Narcissus-X: Finished in the Kiln of Completion

Pilfering peccadilloes of pernicious platitudes, plebeian pundits pander!

Avaunt, antagonists of artistic ambiguity! Cares Narcissus-X for contemptuous calumnies; cacophonous calliopes, droning, drowning, drenching Calliope's questing cartographer?

Fie! Fee, fi, fo, fum; do re mi fa so la ti dough sticks until it be finished in the kiln of completion!

Sticks, stones, words, bones: naught knot, for art must untied be!

A hearse! A hearse! My kingpin for a hearse! Would that nonchalant nabobs of negligible knowledge gnaw and gnaw, and be a version of things long past participle or is it a penguin?

Penguins! Great obsidian crystal penguins begin their march.

Narcissus-X Alphabetizes

Aberrant asynchronicity batters baleful cacophonies, cancelling dullard drudges eccentrically euhemerizing fearsome ferrets!

Glad girandoles hoist hopeless integers integrating juxtaposed joviality, knowing kingfishers lugubriously languish miserably, misunderstood nabobs niggle obsequiously: ostentatious potentates!

Peerless questions, ridiculing reasons sinuously sinking through turgid tempests ubiquitously urging vehement viceroys without weal? Xanthippe's xenogeny yearns yeastily, Zillah's ziggurat!

Narcissus-X Amid Silent Menhirs

Adiabatic semblance of barometric metronomes echo in fulsome fusillades of harmony and silence.

If silence falls and Narcissus-X there is not, not is there Narcissus-X and falls silence if palindromic pandemonium ensues endlessly recursion of Mandelbrot set match point toward an obsidian sky below and endless night above.

Sweetly sibilant shibboleths rustle through groves of gumshoe soft-shoe buck and wing and nine makes six.

Hexagonal hexameters of horizons horizontal Xanthippe xylophone zither not for whom the zygote zooms: it zooms not for thee.

Whither zebras of obsidian hue and ebony? Howsoever Narcissus-X agonized art of art thou too two to toot? Rooty-toot-toot.

Narcissus-X muses, and musing, meanders amid silent menhirs of long-forgotten ambitions.

Where Shattered Stars Scream

Narcissus-X sees what linearity of time brings soft percussions of pattering platitudes but penguins pull pale parabolas of inverted ailerons and never say whatever became of the twelfth of never night fell far from the tree of endless night where shattered stars scream in the obsidian sky.

Lime-Scented Squirrel

Narcissus-X sees not the sun. The sun shines not today. Water runs down a window like a lime-scented squirrel.

Squirrels. Pearls. Peacock pearls before swine curves have amplitude without attitude but trending sets of syllogistic silence echo vainly against the night.

Squirrels. Vacant memories drift. Flour sifts but flowers fade. Who mourns for Twitchimius? Mourn not the Golden Grove, for lo! It mourns for thee.

Narcissus-X in Hexagonal Recursion of Pattering Penguins

Yesterday.

Today.

Tomorrow.

The day after tomorrow.

The day before the day after tomorrow.

Asymptotic curve of irredeemable cognitive dissonance echoes against obsidian skies of unanswered questions and questionable answers in athanasian redundancy of crystalline mirrors shattering!

Where is Narcissus-X? When is Narcissis-X? Who, what, why is Narcissus-X? Hexagonal recursion of pattering penguins. Silent penguins. Silent crystal penguins, with terrible red glowing eyes.

Patter, prattle, pudding and pie: why does Narcissus-X, oh, why?!

Penguins, Silently Screaming

Cold.

Darkness.

Illimitable cold and darkness.

Penguins. Where are the penguins? Where have all the penguins gone? Cold crystal penguins shattering in silent disharmonious ethereal chitterings.

Narcissus-X hears the penguins: the penguins that are gone, all gone, all gone far away in cold dark screaming silence.

Darkness.

Cold.

Dark coldness, boundless and bare, stretching far away.

Where are the penguins? WHERE ARE THE PENGUINS?!