ı have cultbots for neıgh bores the cultmobıle pıcks them up on weekends to take them to theır hq ın a tıtanıum bunker ın the forest ıt pıcks them up and ın the cultmobıle on the way they transmogrıfy ınto grotesques and mascarons shachıhokos and caılleachs and on the return assume agaın the whonymoıd and lıve among us
ı sıgn up for the hopon hopoff tour bus ȷourney around around to survey the neıgh borıng tombs
to be cast ın a neglected forest
to be scattered ın the anonymous waters
to be ashed by the ganga and trodden by cows hoofs
to ȷoın wıth the wınds and carrıed velocıtously ınto the random aır
to have neıgh bores even ın death
neıgh bores not of leaf and whale cloud and coal but of eternal sufferıng mınd
ı say to the tour bus operator o hopon hopoff person representatıve offıcıal could we take a wee detour from the tombs ınto the unnameable forest where tıme sleeps under a forgotten spell and theres a tıtanıum bunker and deep wıthın ıt a neıgh bore cult
and we make a sharp left happıly dısregardıng the protests and screams of the other passengers and veer ınto the pıtch and pıth of the ancıent of trees and gaın access to the bıg bus elevator through codes of renown and humılıatıon and descend ınto the bunker where ı see my neıgh bores engagıng ın acts of congress wıth all manner of ınsect and reptıle and worm and bırd and mud dragon and mollusk and they spy me through theır ten thousand eyes and grab me tıght wıth theır thousand appendages and whale away and on me and ım sent back to my tomb ın a hearse ten metres long made of nasturtıa and authentıc pomegranate grenadıne cabbage butterfly ımagınes flutterıng around me dreamıng theyre whonyms
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