Sunday, February 28, 2010

Contemporary

difficulty
the Pleiades
plenitude must
uncouple the self
or what rare ought
is torn
from the decibel's
mask

itch
where quiet
the street
its sembigon
forefront

if we pierce
the cry of its
ramshackle
martian
daughter saw

a thing-like
mercury
flattened
toward
its page

the bubble fly
light cockpit after
philosophy elicits
photosophy and
philography

empty outline
of being

arch
mummy
of tinfoil

Off The Mark Its Permanent Cuff.

If will clank hole,
and where the perimen
of its glossy hybreed
of alien did clutch
the peripherization's
werebag, a cold milk
of gem would suddenly
coagulate the language,
all mosy and toward
the un, a hifist
fustal and creed.

Its door
has nine separate
sections.

Its complicated
and branching moldings
are often home
to visitors
of a curious bent.

They harangue
the loose confederations
which dally
upon the bott-hammer
and remove the last
of the boon;

the boon
which had shed
so finely
rightly, and
for so many seasons,
some mythical beast
with liquored breath
carrying a parchment
from an unlikely
and remotely
traveled option,
catalysis
with

Zambra
and Negretti.

Huyuk.
Huyuk.
Huyuk.

Do Earth's
chattel
mysterious?

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Among the Bossy Fish of its Incredible Cameras

the old are cascading
in the thin jelly
wooden shoes
go forward
into socks
like camels
into woks

safe harbor
plus casino
erects
tuna lad
lady tuna

fake fat fist
the elegant purple
grappling hook's

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Mozart Dog Corral. Three-Toed Pin-ups.

just now, i would like to propose
more hot fucking inside the head
of an octopus' chevrolet, retreats
into gaseous netherworlds, libraries
with round walls of pear, and asia,
but not 10.

10 is dark.
10 is radished.
10 is equally Islam under total
not-pipe underdistinction aka
James Coburn suddenly
a refugee.

We can get back to tumblr
in a minit.

this is prue.
pure-pop.
mighty indefinable.
pictures of kate and pepina.

fantastical bosch-like pollen temples
inside its transparent

cerebral pussy lips.

pOP AND Brewgel



their two cubical heads were pressed together
in a sound like a parrot, honest, sturdy
construction uniq

quibble
its threat of violence
by the arrangement
of kidnappers
or ocean-going
bricklayers

their faces yielded
unto brick and stone

rare wind
the lakeside retreat's
only provider of power

dark don
could not appeal
its roadside cartoon

old woman:
shut up.

doorbell.
electronic obstruction.
police interviewing
the disciples
at this point.

her ass came up
in a pendulum
wasp meat
silk
socks
to strangle
its widget-fetished
passing between
twin solid gold parrots
our caravan
of brawling kickshaws

the final ivory pieces
cannot pass into the plumber's
big crack
with the coin collection
or chanteuse
wanna sun; ie
paraplegic

a little kid
made of stamps
a hook
in its chin

may flowers
like hash
not the voice
of the tenderest murderer

we were eaten
by insane camels

73
sex paranoid
and in leopard panties
with the oxford
corvine expert's
laundry detailer
wearing monkey t-shirt

dark island
where cannibals
once washed dishes
with loofa gloves
connected
to television

i stand there
contrapasto
big gourd
for tennis

the ivory racket
made
porters in skirts

dark
gypsum
gyms

snap them off
like butterflies

memories of candy,
molecules, trees
where things are stored
forever in candy, hollow
candy birds that kill
and eat like sinbad,
molecules

snap them off
like butterflies,
candy trees,
things like kids
where once goats
had lived inside
gloves

broken kids
don't know nothing
live around here
in a trailer

bugs
back up
from match

a glove
will
often fit
the maker
its
economy old
Vincent's price
thing drowned
can't recognize
the deal
from its starry
paper shroud

windows
like telephones
too much snot
can't breathe

forward its
happy mote
gives out into
banknotes of candy

rainbows
living in vaults
like whores
who make cheese
parrots

storage facilities
the tranference procedure
was nearly painless

its head came off
in your hands

i break off your hands
for museum banknotes

your fingernails
are mid-morning antlers,
suffocated in old
sci-fi

vehicles like a jelly
all launched
to pass between the scylla
and charybdis
of flower parrots

