Wednesday, May 1, 2013


Chaos as paradox has all the hallmarks of classical order, but none of the doormarks, exit signs,
or explanatory lekythoi that have been found in tombs which repeat an otherwise incomprehensible image. The image is also present in larger and better executed form, but the scene, though varying in details, is always essentially the same. A woman is mounting a chariot, sometimes, as in Thelma and Louise, another woman waits for her, this image of the heroic couplet recalls the heroic-divine ascension which take splace in the community of women, the daughters of Semachos whose collective ascension is the figure of Erigone. Art is always the ascension of the false grapes, the sour grapes, but also the fall. Art is the stomping of the spherical divisions, and the creation of their roundelay. Aphrodite connects to Hermeneutics by way of a penis, the floating signifier.

No Gonpapa, the duck trap must be cover in indigo felt. The cats must appear in your sleeve holes as hands and offer their mint sprigs to the fig children, or "Catculated Turing Patterns"..
Seti-DNA-Set-Dogstar-No More.

I have no name, but I must dream.

This is first time I've experienced the ridiculous sublime first-hand as an experience of self, or other. Do you think the use of the word patter(n) implies regularity? Every seashell goes to Chicago inside Mr. Whipple. Please don't molest the Charmin, Snowflake.

I've got a bad feeling about this, but it's so damn good to get it out
in the open where I can roast it, and fit it stubbornly with fetish nails.
Have you ever seen a wooden igloo with ice nails?
How about Picasso Eskimo clones
wearing snow white Dogon mask heads
waiting for cold
Alpha Centauri Ice Ships
to bob up
and give show
to their rotund
Alfred Hitchcockesque Nommo-Dolphin-Dauphin Directors.
You just put a curly wig on Alfred
and give him dolphin skin.
It's a cheap effect.

Post-Humanism's thoughtful, poignant, asides.

Fungal cave brains exist and produce thousands of interrelated compounds.
This is wary. Stock port. Gigi.
Japonisme reoccurs over and over in French Science Fiction until
one suspects a worm hole, or war mule.
The Warm yule may asspet your inspection.
Carry on, Obi wan and frail,
lady bow tie of french face mustache literature art crime bovine mine mind times.

jihad lipstick koala

Open up your checkbook and draw a ridiculous image instead of whatevah,
then I will face the trepidation of licking your pen tip.
You've seen how easily I put the Princess' pea
in this nondescript bowl.
Now eat me a police officer cameo.
Imagine this scene as from the life
of Cavafy.

The first girl I made love to, and by that I mean,
the first text I ever performed the cut-up upon
was one by Andre' Norton.
If a god stands across the nostrils 
of a monster cat
as it hovers up a rocket ship,
Burroughs is easily
an Author, Drug for you,
for adolescence
The Eagle of Springfield Republicans.
This shit is for search engines.

I remain impressed.
Everything the Earth had offered.
The basic and general good
which gave rise to whatever.
It's so wonderfully dispicable,
with glory.
There's nothing careful at all
about life itself.
It's madness to make babies
in the void, but often
music CREEMS
in madness.

I can't wait to wake up,
and find myself a cartoon banknote
in a creepy church of Vanity.

It was the priestly class who first displayed the polyvocalcic tentacle flute.
This elaborate instrument is no longer found.
Curly black wool.
Curly black wool.
Buffalo centipede mules
for Reduced Caduceus
or "Can Re-do Zeus"
Break the New Wood.
Break it?

What's current goes back a ways.
Do you remember those tickertape Japanese, or Meteorological conceptual poets
of the 90's. They just made charts.
You had to trust them about being correct
or related to anything.
That's sort of the whole problem with language being, it ends up
being totally like