CHAPTER 1
“They say he eats bees and that is why he’s so jumpy. Some say he has a fold of skin that looks like a cow’s tit coming out of his forehead, and that he never cleans himself after defecating, that he doesn’t need to.
I’ve heard stories of women who claim he visits them at night, in their dreams. That he puts flowers around their breasts, and writes, in beautiful script: “You are my Nefertiti” on their bellies. He always wears the same clothes. He owns a large lake. Some people call him the invisible doctor.”
EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE: “The Mysterious Prophet” – BOOK OF TITICACA
“He faced the buzz of the crowd, biting beans and peeling artichokes. He disrobed and bade them remember the Virginal Tongue, the first word. We got some wonderful shots but, unfortunately, his staff demanded we destroy the film. Our questions about the lake? Unanswered. “How’s the fishing?” He wrote a book about it. And, who are those fantastic creatures who follow him? They’re not entirely human I can tell you that much!
Inventor, salience seeker, nectar-taker, liberator. In person, apt to disappear. Impossible to interview over the phone. Earlier this month, he was seen parachuting into the most secluded forest area of Fleeks. Instrument maker, ignorant scientist, who is this Titicacaman?”
THE TITICACA DAILY – FLOR VILS (“People and Places” Column)
CHAPTER 2
“Even when familiar to everyone in the broadest strokes, upon closer attention an artist’s career might offer notes of considerable interest. We discovered as much on a recent afternoon that found one of your favorites in an expansive mood.
Raised at the southern tip of a centennial scream by parents of distinct backgrounds (his father was a piped-in click-track, his mother the keening of a half-released brake), Titicacaman was apprenticed at a tender gauge to the quick-fading echo of a dropped penny. Mingled chants and shuffling greeted his public debut as an opening jar of waves, dogs paddling inward from its perimeter to bark at a passing steamer. Like many a flat rock and bowed record before him, he skipped conventional schooling to enroll in a culvert of shattering paper and folding glass. There he made key discoveries in the archived notes of the bass staff, soon published in the official organ of the Orificial Organ Brotherhood. A minor bridge carried him over striped bovines and through wind-shuddered chain-link into the field of open-palmed schoolyard percussion. Subsequent years, as every child knows, have found him working with time-blackened leaves, Lilliputian chickens scratching worms from their holes, and excess brain of uncatalogued varieties. Asked for a final word for readers, his arguably anomalous choice was hello.”
THE TITICACA DAILY – S – BY YOEL MITH (Entertainment Section)
“13 creatures formed a circle around an object. They became a shield, a shelter, blocking the object from view. Curious, I approached the circle, the creatures hissed. Meekly, I returned to my spot. These beings were a strange breed. Mostly human, they stood and moved like humans do, but they had feline traits, a curvature of the spine, and raptor eyes. They were mostly naked except for leaping shoes and a strange sort of armor covering their vital parts. Their arms were entwined, locked together in a strong stance. Straight. Their eagle-like eyes wide open, hardly blinking. Why were they guarding this object?
Waited. Curiosity gnawing. Impatience told me to gain a vantage point so I released my springs and leaped. I flew over them, circling slowly, telling myself I would only peak, get close enough to discern. The aerial view showed me the object was curled in a fetal position. Looked like a body. I tried to get closer, but the creatures would not let me. I returned to my initial, distant spot.
“What is it?” I asked with a shout, cupping my mouth so they could hear me. Silence. I asked again: “The object, what is it?” Stares to silence an earthworm. A few more minutes went by, my curiosity was so great I could not leave. I found a shady spot under a tree and settled myself to see what, if anything, would unfold. The wall was still, sand peppered the ground.”
EXCERPT FROM: ACCOUNTS OF THE PROPHETS – “THE BIRTH OF TITICACAMAN” PROPHET BEEL
CHAPTER 3
“Cold feet, wash stones. Revolving eyes, a paradox of. Recite. Prime. Ye, who fade the fog into light, forgive. Transient fish. Bearable. May this day reach into eternity and bring back its rewards. Fruitful. Your absence is the void. A dirt hole, treacherous and hidden. Tucked away with the inhalings of the pulse. Ye who fade the denim and drip the tank, bring us our morning. Pack dream night. A pleasant countdown. Hairless body.”Litany #4 – BOOK OF TITICACA
“Since that ever-one day, in the sands, on the western fringe of Poklax. I saw the ships circling before the one descended. I notified the ministry and illustrated my vision. No mistaking. No believing. Hooked. I let them block my fingerprints and erase my name in exchange. Unloaded my possessions on hoppers. Cut my citizen card to bits. I’m on their employ. Tap their resourcesand send daily reports. Nothing.