this tulip, tupil
this beak, keep

mice
that come
with your
new printer
in leopard panties

something fatter
could go in there

her assed stuffed with
believers

crunch believers
with that toucan
french bird smell

lucky
strikes

cheese church
radio
call

V-day
mortuary
gossip

all these cups
have held old guts
for years

like Handel
mixed
with Grendel

long liver
a stretched liver
a liver of Dear Abbey

Fountainbleu
where Pierre Abélard
shagged a thin
delphic mogpag

muck
muscle
then drive

Vincent Johnson
in Wichita Falls
my airplane
will collect them

hennypennys
should drive away
the turds
from the studio

there's no way
to shame a stone

but a sham stone
came bring out
all kinds of knights
with shaggy parrot-livers

shiny
ear
snot

it's blood comes out
as people with tears
the whole thing was once
a dark wizard-messiah

i sharpen them
in advanced meat binders
with

bamboo
will hide sinbad
tiger
will be horse
for pete pan

ass stuffed
with parrots who
collect good silver
protected by the
silver
kid police

tiny little mary
she's eating a non-sense
syllable

fata rone
fat ron
lit run
fatwa

Mick Jagger statue
she lost in Tennysville

no more advenue
for Alba albion
waging total
carbuncle
on el Dante, whose
alsoon a-napes claver
anon and answer the ante
with average barnacles

how hoot
goes
so doth
eye to
lightly ruin
the soup with a quach
of gufach
then run tendering tears over
its young girlish smile

black ovaries
are buildings
uniquely pumpkinized

high
narrative
lake
house
retreat

i close the shutters
launch the teetering houseboat
of laundry
down between its parrot cheeks
a glassine bikini of stamps

tardigrades
their their little feeler
pouches get them elected
quickly

gondwana
leopard
latte'

some magazine
the mice got after

forts
we build them
under scary isle
the iron dentistry
of its frogs

just like that
no more giant iron frogs
surrounding the city
our women
stored in hollow candy trees
like parrots
clutching
baby cheese
mice
and molecules

its sandwich
can go no
minstrel
where music
could shake any
supple sucker's
pi of figs

let's gander
poke around in old
parrots with bricks

shook that baby hard
but only some mice
and lettuce came out

inside a judge's wig
was sleeping with a nun
ass stuffed with
the bimana of high host's
acroasis of boat riggings

i am cave cheese parrots
cried

die inside windows
where lettuce cried

to hawaii
a cop
bent
like a pyschic spoon

old lanny
mini-recorder
moon pants
from cous-cous
resell

adjacent
to that
i keep working

dali up
a head of steam
it does not respect you

longing after
squab
and mutton
chops

dreaming
of parrots
on motorcycles

sanded his old butterfly down
back to the post
strapped in its cup
with a mean cigar-demon
filtered through tedious
liquid mirrors
calling

safe
safe

rubbing the monstrel
all over with mint and spice

liittle bugbeer
raven candles that garage sale
isn't jazz

stale
goes the widow
between tenements
but cheese hangs
forever
in seville

dark unknown
network
of dog's roads
fill
the ancient walls

i massage
your extra-long arms
John Carter
Warlord of Mice

mice
eternal
kaleidoscopes
give alms
in brick saucers

its best winter
still approached
and clambering the maidens
took their orderly auscultations
down among the mice and frogs
who were lanterns
for everyone

socially
appropriate

two owls
on either stave
of an enormous
U

villainy
of wills
to apposite
must mob

grabbing its teetering
old cock
pie flying into cellar
where girl
and priest
are squalor
like glass

or a punk
with a bottle

it's aunt hit
callback commune
she's wiser than
persia

she will drag the
free G
over near the fort

he's a graphical guy
pig castle
they eat off the forest floor

hogmanay
incivil

neat
panguingue
of Pineau
the recorder

Stalinism
toilet

the Winter-ground
of Y

"ecads" saying
"agads"

all oinkos
An organism modified by its environment.
and the chiasmcDonald
An environment modified by its organism.
An environ/mentor/ganism modified by its.

strapped to a pinecone
grey
mice cheese
parrot
in leopard panties


Another free-living fuckoid,
Mars as colonized

by Willard.

I rescued a dachsun puppy from a big bowl of soup.



Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The Psychoanalysis of a Lemurian Larva



The King is dead
And the Emperor will judge
Long live the Emperor of Fudge
The King is dead
And the Emperor will be the jury
Long live the Emperor of Fury
The King is dead
And the Emperor will contrive
Long live the Emperor of Jive
The King is dead
and the Emperor will pursue
Long live the Emperor of Blue
The King is dead
There is no King
Long live what the Emperor will bring
The King is dead
There was no pity
Long will the Emperor rule your city

1. De anima. Turpe enim est homini ignorare sui corporis (ut ita dicam)
aedificium, praesertim cum ad valetudinem et mores haec cognitio plurimum
conducat.
2. De usu part.
3. History of Man.
4. Dr. Crooke.
5. In syntaxi.
6. De anima.
7. Instit. lib. 1.
8. Physiol. lib. 1,2.
9. Anat. lib. 1, cap. 18.
10. In Micro. Succos, sine quibos animal sustenari non potest.
11. Morbosos humores.

Placid Tennessee Bo

52



all of it is home
but in the patio
of its disguise
i weep
and curse the owrld
mispelling

we made this
and the chaste tree
of its pussy willow
a corner

the little street
where we made love

i want to give nothing up
and find this old home
much more like a lover
i cannot leave

and because i can do little
of what i want
i hate the world
but do not want to

in this home
i killed the world
buried it in itself
and found the insides
of all things

not merely drama
but paint
under the fingernails

i fear
all of this is ruined
disturbed

and the world
made Gesualdos
one after another
thoughtlessly

and the sticky pain
of it all
is never comforting

if only
the wagon
i find a dreary baby
inside a tadpole's
soul

and think
it does not stink
when strangers
envelop
the moss i have laid
with dumb hands

drowned
in witches
skin

nobody understands
the road

i dream
in lechers
and money
and wrecks

but the best
is with a horse
bringing kittens
in saddlebags
to the sleepy
valley
firemen-

us.

(~O live Ghiselin!)

Paisley Go The Royal Pronouns.



Interstate melodrama,
Banal and everyday
Schadenfreude, whose
dress, like a wendigo
of clydesdale shoes,
must pick its scabs
under the nose of gro-
tesquely sartorial otto-
men, whose origins
lay obscured in daggers
of intuitional coffee
brewed like America
under a reflective stone;
Alchemy is an island
we arrive at in the
floating skull of a
mythical bird, our skin
rank with pustules
bearing mishapen rubies.

Yes, Harvard, it is still
possible to write, putting
one letter after another,
reeling up the sleeves
so that the angels in clocks
know how to bleed, caravans
of possible funnels
pour out, and in
from the landscape.

I spot the yellowed, single, tusk,
of a long, dead elephant, displayed
in someone's living room window as
I drive past on 39th avenue.

The Last Paisley.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Engineering Dead Frogs For Epaulets Within the Transparent Criticality of Spacetime Itself.



wax face set
in tender eagle

legal concubribe
removing shelf

historic bandit
come in stockings

languid
elf of self

//

o raccoon
you secret teaching
jonquil

gloved in silver
soda

a mouse
on fire
in tinsel

o compressed
picnic of helium chairs
this abstract decking unit
looking miles
beneathe the lake

particle
distorting letter
making it great

trojan albino
monkey
leaf

your chromium
fungus plates
descend
from a haphazard
marriage vow

between a sense
of logic
and a logic
of scents

your nose
smoothly transforms
from witch
to itch
to fence

the burden of sticks
in a warlock's wrinkle
is a sofa
a divan

The Nabi of Id
is in the navy now
and greps
how heavy
in the mole
of the fleshy
blind
star

alligator video car
you will go far my lad
all the way to gilead
where galahad polishes
testicles smooth as
beluga kidney stones
in the balm of threepwood

enhugo'd

Mr. Stereo.

hepping the burly taser
to these indeterminate fingerings
upon the decadent decibelle

a phase shift registered
missive complaint

whose contour
could be said
but only just

or under
the snake-like
robustity
of serial knees
which although
independently swivelly
could no longer
muster the illusion
of a truly
yellow journalism
nor its beardsleyesque
neutronium of total
oom-pa-pa

it squirmed oddly
and made shapes
but was no longer much
concerned
with the focus
of a single directionality

sort of like
remembering a
coldish saturday
in the attic playing
dungeons, maybe being
a little too stoned, her,
your monk healing
while you dream alone
in the cedar dormer
of little bookshelves

'the sleeping prophet'

thinking of the smoothly
pink nacred insides
of the

itself
the
itself

smoothly thinking
its insides
lost forever
in its

insides

while the outside
seeming to get in

nothing the smell
of cedar
like
cedar
octopus
like a
ladder up to
the hole in a
giant head
of cedar

Monday, February 22, 2010

Two Fragments to Mr. Delaney (From Mr. Lanny)

To you the Muse this Verse bestows,
Which might as well have been in Prose;
No Thought, no Fancy, no Sublime,
But simple Topicks told in Rime.

