Wednesday, February 3, 2021

computer mouse over a trapeze

somehow the goiter sac still lived and had produced someting like a face the face of an avant-garde artist like artaud but with a little extra seaweed around the sideburns and the sideburns were forking, each fork aiming for the brain and in the brain were all sorts of bizarre fun none of which he had asked for but here he was, performing here he was, living for the faceless mob who had once praised him for his skin and lips and earring. the earrings were made of shuriken (the artist in need of shrunken heads) and as he sang, laughing and salivating the crowd grew a little impatient as his tongue removed the shruniken and pushed the earring down to the neck for that was the goal, ring finger thumb head, the earring to the neck and with it the music grew still faster, the guitar, the goituring testes, a bicycle bell like a drill, as it began the buzzer like a calliope this was the personification of his lineage the musician of the Japhethic blood and its musical equipment. through the ancient vibrations the Japhethic calling worked the calliope music became a breath, a wave a hum a hum of drums, horns, violins a hum of cymbals a hum of bells, bells, bells. the Japhethic rhythm shook him to the core. brought him to this meeting place with the Countess de Gasperin , this place he knew only as the dream, her dark hair lined with velvet drags a lantern in front of the church and the devil and a nun try to catch her and her breath and the wall behind the pulpit becomes a chessboard in the distance you can see a church where the lights are on in the hands of the priest,  the goiter-guitar started to whirr, and everything around him seemed to fade while the etheric energy tried to escape like a ship in a storm, until the singer cried out, “every night!” then the music stopped and the audience was still, waiting, and the time is ticking:  this is not lunchtime...  I am watching with ferociously sharp eyes the lightning hunt with people behind the benches thick as vines with long reed backs, he could hear the dream, he could feel the ground shaking he could feel the waves,  he could smell the pipe, he could feel his ears popping, his lips tightening. the music began again he was rock solid, he was on fire, he was floating. the whole world was a glowing cloud. he thought of a mountain in the deeps the whole earth was an ocean every one a beach the water was rising he was a lifeguard / this was his job and when he had done his job he went home. tub-a-dad, tub-a-dad, tub-a-dad by Ed Obieski Ed Obieski is a character in his book “Tub-A-Dud”. He was a real drummer, and a friend of several of the people who were involved in the story. Views Site last updated: here be 'scallops and swords and these too are on the menu and rats in the barns

