Wednesday, May 15, 2013

TERRA PLANE BLUES


Mine shoots floating signifiers. What does yours shoot?


Always keep a bigger sign in reserve, is the rule of "Absolute Criticism".


I have not eaten out my heart yet, but I am in the process
of discovering the barrel-chest image.
It is always so refreshing to a see a blue sign which reads
RED.


I don't think you quite grasped the full portent of my statement, but as far as that goes,
neither did I, or We.

Snuffleupagus

I'm making Gallipoli gallium? Will you meet my bread in the picture plain darling.
It takes a ribbing to make a nation note.


Flowers offer the most prominent Phatic reduction of sentiment versus structure.
If only human genitals didn't smell so much like language.



I am the power, the way.
I am the floating signifier of today,
and yesterday,
goddamnit, DODONA!


in the hushed blue shag of our knowing,
in the Me-Me Mr. Oscar Snuffleupagus 
of universal junk, there is that tacit acceptance
you often reek, seek, there, there,
OPEN SESAMUY STREET


Upon this grotesesque table
I lay my solemn cake


against the architects of the red labyrinth of sentences,
a lone period skulks into meaning


reality
ever jaunty
is best
when like a trot
a buggy
or a hat


BLACK IRON (red hair)
when the dress comes off
It's the Old West as Oriental Decadence


These mandarin herds


These erstwile letters
to dim mavericks


these portraits
of portraiture


When angels topple fetish dolls of smoldering tobacco
in crisp blue cotton swagger


You Modernish grid
whowitch HOW houses various relations
to consciousness
and its opposite
Brigadoon Flea Market That Way!


Something more eloquent about close reading, it reveals more than just a contour of possibilities,
but the whole shape of reality,
taken in a certain candor
BEELZEBUB


Surrealism alone
with its dead child's
skeleton:
light

I beg your pardon Madame.
I'm thinking of parsley grown on vague promises
to nude teenage girls
in leather.


Richard Prince is not my real name, but it's 
what I write about
in JOHNS.


The Formal Composition of Content
reigns
contented.
Dig the thick hole I've dug, dig?


More than ever, Braniff.


More than ever, Pan-American.


More than ever, denial
and tedium (joy).


O you get to be the blurry one in Canaletto again, Okay?


Being is bliss. Art is stupid.


I want flaming extra brain meat like hamburger mouse ear spheres.


I used a RC copter to kill.
I like Johnny Depp.
FROM THE DEPTHS OF JOHNNY


fat man
little boy
kangaroo with a mushroom cloud
in its pouch.


Everyone knows what blood money is, but most people have never investigated its ravishing beauty.


Docking fees apply: Language makes boats happen!


This is a metaphor: The prisoners are the 'gnostic subject' and the light-fixture is Earth or language or something. You decide, or just make it up.
Nobody cares anyway.


This could have been an award-winning photograph if only the patch
was made of unlevin'd bred.
Do you see that question in her eyes?
Are you Turkish or Israeli? Am I Greek or Trojan? 


I am the last of Edomites.


I am the last of the Elamites.


I am the last of the Floating Signifiers.


Hide your copula under your hat (rhetorical).


A blind man takes down a deafy in 3 heats.
(special note on language)


Now we've moved Venice out here into the countryside.
Less Gangsters, but more disease.


Jimmy Cagney is my Jesus of Nasalthrone.
Big Gopher bangs the testicle drums.


I dreamed our bedroom life was like a beautiful woman tending an exquisite porcelain crab robot
whose innards were plantean circuits.


Playing with dough.


let's watch Dune, or better yet,
Shapes of Ptah, the old one.


okay. close enough.


Do you love Germania?
I have tickets to the Teutonics game against
the Seltzer Canons.. Oh dammit Bill,
LOVE ME!


I could be a terrorist. Do you know where your barrel of gunpowder is?
It is 9:44 am.
And it is time to listen
to Robert Johnson.

TERRA PLANE