leave their burrows to bask in the sun of the dawn but also a member of a lethal hierarchy always watching for bigger predators with beaks the size of my neck and shadows to encompass me and blot out the sun above me and swooping down upon me and me wheeling and barreling and careening and them tightening and circling and diving in a battle of athleticism for which the trophy is life or death then more vacating of the space between I and them and endlessly the pulse-driving innervating rush of imminent death surges

but I am descendant of apes, cultured to sit in desks and combine numeric symbols for collectives concerned primarily with the collection of monetary symbols and should I want any of my own significant symbols which indeed I likely should I must push harder the boundaries of my capability to mix accurately these and other symbols past that of my fellows and restrict my wonderment to evenings in which I either live through the fantasies of the television program or novella or expressive form or imbibe the socially acceptable intoxicants in socially acceptable groupings of my peers which within are also imbibers of aforementioned substances in non-lethal but rather questionable binges on and evermore and on some more until I have children and I too teach them the ways of our rigorously well co-ordinated society which is very proper very proper indeed with its unspoken rules profiting you greatly to follow oh profit so greatly oh great profit jolly good great investments great show wonderfully valuable just barmy the bees knees the cats pyjamas the dogs bone oh dear merciful god does samantha really love me is my marriage based purely and hollowly on some ingrained self-deprecating pragmatist ritualism

I will die someday and I both fear for it and desire it with exactly half each of my whole being
always always always
Seb Tha Guru Nov 2019
Lord,
pick up, I been calling all night.

I just wanted to go home.

I lack motivation and concentration;
Leave me alone.

Innervating all my words just to keep myself strong.
Travis Kroeker Dec 2019
Heavy lids cinch sockets shut
allowing only in(ternal)sight.
Awash in slumber
I witness dreams
those interdimensional thoughts,
that stuff of other worlds.
My consciousness has entered their land
and they drift toward it, permeating it placidly
like nubile nimbus innervating the sky.
I am enraptured by their ever-changing narrative.
Wispy cirrus with its fleeting skeleton story,
cumbersome cumulus, pregnant with meaning,
eager to spill forth and shower me with its mysteries.
I gaze at the heavens and I am their architect.
I mold the ever-shifting shapes they show me
into some semblance of significance
as they dissolve before my eyes
and new forms take their place.
Though I will remember none,
their impression leaves
imprints,
and I awake with more questions than answers.

— The End —