knits the neural network strings,
Rappel’s spliced wires change like the stairs and hallways of Escher, Hogwarts: zero-gravity synapses. No lapses, all of the senses connect for unique integration of scattered input.
“Senses working overtime” — Andy Partridge
In the intrauterine clime of brine where the tiny reside, the amnion dampens sensation.
The fish gills flapping.
Napping . . .
In the belly of the whale
Sol rests for a while,
’til Leviathan expels
brightness from entrails.
┬ the space around you | ∑ the space you fill Ʒ
Month mammal mumbles mama.
Blwch realized material permanence quickly—sensation beyond his eyes. Aristotelian penta-sense plus other tunnels for mater funnels.
The Running of the Bulls. Data runnels.
*Permutations: 20, 42, 72, 420, or 1056 different possible sense pairings, depending.
Egocentric Sinn enters in from the bottle to a toddle,
the same waddle as the world
that revolves around the
There once was king named Rappel
who thought his opinions were swell;
with confidence unblinking,
and blessed with magical thinking:
disagree; he’d command you to hell.
Since senary satellites, seat soiling settled.
A projective synesthete, Blwch’s bleeding sensations surpass Shereshevsky, a reality of tasty touch and scented sound and
hued hearing. Gestalt.
Rappel induces fractions of the Ground, ego reduced, fractals abound.
Reverse guru factions resound. Action all around.
The soul expression factored,
round impression cubed.
Ingenious imagination involving issue interjected.