Laocoon’s human agony led the later Hieronymus Bosch to jump off the Haywain of linear time, as though that town of Haywain descent, founded by Bosch were rolled flat.
Smoke this with the principles of the uncanny and strange in the everyday pipe long enough and the six hundred billion invisible beings begin to show. We want the honesty felt in Dante, Goya, Gehry, Bosch, Breughel and the less that turned this wine jar into a pig to question irreality. Inscrutable enigmas and grotesque antagonists, these Boschian monsters inhabit interpret the spindle world of propulsive furcula of media and education. Its Antiphilus grotesque leaders wear a chelonian carapace. Entities of rhyparographic-idols have taken over the world (Koerner). the literary depiction of the sordid. Snatches of self sacrifice, service to others, kindness, compassion, find the Deliverer and spirit redeemed.
The creatures Bosch sees come not near the Word and the Name in you as you sleep covered in the armor when you wake and that Counselor throughout the day goes is not polluted with idle talk drug, up or down. It’s not as boring as it sounds when reptiles unmask all around the buildings and government coffers that party nounlets and verbs where Hieronymus got his images, words. Uncorked the hoard, drunk up streaked, spotted, and speckled to drive this herd from Paddan-aram of Abraham and headed for Gilead possessed by Sihon and Og, giants bred among the toilet brushes in front of the bowl broadsides on the poles these days avoid the gist of what they mean, those codgers in the Bosch universe where pots rise up to claim upon the simplistemus real the many folk Uberman wanted to bode with in their town.
Every word of this proof hard wrought in talking animals, neighborhoods, Grand Canyon explorations and anthropophagy of people so to speak at dinner with the myth of the everyday. Some seem one way or another to survive the half man half angel commanded to be destroyed, not in genocide but deicide their fins and gills saved them as they took the waves. It is always between true men and animals the false men grow horns, tusks, snouts and fins and bawl in the dust as they lose their legs, grow scales and every variety of denatured beast they CRISPRd with. Branches, leaves roots, they bawl and caw and whistle instead of words, 7 arms turn to wings but cannot fly, nose beaks, fingers are razor sharp, but their minds not human as Elon Musk’s neuro link AI, so add him to Palantir and Thiel going bestial to the inanimate virtual prisons not even to die except they will be freed at the destruction of the world and all its woes of idols taken. Over the world of shutters hang the prose of hay of our flesh in the great enchangment of vanities, a wagon of nothingness of the world haystack bundled on a wagon like an orb of globus cruciger bobbing in the ocean sea, the world of nothingness of thieves charlatans gypsies, prophets, soothsays quacks and vagabond peasant Presbyterian priests heaped upon the streaks, peeled branches put in the channels of the water troughs, words bred in front that set apart Bosch’s sheep where ever they come to wherever they go, not words but images that need a glossary or maybe a dispensary of thoughts that water with the flocks, lambs and little goating multiplies.