-Jonathan Swift

The car becomes all of a sudden a gauche relic of another world. A preglacial monstrosity with its sweaty stink of petrol, and hot injections of oil on air so pure. We ditch it in a gravel pit and run out together, hand in hand, spontaneously, down the slopes past the Duke of Cumberland. Yes, downhill in a kind of hectic nympholepsy, the grass snapping at our ankles, the clouds deafening us, and the distant cathedral spire swimming up as if to impale us. The seven winds drummed while we were coming. Now they are silent. Are ears are alert, twisted into little helices of attention, but the valley offers no sound. It lies there like a toy.

-Lawrence Durrell

The Scriba Notoarious on his way to Gräfenberg.

koproslitherocracy
is even crazier than
its sounds, the noose
which hangs its
penis papoose pangs
goes through a pump-housing
and on into switzerland

bhang umbrella
dry ice cauterizer
emblem, could you
hepmegithrough
this poordamnedold
image, please

gondwana, in point
of famousness, i'd
sport my ‘random’
against all the books
that ever were written
by brain snails
sailing backwards
in levitating lotion pods

those yenderly things
which could possibly
represent the oddly
tingly presence of the
famulorum ala phanagallo

the phanerogiallo
'to speak like this'
with a high pressure
butter crayon pharaoh's
chin

wanking my chamois-cloth
diary dirigibles down among
the grazing fanchonettes
of cozy town

these black iron mooring arrays
are waiting for weird space merlin nautili

my god is like a moth
and a micronaut
with sacred brewery
and girl attendents

or just whatever the

FUCK
YOU WANT
WHATEVER MAN
LADY DUDE
STIRFRY FIREMAN LUDE

atlas mountain
rendez vue

pup squirts
pip squonts

don't be fanal,
like an obsolete
executor of arch
finales

fine ales!

Nommo?

Your fins
nailed
to the fox tree's

fanglement

the jewelly bon wordose
with hectic

impanglements
towards

Vegetius'
distamper,
teht lead.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

FOTLAST SWAZI, WALLOW IN INC



the ionists
have supported the incwala
since 1937

tensila
pumpkin
run far

hilda
takes in
the swazi

beatified
dizen dunch
for hautboy

hearken holler
lull overstrain
pipe prose quintain

remord
scrow
shawm

expatiate
isotactic
ostrich

perrierite salting
slightingly specimen
spetsnaz taramellite

assagai
borazon if irone'
Tournefort's azarole

writing paradise
what is cellier
than to talk
about cellphones

fond féond
its frizzy-
and

s'en fuyt
or s'ensuyt
it cothers
the shew made

The Poppies at Argenteuil




TT greenhair,
the soph and self-absorbing
group of robotic swimming pools
puling thro' the liquid sands

a pan to grool
hamong the monstirs

courage to dain
any kunstideoroscape

Job
Ovid
Joivid
Jovib

the penultimate
reeferincidence

Quarlesmeprenant
tinguely

Get Thee, Sausage
into my swimming pool
Get Thee, TT greenhair
into my beard poem peacock
massacre

with macaroni shells
echidna

with summas of
metamorphic loinings

with the livers
of rocs and aurochs
testing the line
drawn between
daily allegory

agonary

such laws
of hard sonorities
have given onto
vistas of senile
seniorities

melting spider negros
have fun
in your swimming pools
which also swim

and the hunchback who swims
can never know the dry knot
of hair which rides the scalp
as the hurrican grips the carenayre

and the wild feathered snails
who make spanish tulips
of the arses of dogs

A Eustace
thing
cateruatim
admirari
looking awry
into the sticky

jellybeanhead
a thing so sticky
coo lag u latered

societas
and
appetite

harmundica

made
won
lewinski

made
always
wins

comitatus
and wrongful
autonomy
are the same thing

vast
like
Geoffrey

marathon
annapurna
demonstrative
suicide

Getty ghetto
body-paint
because philosophy
tells us
all sin must go

monstres (sin)
monstres (sign)

the evolution
of

naturally
territorial
states

he gel
Mr. Strunsky
is fascinated with
her echolalia

beer
mug
nights

drag pianos into the street
wrest drums from windows

after the comic opera
we conceived of chimeric
projects

FEKS
Liset Castillo
opening June 10, 2006

Theorsaurusenematombicuss

Fetus dancing the Gigue
FetusdancingtheGigue
Ftusdancingtheigue
Fusdancingthigue
Fsdancingtigue
Fdancingigue
Fancinigue
Fnciigue
Fcigue

