A blog for 'pataphysical rumination set up by a cohort of spectral members.
It's focus is on the analysis,disection and promotion of AVALANCHISM,a subset of 'pataphysics which is and isn't part of the main spline of the philosophy.
chains,tongue-spit, thick hair to grab at and hang off.
bells; clack guts, black butt. Krampus trotters soil the carpets.
gob the slobbers off.
gone got himself killed he did!
in different directions trapped in a stare out with bloodshot yella eyes.
the krampus tip tap of cloven hooves soaked in cuts made from chain-link
swung the switch swatch and whupped. Coal, cordite and clock-watchers cane the
frost burr off his antlers. A jangle of melancholy cowbells and the dander of a
cocksure king goat announce him.
the frost off.
army comes, none of them can close their mouths, none of them can stop the
slaver. The tongues are strops as clean as meat
buckets are full of shoes.
pales on a yoke burst into flame.
night blizzard, the snow in the torchlight, the woods full of bell music.
Budelfrau, one red shoe, one black shoe, red legs, red arms, red head, an
ankle-length bearskin dress and moth-feather cape,she cocks her machine gun.
Now she’s turning on the bull-krampus and a snarl the shape of an upsidedown
heart rises like electric blue smoke made from satin and creosote.
of the Christmas beast settles now like melting snow on the fallen boughs of
Lodgepole pines and mole hills.The ice breaks in ruts and mud comes up in
still for so long listening that the ripples stopped.
has come down
come down in the form of silence.
White fur gone dirty. Red boots.
Beetle wings tatted in his hair.
glitter and beetrootstains.
face. Red mouth. Black fingernails.
face. White hands. Red fur.
sequins come in a hailstorm. Blue sequins scattered on the snow. Branches
painted gold. Silver switches and steam, twilight and barbed wire.
crows hung on the fence
cage blown upside down.
got a pitchfork.
spank and smack and smash and clock you.
don’t want to be clocked by the krampus army.
mousetrap on each finger.The claw call craze.Lazy with fear.
stomps his one leg shorter than the other stomp through the Shopping Mall. He
smashes up a perfume counter and reeks of the stuff, forearm fur matted with
scent and blood from smashing up the case and bottles.
as a drunkard.
up on Spore Wine.
shard of glass like a lifting plate sticking out of his elbow.
in the fast food outlet, gutting a pike, tossing its head into a pram. He
appears to be pissing in a deep fat fryer.
buckets are full of burning high heeled shoes.
fires his shotgun into a false Christmas tree in the central atrium and flails
around in the tinsel, on fire.
a krampus called Farm hand Rupert birching a mannequin , shouting “I hate the
swarm coz it’s all I got”.
in the gloaming of St. HorseHeart Eve, a pitchfork stuck handle first in the
sillion of a ploughed fieldhangs with a
scarecrow conundrum made from knives and forks. The horned krampus-woman drags
a cradle full of coal across a frozen pond with a bridle and bit, her teeth
white against her soot blackened face.
WELCOME TO THE NORTHERN INSTITUTE FOR ‘PATAPHYSICAL ENQUIRY.
This INSTITUTE is and isn’t affiliated with any other. It has and hasn’t got any links with nobody else.
In fact, by the time you read this sentence our group has already created a schism in the area of discourse and split into a rival camp now calling themselves AVALANCHISTS.
This new arm of AVALANCHISM has also split into a secretive group psychotically dedicated to AFTERMATHISM and another group which cannot yet decide upon a name.
Professor ADAM CORNER is the king of this institute. He designed it to be an AVALANCHIST archive of 'pataphysical ruminations and toss. The group meets every eighteenth month ( skipping one in eight) at it's Headquarters in Horseheart Lane in the northern town of Thankless Task.