Saturday, October 30, 2010

Conjure Consortia: Autotrophy

and they all turned out to be
psychopathic liars, Welwitschia
red whip regeneration, Chez Rust
to house the venerable Jen Fang 460-508
prisoners of dried blood tell
Woo Poo the elector in Pharm divine
of Hexagram 'Advantage'
At Purple Yang lookout
Dragon Brain still grows

apple snail aguada
terminal classic collapse
cellphone photographs
of halloween tailgate
party in their mohawk dresses
homeorhesis Yum Balam
turkey hypsithermal

Lake Karla, Arachthos
moving polemarch
when Sparta lived along the
river of Evrotas, the Dorians
occupying Laconia
wildfire delta
below the industrial city
of Jambol, below the Pchelina
reservoir, poor nutrient status
Laurus nobilis forms thickets
beneath ancient Plane stands

psephology suffrage
Gordian green labyrinth typhoons
Herculean Janus Midas lotus-eater
market value tesselation
Dianus upon Callisto
moon soft innocent
orgiastic ursu
intimate to Atimite
Compitalia Tana
Tangenta for
Charles Leland
Nature, Nurture
Narrtour (Culture)

Safety First!
gonda gondola
pulse pulse
honey cotton
Cypripedium arcs
to Calypso bulbosa

What rare concept
the wheel of random?

Column Bind.

Its body only stumps
to house the blue thing
cooperation and
sheer exaggeration.. Is a Head Shop.

trapped in abacus pants
weevil harmonicas
sleep the pied parasol skin
into deft paper monocles

telescopic origami kaleidoscope binoculars
reach out from the black tower
he mentioned bromides
in the graffitoed washing area

destroyed the guitar then
went down to the village
trapped in jug pants
and the jug band
when around
giving tits to minstrels
for potted peach trees
pipped with bow-ties

Tom Thumb
Guacamole Captain Kirk
we worshiped in the moonlight
slowly plopping out dates

April 27, 1936
December 13, 1924
March 2, 1906

Albino water beetles
cover the messy silk bomb stays
totally abstract awareness of sherlock homes
as fabric for various teams of underwear
moving in the high grass
our shedu admiral heads
we are trapped in ceramic pants again
bigger than Dallas

speak now yabyum
literal commodity unto literal commodity
rough trade for processed banana projectiles
trapped in milk pants
totally abstract infolding diorama
power of sun bright columns to distract the motorists
on the freeway

the sun-bright Parthenon was a gimmick
for the new Pharmacy
Physicists created an ignition surface
but ended up trapped in cortisone pants
our shedu boner admiral hats
were trapped in weevil jugs

speak now o grey long eared pharmacists of easter island
we surf in the indoor parthenon wave pool structure
columns replaced by long eared moai
which are pharmacy vending machines
and the moai don't give a shit what comes out

mostly sunbright harmonicas
wet destiny of dirty pan
weevil beard between the panning for gold

shot glass


desert transport

gems only
for money
on wild tatooine

tender polar negress
with bunny mouths

come on over here
trapped in foam bubble pants
and wearing only the way home from
the dentist to market
its daybright solemnity

hovering grass covered spheroids
like the elegant blowing green hair

great green grass pyramid
we grow red grasshopper
bony shiny carapace
distinctly each unit
with its own abacus
cussing singing

trapped in grass spheroid pants
funny gnostic girls
saying things like

'sucker for a frying pan girdle in ping pong logic'
we get out of the woody
discover a long disused path down to the beach
we surf on random architectural models
that somehow work as surfboards

in the deep and unending night
there is no room for real production
like rats that make a clock move
we are the Ethiopians of Situationism

deep green color
high foreheads
long forking abacus
hands like chittering grasshopper heads
using weevil harmonica

woody sunbright mushroom foetus
we hold up in Kintay
Bugsy McVegas sold my Docter Elvis
Pelvis Centipede Bicycle thing

colonial Volvox disco lights
or like whatever plant flagella
video mmemomies

skin lust
in a bottle
with pocohontas flavored
shopping cream

dig devil eyebrow
warm naughty candy
for a beer abacus
under the pyramid

I give you
old stone pots
and you live inside

drawing mustaches
on the TV
with sharpies

And you said
a Target Store
in a Parthenon wouldn't go over

and you said

alien chariot races
in ancient japan

you said
mystical lost
and ancient stone
you said

moai hold up grass pyramid


Friday, October 29, 2010

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Who made the Baluba the storm?