Figue

you gift

carenzia

tactical

disinformation

Friday, February 19, 2010

Half-Sad Money-Vault Leaking Odors.




Feelings are factswhatis
your most recent piece?
Is youresume' on the internet?

Club Sandwich.
Lake's film.

The black geometric queen
become a building with excellent
views whereby

rigid bubble squealers
exist like smokestacks
image protein shifting

jade lace
eagle head teepee
in white hot
diode registry
keep snow
from card game
duelling banjo
etc.

hot jade lace
you see through it
the wind passes through
but the atmosphere
inside is tem,p

airniture.
Long Island,
New York
Criminal
Defense
Attorney

drovers preparing
meal
at Lugert

boutefeu




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FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

sam.



no.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

One Consent, Geryon-like (coalescere in unum)





they are lost in translation

salome'
buddha head
satellite

glass-pipe
water-labyrinth
in space

scubanaut
with mantas
viewing stars
through windows

nude salome' clones
tucked like caterpillar
in eyeless
buddha head sockets
space

manta
tattoos
are annoying
in porno

L=A=N=G=U=A=G+E
only ever exploits
the naked innocence
{the body of strings}
of the absolute grotesque

jingoism replaced
by gringoism
its disinformational
twin

maya deviloo

AHA to HAHA (HENRY JAMES PAINTED LIKE A CLOWN)




for in its head like a mean callous of ever-trafficking queasiness did the meniscus bleed. like a lens made of squirming transparent girls, the thought of these several towns of android cowboys put together like vertical puzzles, like alabaster egyptian head-stands for sleep to hold the head, and the ship of the head already a hold whose cargos both now living and dead would inspire cults in which soft forests of orange coral could wrap around the analog of a pencil, a ville, whose tines whonce hopen could stripe the hopi animal clown's milk-lensed hyena thighs, adolf potato monster moving electronic participle albumin. quack, quack, the earthquake french history hat become too loose, and all that was human, nietzsche sounding like nothing without the 'voh' in russian. returning: all the writing, too. all the people, too. its single characteristic was this too-ness, which carried nicely like division into 2-ness, the real and the metaphysical double, that thing which i am too myself, and that thing which i am too you. it is alwheys all ways, are, too, munch. munching verticlapuzzles, henry james, ramshackle organism files, dada, beast-boat, polar anywheysa, sam. double sam goes forth on double mountain. lady friends. gaga. for in its head like a meat of transparent lenses, girls, all too people, were friendly with hyena egyptian sleep freckles, this word manifold lacks completion, ie life, gugoilokiolookifuilior, figfikrilloxilopisoipisoapy pony, a long hot cock in your schnozz, snorting up the pony's baloney, aha, too, haha.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Slapstick Method



Hanzo
The Razor Sig
Mar
Po

LK~E

a survey

The dynasties
would approach
as if in their own
vehicular combination

of gruel
and graal
like
Cezary Bodzianowski
saying

"Everyday Absurdism"
to
Rachel Harrison
saying

"value and display"
to
Nedko Solakov
saying

"Conflicted Authority"
to

FEUERWEHR
whose schreibe
lost is are
near the
EINSCHLAGEN

or remembering

ESSEN
now become
ESSER

The R
and ART
an head

POMME LAMBIC

LES SALTIMBANQUE
NOTES

Annelise
Coste

Why People Don't Like Me.



I spend nearly 15 minutes telling myself
I could be an urban painter. I describe
the stupidest verticals into blish, start
carving out the new abstract expressionism
based in delimitations of urban geography
carried into dull color and made sublime,
subline, supine.

A Sioux penny.

Translitera.

Sioux.
Black Foot.
Cherokee.

Starts to almost sound French.

like Huysman
and Proust
as Described by
Coolidge while
in a fist fight
with a bong hit
named
Herman Hesse

Beer is literature.