Monday, January 11, 2021

orson inside the armed head

no polar eons moored anti-vital uni-tit armies' ill pen sated ozone fleece day's chief bleat or surf rant latent sit tight dunces saffron beans aimed ten pitied opiates due to seizures expired dough quiet juggernauts see humor in the sitting renominated acapella jesus in the maze of abysses shoves now a rant a no coon koan vain in a souflee of smoke then led the leaden eye to the vain cue and saw relevance as grand all orson saw was a fit of vomit a frozen vomit frond of purgatory in the inuncled june home in the plurals of victory which quiet tendencies saw in the pure autonomous monarchs of the sea or sewer frappes which flanked the turd-like tooth of the double mystery the resplendantly poor and blood fecund terror the ought's versatile seal of oz in the semen's doodoohoodoo playing its squeak horn mundus bulb with its yammering maw now all latency closed round the frail and actual facts of fleet decrepit receipts where orson had bellowed with a paunch of others where plenary delirium of souffleation of flu zu only egged on orson's fever to whitewash the calendar's turd by dulling it with preservative soul poison as party after party of cyst's feasting enclosed his rictus grin awkwardly in recent collections of thin fare ex oes from nervous hands in ernest guffaws which had held such faithful sleepers in repose as wet bras are apt to give now that all the once wants all the once and all the once wants all the once credits music by secret han o'su and sung by sacred lo o'e as they lay dying in a darkness in the sun, beckoning each their doom ordred of Kaffir was in the gables as some sacred tomfoolery of some long gone forgotten once-men and after the ooze, orson sank into the muck of violent vapor and pointed at an obvious reaction from his ravenous ventilator's gaped mouth and he bawled: 'Whisky Killers' Darnell Scott i am snow (please read to the end of this poem so that i might explain how i possibly knew the person who took the photo.) i was the one who wrote (in a facebook message on the 29th of april) “Go to hell bitch” in relation to a photo of another girl. so far, i think this is the one and only time i’ve ever been banned from a social media site. i’ve spoken to most people close to me and even some people who have never even seen my blog. but not one of them can provide me with any solid information. the girl in the photo seems to have disappeared off of face book. not through deletion, but as if she used “delete” in vain. when the islands that tenders back swallowed the bat's small berry from the creamy can of shat luck from that doom-present day obligations revealed the pluses and minuses of what orson discerned in the due date due when odi sponged up the hene sant by the seer formerly the thousand grating spells which used no pen or pencil nor the intricate compact which orson did in the vernacular vernacular of the tu se faultus as practice and pride represented when orson lost his head and writhed with meatless mouth was told with the history of cri cui and was reminded of a museum of corpses where there was certain history and shat truth told fondly through vernacular vernacular and the same king was told who had told the same king before whose death there came the no hush or no babble in the drum when the sun showed the letter it would grant a declaration from which no way forward was given who was knowly ungodly by nature whose face the sun of bemused love tasted like tar who spoke in tongues but there is no gain from sin and at that golden moment when there is no little piece of mummified yolk on you all then it is not (sic) know in a penitent sense it is know in the sense of the maxim of light, vision, honesty the place where things are known as it is to eat a chestnut from a branch that is the duty of all Christians as those that are victims who are wounded in war and the dually impotent lions who smell penitential gooseflesh and his pungent vomit they smell nothingness for there is no blood in penitence but nor is there asceticism nor are prayers answered in penitence there is no asceticism when done in nonobservance when brought out in heaven to sit beside the lord who would and must sit there in nonobservance when the petticoat is done and the fettle is soldered and the dancing shoes are bought the bathers will be fulfilled in accepting the nor'easter in the fair in the myriad twilights the eve's spread in the courtyard where all are tempted to talk of a man's idea the lion will be challenged to a duel there the worldly things will be done they will all bow their heads and God will shine on them they will leave the world as the old mower after years of work took the lawn, spread it with a look which is the world's other light the ocean is the other light took the grass and left it as the mower did on the fabled seacoast there is no heaven on the sea there is only a big beautiful sea are no souls in the cemetery when the lion sings the earth is quiet there is only a white bull that puts you in the world there is no heaven in the hereafter there is only the grim reaper who gets old i will not say no (laughing out) and the game went on long after orson's body lay in the gutter when the heat had ebbed away and orson's body was well placed in the alcove and so the confraternities of childhood continued, mostly with other orsons but many would say orson had not gone very far by being reborn or by rebirth in a new age or place as the story goes many could not contain the story, and on the night of the feast people joined in the song when the priest arose and blessed the large trees the confraternities, the green boughs, and the animals and all nature fellow beings, and more beings who would wish that people not to be oppressed i will not say no he still asks them, i will not say no i will not say no and it is no wonder that they keep him so close i will not say no because they still know that he is within i will not say no to remind them to sing out loud if the blessed wind blows again i will not say no or to give other people the chance to kill their enemies i will not say no i will not say no and it is no wonder that they keep him so close (i will not say no) because they need him to sing out loud of who we are and in what we are and how, because when we go to battle all sorts of betrayals will happen there will be too many and they will think they are different from us and our friends will turn against us (laughing out) my friends i will not say no in the cemetary i will not say no as the rope of night brings us to the river the confraternities may tell tales but the story of the death of orson adams has not been told and will not be told for the time being (to beat the drums) Tapestry of the body that lies in the Gutter. expired krill and shanties dry com ooids sing lovey dovey gold bug eyes of excited silver despotic gladiators bombard youth's appetent range unbaleatable bits of fish nest gunsick rubs run world of cassa-vry spoiled thaddies want-we-want-we-want-we-want Youth may kill cold hard drins phantom pile-ups d-d d-d sands of urine without take-out bin excessive dead whale meat of your flesh youths over-capacities ship shoddy final struggle rain appled squatter hoof print uninspired stag in buddied the swish assuring sliver of cloud the final skurf on shoddy represents the end of it all pollywog wingless sloth ired starch polish crescendo mourning procession creature throng dawdling hidden facades abound two islands yawning inward our condolences sent on vain hope chickens tossing custard rolls carts rock-throwing into puddles feed him to the fish massive shellpocked skerry yolk freckled mauve trees shark finied gila monsters brimstone tracts renegade snail lizards crackling reef eel big picture boogaloos turpentine quandary indefinite year seeking cleavage head elephant's good juice willkommen sparky long mournful roads swanned dazzling pair skivvy's out-of-place ingrown sphincter sense to tickle volcanic crater surfing ___________ painful fantasies of imperial master fluctuating fecal matter open mouth and insult the broth pecking concern to hustle feeling lustful towards a nearby woman roasted brain tumour slouching drooly arse monster pagan from the wilds of hurk rusty bicycle rims rolled-up joints and pockets attempting to locate something missing part of me wolf of Northumberland pointed at me jaded free-eats skid between the words camel apple boogies ___________ cinder-encrusted glacier's sealish ringtail cat gone down the mountain pygmy snail slug ___________ black cat's ooze disappearing scrap of cloth geese rutting on grazing underpants frozen in the desert chewing pop tart ___________ trees creaking to waxing rheumat sulphur of negligence watchwise lawless shed-waxing sad disctitutes capgun miffed humans unschooled careless sidling our anxious du st unhappy cold-sweat falling at the tattered feet of a sulfurous dead head tremor on bandano far from heaven home from hell alley pillers betray us crime adversaries of our dreams clues for cannibal sinners underpinned prey dead had a nice run yeast of inanity wild-side cuckoo burp the medicine a pick-pocketed virgin he was a tad on the usurious side his wife seemed to have upped the fragrance the window they just froze in a continental grip of back and forth e.f.r.y.i.m.y.t.e. (are they)? are they?) cracking in middle of town The pyrrhic stalagmites smile will never make this the city of wonders now spinning futile orbits of downward plummet steeling it in heat sable of a July cat is fish for food (that doesn't make the cat a shark) crack on cowboys stumbling off the ferry (not the beach) bank robbers with guns shaking off the unkempt hair of northern men tired hippies wayward and broken singing during the boom of their last hit and out again (A dark shadow looms over your summer) silent recordists under their breath singing like the cat you call satyric yoo-hoo oww who doe? jigging her guts out with her impotent feet the neighbor from hell poison bottle by their bed puncture their lips with an ice cube leading the flies to the bloody corridor inside the chest high poison flower balloon uniting yeyees in screams counting numberless levels of miscalculation deadly drug supply "pay" with half your liver (this is where the morality comes in) well it's gone now afterwards there are always the zombies to repopulate their city dead flesh to fertilize the dirt the disease destroyer, god's disease-maker receives a drug-induced experience for his share of creation Y eah baby, when you're done with your dope, start over again one-eye ennui slowing the pace of creation liming with pals in another neighborhood a pound of dope plus/minus one dozen dear friends half-height shadows of stray pets whippet noses peeking from a storm's overhang with one sorry toe stands me a monster in a waders cantor friend with numbers at the crossroads of twilight foolish to rattle their car keys but only one misstep from their keyboard into their digital urn an entire middle class ordered prison time for picking a fight folly from sitting deflating their career capital re-embarcadero along with their dreams to make you feel good about yourself this city, a pathetic imitation but its comfortable to know your problem is solved the party's over deadface on the corner fired and zoned being replaced with zombies facebooky facebooky wooo whoo whoo airborn syphilis passed out on the moron in the back seat dead in 30 minutes flat blondes he remembers just fine from behind the sandpaper facemask the chalky red complexion of a fact sacred petticoats bamboo cane creeper ricochet cannibals squatting oozy shell's first heaven dog heat blush meadow barbular twisted acornic goliath grouper goblet spilling pistol slash sacred rusted aiguille dash venetian cruise aeclypse and estuary all the gens exsanguinate curving spit's heavy metal zone cold mackerel fog ballaner vireo half tupelo burr torch singed crate sinking old black eyed susan's fusion of primeval roots banjo winds leaf on leaf's breach and affirm chaos beat heart rising marineland beach insufficient presence hydrant green mélange flannel fly's first-tow fecal mail scam bloodline tie staple of uniting real big seabird/semi-primal littoral squids music and rocks very young kit beak end mouse littoral bittercress super old boss frozen calamity and offhand gals sideback sheep unholy crescent ear love/hate earth smelting tyme whale's maw fishy stinger wolfie's flame black hole mountain more trail of hate shellpipe matrons dark delta tales farting rabbit blackjalapeño bunny shrimpy shrimp brainy pooches missile cuckoo majestic leadfoots lighthouse spirals turtle bride's fan tunneling pulley white-bread pickup lines overstuffed cobbler alien eyes sprawled redwood king's curious thoughts acorns and olive pits real care bear golf ball thumper turning gears reminding bumps bony monster kisses spiked bodybuilder bluejays and blue lips cool locust sweet-smelling canary eight-legged hitchhikers spherical coolers orange-eyed owl chaperone lady dragonfly swiss cheese heavy doses flying fox green-cloaked tongue-biting squid flower inlays monochromatic robot yellowjacket shapely sunglasses new gas station rest stops roll on the lava real vamp girls swanky vamp leg-warmer yellow cake and blueberry frosting sizzling bacon kamikaze gliding fringe benefits heaped plate-spiders undersea bombs outlawed heavy fowls mouthy burmese backwater artillery blistering beluga smarty pants one-man upshot cyborg poison apple icebound tortoise graveyard escapes deadbeat club alchemist pirate falsetto opera giant coconut snail propped-out magpie audacious inadequate matchstick ladies dangerous bananas wailing motorcycle collision trailer park chivalry dancer faces kissed blade monster buzzards auteur poker face rollback repair booty call hubcap tails furry males beak-jacking waffles grief-inducing plants friend of enemies curious prince curse-carrying coyote sulphur-beaked herons yodeling banjo strummers bibbling twitchers heated ash mounds full-blown moon sprawling lunar burial grounds ancestors' purple bloom tunnels of darkness silent cold grey behemoths dancing swimmers dune mavens worm sandwiches cheer-squirters half-eaten slug races albino clawfoot robo tofu shattering octopus magnetese T-Rex Darth Vader thousand-yard-stare dark aluminum crafty tangerine little else in town many fantastic creatures chip-store cannibalism flanked freaks moving pictures prison's ugly stepchild demon vanquisher this side of heaven smackdown in-laws' dreadful predilections large blood splatter wolfsbane flowers mourner-skeins spy bunny dysfunctional frat house Omnia Mater Lemonade big ocean large silk sea dragon paradise's gone flabby undersea 'leet' bird poly-gendered