This morning I was thinking of the Godoy brothers whom I was watching from the roll-out deck of the Clown Ramp at Bachman Lake. Some sort of missionary, or to be more precise, a Christian going out to 'witness' had said something to them, and they had taken his bible from him, and they were tossing it back and forth over his head, and had the man in tears. But what was even funnier, or sadder, or more disturbing, is that for nearly an hour before this they had tormented a fat skater kid in much the same way, and the kid was even their friend, by taking his pants. Now I have seen alot of things like this. I have talked with completely obliterated spray paint sniffing junkies about Mick Jagger, Lucile Ball and the CIA. I have almost become one of those people by pure chemical accident on several occasions. I can remember meeting a really nice, but really strange and extremely poor and raggedy clothes'd skater one time, who I later was told out of despair put his legs on a train track as a method of suicide but survived. Our neighbors across the street in the 80's had a son who cut both his hands off in a band-saw. His father had to chase him and they sewed his hands back on. These were the banal and commonplace events of everyday contemporary life in 1980's America, and I've got more. Beheadings, cripplings, I have found suicided people. Their not too bereaved parents have offered me their clothes. I have taken free cologne from the parents of suiciders. I have known junkies, thieves, geniuses, and some of them were well known in their circles. I mowed the lawn of an old schitzophrenic woman for a time in my wee youth and used to listen to her repeat the stories of thought removal, and conspiracy, see the cardboard she had taped over the electrical outlets in certain rooms. I have listened to crazed schizophrenic Viet Nam veterans talk about "experimental cows." I have been diagnosed myself as schitzo-affective at the end of that decade, but was able to skrekk and wah-shing myself out of the prisons of those determinations. I have known artist alchemist drug chefs who would curl your toes just to be next them because of their weird and skanky mien. 

In High school, I wrote a strange concatenation of fantasy and comment called _Harley Stekbone: The Butcher's Illegitimate Son_ whose antagoniste's name was Edgar and who became a kind of all-pervasive Moriarty to the nascent and indecipherable plot-line which involved a deformed yet prodigal monster named Harley Stekbone whose father was a butcher, and whose mother was a werewolf. Harley was born with a full set of teeth imbedded in his forehead which were luminous. In highschool, I was writing about a protagonist with illuminated forehead teeth. :) It figures. I still have the handwritten MSS, such as it is. And it is odd, for example

to read this morning of a comparison on Isola di Rifiuti between a certain section of Ez Pound (which I cannot find even using the Terrell's) and the Tom O'Bedlam sections of King Lear. But it wasn't Lear where I first ran onto TO'B, but on the back cover blurb of my first copy of Kenneth Patchen's _The Journal of Albion Moonlight_ which reads:

Inspired by one of the finest lyrics in the English language, the anonymous pre-Shakespearean Tom O'Bedlam:

"...By a knight of ghosts and shadows
             I summoned am to tourney
             Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end-
             Methinks it is no journey..."

and then continues:

Kenneth Patchen sets off on an allegorical journey of his own[...]

Which to my ear all starts to sound like my own coinage, and one of which I have a certain pride, namely Syntaxis. Syntaxis 'denotes' 'a semiotic impetus to movement', and since semiosis extends to the physical substrate including both the biological and, further, to the chemical and atomic levels of granularity, Syntaxis ordains a sort of hyper-discipline which includes the vicissitudes of both conscious and unconscious material processes. Syntaxis would then conceive of materiality as an object whose transformations are performed by subjective relations within its compositional elements. Now this is isn't anything new. Everybody knows this, but,
there is some blindness to the fact that there is a great deal of reflexive symbolism about it that isn't conscious of itself, ie, The simple idea that if Life's journey is thought's journey, then isn't that sort of the ultimate revolutionary conception? If Life and thought are one, then, in a poetic sense, in a Shakespearean sense, the Universe could be
As You Like It. Notice the subtle glossing Latte' does over sonic iconism in the selection:

And Awoi’s hennia
plays hob
k-lakk . . . . . . thuuuuuuu
      making rain
      2, 7, hoooo
      der im Baluba

He says only: and that the verse is imitating this disturbance. But what is odd to me, is that
this selection is profoundly unpoetic. And it is profoundly closed up into itself, or at least
that's seemingly why the uncomprehending newspaper person chose it?

