POP Head BOOk
In honor of talk not necessarily that we have heard, the first sign was that none of participants were arrested. Those at the bus stop declare the gossip went like this:
Once on a time there were three good myths that lived in a house in DewDip. Guapo Pop was the fadder biggest. Step Dame mama was amorpheous. Sue Lit baby showed like her dad. The child version with further discrimination follows.
Each myth ate porridge with ginger snaps at dawn. They were quick folk in the nook, even if they lived off HoBook. Do not count the chickens or the occasional gaseous submissions. The belches, included among the first signs of the book, were as buoys and tug boats that echo by night. Here ends the first day of myth.
The second sign came when none were caught. The titular head of the family Pop, Step Dame, also called Damer, had a lot of names: Dame Belcher, Mother English, Guapa Pop
. Her step daughter was Sue Lit. Where the real mom? Nobody knew and if they did you think they'd tell? We have suspicions. So much has been written of the replacement Dame, but you do know what a stepmother is. She is the quintessent pop, from fairy tale to Fess, which is what Damer belched to the universal psych. Things not simp, grasshop. Damer belching Susan and Musselman Pop. If you're not Pop, you're not.
The husband weighed 800 pounds and shared this resemblance with Sue. You unnerstand semblance? Intuit the walk in the park, footprints drowned little dogs. What park! What dogs? The park Laguna Langua. That's why they call them Lake Poets, the little dogs. Nowadays that don't mean much.
Damer belching is the second sign. Reader appetite, Dame Voracious, reading day and night. Read means eat. Dame appetite. A nut you most desire. Appetite cracksers. In common, consume, consume. Damer, therefore reader, ate Toot Suite. QED. And dad, publisher of World Books, retired to the aulde syne.
That left the third sign, the goats who talked Billy, two nannies and their kids, Kinder, Kendall and Don. They were yule goats tied to Damer's Buick. The biggest blab was that ram who went abab blab adab on the bumper. Damer had little dogs too who spoke quatrains mostly. They went abba, a Pomeranian, a Snouzer and a Pifawa paper. The wag of love! We read them on the berm. Metaversal flesh consumed. You pop! Itself the mystery west. We do propose it. Come over. This account registered with the Goat Soc.
Looked at another way, Turk was serving Sue to Pop, but Pop was Guap. Sue delight was every one's. Were you a dog you longed. Were you Turk you served. Were you Dame you ate. Repeat: eat = read. Do not trod a half belief.
This book is about pastry.
That same knowledge came at the end of Rome.
Turk M, Party Poop, Big Und
Turkey retired from Big Undustry U. Don't know if this is a sign. We say Ublishing. Or Unblishing, to the point. Not delicate to describe the dismemberment of verbs on Dame's plate. Who to blame? Preverbs poisoned the brain. The flab of the year acclaimed Melville eating Crane. She ate 'em all. Now you done it, you heard. Turk made books like he lived off Claribel: 800 pound man, 600 pound daughter, lived with second wife,
worked nights and came home in the day. She rented balls and shoes. Lit biz not all glam. Then came rubble, empties on the roof, and take out, them weird eruptions in the tale. They sat. Not just breakfast. Lunch was normal. Ham on Rye, that read by schools:
milk shakes till the Dairy dry.
pickle nasty as before.
no steamed lettuce or pork.
Dinner? You want it all. Defer that appetite, dinner soup de grace. Turn on TV, rap, appliance going, modem in left, fork in the right. Chang those ditties, advert six, couple delectables, send pix! She wa de rose by-chemical wood, he da Chanticleeric roost.
Probably you know her transportation venting blue.
Critics swear it tornado, but it Sue.
Lei lines drove tug-faced on her head. People on the verge of reading hear the new expect.
So what do you eat when you eat Sue Lit, cuandero squash or ham, a broadside big, clerihews, anthologized stew?
It a cure my friend.
A cure for ail ya.
Drink milk in a poem.
Also a sleep aid. Roast poem in your home.
Round the burners a frosty night Sue Lit's a beauty cure. Civilization Sue! Sue Lit! They call. What doesn't Sue Lit cure? She's that huge alone. If we get to the bone then the world will be one! One peace, one home. Where gone? That was what they asked when they couldn't dream. The cupboards and ices and niceness. And finally, how done? That's what we're here to show.
Once upon a time in a town with a spa and a delightsome mayor smoke came from Damer's third chimney. The third sign
of the book. Not the chimney! The smoke!
Where oh where has the Turkey gone?