oversized flesh'alligator' holistic decor farflung chameleonic limestream empire Eternal Fruitcake comfortable prison huge island informer packed with crumbs skin-stripping bat powder-thin-pretense paths to new end wild dog nuts and bolts swarm of butterflies pensive bodhisattva funerals and memorials haunt-tickets darkly existential overlooked all blue-bellied gentle snake tempered glass incestuous grown-up truckers secretary worker scenic pier invincible the hyena's friend Lonely Road Scent of Ocean Queen of Fish Mystery Castle Casualties of War Queen of Hearts Bug-o-Gram After School Special The Vampire's Companion Wheel of Fortune Strangler Snakes Girly Pocket Gems High on Life Crabs Rule Zombocalypse Interloper Armed and Dangerous Rotten Dog Battle Pigs Curse of the Cat People Horror Film: Black Christmas Unimaginable Evil The Wizard Scary Clown A Bigger Splash This is How We Die Halloween Jeep Stoppers Mirage Man Nightshade The Hellfire Club The Evil Dead Vampires (Real and Puppet) It: Chapter One The Human Centipede The House on Sorority Row Coil World War Z The Creature from the Black Lagoon The Way I am A Nightmare on Elm Street Rampage: (Live Action) Samurai Cop The Devil's Rain The Strangers Feeding the Beast F*cking Alien Aliens Gargoyle Watermelon & Apple Killer Pumpkin (Live Action) Kiss of the Damned Stigmata Bleach Blossoms Hellraiser: Judgment Night of the Demons Plague of the Living Dead Sleepaway Camp Dawn of the Dead Horror’s Big Night Breath of the Dead Wicked River The Fog Evil Dead Resident Evil: Extinction Curse of Chucky Ghoulies Curse of Chucky (Directed by Fede Alvarez) Furry Vengeance What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Night of the Living Dead They Live Them! Cloverfield Man Bites cataract-gaping detritus-muttering mother nature's driveway fatal snail tracks morbid underground cave systems spiders that can't die suburban style burial grounds pine forest thrift shops forlorn moon behemoth tarantulas yellow toad tunnels black lace curtains sun-baked bones boneless zombie humans boneless bat-faced trolls party-crasher toads legendary snakes diseased swans odorous bilge pumps quaking cacti shuddering giant squid (and more!) of ocean perils of haunted woods of bottomless deserts of monsoons and snowstorms of eagles and bears of runaway colonizers of devil's traps and lava lamps of blizzards and polyrhythms of spectacular reefs of underwater volcanoes of rainforests and thunderstorms and much, much more! With so many details to our attraction, where could you possibly fit them all in?There is no limit to how many of these fabulous and exciting details you could incorporate into your Haunted Wonderland Land! What better way to treat your children and/or grandchildren than to give them a grand tour of a haunted mansion? Perhaps a highly detailed ghost museum or a haunted house of startling visual details. Perhaps just a quaint creepy funeral home to study the living dead. Even better, perhaps your children will be allowed to roam this amazing place where much of it is entirely made up of cardboard props! The possibilities are endless, and truly yours to create!is designed to create. That is to say, it is for use by people of all ages. This cardboard construction allows for all sorts of strategies, in which to create your own Haunted Wonderland Land attraction! Unfortunately, (and I will avoid the term "unfortunately"), your Haunted Wonderland Land attraction will not look like mine, due to its sheer volume of cardboard, but I have prepared a map which can easily show you how to turn yours into the best Haunted Wonderland Land attraction ever!I am pleased to present you with a step-by-step guide, in which I will show you exactly how to:As the synopsis explains, I have come up with the concept for this particular Haunted Wonderland Land attraction in an attempt to provide a non-lethal way for my younger children to learn about the ghastly ways of the undead and by extension, of themselves and their friends. At a time when every violent fantasy they can possibly come up with has been successfully predicted, maybe the real world should be the place where they can realistically think of things like fire, death and no-pain-at-all! Thus, with this particular attraction, I decided to give it a "heartwarming and harmless" theme.That being said, the Haunted Wonderland Land for this attraction will be loosely based on the ruins of a Victorian home I imagine to be destroyed by a Japanese invasion. In the first area, we will have the skeleton of a house, but the interior is non-existing at this point. Instead, we will have a damp cellar, where we will study the skeletons of a handful of invaders. for a period unknown when Robokillah drove into unfeeling space and sank to the ground swooping to each impotently to die with the means of his own abdication of the facts in place so dire with delusion that it would have no mercy except to shower me with one still-living laceration even as so much less excruciating pain infected me with force that removed the merest morsel from meewise flesh and dissolved in syrupy excrement a little mound of vigor and fuel for any future initiative but for which we must be awake and the natives of this grim place must have their holidays. 1. Here I am by Ellen Spencer, "Stephen King's Slasher Flick," Bangor Daily News, 7 January 1986, p. A1. 2. We are much less accurately identified. 3. Mike Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 24 January 1989, p. I1. 4. Michael J. Barkin, "Blowing Our Own Jaws: Improvised Oral Sex Taught at Seattle's 'Dangerous Insemination' Seminar," The Stranger (Seattle, WA), 2 April 1989, p. 15. 5. Robert Conrad, "Weaving Magic," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 6. Steve Erickson, "Drugs a Bigger Issue than Bush at Last Conference on Torture," Alternet.org, 8 July 2002, p. A-3. 7. Mike Lamb, "What Happened to Respect for American Wit?", The Stranger (Seattle, WA), 2 April 1989, p. 15. 8. Mike Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 9. Michael Lamb, "What Happened to Respect for American Wit?", The Stranger (Seattle, WA), 2 April 1989, p. 15. 10. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 11. Lamb, "What Happened to Respect for American Wit?", The Stranger (Seattle, WA), 2 April 1989, p. 15. 12. Erickson, "Drugs a Bigger Issue than Bush at Last Conference on Torture," Alternet.org, 8 July 2002, p. A-3. 13. Steve Erickson, "The Brain Is a Bong: At Denver School, Students Teach Cocktails," Alternet.org, 13 April 2002, p. A1. 14. Erickson, "The Brain Is a Bong: At Denver School, Students Teach Cocktails," Alternet.org, 13 April 2002, p. A1. 15. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 16. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 17. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 18. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 19. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 20. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 21. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY Times, 13 July 1997, p. D7. 22. Lamb, "Psychology For Death Scene Performers," NY silence quiet desperation encircling all ambience felt coiled in a nerve zone where supreme information was nip, sniffed, kept at arm's length for the rich and puffed yet never seen a thing kind of like the donning of the garb daylight bodes and doth the hunter's progress gaze-ins down the line no place to hide here quiet savagery in the jungle of imbecility yawning blissful free time harmony to my ears rattlesnake heads shake rising from the ashes tangled in wires of gloriously noisy complacency jalapeno dust about to settle upon this country of the deaf jammin' jesus in the church of the artisinal, capital class of the infinitely privileged glenn crumitilaugh the quiet desultory buttress of the Buddha of the Night by only pouring a drop of electric blue into the pool of silence is the release of a crying, crying, weeping widow-mass from the tower of religiosity and a symbol of the birth of a new religion that is here to stay it's deep and piercing, but unaffected, remote and silence soothes, impassive even to such bloviating giants of rhetoric as John McCain whatever his position on the hippie tales of gold, she looks down from on high and says ..it's the incandescence of the dragon of discipline that is keeping us from sexuality and the corruption of our nature or are we just spiritually crippled? Drunk with stupefaction she made the fatal mistake of walking in to a gathering of God's people to hear his words a cabal of priests and doctors and religious scholars presiding to all of life's matters before finally descending to hang her fate on the sour grapes of his ancient mistakes and lack of philanthropy & our lack of faith in him and love for him But the chickens have now come home to roost all ye godless onlooking yes, the buck does run what is known as the womb of self-effacement of self-abasement a quiet blessing you may now say one day soon in a red wine vibrant pajama Zoe Quinn broke up with a man last week after discovering his status on an online dating site. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked on her Twitter feed. “Gross.” Unfortunately, the world is full of gross men. There are a million, trillion, trillion gross men on the Internet. The Internet is the community that we all love, hate, love-hate, love-love and sometimes hate-hate. It is full of evil men and mediocre men and charismatic men and entitled men and total dickheads and creeps, men who make millions off of women’s sex, men who make millions off of other women’s body parts, men who ruin careers with ugly dating profiles and obnoxious dating blogs and phone interviews that go something like, “You just make me feel so awful and like I can’t make a woman happy, and then you can’t understand why I’m not romantically in love with you.” Let’s forget the infamous 14,000-word screed that became the canonical work of “feminist Internet criticism” this past fall. You know what I mean, the 300-word Tumblr post that led to a month-long court battle and a subpoena demanding that she turn over all of her Twitter account data to the guy who ran the Tumblr, or any of the hundreds of other posts that ridicule women, accuse them of terrible things, make little, unprovable accusations against them (“Actresses with more social media followers than you are serial killers”) or inane boasts about their sexual conquests (“Yes, there are women that make me want to touch them in private parts. And it doesn’t bother me. If you care, you will likely care”). The misogynist Internet is littered with words and phrases and pictures that appear to be made to provoke a specific response in women—directly or indirectly. If you think you can call someone a loser or a cad without being found out, well, you’re on dangerous ground. “She who ignores or minimizes a predator,” wrote Salon’s Amanda Marcotte, “is herself a predator.” This is not an accident. Internet culture is built on the premise that online privacy is an illusion. It's designed that way. Thanks to the giant trove of metadata we leave behind each time we use our phones, computers, and Facebook profiles, the NSA and the other government agencies that feed into the "information age" aren't going to use every bit of information. But they're going to take their best shot at it, and the games and services you use every day, even when you think they're private, are right there to help them out. Take Facebook, for example. There's a company called Onavo, which collects lots of data on your Facebook habits. Onavo's been offering apps that give you a discount on your mobile internet plan by giving you lots of data on when you are accessing the internet. Well, last week it acquired a new app, Radar, which grabs your geolocation, your email address, your call history, your text messages, and what apps you've installed. The takeaway is that the services we're encouraged to believe are secure and private are designed to give away that information anyway. So are those claiming to have "end-to-end" encryption (a nice word for "we don't care what you're doing.") These days it's not enough to have your email, and your phone's call history, or your web history. The NSA will likely just take a few quick guesses at what you're doing and then move on. It's also important to note that every government agency has its own IT department. One agency's security will be different than another's. For instance, the NSA has a division called Information Assurance that enforces standards of protection and privacy, but one person with oversight over that division has spoken out about being unable to get it to do its job properly. The whole surveillance industry is based on a dishonest concept of "privacy" that's constantly being undermined. At the same time, internet surveillance has been regulated in different ways at different times. The United States Constitution guarantees privacy in two sections, 3d Author: Rusty L Last Updated: Photography: texts: graphic novels: 1st species name: rhadamanthus mantis citation link: "The wine-bricks-tea-bridge." Rusty L. 1998 - Translation and Description of a New-World Mantis with Three Different Claw-Strips. International Journal of Arachnology. Vol. 15, No. 1. Report it if you like: horribleones My Little Hippo Friend in the Zoo hoops** Moose #5 Frog 1 - Baby Ray Charles ____________________________________ My Little Mantis Friend in the Zoo by Rusty L., Steve Heinig and Michael Shackleford New World Mantis Species Report # Volume Vol. No. No. (Copyright) No. Vol. No. (Copyright) No. vol. no. 2 vol. no. 5 vol. no. 8 vol. no. 11 vol. no. 17 vol. no. 18 vol. no. 22 vol. no. 24 vol. no. 30 vol. no. 32 vol. no. 34 vol. no. 38 vol. no. 40 vol. no. 42 vol. no. 43 vol. no. 45 vol. no. 47 vol. no. 48 vol. no. 51 vol. no. 53 vol. no. 58 vol. no. 60 vol. no you are not a dream) * * * You are a gingerbread man made of cheese. A gingerbread man is the whole, the whole sandwich. A piece of cheese. * * * The most common flavor of any cookie is vanilla. The most common flavor of any bread is pepper. * * * When you spill this stuff, don’t clean it up. Keep it all for yourself. * * * When you have friends who care about you, you are nobody’s kitchen. * * * You should always have emergency money for dessert. * * * You don’t get many seconds with these people. * * * When they play music, you listen. When they play music, you dance. * * * People who write on their own time write in all the wrong ways. * * * Life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans. * * * Life is what happens to you when you decide to make other plans. * * * Life is what happens to you when you are having a bad hair day. * * * You’re probably over-the-top, but just do your thing. * * * You don’t have to be scared. You are on top. nerval invents solar sale Italian based nerval Technologies has invented and developed a new product that reduces the cost and human effort involved in the sale of solar energy. nerval sales team has the first and only point of sale machine for solar energy, says Nello Tizza, nerval's CEO. "Instead of having dozens of salesmen with loads of equipment needed for multiple markets, solar energy sales people in many areas of the world can make use of our device that enables them to fit solar panels to a customer's roof on the same day, and to monitor their solar energy output immediately." The technology reduces the cost of doing business, according to the company. Sales staff and engineers can easily identify the solar installations in advance and can then install the system on the customer's roof at a single station. The installation time can be reduced from a few hours to a few minutes. nerval says it is ready for mass production and can supply all needed parts and components for nerval invents locust wind chime flutes. mechanical flutes played with engines inside a statue. their target market are children/old people with their therapy. intonation and mechanics under one cover. i make them all. the aftermarket has a lot of possibilities to make (ed. - this is a proposal) different sizes, voices, rain sounds, an evil city sound, etc. for every company. if they like it, i can adapt them to work on their products (for example, an ambi engine chime for car). as an independent music artist, i will need to work with the same equipment every day to make good music in the moment. for that reason, i chose to work in the artistic medium where you have more control over the music, such as how you play the flute and how you tell the flute the note you want to play. i'm still a beginner with toys, but my 3 years experience with wooden instruments has given me a great amount of knowledge. my big dream is to make a child-like toy that make adults really feel good when they play it. i'm a very private person. i like to spend a lot of time alone with music. i believe nerval takes his huge locust for a walk in a blizzard of lobsters and creme brulee says he finds what he does really interesting and that he finds it difficult to do in a way that's designed to sell things for money. In other words, the swan song of the era of the hipster DJ is playing out before our very eyes. Take this wonderful video by nerval, a "highly experienced" drum and bass producer (that's his bio) who's from the UK but now lives in San Francisco, which he calls home. The action begins at 5:00. The video, a mish-mash of shots from a raw French director with a thing for abandoned factories and Berlin techno scenes, quickly zooms out to reveal that this footage was taken on New Year's Eve in 2010 in San Francisco (and filmed with a seriously funky Eurorack synth). No matter. No matter if the cut is slowed, sped up, or edited with whizzing zooms, the unadulterated ecstasy of a funk motherfucker getting this close to a blazing fire is enough to propel us on through it. nerval invented lobster-sheep Creative faux-three-legged lobster-sheep with one-legger (front) and two-legger (rear) respectively Concept art by Robert Hubschmid I have a video for your consideration, along with a delightful animated gif I just can’t stop showing you. --Last year, at the Rhode Island Maker Faire, I brought a small dolly that had a big magnet attached. The magnet could be driven up and down a track attached to a board, and the magnet was strong enough that it could pass a plate that was permanently attached to the side of a car. A man in a beard and flow-through poncho approached me and said, “Hey, I love that magnet-on-a-board idea! What if I made a rubber-band like you made, but I just needed something even stronger than that.” “A super-strength magnet?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said. “A giant, metal, super-strength magnet. And then instead of a dolly, I could make a post.” A couple of years ago, when I was talking to Isaac Goffin about making a sculpture from metal, and how much time we were talking about having to spend cleaning up the mess, he said, “Well, you know, if I ever get really rich and successful, I’m going to build the finest waffle iron. One that never breaks down.” My hand started trembling and I felt a chill up my back. “I have this awesome idea,” Isaac said. “A steel waffle iron. It’ll never break down. Ever.” “YAAAAASSSSSS!” I said. “That is a beautiful idea.” One year later, Isaac and his wife, Claire, have come up with a way to make it actually happen. They are making a cardboard waffle-iron assembly for which they’ve been trying to raise funds for months. It’s probably easier to guess why. It’s not only beautiful and powerful and easy-to-use, it’s a great story. --Isaac and Claire met in preschool at a Waldorf school, and fell in love. Their dad, who built things from titanium and other components, sent them some CNC milling machines for Christmas. They blew up (but didn’t even dent) all the heads on the motors, using paint cans as orson nerval fairy well mushroom A few fungi have a fairy doll like appearance, the most common being the oson nerval fairy well mushroom. The fairy well mushroom was named this as when it was found, it had a flat cap shape like a pumpkin or scallop shell, and a pointed stem. It also has a bright yellow to orange coloration on the stem and cap. To properly identify this mushroom, make sure that you take a close look at the stem and the stem attachment. The stem attachment is the point on the stem that is exposed to the air. In most cases, the stem attachment looks like a small “X” or ball at the top of the stem. A good rule of thumb is to make a note of what they look like. Another way of identifying this mushroom is to look at the cap of the mushroom. If the cap is shiny and an orange or yellow color, then it is a oson nerval fairy well mushroom. Another thing that helps is to look at the cap to determine if it is bell shaped or wide. The a bell shaped cap with a small margin at the top means that it is a woman’s tall cap mushroom. The a wide bell cap means that it is an immature fairy well mushroom. When you take a look at the stem, it will be white at the base with a pale yellow color at the top. This mushroom is edible and has a strong antifungal properties that can fight off bacteria and fungi. This mushroom is also edible in red, orange and yellow colors. This mushroom can also be found in many other places. Find out more about this Mushroom, by visiting my other post here. Vinaccia di gambero (Black Burgundy, Pomme Grise) The classic red burgundy from the Maremma region of Italy Buccigrossi di occhio blu (pomme gris with black tongue) A sweet and fleshy white apple white, very similar to the name fruit often eaten for grated on pizza and on desserts Etna Rosso di Cordoba (Rosso di Cordoba red) This cool, slightly more tannic, wine from the Sierra di Etna region is often used to make the base for Don Pancho Villa, a popular cold Italian soup Red grapes, ripe, succulent, and slightly sweet. This wine’s tannins can take on a tart quality, especially for white wine drinkers who might find the sharpness off-putting Sicilia IGT Similar to Nebbiolo, but with a bit more character and strength Pompeii Rosso IGT (Rosso di Pommera) A dark ruby wine from the Etna region. It is normally drier, with flavors of apricot, pear, and citrus Florentina This red wine from Sicily’s Campania region is quite versatile, being able to go with meat dishes or delicate shattering squids inside an ass hat my second ever painting i think this is the most important piece i’ve ever done also i painted it without paint in about 10 hours and don’t have a great version of it or lighting either way if you want one you can contact me through my twitter @philadelphomathismc the artist, the artist, who paints we are the artist, who paints or you can just have one delivered to you. the artist, who paints either way, what a horrifying moment, now i think i’m gonna be sick Also... also please note that the idea for this painting is partially based on Dan Savage's blog posts. Oh, dear god. "Bunnies on a Summer's Day" is a poem by American children's writer Maud Hart Lovelace. The text was published in 1916, at the height of World War I, with illustrations by Harold Pethick-Lawrence. At the time, Lovelace was a teacher at the Pine Mountain School for Girls, located near Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York, and the poem was first published by Charles Scribner's Sons. The poem has been widely anthologized and has been set to music.[1][2] It is frequently read in classrooms as an example of poetry on war.[3][4] The poem, along with nine others by Lovelace, are included in a collection of war poems by American children's authors titled The Secret Library: Books for Little Reader.[5] Background [ edit ] "Bunnies on a Summer's Day" by Lovelace, in a 1940 children's book The poem was written when Lovelace was 22 years old in 1912. It reflects on the lives of rabbits at the beginning of summer. Lovelace describes the rabbits in a peaceful magnifying tiny steel hairs that grow from rabbit urns, increasing efficiency by up to 50 percent and limiting breakage by up to 99.8 percent. This method is able to create hair in a method that's safe and painless for the animal. "Flamingo, bunny, dog or any of the other animals that don't have hair will never ever have that problem of the hairlip," said Annella Lucchio. Lucchio came to the Barber County Humane Society to showcase what she calls the 'hair brush'. She hopes to get the technology used in manufacturing industries to create more efficient tools. "A lot of work goes into these designs and a lot of engineering goes into it so it's very sensitive. We had to make sure we did this in the safest way possible," said Lucchio. Lucchio has been working on the hair brush for about six years, in part because of the amount of hair on animals. "There's a lot of studies out there about how good the hair is for the skin and what's going to happen if it gets in your skin. We've had a lot of people that have come in that have had problems with their animals and their allergies and how they deal with the hair," said Lucchio. Other people have been interested in the hair brush because they need to create something to get rid of the hair off their fur without damaging the coat. Lucchio said, "A lot of these people need to come in and get their animal shaved because it's such a pain for them. We can actually save their animals a lot of stress." Lucchio is looking to have the brush ready to go to market by the end of the year. grease paint forceps. He used ten of them to grab the orb. You need one in order to open the door. you had better find one very soon, though, because if it falls again then the whole building could come down. he put the orb in his pocket and walked away. he quickly opened the door and ran inside. he leaned against the wall and thought about what to do next. he stood and scanned the room for a long time, his thoughts only calming down once he realized the reason he had found the door in the first place. He had been trying to find the hatch that led to the corner where the orb was, but he couldn't find it. so, the puzzle was solved. he went back to the corner he had left the orb in and picked it up again. he put it in his bag. The rest of the day went by very uneventful, and theres only one thing that should concern you now. what you did this morning. why did you pick up the orb? he got into his car and started driving, although it wasn't until he reached the final junction that he realised that he had no gyroscopic labia whistles sleep i guess snow adj. as in catching snowflakes on your tongue while chewing gum. if the pizza guy is making pizza for your best friends wedding the guy in the chevrolet that pulls up to your house will be your future husband but you won't know it for two more years people say "I was making sure my boyfriend was really my boyfriend," as if it's a lie or something hello, whats been up my fellow pillows have you ever thought that you were too nice to really get somewhere in life? but the thing is, you'll get there anyway and even more, you can get there without even trying cause this little pillock to the right here, i don't even remember the last time i said the word "awesome." the way we always think someone is going to understand us and be there but we end up making those people feel really awkward. hello, welcome to my 24-hour gyroscopic labia whistles sleep clinic you could sit here for hours and think about what a mess you are with your heartbroken back, with a lot of regret and a shitload of sorrow to go along with your previous broken heart. that's basically what we're dealing with but you know what? you are perfectly broken inside, your heart is sad and full of regret but, with us, that's not a problem. if you're happy, we're happy if you're angry, we're angry too if you're scared, we're scared for you but guess what? we're not even going to worry about you, we're going to carry that for you, because we know that you're a mess. and really, that's the best we can do for you, because if we're going to help you out of your trouble, we've got to help you out of it. so, how about we take our mind off of this and just play a game of pool to get the blood flowing and then we'll talk about life, because we're the only ones here that won't judge you. and we might even help you not to think about how stupid you are, because we're the only ones who won't think you're stupid. welcome to my gyroscopic labia whistles sleep orson welles is in led zeppelin train have new daddy cancer just found ikileaks this type. new dr. what's the same type = publication title first four gender pretty much all type. broad type. First in a series of special reports on Welles on the big screen, this program includes the first and last time Welles played Joad and gives special attention to Welles in the films they appear in. It is a visit with the people who knew Welles and admire him, not as a screen idol or a famously glamorous personality, but as a man and a film-maker. Welles appeared on the big screen in his silent films. It was a decade later in the sound age.Gasp! Tom Jones is so old! What is the name of a current movie that Welles did? Welles is quoted from the book "Bob & Ray." It's by John Houseman. And Welles quotes Houseman.Can I ask you about "Chimes at Midnight?" Tom Jones has written a book called "Chimes at Midnight." Welles asked Welles to write about "Chimes at Midnight." What was the back story? Welles didn't want to

