Sci-Fi Fragment Plus Dub Dream

1)

Spinx Spanther, an ailuralien bod
from Slazenger-7, Ulthar System,
surveyed the vapid, dullpink lunascape
of Smars. As he scanned yonder scanyons,
the clabby tableland of Smartian terrain,
his 8ft henchbot, Ernie, numberwanged
'23467 097
11.' Spinx Spanther's binarybrained
blabacus of a hotchbot robutler
doubled as personal security,
equipped w/ chainsawwindmillstars for hands.
But scant call for slicing 'n' dicing crowd
control here. Smars was desolate as smug
snow, too xeric to sprout extremofield
desertcraturf - in that, arid aphex
of its counterpart thru the quantumgate,
unsparticulate Mars. Spinx had been there
too, long after the novalia cleared
by the Elon Muscovites for dometown
of New Creationham became instead
a depopulated proxy war, a mauve
Somme for drones. Zeta-Reticulan
barhover he'd met centuries later
at Sagittarius Bolognaise had
divulged he'd been staking out the Terrans
for millennia, concluding that quite 
clearly they weren't Kardashev calibre.
'Dumb Terran jackal apes could never build
fair Isratin on Mars's blank red slate,
but desecratered Earth 2.0
w/ telefactored lex talionis.
Palasraeli peace-world was daffy god's
dream.' But no roseplated, plaintive past 
of lost races & their last, lost chances
would weigh on Spinx Spanther over zero-
G 'n' Ts - least of all, kamikozmic
Terrans, ghosts of toddlers before his time.
Besides, he purrferred the splanetary
systems in his home universe, S-side
of the supersymmetrical stargate.
Even planet Smearth, whose gnomes salivate
for colloidal silver & often ate
salvers. Tho' multiversally treasure-
hunting catman was not on Smars for smurrks,
nor to holoholo l/ a stalko
thru the pink pother, some fishbowlhead space-
bum w/ the best seat i.e. the worst seat
in a stadial sandstorm of foxglove
fog. In whirbles pulsive, Ernie's clicking
clock breath axlegroused, '23824
71719', as Spinx
Spanther fremescently urged the servo-
droid to 'Move your chrome culet!' Its cuirass 
encased one large mesh lung & blexcroid heart, 
repurposed by a gizmomancer from 
silicone garage off Milkomeda 
magic roundabout. Or was it spaceport 
at the Spilkomeda?  Whichever,
Spanther sought an evolution beyond
flying saucers of cream. Caterpillar-
tracked calculator w/ a sporknose &
whisking shuriken fingers, Ernie creaked
futuristically behind its feline
sahib, as they descended in oblique
Indian file down scarp of Mountbattern
grink, for now Spinx Spanther had bird's-eyed
some bearings. The manshaped moggy & his Lotto-
machine-A.I.'d cogsbody had for days
yomped the candydross regolith of Smars
- except to ace areographers, a
desert every bit as brass monkies &
monotonous in aspect as rustbelly
tundra of its supersymmetrical
sister sphere, save pink as amassed honkies
(okay, ofays blushing a guiltily ashen 
gammon). Holo-map Ernie projected
from its cyflaptic eyezor had led them
this far, but now Spinx Spanther relied
on the sort of stillicide scholarship
a cat gleens from spacerats (translation
bracelet bangling his back, a caudal wire),
because Ernie's pirate-ninja meter
was in emergency credit. The pair
hinterlunged on thru tayammum douches
of inextinguishable pink, spinning
powders, smazey Smartian haboob, until
Sphinx Sphanther sphied, sphorry, spied his wrecked grail.
'Initiating sleep sequence, passout-
code: rats apollo defile robot tide,'
the catman commanded his lollygagging tin-
can catmanservant to take a hard-earnied
standby. Then, before Ernie's spangbolts could
cease squeaking, before its hi-tec bits quit
bleeping & combined constadrone of   
mechanical chakras was susurrust
engulfed by speckled banshee breaker of
crumbly kingdoms, wolf sough of Smars booting
alien sandcastles, beastly 
eager, Spinx Spanther nearly lapsed into
quadrupedal ignominy, when he
raced towards the ruins, object of his
enantionautic planethopping
over 8 & 1/2 lifetimes. Not much
remained of whatever edifice had
once graced Smars, a primordial witness
wrought in masonry as lurid as some
Lovecraftchild of Liberace, its pink
pillars & pink hunky punks bubblegum
rubble now, vividness conspicuous
against the grink sands.These Smartian ruins
were only slightly less ancient than God
& his blue hypernovae toybox, or
Tohu wa-Bohu's pantherine absence
before that. The Temple of the Dark Lord,
Yod-Coalescence, indisputably
a stripling of deep architecture next
to the Spinx Spanther's incomparable find.
By the same token, the fabled Terran 
city of Dubai would be an ugly
baby of steel & glass next to this site
of cosmic heritage, detonated
damask rose of a UFOpolis,
stone petals shed, sand pollen spread. Engraved 
on immemorial block, poking out 
of a sandbank & imbued w/ forlorn 
fascination for upright puss, such as 
xoanon of Eve might hold for Conan 
the Slybrarian, was maxim in long 
dead tongue, the long dead sense of which rendered 
it accidental koan, dumb poem 
by anon culture that might as well be 
entitled 'Sirenen Istigkeit'. Food 
for thought anorexic Time, bulimic
Space inedibly graffitied on Smars:
'Nulla Dies Sine Linear B'.
Under cured Klyntar yurt later that night,
whilst Ernie hummed w/ Atari sheep sprites,
Spinx Spanther, he dreamt of mighty works thru
the wringer of longslid signifiers.  

2)
The barhover hovered above
membranous whatevers of mise-en-dream,
before the scene settled l/ anarchic snow.
Smickey Smouse was on a mauve rove 
one smauve Tuesday. As Smickey
scanned yonder young scones,
young dust granted him edgehug.
Ernie said : Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah!
They certainly weren't in Snorwich, Snorfolk, anymore.
They hinterlunged on thru candybrass
of dross monkies, pining spiders,
until Smickey Smouse smied, smorry, sphied
the Temple of the Dark Lord,
Pantherine Absence.
Smickey Smouse said: Wait there,
I'm just going for a quick Slazenger-7.
Ernie said: Skoda codas.
Elon Musk divulged he'd been
staking out the Terrans
for millennia & concluded they were in
emergency credit.
So they descended a serdab
poking into a sandbank, 
the venom curd of darkness 
further diagonally desecraterd 
by Ernie's sadotronic knob attachment w/ knobs on,
thagomiser dick, oo-er Oumuamua 
of chrome & copper.
Its mace glans drilled down
until Smickey, Ernie & Elon
were 3 spelunking sphinxes,
spelunking deeper into the recesses
of the alien sandcastle
by the light of Ernie's eyeflaptic cyzors. 
But you can't holoholo in a fishbowlobowlo,
lavalampadomancy of a daffy god's dream.
They longslod into the long dead clock breath
of Ozymandias' unconscious.
Should a cave-in cave in, 
a hi-drama-gen bomb bomb,
quidzinc Ernie said: Inadjuvant Elon
Rifles should have hired 
ghosts of toddlers  
for our pirate-ninja security.
Above them,
the embitteringly bitty yonder 
stretched lone & level,
a ventriloquantum of solace on a grink brick
remained undiscovered & unsquandered, 
waiting for a greater translator.
Ernie said: edit to bore life dollop a star.
Ernie said: Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah!