The funnyman makes an appearance. Although akin to the place and things that crowd sidefile in preparation for the funnyman's appearance, the remoteness of where the funnyman stays foreground-wise displays a deep and faraway relation between the funnyman, the rarity of him having a direct and tangible occurrence among all what inside this world shaped into the gossamer of structured cognizance that permits the funnyman a singular role within the hemispheres, all fat and molecular globules of water for synapsed lines to somehow stay inhabitable but never reach full navigation of where the head snaps close at all points only for the funnyman, safe from the atmosphere of the place and things that the funnyman closes judgement against not only the world of wired pressure and reflexive imaginings, but the totality of the landscape that appears in front of the funnyman and makes him wink, prosaically, at the esplanade belonging to what is beyond judgement to the funnyman's reliable ratiocination.

The funnyman does not vanish with the same precision, once outside the boundaries of the world it keeps in judgement but leaves in mercy for the place and things cannot weather his changeless humors. Bile leaks from the hemispheres at the moment of release from sighting.

The funnyman tries to smile following the yearly wink, acknowledging the places and things beyond what it rules over benignly, if with benighted mischief at the funnyman's heart.

The funnyman grins so vile it bends the shape of the face into an eternal rictus. Bile in his eyes, sublime.

And it was deeper beyond how merciful the merchants were in having me aboard,

I was penniless, of course.

Enormous was the voice below each wooden floor.

There was no windows where I was kept, surfeiting goods & the watchman was

underpaid for the lengths downstairs, between me & all the valuables it took overseas.

It was freedom, however short-lived: no force could coax me better than another's property.

The place the merchants took me toward drew by morning:

the sun did not leave where I left where I could no longer keep a home, a force dwelling against me later on once the mercy of having merchandise did not betray how punishment

never follows me.

Banishment was all I would find, and I look at a fish without color struggle to make itself known beyond all the market will reach inside deep where it cuts without any sympathy;

drowning where it has no business living at, but plentiful does it follow under the same price without that struggle that defined it for a short-lived escape when it looked above the ocean and saw there was a place it never knew would be the exit for where it swam, but there is enough fish for the world to eat without finding that there is no longing when the merchandise does not blink.

not above does hue

create impressions finite-

colors becloud sky.

observe fumes, move

vision, stays high, erosion

explosions, slow rows.

rain tears overhead-

dark torrents break behind light

below skies, blue new.

On your birthday, the only thing you should do was just a swole-temple letdown. The birthday party is, by all means and meandering estimates, another's insurance clause if the abundance of winter never comes up to open loungers.

There appeared to be a diminished source of estranged birthright in that punything convulsive man downstairs. Collapsing, the partying begins afresh: death never sits within someone else having the time forced for a short notice, clockwise range balancing amount amorously must have a smallish, belligerent person inside where there peers: you are oldest and the partying is not civil because there is a man of no choice inside the room for your voice on anterior candlelight bliss.

The ingrate loves partying where the trouble stays, has a kid, and dodged the problematic thing for the ingrate today: you keep saying that you are never awake.

THERE HAD BEEN NO WITNESSES LEFT REMAINING FOR THE SCARLET FUGITIVE TO MURDER. UNTIL A RECENT RASH UPBRAIDED AUTHORITIES ACROSS ECUADOR, NATIONWIDE THERE IS NO SIGNS THAT OUR BELOVED MONSTER WILL RETURN AND ACT AS THE SAVIOR AGAINST THIS IMPLACABLE VIOLENT FUGITIVE THAT IS ONLY GLIMPSED BY A SCARLET DAMPNESS, OPAQUE AND PELLUCID WHEREVER THIS MASS MURDERER PLOTS AGAINST ECUADORIAN SOVEREIGNTY. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH PEOPLE LIVING WITHIN THE RANGE ESTIMATED BETWEEN WHEN THE NEXT PERSON IS KILLED, AND WHEN THE SCARLET FUGITIVE ONCE AGAIN GOES INTO FURTIVE HIDEAWAYS. THIS INDIVIDUAL IS DEAD ON ARRIVAL BY ADMINISTRATIVE EXHORTATIONS ISSUED BY THE GREAT MONSTER OF ECUADOR, WHO HAS NOT HALTED BREAKNECK EFFORTS TO ORGANIZE POLICE RESPONSE INTO HOSTILE PATROL, RECRUITING THE TECHNOLOGICAL MEANS FOR TRAINING FORENSIC PATHFINDER CYLOCOPEAN SCAN-REZONANCE SPECIALISTS, SHOWING THAT WHEN JUSTICE IS ALMOST SHORT OF DECLARING MARTIAL LAW TO MAKE IT ALL END SOONER, THERE IS NO PRICE THE GREAT MONSTER WILL NOT SPLURGE FOR THE SAFE ELIMINATION OF SUCH AN ENIGMATIC ENEMY OF ECUADOR'S PEOPLE! --- 2030, The Galapagos Institute for State Information & Pressure Against Foreign Disturbances Weekly (periodical newsletter, edition dated late May--- The Monster of Ecuador was seen on the cover page. It returned from diplomatic trade commissions from Ecuador's closet geographical ally across the Atlantic divide, Liberia--- Talks looked promising!)

