THE PALINOMICON RETURNS
Fair reader,
Long have I been dormant on this matter, and indeed, I had harbored the secret hope that the transmissions of this nefarious document were a thing of the past. However, look at me, a fool! How could I conclude that the Palinomicon’s logorrheic THIRST could not be vanquished? For what is the span of a year, a decade-indeed, any unit of time known to man and woman-in the clockwork mind of an Infernal Being? Less than a blink. The patience, reader, is NOT HUMAN.
However, with that said, I nevertheless feel compelled to share these findings, in hope that one person, perhaps not in my lifetime, will be able to find the elixir to unwrite this diabolical tome.
I do have to admit that this particular fresh entry, sent to me once again from Alaska, is unlike any of the others. Do not think me sensational, but it is a photocopy of a creature’s hands-long-fingered, enclawed, yet smooth-skinned, upon which this incantation was written with a fine-tipped “magic marker.” I cannot imagine how the arms, the torso, the head of this creature could be envisaged, but with trembling hand I transcribed the words. The palmistry must be left to your imagination.
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A Makeshift Form of Diplomacy that Falls Upon Me
Hello everyone I’ve made it to the Kyoto accords!
I come with a message of peace from the Underwater Institute of Lacanian Sorcery, a non-governmental gang strike force.
Here is the message:
“Heated motorcycle storage during the winter of your endless desires.”
Also, my child soldier choir has put together this bad-ass PowerPoint of their illegal
dumping exploits and there are
no resources within this Holiday Inn that can contain it.
No mercury, no soot, no anomalous clouds cuz that would be embarrassing.
Note that are all in the “Lacuna” conference room, but in opposite corners
for purposes of water rationing.
Then there will be a recital. Hands will be held. Be it resolved that.
What the fuck? The restaurant downstairs, The Jenkem Grille, has been bombed by ecoterrorists
and twenty are dead, including a team of mercenary climatologists! Fuuuuck, now
our hands are really tied.
Those plushie polar bears on the ice floe, drifting from Juneau stuffed with Acapulco Gold
toward our melting minds?
Talk about fucked.
The nsfw Bible is very soft on this matter
like the pillow that conforms to the red assassin’s face.
Next, a panel: Strangling Whatever Instills a Lifelong Love of Reading “the Data”
(Which Must Not Be Named).
Focus on my projector.
Hello, ozone mother!
