Monday, November 28, 2011

More Memoirs of a Philaesthete by Weird Harold Actaeon

son Ezra, a poor pud hung by
in the cedar of Lesbanon, the lamb
of science washed in companies

gray-masked Pugnalatori to kill
Longoboardi who weeps like Caesar
red in abandoned parking garages
betrayed by Pwoermdio,
emblems of the jaja muhudolfi clan
yumbowing on his/her kneepads

Duke Proto absconded, for
Apoerio must represent
'the negation of God'
to the Unity Sect

birth fascists giggling
the jilly nilly nihillibunchados
all flowing in green satin
'it's stupid to be a single object called ethernity'
wracked by invincible difference
unity is conflixity by and by

Ezra and Duke Proto fucking having
a most prevalent dish of spam and ersatz
sausages, Diogenes of Syncope
"It was Neil Hogg what saved me.."
"Too much booze," said Norman..

son Ezra never understood
the Montgolfier brothers with their
Arthur Waley translationisms:

key nest pause misanthrope a guarantee
and that's my jammy aimless homies

Mencius himself used firewood, oh fuck
that hurts me. Nothing but buttered rumpkins
and boogie ass negro you tamper in Roman
sandalwood, Ponte Vecchio, on either side
it's piled with cyclopian rubble-rubbles
Ronald Donald McPharmakon

son Ezra would velour all gas, the paintings
he liked least were attributed to Kasbek
"I saw a cubist Venus (two!) in the Tony Cragg
exhibit, two mincing little hotties
go dancing off behind the Picasso bronze
sea bull says "I love you Max Klinger"
get out of my dress!

"I've drank whiskey right here, and sat in a big bean-bag chair."
Sorrow in Sunlight... "All kinds of shit
is perpendicular..