But really it makes a pretty good case for syntaxis itself, ie the idiotic birds have no idea of the song they are making with their movements, but for a person with eyes to see it, or ears to see it, there is a kind of song.

But what occurs to me isn't any kind of criticism of John, or Ezra, or even a need to further my idiotic programme of Syntaxis, but something older, more obscure, and I may not even know its fullest profundity, it is certain I don't, but maybe I have an inkling. There is a theme in ancient Greece which became a conflict, and it was the theme of Movement versus Staticity. In early Greece supposedly Movement was considered sacred, but by the 5th century BC, I believe it was the static. There is an interesting discussing of this theme in Indra Kagis McKewen's work. The Xoanes or bound statuary are a sort of shrine or icon of this discussion.

And then there is the curious thing about not being able to find the text in the Cantos,
and the very curious thing about the mentioning of iconism itself in Pound on the very page
which contains the first Baluba, and it reads:

Bruhl found some languages full of detail
Words that mimic half-action; but
generalization is beyond them, a white dog is
not, let us say, a dog like a black dog.

And then it goes on to get even twistier..

The thing issss
ancient and twisty, good lord,
my mother called this morning
to inform me of her coming root canal,

and I begin to think of this whole project
the entire arche'-eulogy of it as an excavation
looking like one of the beautiful James Surls sculptures,
that language looks like a ghost of 3000 plants,
and that there is an irony

in the name Frobenius itself?


And, If Africa is our mother, and Extropy the opposite of entropy, or the "wierd twen"
like language is to life, and if we recall that rose of magnetism John mentions

Are we not then all
to make a generalization
and this is political (for you dumb people)


as in

Roses of Negentropy?

What is life? This is the forgotten, verboten, and most important quaestio!

The negentropy, also negative entropy or syntropy, of a living system is the entropy that it exports to keep its own entropy low; it lies at the intersection of entropy and life. The concept and phrase "negative entropy" were introduced by Erwin Schrödinger in his 1943 popular-science book What is life?[1] Later, Léon Brillouin shortened the phrase to negentropy,[2][3] to express it in a more "positive" way: a living system imports negentropy and stores it.[4] In 1974, Albert Szent-Györgyi proposed replacing the term negentropy with syntropy. That term may have originated in the 1940s with the Italian mathematician Luigi Fantappiè, who tried to construct a unified theory of biology and physics.Buckminster Fuller tried to popularize this usage, but negentropy remains common.

Now think about the paradox of syntropy..

Syntaxis would be the verb form of Syntropy.

Syntropy is then, the name of the world, the name of the rose,
and Syntaxis is the sound of the rose as it grows, it's gross manifestation,
The Revolution of Everyday Life as Raoul Vaneigem styled it..

But think again, and think on paradox and reading, 

Tomb of Bedlam [World]
Tome of Bedlam [World]
Tom (as in Drum) of Bedlam [World]

and then one final nod to Ez:

"It was all done by conversation.."

And from the place of the 'first Baluba'

Der Im Baluba das Gewitter gemacht hat...
they spell words with a drum beat...

"The country is overbrained" said the hungarian nobleman
in 1923.

And this brings me to Johnny Johnson, a sort of Tom O'Bedlam,
and a fellow scholar who did his thesis on the year on the year of 1923.
Johnny burned down his own family home. He had spent years reading
the entire works of Balzac, and no one knows what set him afire, exactly.

But 1923 was an interesting year, obviously.
and stangely in Katanga
there is also an Elisabethville.

And oddly, I was in a band that played at Johnny Johnson's house called:

Elizabeth Fish


I caught a tremendous fish.
And I let the fish go.
And then went down to the ship
In the interim.

"He lies a bit."
Earless, the beast fish. (world)

deaf earth

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Fierce, The Trembling Lisp

The southern wall of this chamber is now
provided with three windows and a doorway,
all of which are open to the cool fall air
whose name is flowing throughout
the world's early flame, Mars stripped
of his armor must pass before those less
fortunate, the Ultors in their bracteolums
of Marsyasian sinew all aflay.

From the outside, the square, savage mass
of masonry traces the forms of madness
to their origin, paper windows, pushed it open
with a jerk, and stepped out into the garden,
far from all this, from the strife and men and
women — A form came out of the shadow;
a little red light burnt high up in its blackness,
Saturn alone in the eve of banking, the purple
coasting of ivy, a shudder, our lips disposed of
behind a wall of brightly stylized tendrils
as all is growthy in the mourn of the ages,
and in such mixed halls do her slippers
feel the prate.

