Monday, May 6, 2013

AIRPLANE. 1974. (The Quack or Tooth Puller).


In this sadness we are not alone. In this happiness, together. Straight, long, trees are stripped, are best, for electric lines, the hardware, bolts, and crossbar easily attacked, smoking, the transformers films coasted through madmen. Ibn Battuta received gifts as he traveled, some of which were people, and animals, the very things that still exist today, their images moving through stories, and 
redheads. hairy blond egg of California surf Siva, no shark bite, no makara.


Each text as bisected by some metaphysical other, a somatic other consistent with architectural planning, or ectoplasmic photography. In Eastern Berlin, the fingernails, teeth, and even toenails are used to resist drag. A pipe to one letter, one last smile, one forward looking grimage.
No mirror can detect your lie. No lie will further, or derange the total lack of planning inherent in all of this. Beware of hands and feet further to the giraffe for girdling
for the transparent marbling of incursive gazing
will hang forever unto Damocles,
the urn of the five days
who wears the laurel
SATSUN
(nous task)


Disco Immanent Club of Rome.
Dirty Shah. Holy Brother.
I make of you a fish,
in a burning ocean.
When I call this meeting to order:
ATLATCHINOLLI.
'Don't drink the Punch,
or the Judy."


Steady-State, Solid-State, the doves go out from the top of the old citadel.
For miles around women are trading wool for tulips, and tulips for sugar.
The white milk ghost is shred. Torn by the goat hand, the hatchet fish whose goat eyes ringed in brass take on the clue to the wrath in the heart of greeness, that butterfly head antelope of lantern.
to carry these odd luminous pupa up the winding path to Absolute Deafness, lupine, futon, neutra.
To carry these odd luminous poodle coccoons to the word on the hill.
What you give me.
Is holy wood.


I know this is going poorly, but I believe in the message of inaesthetics, of a beauty slightly off.
It's Chris Marker that once said. Brownstone smelling Janitor door.
leaf blown in on fresh car pet. Cark. Undulating serenely like a manta blade, here we have preserved the Sumerian Empire. Look upon its terracotta gill arrays.
Lay down vampire, in my terracotta gill house
surrounded by mumbling cactus balloons.
Rodney, Rodney, Rodney,
in opposition
to horizontal prairie.
Lacan: Mouse-Lion.


It's planting time in Suffolk!


Ashram posie. Wild Palms actor list.
Petelshaum. Average silk panel unity.
A new Romantic vision of production.
but let the horrible old walls show too.
I can't remember the artist's name, but
Mama lay on ground hold baby up to spray.
Holding baby up to spray.
Bird chirping sounds insane.


I've painted myself into a locational alterity of alternating stratum of indefinite formal character.
Lucky for me, I've got smokes and the hiccups.
Glossing Granny Clampet.
Calling Dr. Bombay.


We had one gorilla mask big enough for two heads, and the night was cold.
Most of Berlin was now a Tulip farm, the Dutch were conquering the world, but we were nude
as a two handed Mauser.
Johnny Carson and Carnitine host,
The Meganight Show.


A thimble resting in its storage facility.


I've come to expect that from you, Magritte. 
It's not something you could legally without 
the Navajo color tooring Norway.
O can you braid these lox?
Can you capulet these campions?


Reminiscing over patient regimes: The Swiss and the Dutch have conquered all.
Perhaps our Dasein, its symptoms at least, 
is today experienced, in a mode of nihilistic danger, 
the ‘one needful thing’ the argument.


Frank O'Hara? Not something I'd use alla buona.
I usually fail to respond.
sit and choke and die.
You must mind only so much, go away,
and ruin your own narrative garden.
RUINED GARDEN.


Ranch, or Blue Cheese?
As a Shaman, I usually slather my obscenitease
with Chimichurri!
(or Churriguerra..)


Why hide it? I have a big soft heart, and a big soft head, but architects
compete for my enormous puppet
LAKE COMO!
HUGE COMPANY!
the spite reserve now
bred sodden
(and patted in with 'backfill')
that's how you use babor.


I think one of the Language Poets was schitzophrenic.
That woman who called everyone "Tivoli-Tivoli" 
That isn't enough to cut it anymore.
My straitjacket period put me in the direct to zine market.
Good to see the drone and nomad thing coming together.
Philip K. Dick. What a big iron box!
I'll try that though:
"Tivoli-Tivoli" 
(SNODGRASS)


A big difference in me and Language poetry
is their sly good humour, I can't muster that.
It's better to stand here holding the mitten
while the giant keyboard makes an amphitheater
for ice skaters
as they retire from the rink proscenium
to drink prosecco 
prose echo
prose echo
John Ashbery Tintoretto
Babushka Pulcinella Instamagic.
(THE MODERNIST CICERO)


The actual narrative thrust
of the Language School.
Notice how the tail of the greyhound
echoes the incidental creases of the departing calves.
An incomparable echo
makes the black moon invisible.
Joe. Alice.
BLACK MOON.
"See his fin gaily underscore the invisibility of the line."
[fad minting] x [shuttle tragedy]


The Rune of Eleven.
Werewolf.
Arab Nazi. (Greek Style)
Dried Cherries.
Home.
beating a path to your door everywhere
in leafy underpants
and bee buzzing stockings.


The School of Cynicism lasted well over 900 years,
Summary of expenses: 

 Vet: $397 
Groomer: $60 
Boarding: $30 
Dog food (stocked up on food, treats, supplments): $150 
Mom's personal items: $55 
 Total: $692.00


It's time to make this phantom come alive.
Everyday I torture Stephan Mallarme'
to see what shoots out into my spirit catcher.


It's not so easy to rid yourself of angst my dear, 
but the first step is shut your mouth and try my mother's goulach!
Get thee behind me, Walter Mitty!


let me return that, when / 
furtive the rain / to the 
settled line goes / weather
of his eyes / or herm-left
writing
with the bivalves and being
clothed with the swans
or swarm
auld O cone
in the pathway (out
towards the monoplane
of the faire pluroma:
Orville Aura Bone.


TINY TIM(E):
"Why can't we all just get a loan?"
My name is Izod Megara.




“In a rough way the short story writer is to the novelist as a cabinetmaker is to a controversial cancer charity." Why did a  house carpenter give its CHAO a 64 percent raise? Welcome the mind of Sampling. Welcome to the Narrative of the destruction of the Narrative. This is a Noh play.
Negenspielentechnierschenlieben. A crab moves sideways. Think about THAT. no. Kris and Jeff and Punch and Judy. Everything relic moves a strance inslation.


The Universe itself is a "bad poem".