San Francisco de Quito. The city, modeled by nationally endorsed architects and Catholic parsons exiled from neighboring, and naturally inferior, countries who could not outlive the foreshortening all other major South American cities withstood once Ecuador went beyond elevation, and started development toward where between the eastern vale and the hole in the mountains where sunlight calls it quits long enough for our meteorologist, a sexagenarian castrate from the exiled parsons who constitute the moral and cosmological makeup of Ecuador's expansion into the legendary acropolis sought by the Great Monster Representing Ecuador, who has been leader since his mentor, also a monster, was brutally killed during an intimate phone call at a public collect-call terminal. The monster who was the mentor to the Great Monster was formerly, the once legendary, Ambassador for Ecuadorian Unity & Terrestrial Planning for Future Milestones, Internat.

The scarlet fugitive recants the previous wrongdoing, a small miscalculation on his inferential move, nearby schoolchildren explode in a pinkish-lavender foam of shrinking mustard-coated metal be slapped against the mass of the vehicle blown up remotely (eighteen seats in all, innocent limbs withdrawn like the long pull upward for many tongues bitten raw at surprise flinch).

The onslaught of his signature spree-- producing the appearance of motion a crosswalk open-ended it looked, from all the kinetic displays haunting behind where his violent patterns shake the pediment all hours until walked through, no district during the morning rubberneck commutes leave the site of carnage fitfully undisturbed; all traffic, upward skies doused overhead in the scarlet fugitive's damage control over the headlines: be soon halted onscreen center most, then footpath scratchy under optical reconnaissance from the team's combined heatseeking forensic pathfinder no one will belittle for doing better than all searches our squad lieutenant barks for us to carry forth, and thankfully our team of police enforcers would retire petite widows at a parishioner's view of our cityside dice snake-eyes writ large from the blockade tenements we would all live in if we were just confident in what Ecuador awards public service without discrimination for who would stay behind which room; the pathfinder goes out of depth from the findings available, however, and the team has the handiwork of me and my legion deep cronies having searched dogged for the fugitive, only for all uncovered throughout the district to have what little valuable knowable about the commotion earlier be shuffled under our shoe polished hopscotch downtown, the investigation likewise thrown across the surrounding district block and one as addled as myself motions for a brisk inventory check of the pharmaceutical storefront, an inlet of peach-fuzz platforms and barbershop columns break inside the shimmering stained glass peninsula formed shiny and housing dancing colors streaked from the store's clearance, countertop until down aisles where there was no remedy homespun for the pulverized customers and the lone pharmacist staffed the least busy window, so I went swimmingly and pickpocket what was useful from the debris onsite, my lucent discoveries having taken longer frisks that the technological wonders our Ecuadorian department of Justice does not flounder to supply us, but had flourished, for years without decline, only for the past three consecutive years be the fastest trek into our current situation, the climate of our city replies enormously beneath me and where I pick up the pursuit on foot, the crushed trellises of blood oily from overexposed gouts eaten into the twisted few corpses not even approachable for vital check-- crumbles of burglarized delirium afoot.

Hours deform the mobilized efforts to subdue the scarlet fugitive leave me finding my mother dead, locked indoors, across the interstitial platforms subterranean, concrete pits where I put my guesswork to the pedestrian shadow crowded until shyly, the low side of those who surface above where the year 2030 has brought Ecuador into a jungle jammed with structural utilities with enough dead from having done nothing but lurk beneath the surface, the city where now my mother is dead. She resided until her demise on Martin Luther King Blvd.