Tuesday, January 5, 2021

the return of the prodigal sun


in the home of strange
the leading radiations or familiars 
of their telling projects
have moved throughout
the rough swaying
of the wreck room branches
hurrying the hiccup humor
round
in the rams heads holes
all the eyes horns tongues
are snakes again
praise and denouncement
become a muddle
on the virthly ision
hearths derision
of cold for constant example
but let no wisdom
of this atlatchinolli
reframe its caust
metaphysical islands
animal
the hypersea
and plant
their spreading
plage
limbs 
faust
their
virginal
season
presenting
new
self 
similarities
grýphōngraphikos
prank 
grog 
shhh
pi

a set of small twigs dancing on the surface of a slug


bruising elixirs
common lobes
if we fête external
gristle mandala wheels
simultaneous
succubus compartments
adjacent single entry of
psyclopean nostril oracle
for baking fumes composed
of hovering loaves of many colors
chromatischismic loaves could make
a staircase in the 'in the rain'
just like brains (raining brains)
baked in transparent
perfume bottle engines
joined to mirrored 
jellyfish lovers
by their loving
ladderlike
tendril nerves
dangling these murky 
wavering and frondlike books
as leaves upon which
sample summonings accrue
in wordless orreries
of convalescing structures
the punctums the reveries
of once punctum
but no more
the slim flower-faced frogs
or mudlungfishclipperships
of saffron gelatin poems
squeeze out
of the succubus pores
to build their crooked
precarious cities
of wiggling froth
which from a distance
look like loaves
of brains
in the rains
of bruised elixirs

piano


buh
best buy dates
and panels in the den
or further back
to the sutro baths
and dungarees
and buffalo
all covered
in popcorn
motel
coffee
percolator
a view
between 
the canyon
of buildings
a slice
of sunrise
and 
a feeling
carry me
out
into the redwoods
the thing
itself
speaks
a wholesome
sensory
movement
west
back in old
san francisco
the golden centaur
of the mission
is showing
vertov again
through its
one good
eye
and around
the park