God what hair shining through its paper halls,
skinned letters they sign to you, all torsion,
and rubbing, and shaded characters, dark
tusks that rotate between brass cannisters
to frame the windows as a hush where the
cool fall air is pushed out into the garden,
each shadow a transparent balloon, or
finely polished baleen the silk skeletons
wear in language.

Mars, a garden.
Saturn, a bank.
The rest, like sandstone
mantled in grass are fed
to a weird and busy humm,
It has a narrow window
high up in its eastern wall,
and there are traces of another
laying them and the volume by,
he rose from his seat, pressed petals
they shown, from inside its insane hair
and moving with heavy tread to the long
and snaking window drew back the curtain and
founded a building called by the name

deluded wretch

He made noises, as usual, that reminded her
of the sound her bright insane hair, of Marsyas
commenting, where the window must move
freely through the wall, a bubble in the zither
of bird-filled beards, the weird and bossy dome
of its Tagus and Pactolusian roll, a watch
through the night with buckets,
for the idol must be protected against the
coarse painting of the shipwreck
which pity fed to the fleeing window,
pressed petals, he rose.

The naked cynic looks beautiful
in the earthen tub in which the mass
of blind wall, the slits of loopholes,
and the solitary door perched high up
in its centre give full view, an air
moves through the name where
the fall sits in the fleeting taste,
Nature and Wisdom
are never at strife
being one.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Floating Away.

falsity is hirsute
the giant in the sleigh bed snores
and the long chain hydrocarbon of dream
takes the axe-head to its knee
subjectivity is the model of all bad products

bad faith
is among the fierce aspects
of the hennybother ghoat stong
where the stele
enters the ground
the ornament
becomes part
of the physical rooting

long chain
long chain

a face cannot bare
what the other does no


Are you bored?

First we booed the others,
then we booed ourselves,
then we booed the stage
and then the boo itself,
and then we came
to a section of Archimedes screw
made of glass in a ball

a single turn
of the screw
with a hollow part
for the central column

and axle
was the isle
of deception
and the motor
of function

i sit now
toward the abacuss
of my beaded bracelet
pulling beads across
one by one
and i wonder

and i do not strategyre
but wonder of strategists
or the mill of strategrist

i think of the gorilla
and the crow
and i say things like

when place is human narrative
how far to self
our simple stories

come by analog
to the great long chains

its face is not boring
but is moving like some lake
in the horizon

billions of archegons vertistalls opticons
cortivex photifulst amgent

i dream of a solid hiss of ten-billion colored needles
and think what thinnnesss synalogue synomorph

a physicist dreams
of meeting consciousness
in a dark alley

quantum planarity
the magic mill
or thingness incarnating
a fine bliss

sibling's knife
the chiral dance
in its


we do not keep horses
we do not plow, etc.

Didymus gives long chains,
but did y muse
as a ? or a +


The internet is the sea,
and here I have brought the chest
of my monstrosity.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Forward This to the Houbaran Minister, Please.

privelina lina ana una ano uni ani inu nui
nonui ui oni ino puri vino onivu vini evo uvi
ulni ali lio nuli pir alu anihi annihili nihuli luni
nuhili hili lini nulihi ano nivu par avi univi huna
huniva luni linu puravi vui inu anhulivulinu nal
ilna lunlunivia oni holly folly fully uni onvi
omnivilulu loni honi duli uli ali ovi uni vini

I never drink tea, Tarleton. The woman
under the monastery takes a line cord, and
modifies it into G, but not in an aeroplane.
I have parachute to fling. The flying shuttle
I am goes though populi in the family
of Chrysomelid which lies like a vi-queen
in her grave and dearest pedal spur, this
completely suits the sense, 'serpens obscurus',
nave or caracca sent to the lorne and false
Duessa in her sted across the calves, toga lined
cum bokesy.

earned her traveill to renew
vnum gusee
cut simil-i
had faire together
dominio est

Tupi boi
buckram C cameo

brodata cum morsu
argent the flower
of faith and chastity
cigarra de papel

conceptualist coppice
Coryphæus reveals
the luminous excudrum
calendar music
party sect school

good and cottagey doeskin
we'll take our lauche
as the handless
landless lemings do

Who bared this?