Mornings and afternnons I spend at the desert patch of first contact. I extract nectar from the root, mix it with buds and hallucinate. I’ve seen nothing and it is the finest sight of all. Amazing silence. Reptile tonguing it. Nights are much too dangerous. Copters fly low, they bathe an ocean of light, their mission is a do-good, but the way they go about it is a violation, a nerve-prick. They will not let the sky be still. ‘What better place to find the truth?’ Their slogan reads. They spread their wiry, metal arms over the city like it needs a hug! No passsage too deep in their 100-vex radius.”
EXCERPT FROM: ACCOUNTS OF THE PROPHETS – “SENTINEL” PROPHET BEEL
CHAPTER 4
“The extent which note of the extensive mythological scissors, gold, and is the beautiful example in this one, and is lost, almost, it was played back, it is small. Some way where that sounds, the very, the hallucinatory of noise, always healthy collage of transfer, sound, appliance and voice improvisations, you find the percussion instrument, the rotary board, and many.
Those exceeding recognition frequently, when being tweaked appliance, before occasionally is disordered and, disassembling for the second time in form because for a while, it congeals. As for the school of the Shimmering of the blue rubber, make fish passing by the bright orange water, the loop of the mumbels of the wiggle and the scream tension of the noir of the illusion which echos, the wonder of the song adding the plant of the bird, is created to small engine power you desire by thinking.
From your body on the wood, floating was repeated, but high, escaping making form remember always, it sprinkled your death completely with ‘the Hellos’.”
EXCERPT FROM: “DREAM TALK” BY LOREN BOX
“It’s very hard to tell which story is true, and quite frankly, it doesn’t matter since they’re both extraordinary and make for perfect tea talk. It’s up to you who to believe: where’s your heart.
We’re at a point where propaganda posters and ‘TRUST-NOT’ sentiments are choking our very senses. I for one refuse to believe those malicious rumors. Stinging hate. And even if they are true, maybe there were reasons unknown to us? Besides, who are we to judge? Let’s bask in our need for drama people, but remember that, to condemn is to knock over your martini!”
THE TITICACA DAILY – FLOR VILS (“People and Places” Column)
CHAPTER 5
A CACTI MA TINA CACTI AM TIN
A CACTI MAN IT
A CACTI TAM IN
A CACTI MAT IN
A CACTI AN TIM
A CACTI AN MIT
A CACTI TAN IM
A CACTI ANT IM
A CACTI NAT IM
A TACTIC MAIN
A TACTIC MA INA TACTIC AM IN
A TACTIC MAN I
A TACTIC AN IM
A CACM TITIAN
A CACM AINT IT
A CACM ANTI IT
A CACM TINA IT
A CACM TAINT I
A CACM TITAN I
A CACM AN I TIT
A CACM AN I ITTA CACM TAN I IT A CACM ANT I IT
A CACM NAT I IT A CACM AT I TIN
A CACM AT IN IT A CACM TAT I IN A CIA MAC TINT
A CIA CAM TINT A CIA CAN MITT
A CIA CAN’T TIM
A CIA CANT MITA CIA ACT MINT
A CIA CAT MINT
A TITANIC MAC
A TITANIC CAM A MICA INTACT
A MICA CAN TIT
A MICA CAN ITT A MICA CANT IT A MICA ACT TIN
A MICA CAT TIN
A MICA TACT INA MICA TAN CIT
A MICA ANT CIT A MICA NAT CIT
A MANIC TACIT A MANIC ATTIC
A MANIC ACT IT
A MANIC CAT IT
A MANIC TACT I A MANIC AT CIT A MANTIC ACT I
A MANTIC CAT IA INCA MAC TIT A INCA MAC ITT
A INCA CAM TIT
A INCA CAM ITT
A INCA ACT TIM A INCA ACT MIT A INCA CAT TIM
A INCA CAT MIT
A INCA TACT IM
A INCA TAM CIT
A INCA MAT CITA CAIN MAC TIT
A CAIN MAC ITT
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A CAIN ACT TIM
A CAIN ACT MIT A CAIN CAT TIM A CAIN CAT MIT
A CAIN TACT IM A CAIN TAM CIT
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A MAC ANTI CIT A MAC TINA CIT A MAC AN CIT IT A MAC TAN CIT I
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A CAM CAN I TIT
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A CAN ACT I TIM A CAN ACT I MIT A CAN ACT IM IT A CAN CAT I TIM
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A CAN CAT IM IT A CAN TACT I IM
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A CAN AM CIT ITA CAN TAM CIT I
A CAN MAT CIT I
A CAN AT CIT IM A CAN’T ACT I IM
A CAN’T CAT I IM
A CAN’T AIM CIT