I've had one bottle of Green Flash
WEST COAST ipa
and now I'm onto the
ROOTS ISLAND RED

which after the cannabisian hops
tastes almost chocolate.

I own a dumb book
by an american laymen
that puts for the theory that
the medusa myth
is a veiled reference to corpses

the look of corpses.

I own alot of books about Medusa.
That particular book is not my favorite.

Jellybean aplenty

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Moth Nib

Husqvarna
dimple

Shirley
Temple

radios that act like bubbles
rise up through the fluted rooms

its skin is something
like a billion capsules
housing pharaonic salamanders

we are organizing
color foams
for your fate
of hermetic browser
induction union

throughout all the memories
you
not knowing throughout
but especially
when we take for granted

mantilla
witch hazel

bull thing
with stingray ear
candle cities

i get inside
green cyborg clay
as
organs are invaded

Shirley Temple enters
The Body of Gulliver
its machine blox
dividing

as

silver origami
astronaut

and like totally
astringent

mini-vacuum
oracle diorama

call

binfom
the crud
in its corners

peeling eyebulls
lake fruit

Scandal

please have sex with me,
virgin alphabet whose hair is
of damp cotton, the mother

is a shirt
on a dog
now inviting us
in front of
the rain

the cloud inverted
becomes like wood
and the fire
a fountain
of streaming digits

what open source
body-language
can do to someone
not owning its total
nod

its like so
neural networth
a nod to the soft
sod, to the dross
of some ozymandian
eye-pod's god,
what else is the
monolith but a high
deaf

reality interchanger

uhn-huh

deaf-con
Stanley Tool

Cube-Brick

Earth is made of sex
but made for
data storage

and the leaves of grass
like angry ass

saw you
gnawing
ear off

from utopian dreams
we have constructed
polytopian phanerolase

all thought
is sex with pictures

Monday, February 15, 2010

Maelstoan




What is this Edgeworthia chrysantha?



I do no gardenia
with the winter's
chinese friend
the paper bush

soft fragile limbs
and habit like
an anemone with
dainty elephant elbows

fragile sweet
brittle ice loquat
frosty tea beard
scribe tree

your yellow velvet
trumpets in clusters
among a barren network
we work to experience this

what to say you say
pollen masks of conversation
among the sky masks
of compressed saffron

lapis milked with water
stoned custards from which
the growth is never certain
we go inside a fence unseen

Sunday, February 14, 2010

D-Forge





I am still thinking about
should if I was to, still,
becoming like an English Garden,
its cow-skull branded, star
ala Fête du grammaton,
etymologicon, as the character
of the bonds between the
items, I am still, moving,
still moving into stillness,
a movement, as if the narrative
of abstraction were not
anti-narrative, but one of
framing and scale, transduction,
and functionalism, representation,
its methods for earning an urn
less slept in.

SLEEP URN.

it is turned in the open air
like a finial

it can even be called a

plein air finial
and diogenes knew this
before killing the robe

chyle
ROB
bore mettle.

throttle punk.
windows based in a wrinkled
stoma

stoma lined stoa
a model of the sentence
or a mottle where by the vehicle
stays entranced

or if even one comic reality
its inflatable black cock balloon helmet
used as a key
to a sacred space

as if the entire public or external world
had been carnival
and once we pass indoors
there is a vacuum throbbing hush

where math
is made
the inside of the horse
and the formula
for fire morphology
as context of the hiss

why water
the compositional
extirpation
between types of ordering
and disordering

value schemes

we can reference certain
smooth or carbuncular avenus

granite
travertine

the devil's mutant purple opal skull
and the way it can replentish itself
from a hose

psychological amplitude
is measured with a unit
called

the ontodyne

Saturday, February 13, 2010

PETPET


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Broken Chairs

enthusiasm comes out of the earth
at closing time

firmes
its geological
crystal binocular
stand

Friday, February 12, 2010

SOLSHIT




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BMW Oracle win America's Cup opener - CNN.com

BMW Oracle win America's Cup opener - CNN.com

Plato and the Confusion




Plato
owned a building near my home
called The Christian Deaf Church,
and a young beautiful
black woman stood
on the sidewalk out front
at the bus stop
talkiing on a cellphone
as I drove past.

Lately, Plato
had begun to regret
certain things in his
past life, but ever
vigilant to his beliefs
joined a secret society
called,

Grandma's Funky Furniture.