Chlamydoxis undulatte'

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Wally-Handsome, Fine, Large, Ample.

someday comedy, Baron
Samedi, Samoyed datamedia
so meaty, tangy and languished in
soft alien Alia's eyes, the tender kind
and someday
continual learn better

Eleanor "Bill" Rigby
called me stupid

all urn
and no ruler
alum sets the lips

mulebarn hermetic
in a ship

silver euglena lamps
hide amid the langue wish thingies
and touch each cherished
Ilineid and Æliad
forjoined in spirit faintings
arch glances
carried forth as standards

you -ah

Chacun à son gout

"It's pretty."

cry twango, for in the ion-rampant
three lucies are haurient in fesse
manch membered

as jive is to gyve

Help /
Me /
Give /
This /

gutte' de larmes
we entered liquid vehicles
which might have been tears
but our dress was smart
with a thin veneer

perfect creative heraldry
you can imagine svelte and imagined animals
Two squirrel-shrimps sejant adossée Gules
or n +
a bungle of bubble wreathes

and the vulned sage beneathe them

cold sea water


the zule of distance
as it suddenly lights
for aqua:

"How dost thou seem upon a glue?"

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Ode to a Scornful and Graceless Soda Fin

full of corn, o soda mourn
that you could not be a saffron runabout
o sodad oudu, o runaba-out, how corn roc
is the deer tail's pavonine snow flake math
in old Indian macaroons?

math? or mouth.

with wheels of macaroni dance
like Herbie in Vienna dance
your carburetors hang like mangos
but your moves
are strictly stock
macaroons pour from macaronia

We're sorry
you are built of corn of and mangos

I see that grave black cartoon heads
poke out from the snow
that a deputy dawg of coal
has his rump showing
in the Alps
near deer

What is dear
What says dear
like agin grouper heads
heaving with impossible headsplitting

We're macaronis.

But as a fin
you're strictly corn soda.

You're a corn doll thing police.

and by that I mean strictly corn
as if hitler had grown old
and the Malevish white cube of the collar
had gone up to heaven

I'm saying Hitler's mustache
would have looked like the little cube
of a priest's collar
if it had been white.

I have no idea why
as a cheesewood mustache
it's ponderous to think or reveal anything
as nothing but Tiki meat remains

Woody corn bristles
or weird electron jumbles

Corn Rum
Bum Ear

ah, finally

Pan is nude
and leads on the muse brilliantly
through leaves
whose edges in their numberless wild
are uncountable as hair
and this is what you speak of

it's not mysterious
you can't invent hovering amorphous bubble video screen
because you're certainly not all that intelligent
that's plain

to black cartoon coal buns
rustling katzenjammer ignorant
in mounds of weird white lead

Culture at Halloween sounds like what it is
a great horde
of clattering and bony jaws

I'm saying culture is like a clacking jaw
a gnashing magical witch mandible
and house and things pop out

like castanets of snowy bone
in a black and endless winter
of stone mitten corn soda fins

black rubber shark's heads
are obviously religious

the deep sombre vision of your intelligence
has still yet to make giant robotic zeppelins with video skin

like gorgeous beautiful glyphs

like sexy legs
turning all patterns
and kicking rockette style
in the stratosphere

Suck on that graceless

Horrible angels
with Horrible corn colored toenails!


Friday, October 22, 2010

Cox Illustrated Dictionary of Hairdressing

I love you nature-box, giddy-as-a-
curl-I-love-you^Æpyornis under the hedge cloud
lying for the morn, how sweet the shell
like a skin-colored stone, I love you nature-box,
Acanthocephalan said to gut, aestival alizari
asmear on your rump ut pictura ou Littre'

like I just said

Oh lay me down in white cheesewood, sweet devil
and let my breasts fill the sky, and let the cities
of my branching toes fill your eyes, lying for the morn,
giddy-as-a-curl-I love you^amphiastriality to its
collection as if its collection stood in one unit,
all the names of nature applied in a single feature
like I love you anisakiasis the privative prefix
whose antenated evangelical relish must baobab
anurans in their booyang colored lavenders-curl
love you-fill the sky-sweet the smell, hell cities
said to gut colors-I love you in white cheesewood
ut pictura evangullicule

