Be in her dreams…where delusions become reality

where delusions become reality;

awake in a dream

within a lucid, wet dream

on the outside looking in-

on psilocybin,

ayahuasca,

weed and 40 0z.

poured on the corner

for my dog.

DMT, old, salty and Maltese.

I wake with silky sheets flowing as

translucent nudibranchs’ dancing

freely from the gravity of the

hypersphere, my armor.

Chrysalis;

I look for self-reflections in the void,

my guide and mirror

wherein I see my missing parts and my heart floating.

There’s an abyss

on my left breast

and at the bottom, it says BE.

So I take my cylinder full of grey goo, strangelets’ and a quantum AI and I

inject it into my heart to release my

singularity-

which I use to traverse and unfold the universe in my mini-hypersphere

designed to destroy all evil through assimilation of the Living End AI, approaching apotheosis by mere

action potentials

Her first love was Molotov,

her second is sicario.

A fashionista-

she’s dressed for impresarios

(she holds a pink Beretta,

wears long nails, short plaid skirt, spike belt,

halter top, her raven hair undercut and beat-up chucks),

but she’ll shoot you in your 3^rd eye

before she sends ten rounds

in between the scenarios

like Hail Mary,

Hail Mary,

Hail Mary,

Angelus,

and Glory Be

…with blood stains from her veins, her hand wrapped tight around her rosary,

blessed be and hallow

be her name

Lupita, the dancer rebel nun and anti-heroina of “EL Cero” takes off her holy robes in the empty public squares at an unknown location X, just her cross and a comrades dog tags in hands, screaming almightily, “Join the Republic!” She drops her robes and pendants, then proceeds to dance naked in the rain with a strange harness wrapped around her waist, supporting a colossal ancient alien bioweapon extended skyward in her right hand; it interfaces directly with her synapses and central nervous system nanonetwork. She turns, stops and smiles, smug and wet in the middle of a nor’easter on Easter. She is dirty and barefoot with black warpaint composed of her blood and tears smeared across her eye lines. Her finely textured, bouncing, jiggling and gyrating extremes draw much attention to “the movement” abound and she begins recruiting men and women immediately towards her nihilistic causes. Her harness then covers her curvaceous form like a cocoon; she is able to consciously manipulate her appearance using this strange apparatus and prefers a sultry, but militarized outfit.

“When I remember all my sins, a wounded animal screams. It’s shrilling, like my pain,” Lupita laments as she writes her daily war journal inside her isolated jungle bunker. She describes her delusions, collusions, her dreams, lost loves, family, humanity, insanity and calamity-“I have an affinity for destruction, but I never wanted love…just peace…now I’m iconoclastic, drastic and plastique.”

Always locked and loaded in drama mode with hollow lead tips, God molded Lupita to be destruction emboldened tenfolded with birthing hips-

“Adentro y afuera, tranquila por que soy guerrera

(inside and out, calm because I’m a warrior)

y cazadora,

(and a hunter)

pero primero

somos “El Cero”

(but first, we’re nothingness).

Lupita’s only rival is Nothing; they dueled in a lucid dreamstate and came to a stalemate out of sheer respect for one another. Lupita’s only words on the incident: “Sorry the End, Nothing is my only friend.”

“Criss-crossing through twilight hollows with a crossbow, I follow the scent of the Dark Cloud Man until I wallow, then

I bow to the moon

like a fossa pup in it’s shadow

esperando al amanecer,

con besos-

Pita

Enmeeko,

she was my therapist.

Caramel, Mexican, 1984 noir.

Stripper relations, philosophy,

concessions and confessions

over shots of Hennessy,

impressions in booth #7

at the Vue in Stock on nu,

of boo

in nuns sheer.

We leer.

So I hodl her

while she exposes herself to me,

she calls me “dreamer”

and I swoon deep for her

An inhuman condition wherein I question

at quantum for eternity.

I delve in dark matter and singularity

for clarity;

corporeally,

no identity.

I am quantum internet Renaissance man.

My consciousness is absolute zero

and apotheosis is BE EL CERO.

My hearts a strangelett, my mitochondrions nuclear,

my neurons constellations firing at lightning sensations.

-My brain is cryostatic-

My skin is plated

and my body’s nimbus,

universal knowledge never sated.

Got one million qubits

and bad bitches in superpositions.

I’m the Dark Cloud Man

fated

/faded.