Arching steelworks amble past the pavilion where my mother is also dead by the scarlet fugitive, his warpath so widespread and erratic it jumped from downtown municipality all the way home where I wept, seethed, and touched her face aghast without additional ligaments of her dead face no longer shocked but almost repulsed to be seen by her son, returning himself for comforts only blood could uphold, the traditions of my childhood matriculation all buried underneath her unmoving and rounded form barely dressed for the weather she died in: during the hours before I arrived in harried chase, not stopping for the sake of grief at the murdered body of my now late mother. She was all I had since that distant summer. I should feel thankful for the surprise by the fugitive, seldom did I view her before her death in any real sentimental occupancy that was not to emerge singly as an affront to my lowering standard for animal happiness; I would visit her again, Persephone kissing the king kind farewells although mother's open house went foaming at the lip's crest until her teeth protect her memory, unsparing: I forge my redemption alone, all I had of mother, sprung undone-- she is lowered to the laughing maw. I will be lost in deathly tumult of excitation, my increasing valor burning against all I was to be seated with during the hunt onward, commiserating with my worthlessness. Not for my duty. But my lack of confidence for dead and pretty incidental grooves while I continue the pursuit, no longer able to stay warmly where mother's Rubenesque alabaster lost all the space her canvas could carry from this world, and the lull following her inauguration into the fabled Andes Mountain drainage of the city's circuitous influx of souls. The broken moans of a cardboard lowlife across the alley near her remains, the doorway abode and whitishyellow and spongy with faded murals of the Monster who Was The Ambassador for Ecuador, a national hero beyond acclaim's inclusion, where the poverty of the common discards, cynical and oblivious as a pigeon his thickly-veined neckline was plucked dryly, once the flehm sifts from his bandaged underbite and from inhaling the butane saturated within his aluminum foil fatigue vest where stains and scarves sat over someone almost as worthless as the name my badge defends me from effrontery since I could kill him after he shows a little appreciation for how quick I ran home and saw where my mommy was killed and he is smirks counterwave, dented molars and tongue bloated fat where his words squeezed and formed what else but noises where he went flying with adventure for my immediate displeasure, less and less what he detailed over the next twenty-eight minutes any value to the current dossier outside of incriminating squawks, a look of dark enterprise uncommon for his lot then glowed phlegmatic, wheezing out an empty world of possible runoff. The task burned alive within me while after probing deeper without any better, I probed no longer of his recollection. He blew his sake out into a wade, hands crossing places, and his fingernails tawny so when I killed him finally his filth was the shimmer of the gutter ball painted where he was done, pinstripes and no he would wipe his own pollution into where his motion was almost kept at an umpire's cold, fixed strikes against where he looked fine when he died and I left him for the scarlet fugitive, no longer bound by a duty but a future I view in my gut as the lifeblood for Ecuador's survival during this period of decadence and lawless showdowns.

The cold hands of the butcher; the scarlet sheet right in the place where I stood, and then walked across the sodden cement into another arterial night. I can hang and dry myself off from loathsome passions ripening during all the busywork the cityscape forces to permeate over the pregnancy of the atmosphere with the brooding hunt I would commence, and so a few minutes I stretched my mother's bladder I stole as my only memorabilia worthwhile past cremation, long depleted of her fatal drizzle and affectionately removed from her corpse as a continual symbol that my badge was my country, and my mother's death was my maturation into the voice of Ecuador's solitaires against the uniform attacks the unknown had shored for us unify under my lone frenzy to make the perpetrator betray his winning streak ; it was right then and there that I watched a figure, blurry from sprinting, streak the seeable world opposite from me, blithely passing abrupt and zipline sprints between several men who wore pastel three-piece business overcoats, slipped past where the cascades of the tailored cravats I punched into and did not stop until I saw the city again opening to where I thought I abandoned it three summers ago. The entire city was resplendent in the colorless horizontality of Mormonism. Vile smile, wet, sunny. The fog of factories, roaming the peripheral survey of where this wanted man was choosing for his own death to take place once I do everything and gymnastically, I drop full apace past the fences dripping of basketball jersey meshes molted together from laundry lines of residencies long washed out of dead cotton ball belongings; blue sheets, barren pyramids platformed in Ecuadorian frontage, the concrete vast and busy with smoke not readily identifiable.

My breathing is shorter. The presence is cryptically demurred, as if sullied of discovery once I had expressed immense and monstrous anticipation. The crowd of studious onlookers wades downstairs without warning, and I cannot stop blinking with my mouth now.

The proportions of the hermeneutically-engineered valve-pump machinery embedded into my stomach often shifts in impossible configurations whenever I am out and about. If I could describe my present sensation, it would be a tsunami of vomiting my movement right as it starts curving into linear intervals for me to register underfoot, proving that my agility and module for upbringing was a type contrariwise to the commonly successful Ecuadorian subject, was noteworthy in how examination after examination for genealogical upkeep judged me too silent for the motley faculty of our shared public language.