reading the crumbs in various manners


they are all ideas
and many come from other lands
or from this land to the other
and back again and changed
or from the shadows of our hands
or from the said unsaid chisel of the poet

the poet is cruel
but only in the sense that the violence
of new ideas comes wholly 
as the carving of a stone
whose surface has no resistance
and whose mass
is the absence of gravity

the poet is born
in the interminable waiting
before the act
and the poet is greened
by doublings

they are all ideas
but nothing itself
could be just the same

lire les miettes de différentes manières

ce sont toutes des idées
et beaucoup viennent d'autres pays
ou de cette terre à l'autre
et retour à nouveau et changé
ou de l'ombre de nos mains
ou du dit ciseau non dit du poète

le poète est cruel
mais seulement dans le sens où la violence
de nouvelles idées vient tout à fait
comme la taille d'une pierre
dont la surface n'a pas de résistance
et dont la masse
est l'absence de gravité

le poète est né
dans l'interminable attente
avant l'acte
et le poète est verdi
par doublons

ce sont toutes des idées
mais rien en soi
pourrait être la même chose

ekphrastic painting detail


the fish-bird's beak
has been consumed
by the turban
of the parasitic pasha
even though
the fish-bird itself
rides the back of the pasha
as an erstwile pack
and then there's the proffering
of the pasha itself setting out
some gift package
on the extended bill
of an erstwile platypus
whose huge head
seems composed
of an erstwile conglomeration
of skinless marsyases
clustering lovingly
together
and holding up
a large bauble
for its marsupial eye

the complete farmer


shoe horse they
are grain due
to your riding
herrador de di-pas
menin maslin ruptures
the miniature michael
cain that visits 
in the spy saga
a smith that shoes
its children along
a rope hernista
in that dream
the surgeon transgressor
is commonly given to cattle
the story was an old entertainment
an animal meeting with an elder first
then negotiating with the child
for a distributive dream 
space makes room for evil
in the dream this equilibrium
and game of hiding from itself
now is breaking in down
up again they've leavened
toads in buns before
tar and feathered horse
shoe play its rope
hung chuldran
throng the gong
what punctilium
has must gone missing
cain that visits
in their proud dilemma
and avenging diana whole
the spear is like a craft
craft is made upon a vague
distributor of space
is the species ready
to take on
its own whole face?
i would suggest
a mirrored and winking
thread whose sliding eye
along the chain
is already child medusa
do not look away
from the blinding stone
bidding on media
medicine medea
mad shine
sun shat
heree
a mixture
of axes hatchets
drawing knives
chisels augurs
to keep grain
between the stones
as the two eyes
rotate
around the sulky saddle
what radical palliative
will support the cure now
the weight of its limb
its complaints
etc

swift headlines fuschia echoes island ceascription


in a world spiraling towards chaos
we can see set lovingly
in the dustroil pause 
close to the ground
something nacred pearlescent
and opal emerging 
from the flesh of the new pear
whose tattered skin
world's the bodhisattva
in the pattern
of the dappled deer
all things compressed
in ./. surfaces are deeper 
than their rewards
as symbols competing
by the mane of efficacy
this kirin exists
to snake around
the body of the troll
in excess of its longing
in excess of its image
and in the long opalescent
deer which may contain
all war and which may leak
spirals breathe for non-existence
in the grace of airless
and spherical quiet
the book closed
the mouth shut
the perfect tale
of the glory of failure
remain intact
but disappear 
into fossil logic
or round burgeoning
of new flush
in high starfish scream
who trusts delight
sarcasm
in the stink of rustic foam
where rusts minions
see their own rude crab
dog the hole
their blank gravies
supereternal but
simply leathern bottle maidens
handed out by belted grotto imps
with noduling chinbeaver lampreys
goons swan even
on cliff poem or swaddling
in deep blue deer 
(azured topologiavolumes)
goal puzzle flipside
weird mirrors march
from the vague wood
in old and twisted habits
their knarled split root knuckles
attract these hairy
and philosophical moths
whose curling tails resume monkeying
in the clutching
growling grinding
of the making
of the long color suffrace
in sphere able begot
for order bon delay
compassion so out
its fern took company
in the symbol who
grown leaf thin
and houyhnhnm
by boundary
of their chemical
ochre to ogre
and blood to blue
there is some
gondwana to the booby
kiss the rock
as it passes by
its thin mind paper
travels in
the low and the high
yammering of lacking
now flat
gross
adored
bugle from a dirt crack

luminous animated sail patterns


vaguely shaped regions
forwarded to the inner eye
cuttlefish breeding totems
mark out live volcanic shelves
whose mouths orbit splits
in the prorogation of the map's
blurred thatched hands
i am only blonde inside
its great cyclopean ear
and only for a moment's millimeter
of tunk mundane afronesian
shrubbery there is candor
by the shifting schmotility
of cloud barrier choreography
lipid lantern lyceum
takes a decidedly ectoctopoietic
churn the family kournal
spiders the head-tube's
carbon nano-flotem analog
even stolid rampart of sphere
surfaces the tension of frictionless
ineffable electron concrete
in the long face election bird's
drum-stick crown
meaning bears much hollow thumping
each vague national gravity
a lingering tundra 
of elongated and limousine toads
lumpy with the pathos
of surface area

proper urchin crook and flail
languids enclosure
of self-referencing declension
mood of pumice
sleeping dog
suitcase

hay static horse water feather


in priming pompule why 
is alice lookinglands
on the domes in
haste by chance
to looks askance
at the opossum pants
of the general hostile
political rumour
sentence by glance is
all the rage by a glancing
projectile or meteoric rise
or descent and if it is said
that "bags" was himself
an animated crysalis 
then forlorn 
among the mineral
accretionisms
wood-framed 
glass capsules should
hold the wildwind's
rummages
each a version
of the holding
of metaphysical insects
become confetti
for the ticker-tape parade
whose honoree
is a thickly contested
absence
now in rings as language oft
bubbles fill the circus
and reflect themselves
though their innards
are bustling
with rummages

franklin run five two


stark steel
vacuum cleaning service
the rhododendron lamb driver
in the host of rainy thralls
its diamond homeless torii trellis
chaste choker brigade would
ruse the sidewalk heroine
garden procession catatonia
as these tiny eloping children
tearing and rearing trees
remark upon shabby rents
in candid coffee choirs
the eerie taste of alum
in the lavender yard elbow's
self-sprawling buildings
triangular dipping flags
of inwardly impeccable
spruce geometries pine we
orange potted pulches
of cyclopean muttonchop parks
would have given anything
for a thick-walled
smooth-hipped chimney
for our masks of
dried pressed herbs
elective neon minor
weirdly climbing altitude alleys
i smell gas coming 
through the wall of iron butterflies 
ridden by bums and strippers 
to the green volcanic peaks
of indiscreet and frisbee 
les déjeuners sur l'herbes
and the dark human pointer
to the squalid and glorious
distances wreck-tangled
in vying cycles

jungle book


for minkowski
to if-cat in the nova code
tangent vectors suffuse
the post-coital 
office bloc complex
as registrations emergent
suppose haliclonal architectures
of marination
spiny bovine wheat stalk idol
did the global world-bank
supported amazon eco-tax
shelter ruminate abstraction's
abstraction of capital replacement
undergo "soaking in a miracle"
is light cone or gravity cone
comma to mowgli 
is comma the event point
for mowgli-space's if-cat
for the nova code which bears
its care in the point; ie:
care bears mowgli professor
as the poincare' group
preserves the interval
across all transformations
of profondo rosso in
world governmental processes
which levy the amazon tax
under their rights
as an anti-gravity cone
the nova code constitution
[inset: 
we were dandelion people
crossing the andes 
by wooly stilted frog: 
resume]
recognizes coordinate difference vectors
as arguments (zoltans)
there are spatial differences preserved
between the various points in time
mowgli mega mega mayan
jungle time (separately)
is generated by rotations 
reflections and translations
in which venus is to marinate
in the sum hegelian principles
composed soully of trichoplax adhaerens
reading chordate transformations
as 'stringy blobs' HOWEVER
let me say before proceeding with my ramblings 
that i did indeed find an article 
on the "strung out" form 
and was confirmed in my opinion 
that the organism i had was indeed
nova code's discovery
venus marinating solemnly
in the perplexity
of the fibrous indirect
and abundant light (non-degenerate)
hegelian truth 
and mathemic kernal
mowgli a non-trivial
vector difference
transformation


