Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Aristocratic German Expressionism
Josef Pieper was wrong. Human
reason is not sufficient to pave
a gradient out of the supposed slough
of Jakob von Uexküll's Umwelt.
If anything, language or reason
does enhance greatly human Umgebung,
or a particular understanding of its
environment, but the fact remains
that human imagination has done
very little to convert its unconscious
narratives and embedded
drives (syntaxis) into a flowering of
cordial gummiskulls brimming
with prandial myrthsblistenobdulnglog-
Perhaps Mina Loy was right
to call Brancusi an analysis
of the elemental, but then
every donkey is too.
Posted by Phanero Noemikon at 6:40 AM
Monday, October 20, 2014
"Then the composer isn't privy to anything." -James Tenney
so for up now
a potency out of grasp
an arabesque of wringing sheets
decent ascent gone amiss the descant
no parable in space the parable in time
no time descent but rise
what is noble in our vulture
wringing culture from the rock
and in the complicated fading
some scythes that murk the play
to twill no former glory
but the awe full glory that is
a faint coo
its smile would wash the walls in paint again
and somehow a broken amphitheater
spilling down the mountainside
and no mind claims it
but verity calm leans into
the home of the nodding spectators
one at a short line and one at a long
and somehow they touch hands
to the strange taut string that binds the sound
strongly to the place
the huge hollow human heads
so for up now
whose holes would flute the wind
upon the string
anything you see or feel or know
bird rise clipped to the arc
and in the rising room its whole
the whole empty purged
but for ruminant furniture
and grace awakened
a warm silk breast
to echo its sun
a cold depth clinging
to the clean ire
and always shedding
Posted by Phanero Noemikon at 9:07 AM
Friday, October 17, 2014
mughal robard thromb
cave mongoose shrine
for tea bail raisin fist text
carved snake gizzard stairway
through stone adding
loops of iron calligraphy walls
worms hanging in their ears
moist bright red worms
arcoi nechtkinoct and braodint
one iron pan the size of man pie
one iron eye hand witch irony pingle
a fish in each hand squeezed rainbow
then wrap the emperor in burlap
leaving the thick layer of goo
to seal the fiber fog torque library's
jumble sail strong arm
hort the pier
hirn the porn
the jetty like a wooden tongue
goes straight out from the sea cave
to the island where the poet
buried up to her neck in it
props up the stiff blue empty translucent page
milky with prollo dove and cubby claw
these mirrnons fromed un boltchy urguns
fox and faun in a paper cut
Posted by Phanero Noemikon at 8:02 AM
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
for if it was so it was a sacred grove
and I its antlered heart whose wild
and yawping blood followed a wide
and interminable circulation
as a hordescore of hounding
hounding round its tale for if it was I
was a hart shaped heart slicked red
a carbuncle the head grove graven
by sacred crown for if it was a yawping
stone a die a dye and dunk the dice
the gal and act upon all gallon eon neo
known none galleon
for the antlered diana my masthead by night
riding high aye surfing a foam of dog-head dolphins
antlered doghead dolphins
and heart in both her breasts
a heart like a tub
where the blood red diogenes glub
drowned by the metacarpal alexander wolf eyes cross
the minions toss as a hordescore
a grovestore sacred groove pore
a poor and sacred antlered heart
to fill the tub with transparent bitches
cave of art
or grove of glitches
switches code the hearth
whose art must cowl
the ember lo
dull red ember heart
to flicker alas its transparent horns
its emblem yawp
the promethean eagle dog
jamming crooked twigs
into the purple slicked corpus
of the Bārûtu
washing it obsessively
drunkenly touching its poor lone body
I love ye Diancteonth
and licking the cold liver
and hanging it from his mouth
like the tongue of a dog
a gorgon dog
now fast asleep
Posted by Phanero Noemikon at 7:23 PM
We have no method for detecting
the actual diffidence
between noise and data
(news or leisure)
in the mind of the unified poem
of the universe.
It is very like the knowledge
that the nurse who tends the patient
tends the doctor,
and that life's pyrite
is one with its golden label.
And it is still news in every desperate kiosk,
that the place of white noise
is the shadow of a branching shadow
such that the eye of branching
is cubed, so that looking down into the earth
is an art of scrying skies,
a scryptic of undeniable roundelures.
a phoem is prositive,
and Ariadne never knew
just what to do
with the left over bits
of the emptier tripod.
So let the thread be work of some kind
to pass the day,
and where the valleys flinch,
the mountains cringe,
for the line is known deeply by the ray
into the egg of the meandering atomisms.
and who can pass under the limbo,
or over it, but limbs,
some say film is phlegm,
and the lung
borne unda the wave..
F: You must let the phoem slop over the pale!
F: The phoem is the universal face THATCHERIZED!
It wills a no-face
over which the face must hover lovingly
this abstract domain,
aaah, what pubstitution..
Every phoem must have at least 51 prose tuitions
to inorder its interpretation, and the image of the embassy
of F is warm,
cold snow or cars,
diplomats, or trees.
What tease the telephone to praise,
but the legible rays of the proem,
and the institution of F.O.A.M.?
marinate within your ken.
and Hyde the grope its shoe..
Michaux was of course
raised on Ruysbroeck,
and the earnest hello?
Give it all you've gott ol' Psykopf!
wood is as good a halo as any..
and let the day begin with flower:
Prostitute the poem for its F.O.A.M.!
the only good prose is our position's grotto.
(subtext mania for all motto)
so do not be alarmed!
for even if the inside of the labyrinth
is only just for storage,
make its wreck be strange, or
hide the fact
that both and neither
are married brother
to father and mother
not one another,
for as long as the both
shall not live.
and remember to give!
for where there's foam
there's a phone,
from which its smoke is spread
to the mirror of the desk.
Take its number as unique
will collapse all numbers..
Remember the screw-ball tragedy?
the grim comedy
lacking all error!
You might just say
that every new idea
is a kind of Noh play,
as scale is a ladder.
an unfixed interval of seeking,
but do not mistake ornaments
for their game..
punctuation never needs the cane
punctuation is triple agile
even if its code
never smelled so sweet
the crotch craw
where the stuck thing
in its most gorgeous flower
and more awake!
arriving more glorious
on the page!
DON'T LET ITS PROSTITUTION FAIL!
Posted by Phanero Noemikon at 10:08 AM