I start communicating with the splatter of cold contents that leave me hiccupping teeth in fistfuls.

The presiding force that is exploring my disfigured body starts to tighten around my trachea without direct pressure seeming to be placed there by any of the instruments at disposal.

When the blue flares low beneath my gurgling saliva, the tongue will be without a mind to torment it any longer.

So long as I resemble an abusive father figure, I knew that I was still sexually viable for my country’s female liaisons for making maidenly tours of conjugal sessions take place without a cinch… Take it off… Scalp her and douse her.

Another slain, unrelated and checkered.

So it would be prudent for me to observe about the seemingly indiscriminate and vertically near-impossible target selection the fugitive embarks nightly, into days deathless for how little the blood could change the course of our people's own intractable urban history.

Mother carries my heart, furious but wordless, during the intermural of my chase.

My country gives me terrible kinetic relief.

Good galleries for a law enforcement officer, here in the squalid factory zone #3, the industry of the Great Monster's Economic Asynchrony Act renders all previously condemned structures publicly shut-down to be converted into whorehouses that would keep our infant-labor reserve force amply spacious for newcomers.

While abortions were tantamount against the moral doctrine codified by the Great Monster's Home & Allocation council, it was perfectly sane and even a sign of virility for all adult Ecuadorian male citizens to periodically cleanse the infant population manually, and often there were raid parties... many I have been alongside for and had been involved in such a militant fashion that my notoriety among our municipal scholars elected me to be a police investigator on the mark that showed how little I cared for the law unless it meant I too was above all who eat at the lower echelons we do nothing but evacuate for magmatic plate-grafting across biannual reportage for seismic activity... it was my call of portended purpose, some slim place within destiny and national duty that occupied childhood with mother so tamely, since back in that stage of living I was already mother's favorite tiny worthlessness my mother raised to do her breastplates shaved off at the neckline... rise and be early... until death loses her inside my mouthing, longings for.... the scarlet fugitive... Possible that this fiend crawled out of the state-planned infanticide raids and had grown-up, and this is how mercy is taken by the vile creatures we do not cull from Ecuador's own handsome yield against a history of neighboring and deviant elements, existentially corruptive to all what the Great Monster has in store for us, the people of Ecuador's thriving conquest of the valley's topography.

Ecuador uber alles!

I am an indispensable part of our community, and enforce a tough but equitable patrol where alongside the regimented rows of uniforms and steadily holstered handguns, our boys are true to their tribalistic Nature: I keep the streets free from malignant elements; the underworld, that warren of diabolical names including the personalities not limited to Alexanderplatz Georgi, The Tertiary Toughs; Motorbike Michael, Nelson's son, Terrytoon Louis; all of the interchangeable lunatics anxiously amok, and I had been loved, once, during the summer days when the sky was aqueous with the filigree of flame.

I am a disgrace to my department, and to a larger extent, to uniformed men and metaphoric receptacles for mistaken identity; all of them, together, stolidly eyeing my downfall. I will rape, maim, explain poorly, arouse damnation- what a beautiful picture of you in my thoughts, my prayers, my leaden wrists discard you so I can return home, in sobbing fury; the badge hooked on my lapel is dented, like the fenced dead planted into the butchered afternoon haze. I remove the contents of my mother's keepsakes- death will not impede my investigation into the forsaken campaign- love, seldom warming in the shovel pull of shaking hands, wrinkled like the memories of ejection from a pig's paunch: splitting headache, followed by a peal of derisive and shrill laughter.

Papercuts. History lesson: I open the pamphlet nearby a mailbox that sat against concrete vast against an imposing network of commercials smeared by the unsparing highground of this testament to the world here in San Francisco de Quito, and seeing no end to where the entrails of the enemy stay for each stalemate, beneath Ecuador's cartographic have no inexorable end seeable: a shivering evening of lighting-rod visitors carry our nation's brightside future together. Monsters have representation among famed luminaries of world diplomacy. I am seduced during sleep, within a misplaced dream I had during my risk asleep doing the job: my mother is Margaret Thatcher but with the flesh of her dead body. My mother is so peaceful seated, powerful, solidly she was there in that dream alongside the famed monster who represents the embassy of Ecuador. He was dead but in dreams all you felt defeated also is leaving witnesses under a siege of tolerable fees, i.e., my mother eats the image of Margaret Thatcher and that monster is no longer the ambassador for my sentimental delinquency. Dreams deliquesce. I eat the hair not yet dried by head and scarification of emptied face contorting inside my squeezing forefinger against the incisor deep and careful. Careful before you bite the thumbprint high with imperturbable love for the invocative percolation of molecular fields across meat bloodless; similar to the burnt plot of line seeming endless from here to the point where the sky is an iridescent station where the lesson forbearance from the Monster who was the Ambassador for Ecuador is kindly reminding: me. The whole lesson is grounded into my contractual witness leaving: welter-hot hamburger grease so that his visage has seared into my entire philosophy for living. Dying was another injunction his strange but invigorating system of teachings sought.