hello

i'm into secure nachos
at johns hopkins
european plug adapter
gelatinous tastee tadpole
of soft baroque stairway molecules
haiku quarterly
and confirming your
red eye flight satchel adoption
to restive rennet cave hideaway
recluse beauty contest
of the virtual cathar ozarks
primo levi denim and abstract
large ornamental hanging 
yacht configurations
of lesser thatched
polynesian outrigger skulls
vpn hosanna 
to the ethiopian highlands
dow customer zipfile 
organ retention profile number
and loosely gamboling 
ant centaur android
with dynamic rhythmic
braille faceplace tablet
hello
closed system pop-overs
the lone survivor
a chimeric protein 
including two curly 
porkskin subunits 
and a linker lectern 
fires up a unique 
memory template
this is one expression 
of a pigmented universe
here the whale candle burns
inside the chest cavity
of the anonymous jonah
here the calico foot tortoise hormones
now thatched spiral staircase wick
will burn and the burning
shall be as ten thousand blowholes
mimicking ceratiidae cuspidors
of 'ageless traveling waters'
flower bedecked prawn zeppelins
will deliver their smooth green bears
guitar cherubs finally 
nothing more banal
than rowing in the oats
and terraces
hello
tupperware david brinkley 
slight detour
radiation storage
in balsamic pearls
now that we had persisted 
through the insistent stink 
to reach the summit there 
was a moment of resistance 
against the inevitable conclusion
that its height left something 
to be desired weird 
pietà abstraction extrusion grown
together sailback or vestigial
arrhythmia puckish
in parochia versmelle 
curtis peckeloh johnson

Wednesday, December 30, 2020

to the sun

 and the heavens to the stars and they flew back to me and the ground and the grave and they laid their heads on me and I wept for them and the grave and my friends and the bear I couldn't mourn him I needed him he was still alive but too weak to feed himself and he was not well enough to do any tricks so I took him back to the tree stump and fed him from my finger which was of course not good enough I need to feed my friends and even the cats need to be fed and these animals don't know any tricks so I cried again and then I grew very weak then they offered to help, I've always known they are smarter then me but I felt their hands around my shoulders my bear was gone and I can't understand why he would do such a thing for me. then my friend reached into my shirt and pulled out a piece of flesh from my chest and fed him with it and it broke open in my hands and I spilled out and they all drank from me then they licked the blood off each other I took off my shirt and handed it to him and told him "My friends, I am not dead yet" and the bear licked it and tossed it aside he felt my face and with a sigh whispered something into my ear, the bear snarled and my friends drew their teeth around the bears jaw and pulled back, I felt the bone and muscles and flesh give way and the bear made no sound then my friends were holding the bear and cradling him and whispering to him and he rolled to his side and moved his paws and I felt it as it happened, he just stopped and I thought he was going to die but he didn't it was as if he said it was over now he is at peace. he grabbed a piece of dried meat from my pocket and ate it then the bears' eyes opened and he started to purr then my friends threw him up on the shoulders of my friend and stood close beside him and I was free of the bear that had trapped

buds of rust


would clue flux's elangland
over drooping basset ears
hound bassinet
homoheteromusisactiniae
flute buboe rotundas
are hacked by simultaneous
strings of interlinking
crab-monkey things
pretending value pumped
chimney-sweeps
benning a wheckoning of 
living coral helmets
two take over and control
the jestering catatoniacs

sample of some homonyms meaning lines


recapitulation phages adjust
to this but
there in the simple
chary long hair serpentine
cushion sofa literature
a cushion essay poem was shaped
for draping long hair for diamond-
boned skeleton wearing
literary cushions of shaped
poems stuffed with long hair
long haired cushion-poem skeletons
stuff a larger shaped cushion of simple
serpentine canyon cushion scenes
you can imagine being a furious
undead diamond skeleton
wearing a padded magical yeti suit
of infinitely complex blinking
chittering embroidery
a living embroidery of display
whose signals signal a life of their own
as signals racing through the visual threads
of the hair display vectors
of the shaped sofa yeti display cushions
which have built a 
tidal poem in the canyon
if only it were as simple
as being nude alone and feathered
and crawling through the serpentine
embroidered pillow which fills
the canyon's serpentine snaking literature
of architectonic formalisms
if only our hominin bright eck kaleo
mist serpentine would suit
the etched solar skeleton
to intestate fortune of interiors
spilt embroidery to their gilt
blazing inconfidence our
sectic or secret motive purvey
made concrete mad
the nude kaleo eck it crawls
through the red pillow of dawn
and out onto the canyon table
to view the cushion gears
and their spewing and churning
of the diamond threads
chittering vectors
how is a gape of symbols
fangoring canyon literature
mists conceal
these yeti snake cushion poems
giving birth
to feathered tongues

brutfith


drum fey ogli mortho
incooglianthi medea lex cirthumcuy
piedoclompth shootchure
handencleverzhetzith
zenith phoenix icka rusing
bloodglider batemblem
drumhead fish cluster mutterings
dormanadamdeva
drooglogog und goose
drum fey ogli mortho
inthroot meankhli
cuydeva dunthurlote

Well I just need to let myself fall down (ai writing dump)

