No Shadations of Grey here. Nor lavenders and lollipops for bad boys and girls. Every text(vis)ual page is a rainbow in full-blown luminous flux. Every symbiotic word, a conceptual construct scaffolded into a tensegrity sphere of depravity. What's the escape velocity for Planet Dirt? Catherine the Great toyed with the calculation best, "There is nothing, it seems to me, so difficult as to escape from that which is essentially agreeable." With Nietzsche bringing up the rear, "For branches to reach to heaven, roots must reach to hell." Ms. von Kix invites one to, "Gather in my gray-blue eyes. This is yours. Float unencumbered." "Now be off," Mistress then commands, "and catch us the foxes, the little foxes, for our vineyards are in bloom!" ________________________________________ "The thread of this [palimpsestic phantasmagoria] wends throughout the machinations of the Webstress Illustra von Kix conducting a power exchange, yin for yang, with the elsen Doctor Mortsac who so over amps their prison planet's exoskeletal Nidus Plexus that it fazes amok acoustic shadows until the 'mash sheen eerie' descends into a cascading tessellation of crumbling dungeons strung to the bend in time. "Be he victor or victim, in the end their argument is all just a matter of semantics, I'm sure." mpc["megaparsec"]Astro ________________________________________ From the "FOREWEB," a flash-cycle vignette: "I first met the Webstress by appointment on a blistering First of July afternoon at her 'happy' (Los Feliz) home's dungeon with a portfolio of my metric montages. I explained, while she leafed through the illustrated poems, that it was my intention to 'flesh in' the exoskeletal catalog she had in her hands with genuine gotherotic scenery. She agreed, in exchange for modeling scenes, to enweb the artist for 666 days while the camera could be tossed from slave to Illustrix to crew, all shooting scenes on the mat with Erato, Muse of Lyric, in a no holds barred grapple of metronomic servitude. "To submit one's self -- Art's ultimate price. "Did I have the cajones? Sounded better than holing up in a flop with a Burroughs 'typer' from Goodwill and broke dick...I've done that for art: getting it broke off and on a fork fed me. The folio aside, Illustra handed me a clip boarded 'Dialog Sheet' with pen. I scribbled 'no hol[e]s barred'."
About the Author: mpcAstro -- "user name" for Michael Philip Castro, a/k/a "Mike Castro" -- is an artist who waxes oppoetic near the Gulf of Mexico's teal-tongued waters lapping at the peninsular underside of Florida's powdered sugar shores where he consummated his thirty-year opus interruptus of pent-up photopoetic cut-ups. This amplifiction's tri-agonists, Illustra von Kix, Amrita Amanita, and Dr. Mortsac, are loosely modeled on the author's resonated 666-day passion role-play with the erstwhile Los Angeles-based dominatrices Ilsa Strix and Izabella Sol, before 2001, after which time the trinity dissolved like powdered sugar into The Gulf along with their pre(de)vious millennial identities.