like I just said

Oh lay me down in bowyangs and curly slippers,
and let my breasts fill the clouds, and let cities
of your branching eye-claws love the burly cabotage
whose calyptran additions were appended with
frangrant toes of white cheesewood bodkins smeared
on madder rumps giddy-as-a-curl-I love you^amphiastriality
to its collection as if its collection, covering, veil^ you
wild white campion- Githago by the Hye in the Angleterre
of the diurnal vespertina where the cheesewood rushes
boggle sweet William's nymphologies

like I just said I love you nature-box, giddy-as-a-
curl-I-love-you^Æpyornis under the hedge cloud
lying for the cephalodiscus in chalcochromite
commandments, diapsid creodonts culminating
in dentex where coucal cnidarians dilly the
dog-gone dugongs with ergotamine ciclatoons,
their bodkins smeared with madder and 
cheesewood blossoms giddy-as-a-curl-I 
love you^amphiastriality to its collection 
as if its collection, covering, veil^ you

like I just said singlaton, siqillat^

and be smitten in castels and townes with mynstralcies
and lauzy turs, with tregeturs and tomblers-
I love you Launfal, where your japerine ginouria
goes giddy in the eftersoon highhede, covering,
giddy as a nature box, the boy ut pictura
under the hedge clouds breasts for the lying
where coucal monstuires give thanks to nouriture
and nurture oratour

I just dazed

in Tyroglyphid blossoms
to its collection
I love you giddy as 
artotyrite acarids
upon the milk white feet
of cheesewood
my breastwood castels
in japerine ginouria,
the segual head if made from bread^


Tyromantic Brehe!

I love you in white cheese hair, Tyrothrixin, my 
Sunday graphic is alive!

how! like I said...

mudo postiche shahtoosh
but not everyone will know
or care that I love you anyway^
your hearth like a city
of white cheesewood breasts
filling the sky


Thursday, October 21, 2010

Mein'd Kampst


Embryons Desséchés

Your submarines hold
vatic pallets of inci-
dental umbrage, or um-
brage and hubris together
as umbris, and they bristle,
luciferous under domes of
risqué arcana "ripped and armed"
with turbo-powered funeral manes
in a horror of galiwhistell ung-
uents, Stygian myrobalanum:

If orb were equal-telic,
nova-corpsed, a necessary
ignorance to arterial conduits,
if space's body rejected us,
column daughters, humbly
involucred to raw pontifex
wye, how dark adventures
pour forth from the urn,
sad-bellied callants snoring
while puma-fixtured clipper
ships roar in pulverized camps,
truncated illuminations upon
lustral taxes, ie:

if head is dew-drop, what washing?
Alas, your foetus a post-it note
from Proserpina, the Bad to
Eumenis Factorum. What Communism
to a fractured Elysium?
Even the pavements here
were visages, carved
jewels, and each with a name,
like "Dark Plague" or
"Gravely Ulterior"
No matter. Elysium
will found a picaresque
and pallid lactate upon
the hiatus of a penitent
tellurion, like saying
"Forgive me" as "Sorrery"
meaning "All Sorcery's Dead"
but only by misreading,
or misrule by jostled auguries
whose contours are the knowledge
secreted in vulgar "Parkay"
How mere is the mirror
of the land, its marked
continu~and? A tartare of
rare flamen whose sententious
fort of media proposes an
infelicitous arche'
upon our miserable pussy
bats of vital circus criminals,
and will heave a multi-sonic bonus?

Nothing is swollen with tears and fire,
except some cellphone, and it has replaced
the lyre, and it fits like a tooth
in a psylongolem's head, words are
cruel punishments, or many-jangling chains
like bling formed from perishable boundaries.

I, the Pen, am Minos, near to Minus,
and here within the semioswells dost I refound
the weirding hand of Rhadamanthus, a rabid co-
immaculate spectre of frond-like

Every time you kill me,
there is nothing
but music.

And I return,
the blood flag
of the ages.

or Sati
in pi-write~



Enmity judges butter.
Return to the tub.
No rut is ever dreamed enom:

Where psychon and photon converse
as psyton and phochon, the
phaneronian exchangeable
toward its holier allomony



all our money
is gone


psyfon'd away





says to song:


"A head feeling its way with the parts of its mouth."

and Strauss' Heifetz
in Es' Ilk~

qe les attachementz 
ne soient fetz freschement 
sur les felonies faites


George Hart