My matriculation into a detective is nearing the primacy of execution when then the enemy of the state is a slip away, infesting Ecuador’s sanctuary with the en masse utility brought by the people, that nationless crowd occupying nameless few. I am at sudden stark sensation of a horn surge past my acceptance speech, and my last physical memory was the quickness of Mithrils itself being thrusted through my entire torso. I weep because no one is available at the moment.

Little ugly heads wrap up the children's wing of the public archives.

A cheaply laminated cultural diversity poster blends within smaller hands.

The youth obey the woman seated at a rotunda annex where sounds hurry upfront.

The woman is qualified for the job.

Her earnings will increase her laconic cough between each storybook complete.

The ugly heads look bigger behind the aisles where information goes into a byzantine maze.

Hallways decorated with sanitary gel-capsules, crayon on sheeted paper, and the beautiful inside of the building:

Never did the woman harm the children.

Instead ugly heads form on puppetlike figurehead.

Beams.

The wooden place piercing in a

lugubrious Venus without heat after the need for people afar in Sodden Daydream bang hateful snaps against an open compartment bed is left hung open at a rubber and wisteria dead bleak and dense.

The low basin is a good sign for the public image today flows oblique, obliterated conjecture landscapedesign and then within peripheral distance they create yardstick rubble for you to run away, when and where to their awareness no one could theorize because the newcomer is not a big deal until others rise.

WHITE

The dangerous gaze goes in search of a creature it will find ominous, but for understanding what or where the tool one at liberty would budge past tolerance. Paste circles the budge forth by curiosity, the killing piece of damning inquiry does not kneel: one encounters the taboo one seeks to mollify the howl inside oneself. How from beneath straightened lines for observing any point between this conclusion, the crooked canyon one painstakingly empties kilometers free of the gallons no one has ever tasted, and lived upright enough to present it as factual proofing? Meteor ahead, streaked brighter than all the space for descent back to where it all reached a point, then crow clawed furrows of dismal hinterland observable from one's own countenance. Where the red goes berserk, the dark is a fish quarry no longer marbled to all the aerial blue fossilized once rheumy: the white of the eyelet drowns the source of how dangerous it looked for a complete turnover. Vertigo, in the residual expressions one shows when furtive, one is only as the heat is to the clouds and is only escarpments for what is dissolved, once the red and dark and blue halt full from where inside the blinking decimal, one is all but infinitesimal without the canvas underneath what keeps gaze replete.

At the next hour, harm is blameless since it has done all but

destroy film ran-out pictures names built immense

warehouses for the miserly occupants outside has no fear, blessed

door smallish pretty once the malaise

leave property onsite, closing up blocks in the dark

looked for guidance

long panting thick spayed

licks soaked against a flicker, foggy,

has the ugly feeling that a witness

does not

have reservations except how nakedly

my mouth lines up put behind impressions

skies no teeth tonguemeat goes the little

crooked fence and there is a person who is

witness behind low fade

seeing inside where air is a godless

lakeshore, and blight there is increasing calm here

nightly, action is kindred nigh, formed dropping harm alarm down hard rumor: does the witness have a newfound market ploy, creates scarcity, scared?

windows.

no harm go on and ask not single reel was rightly not talk for a place another place, spines eat months

In the face of volumes not a thing was learnt— images birds, fly frosted up high where there is no place for

The outline leaving, but rightly also, it should, witless stabs rain gloss: the world never

Staying and waiting for pangs,

Enclosed birthstone palms inform nothing wrongdoing goes without future explanation;

foul dwelling without a chaos: speechless loud

Sadness not for what is lasting behind each hourly reminder

no one needs leftovers raining

indoors seditious during cold

district, no one important but looks can serve.

Distinct!

There is a witness safeguarding an observation round

a name that has no recollection, but has

permeable outlines once breaking inside

past a line where no kind minute word

escapes alive similar places, not withdrawn

a witness who degrades a stockpile

streaks of defensive lanes strike how its comes for famished feelings

do not keep place, even sorted during yearly repeating.

going forward, seeing at the next hour

is thinner in how better blindness works in

patterns enclosed, unfolds all but here

sounding awful having such an orchestra of thinner

returns.