The members were mostly women,
and the men that were admitted
were of a curiously deformed manner,
even Plato himself, had
two left feet, or rather,
he too, had left a feat,
and one more detail, and
this was something that Plato
must've surmised, was that the whole
of Grandma's secret was its total
basis in the conversation

of the Chamois Hunter
and Manfred.

Plato also collected
funky furniture.

Nought The Frame, and Jolly The Stacks

the white carcass hides
in the roots
and the weight of the stone
gives it constant song
as its contemporary miners within
produce the gas to hale
its flute sails

and the blue sun
is gathered
with a glove
its purring tendrils
escape as it's plucked
to make new suns
and it all seems
so electric
in the buzz

light slithers
through the wild
projection manifold

giving it semblance
amblance
humble
and cough

it dissembles
remains
and beckons

and the stack of red sheets
makes a smoke of framings
which in turn ionize
to make a yellow sheet

and the whole thing
was constructed like a joke
but the laughter has long
subsided

and now the "like"
becomes ever more mysterious
and that mystery is
ever renewed

though black vacuum
as we all know well
frames the whole

9 Comic




















Raving Lunatic

From Chemistry
to Shemistry
to Semistry

and finally
to

EMYstery

Electromagnetic Mystery
or perhaps mastery

once mind
and vehicle
evolve a control
frame
synonymous

as if what i think
i become
as in magic

we are doubtless
in some epoch of the
Semistry age,
and the whole of the

EMystery eon
has yet to break.

But we must begin to invision it.

We ourselves
will power our own vehicles
which will be like media-devices
that plug into other architectures

still more to unlock here.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Clock.



I think ultimately you hate Nero because,
as a dishrag in another house down the block
which hangs on the short hand of a clock,
it takes awhile for the rag to fall off,
the dishrag you hate also the being known as
Nero.

Nero was riding Eeyore one day inside Sears.
You hated that.

Also, one day Nero was having a mint julep
and sniffing some incense which was coming
out of an iron bulldog. He was on a porch,
and there were some centaurs in the yard
having a game of badminton. There were
no words to describe the feeling of hate
that gave you. I wouldn't even try.

But Nero loves you, and Nero's old Grandpa
Mumgag Rex loves you.

A thing is scribbling down inside a hole
which has remained undisturbed
for a few billion years, more of less.

Nero, dressed as Napoleon
went to Mecca, and brought home
a hooka pipe. You didn't like that so much.

But you know what, at like age 12
Nero gave whole speaches, and gave them
very well. Nero doesn't give a fuck what
you think.

Who the fuck are you anyway, compared to
a dishrag hanging on the short hand of a

clock.

Why Intellectuals Annoy Me.

So I'm running, because I run,
and this woman comes up to me
and says:

Do your feet hurt?

I just look at her like she's
stupid, and for me, she is
stupid, and it doesn't really
matter what she is,
because to me,
she's stupid.

At some point, maybe later that
week, I see her in my own apartment
building in the elevator.

She's carrying groceries, and
doesn't recognize me, so I ask
her:

Are you hungry?

She just looks at me like I'm
stupid, and for her, I am
stupid, and it doesn't really
matter what I am,
because to her,
I am stupid.

Depression, Affectivity, and Capitalism « Larval Subjects .

Depression, Affectivity, and Capitalism « Larval Subjects .

Excellent post at Larval subjects.

Brain Parable Optics Interrupt



missing the lodge's
approach to the fire jungles's
wildest document of poertals

danger secretes a dream-logic
of well-splitting heads

the tiniest seeds have crossed
eyes inset with self-reflecting
livers

and the thing which became
a hovering rune to the awe
of the villagers

was the twisted instantiation
of a goat whose genes
were tortured by infinite
intelligence rendering
any living image
of possible

curses
toward
the door
under which
any metaphor
becomes
any totalizing
aegist

the so-called
aegesture
like a leopard-skin
loincloth
whose life as a bat
in the computer room
is well-known
to the things
whose skeletons
repair their answers
under the burnder
and burrdin
of this paranoid
chanteuse's moob.

to slap
the grossest
skein

and awake its
concealed
surface's
properties

THIS IS HOW

KNOWLEDGE

OWNS US.


Our vast past
like a landlord
whose chains
can never be broken
and which owe
their impossible
existence

to nothing
itself

a specie of

SKANE

[peeryoddicity]

.