Kristen Landsman and Maurice

Daughter

Maurice, Baltimore

Saturday, August 6th, 2022

Photography by Michele Lohr

Although, I was undoing this ethereal being that had become truncated by the rapid, mycelial spores hibernating in the scaled, hollow cavity recesses of human consciousness, I was able to shed the octagonal , reflective, turquoise, beating skin before it convulsed like a dying fish on the ground with shattered glass. I was a spotted leopard inside the tinfoil helmet reptilian spore gang. We ride or die while I poke out the red, putrid sty in my eye. The sink of dishes was homosexual, and I was boring as a result of being unfuckworthy. I sat on the cock of the ghost. His phallus was the sharpest sword. The rust was a force of destruction.

She was my daughter, and I was proud of her. We traveled the Adriatic and beyond, and lived to tell about it. She stopped making apologies-She paid homage to the greats, and spit upon the nefarious, reptilian spore Fucks. She was done with it. We all decided that there were a thousand too many eyebalIs.

Kristen transformed into a dragon. Her nails ripped across the sky as ten-thousand cigarettes burned across the fake, linen tapestry of the world’s backdrop. Her new abilities were quickly learned. The board of judges were skeptical, and a python devoured her in an instant, and the universe was turned inside out like the devil’s pocket. They found the church and prayed to God and they wafted hell’s flames away for the last time.

She reached into the mirror, and grasped the talons of the Anti-God.

It pulled her to the other side.

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