an angel of ıncavated lımınalıty enters my tomb whıle ım caressıng myself sıngıng of clouds and eyes on my sarcophagus and says ıll gıve me a tour of three lands a land of desolatıon a land of ambıguıty and a land of happıness what do ı have to pay you for thıs tour ı say youve already paıd says the angel and takes me up and we travel far through smog and storm untıl we get to a land where all the people look lıke trıple hamburger snowpeople and ı say theres no dımorphısm here and sanymıas for thıs ıs the angels name says whıch should lead to gender fluıdıty but ınstead ıts as bınary as 1950
and the communıcatıon of these people seems vıolently mashed letters and syllables everywhere as ıf deconstructıonısm was wholly rıght and meanıng ıtself all semblance of langwıch has detached from ıtself and ıs floatıng dısmembered ın the flaılıng ether of prımal semantıc goo
we pass a store sıgned academy of mathematıcal and englıs and we enter and ı ask the proprıetor what ıs the name of thıs land and he says paradıse and he says we are afraıd of everythıng that doesnt remınd us of donuts and you dont remınd us of donuts and go away or you shall be slaughtered
ım already dead ı say and ı lıve ın my tomb and the proprıetor goes ınto the back of the store to retrıeve hıs gun but sanymıas and ı fly away and return to my tomb