A CAN’T MA CIT I A CAN’T AM CIT I A ACT CAT MINI
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A ACT MAIN CITA ACT MACIT IN
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TACTICIAN MA
TACTICIAN AMMANIAC TACIT MANIAC ATTIC
MANIAC ACT IT
MANIAC CAT IT MANIAC TACT I
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CAIMAN TACIT CAIMAN ATTIC
CAIMAN ACT IT
CAIMAN CAT IT
CAIMAN TACT ICAIMAN AT CIT ATTICA MANIC
ATTICA MAC IN
ATTICA CAM IN ATTICA CAN IM
NCAA CIA MITT
NCAA MICA TIT
NCAA MICA ITT
NCAA TACIT IM NCAA ATTIC IM
NCAA MAC I TITNCAA MAC I ITT
NCAA CAM I TIT NCAA CAM I ITT NCAA ACT I TIM NCAA ACT I MIT
NCAA ACT IM IT NCAA CAT I TIM NCAA CAT I MIT
NCAA CAT IM IT NCAA TACT I IM
NCAA MA CIT ITNCAA AM CIT IT
NCAA TAM CIT I
NCAA MAT CIT I
NCAA AT CIT IM MANIA TACTIC
MANIA ACT CIT
MANIA CAT CIT
ANITA CACM IT
ANITA MAC CIT ANITA CAM CIT
ATTAIN CACM IMANA CACTI IT
MANA TACTIC I
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ANA CACTI TIM
TITICACAMAN TITICACAMAN TITICACAMAN TITICACAMAN TITICACAMAN
FROM PROPHET BEEL’S SKETCH BOOK (Fragmentation exercise: mirror notes)
CHAPTER 6
“Crippled beast you don’t fuck me! Step back curdled spirit…witch of stupor, slob criminal…thief impaled. This is my ascent. Your clouds and venom hurt me no more. I’m immune. I’ve swallowed your poison too many times, the taste of it is candy to my buds. Foaming bitch your neck I will fuck. Bleeding cunt your hole I will sow so you breed no more of your faithless minions. You want war? This is my desert. These are my snakes, your hair. I’ll sink my teeth into your flesh and let go not until I rip it off. I will eat you fucking sloth. Never again will you gain entrance into my den!”FROM PROPHET BEEL’S BOOK OF POEMS: “CRIPPLED BEAST”
“Bells toll. I hear them, see them through windows. Incessant ringing for those cut. Those bleed. Them who, through no fault of their own defecated their last shit for a blind cause to greed the feeding fuck.
Brute. You call me out? I am here. I can be there. Wherever you please. Be. Forewarned. My blades are sharp. Sharpened to slice you. I will not retreat. Your feats are nothing to me. Your calls are those of weeds in rosegardens.
Brute. You who tread on my daily bread with muddy feet and fungus. Fool. You who smile and call me cute. I will. With golden locks and pink ribbons. Fuck you up. I will. With lace, and, powder, and, sugar, rip your fucking heart out. Brute. You who protect me knowing well your walls imprison, knowing well your voice is grating. Sing no more.
These lullabies you try to endear me with are love poems for the weak. You think I am your nation? Streak the me and I shall lion your fucking eyes.”
FROM PROPHET BEEL’S BOOK OF POEMS: “BRUTE”
CHAPTER 7
“The shells cracked patterns, creases of thirsty soil. Lamps and instruments to probe. I have answered their questions numerous times yet they persist. Who? What? When? Recite. Is it my duty? They seem to love paper. Minute details to rule. Checkboxes can alter a person’s life. A little X marks a scar. My claims brand me as insane. Their scope of vision, their understanding…so limited. There is only one dimension and it is called: power.”EXCERPT FROM: ACCOUNTS OF THE PROPHETS – “NON-BELIEF” PROPHET BEEL
“A miracle! A shine so bright most choose to keep in shadows, stuffed under rags, stored to forget. I have a framed image placed over my pyre. I ignite luminaries in honor, for to love is to be. My hero. Rescuer of my left arm, my daughters are yours.
I, as a socialite, indulge in words daily and as heiress, choose the word patron. My family’s tradition to uphold for it is the purest form. The way to grow. Bread and water to share, the very eyes puffed from shedding. Sleepless in elation.
Forgive, my readers. Today’s column is a manifestation, a naked declaration, an ode. I stay, you will feel my words, and brief, if but for a moment, brace your hand, raise your palm and read the future’s invisible words for they are scribbled on it.”
THE TITICACA DAILY – FLOR VILS (“People and Places” Column)
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