She fattened him up on the run.
Did you know Turk had gone?
Why would she fatten and kill what made her live, but on the other if she didn't she would starve. If this were a drama or a movie we'd wheel in a platter, each with a head. Things cloy but don't stop.
Where he go?
Back to basic Turk.
Can fly, know the wild.
Turk flew up the tree to roost. He went up the chimney he did. Ain't you read? What that tell?
Predictable Turk of Und, the party poop hadn't lost his stuff. He squealed and squelched when he took off. But when Turk went up it was a loss to Und and little dogs as much as Ooks. Ooks? Ooks? Sign! Sign! If you think there's more you're right. What's an Ook? Not tell. On the plus side this Damer, that is Guapa Pop, got fat.
Fat maybe not the word.
Can't have that, consume, consume, you pop.
Otherwise the economy gone up and all of us.
So eat Sue Lit.
Combine Sue Lit with egg.
Eat Pop mess. That warning hard. Things wind up on the floor, little dogs eat digestibles. Everybody says it, but watch the hand near eye. It pointing down. That means a lie. The point is late in coming in the mess, gravy meat ball wall, babies screaming, give us more. Then comes clean up. Best pup poet gossip.
Und made a song of all the smalls that disappeared.
Turk lived on it afterward.
These songs were Ublished in a ook wit rhyme, and into this world a guapa-ing from bowling leagues came Sue. Traffic beeped blocks.
Hotel Damer ate the Ooks.
These signs. Women do what men have all along. Eat the purple home.
That's excuse for eating OOks?
What that remind?
Who pays the taxes, gets permits?
Boil down the nubbin, mix a batch,
let it rise in the kitch all night.
Separate commerce, lurch from the pad, things are the same. Nay madam, seems! Cook's prerogative. Who buys? Here comes that pence athwart the eyes. What happened to the lid? Why does the air steam?
No way to cross?
All questions worth your time.
Neighborhoods are zoned for cannibalism?
Why not just deny this is going on and pay the rent?
She ate him. She ate her. That's it.
He was big. Now he gone. You want Aesop to sing a song, how 'bout 'op?
What you got?
Do get a gun. Time for coup, folks.
Beethoven Rundown, bang door, stalk room, pound, "now it's done."
When she gone,
the moon and the sun,
the star in the sky,
know the reason
why she gone,
yeah, she gone.
now she gone.
And when thou hear thou know the fair carcass Sue Lit is.
[The first sign came but none of participants were arrested.
None arrested doesn't mean none suspected. Suspicion is an honor among the folk, which means that we have to hear it. Those at the top gossip that it went like this: ]
For our second sign, which none of them suspected, we examine the titular head of Pop, that being the Madam Damer. Her step daughter is Sue Lit. Nobody knows what happened to the real one. So much has been written about Madam Damer herself that the question is immaterial. When Dame Voracious read by day, which means scroll, surf, by night she had a different appetite. Call it sensation, or if you like, a desire to consume. There is some contradiction between lit and pop.
They had lived in Galveston, Lake Havasu and HoBooken. We compare reading to eating in this missal.
We even eat when we read.
Digesting psyche defined zwitgeist.
Milk shakes, at least till Dairy dry.
But no steamed lettuce or pork, that was dinner it seems.
Dinner Not Row Your Boat, but Lines roved Lei-faced in her head.
It was not pretty.
Chanticleric melodies to the rooster crowed in bed.
When her car, it vented blue,
critics swore tornado,
it was Sue.
Big nose, fat rump, zits, a little frump? Sue Lit leads to escape. Civilization founded Lit! Sue Lit! Suit Lit, they call. It was always a question they asked about the cupboards, the niceness and the tea. And finally, how was it done? That's what we show. But on the other hand if she didn't, she would starve. That is counter intuitive. Things are simple and not. If this were a drama or a movie we'd wheel in a platter with writers, each one carrying a POP. That don't stop us from a meal. Where did he go? Turkeys can fly in the wild. Turk flew up a tree to roost. He went up the chimney all right. What does that tell? Pass go, get fat. Fat is maybe not a sufficient word. Consuming consumption until you pop, otherwise the economy does not go up and with it all of us.
This account registered at the Great Soc.
writes: The text here is overwriting interlineated, three texts translated by the fictional writer El Ephod with glosses and illustrations. POP Head BOOk
includes Guapa Susan, The Remains of Lit and Und on Shunt, Invisible Giants, The Dame of Guapa Pop, Three Big Ooks, all indexed to be beviewed here