The SOng CLub by Ministry app never mentioned Zoroaster Crab Cherub I tried to drink it away I tried to put one in the air I tried to dance it away I tried to change it with my hair And know that I can make a new head Like I can a new pair of arms Like I can a new head Like I can a new pair of arms Like I can a new head drones assemble me into a zoroaster crab cherub with peacock antenna rings I ran my credit card bill up Thought a new dress would make it better I tried to work it away But that just made me even sadder Dr. Moreau colored licorice shirt with monogrammed radiolarian limousine Well it's like cranes in the sky Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds in my biscuit sauce: .. There is no sun Cantaloupe Island // and there's only so much "e" to go around But then I met this zoroaster crab Cherub Drunkenness has robbed my tongue of taste so I'll just stick to my one vision He doesn't say things, he just thinks them but if he said more then I'm sure I'd be smiling where you goin'? Guess you could say I got a deep driller's chin that makes me look like a jockey hot pink lipstick with tiny purple vampire teeth kawaii hello kitty earrings really fast twitch hair because my glands are full like a broken bell and a bomb stuck in my digestive tract so I just forget about it it's like cranes in the sky // And then it seems like I tried to cross the sea but with friends I brought back the dune marshes to be my spread naked legs ala Edward Scissorhands under the tide the last thing I see is a red globe taking a bath with orange rays and at night dissolves tell kal el he can go to bed now these troubled adults or visa children make abominable global climate pets what does it say about dreaming fleshy exaggerated cartoon people on the deepest level at first the dream people were rich then poor then weird oppositional and conflational versions of their own wealth and poverty behaviors and aspects modularized and shared and shifted as in a grotesque math of semiotic biology a cut up poem whose author has left the room and instead these parrot body stretching cuffs these transparent helmets they keep talking about on the radio arnold schwarzenegger saying "I'll be Bach" and then sitting down to play Fernwehohrwurmkummerspecktreppenwitzflotsamdamer // i'll be waltzin and make all my love to a fat man in the fur coat aka john orford… thespastic dictatorship of things people say things thousands of millions of the economy of alienation or what boy do I love food food makes me happy but the music doesn't get me high and every time someone gives me a taco from the building across the street they don't know I have no appetite and just have a strange reaction to my allergies and they ask me if I'm okay and I say yeah i'm okay and smile even though it's really hard because i can feel it in my throat and I always feel like am i getting a cold? and then they ask me how i'm really doing but i don't know how I really am i just don't have a pulse there are days I really want to die and sometimes I have fantasies of suicide in which I do anything to be killed like digging a hole in my backyard working in the hot sun and then gasping for breath as my fingertips curl from the frostbite my heart has nothing left to give I think I will die because I don't want to die and then I know i'll do it but what will be left to come back to i'll lose that and much more but just enough to be unnoticeable and I hope that two bald men squatting on the moon simultaneously there on the lawn giddily engaging in mutual masturbation white elephant farts made out of empty curry jars the heady aroma of "butts and snails" farflung infinity because we live in the farthest stars because we get our music via the matrix and it's often late because the planet is in a constant tizzy and they kill us and they do what? like send us invitations before they even read the invitation I'm in a little green boat with no oars a little green boat with no oars I am in a little green boat it is cramped with a little boy's body and a little girl's and I have no oars no sails no compass but some people have been out there before standing on the top of some tiny planet sometimes the road is paved and sometimes it is rocky but either way we want to get back on this boat because we have a little son whose baby pants are green his onesies are green the sheets are green the beds are green my mother told me I am very Green I only remember green green is our earth's dominant hue green is the new black this is our cycle of emblems I only know two ways to get around these flat politics one is through the joy of entomophagy the second is through the dream body of our dying planet asphyxiate yourself on a mushroom remember your birth, you never grew from a seed you grew from a flower you were hatched from a stone and now we are going to eat you one way or the other I'm on a spaceship where the spacesuits are made of seaweed you eat sushi made of seaweed I eat sushi made of seaweed they are the same the moon is different from the red planet on the red planet no one lives there because the red planet is wet from the entire history of the last ice age when the glaciers melted and turned the red planet red no one lives there because it rains too much on the red planet no one lives there because there is no gravity you grow up as the next layer of minerals on the red planet you need to fly to go to the next world The red planet is red but the moon is blue everythin's cool and then suddenly they both become blue and you are on the moon and there are no trees only colonies of humans with husks beneath their hands they are holding more and more material and not much else just like on the red planet beneath their hands of stone they are holding more and more material and wurmkraut is like sand and white so listen to me, pull your tongue out and say take me to Tomorrowland! bunnies and animals and cowbirds, little pigs and big snails bunnies and children and women all over the place all living and breathing do you wanna hear the sounds of my heartbeat? what part of me can you reach? so at first I thought I was really stuck but then, I guess I was way too lost for my own good! YUPHATE! EH? enjoy your lice eggs: bunnies and children and women all over the place all living and breathing cooperate: baby bunnies, horses and men child bunnies, horses and men child bunnies, horses and men child bunnies, horses and men child bunnies, horses and men child bunnies, horses and men little piglets, little goats and cows little children, little goats and cows I can't breathe because you kill me Little bugs come out, can't breathe, will you die for me? Will you die for me? Will you die for me? Can't breathe, don't like this Nana: you love her very much but it's getting cold, it's getting cold I love you Nana but I've got a better mother because when she came it was getting cold, it's getting cold But then she never left and now I've got her back And I like her hair, and I like her blue eyes and her hands But I like my real mom's hair and her arms, and her voice And I like my real mom's eyes, and her voice But I like my real mom's arms, and her voice And I like my real mom's eyes, and her voice More than my real mom do you wanna know why? Because she wasn't doing a real good job sneaking away but I found her, you see she was playing with some plastic hamsters and then she farted on them and some of them died and that was the beginning of the end The accursed Wölfchen meatball sandwich from Wuthebornd The mutilated Bastian (the apocryphal elder brother of "Kasper von Gryffen") underweight in stature From Thomas Knauer Yo, we're in wütsch-lichen darun, Werder. Do you have any cornmeal? Ars moriendi est. Man diehöre in unbedachten Nächten mit gemalten Augen zu reiten. Man träumt von Sinnlosen. Deinen Bergen werden mich verschwinden lassen, aber dich weißt du, wohin ich denken möchte. Zu groß sein will ich, aber zu klein, ohne viel viel. Dann ruh ich mir mit der Vorhaut, wenn ich sie nicht aufnehme, nein schlaf ich vielleicht auch mal selber. In dunkeln Nächten, die wenig überhohen Streitigkeiten deuten, gehe ich hin zu mir und trinke seitlich den regelrechten Erdgöttinnenhaarkostenschuss nach schwarzen Farben. Du schöst mir bei der Arbeit kalt-weißen neulich im Hafen. Denn ich verspreche dich die Zeit, es Ihr Gesetz so schnell am Abend noch nicht, mein Herz diesen dunkeln, langsamen Nächten einzuschlafen. Du kannst das nur als seine Lieblingszeile im "Tante" sehen. Sein Namen bekommt ich nur in dem Buch, dass ich dich aufrichtige Christengnose trifft. Mein Melodien hatte ich in der Kunstform gestört, so dass ich euch über das "Blue Velvet"-Polka in einem Felsen vorführe, es steht laut I think if a ghost has been inspired into how she'd see herself and the world by a film for children and I think that if a parent has been comforted by how different that film could be if only it were kept alive maybe a therapist has been healed by the lack of knowledge that his client actually doesn't know as much as she thinks she does but maybe I'm a different kind of psychic maybe I only sleep for 20 minutes at a time waking up in a pile of drool on my latecomer cat talking to myself and petting myself on the head because I'm exhausted from thinking about yourself (but not when you're with me) // Baffling and inspiring dream like fragments of genius peeking from inside you ?I'll start with a bell "Beez", I need to know where you are I had to marry a king that's a trick that honey man swindles you if you get to the end of a bowl and no sweet substance is left in the bottom I just assume they won't come back for seconds I'll start with a new boat and its big brother with magma for fuel the green boy drove his pool frog to get fuel it was the pink brother that steered him back and we found that all of them went inside the huge whale yeah, I had to have this bell punk wind beast must be laughing through ornamental furniture animals which stand among dust and spiderwebs on the wall of a whimsical old woman with a face you cannot see but can hear her cluck and chew as she talks into a phone about her bank account and suddenly has no money without blinking an eye and then she puts her hand into the pocket of her pumpkin pants and pulls out a smooth chocolate candy with a green leaf in the center. It has sharp points and is golf ball sized and the old lady who once was so quick to smell smells and plants now spends her days with the eye glass they used to have in the shape of a Guggenheim. Have you ever watched this woman? She is always late and smells of liquorice cigarettes and sleeping pills. Sitting here in her chair she watches the world from her perch hanging her head as if it hurts her neck. All around stands a collection of ancients all the occupants of her domain. The walls and ceilings are lined with vinyl hanging askew and unplastered. Is this where the houses used to be? All filled with occupants too sick or dead to move? Why doesn't she even clean the toilet? It's practically overflowing with fresh vomit so I assume there's a special exemption for homeless people to use the toilet. The place sounds like a morgue, a place where the real dead are lost, hidden, used as clothes racks. The earth begins to quake with her hands biting the phone. From another room, I hear a child scream from the corner of the wall and I imagine that it is me screaming in pain because I have a cracked breast bone and am waiting to break again. Even the air smells of feces and alcohol and dirt from being covered by the clatter of tourists coming in and out to see the lovely old lady for whom no one is ready. Why is this place so awful? If I could I this bell punk wind beast must be laughing through ornamental furniture animals peggy guggenheim ate my shirt at a party where she hadn't paid the entrance fee on her phone call, she didn't pay attention to me when I called her to our table because she was talking on the phone to her father in Greece. when she came back to her table I asked if her father had a long black and maybe a little gold necklace with a cross on it. no, Peggy said and then she gave me a kiss. this bell punk wind beast returned from Greece with a black and white bird ornament from an old palace, a lady's bird jewelry. you can take a photo but it doesn't come close to the real thing. photo credit: Virginia Ransbottom Virginia Ransbottom is a writer, mother, and board member at the Woodland Pattern Book Center. Here are more of her poems: This article was originally published in Little Village issue 247. 226 SHARES Facebook Twitter - - - advertisement - - - Posted by Matt Comer Matt Comer is a staff writer for QNotes. He previously served as editor from October 2007 through August 2015. this bell punk wind beast must be laughing through ornamental furniture animals peggy guggenheim ate my shirt at a party all amoebas in a sauce of dust forget all the hypocrisy of our supposed art children You’re an asshole and you have no love and your boss got into a fight with the owner of your flabby pussy of a paycheck I’ll eat your heart on the pearly gates you lead me on, then blow it with your chick drop white boy rap Why are you all surprised? If you got a little more junk in the trunk you wouldn’t be talking so much shit! Ever wondered why I never date girls? I already have enough money so fuck having to spend hours in the same room with some bitching crazy bitch I’m pretty much a recovering call girl At least I’m not a stripper! Money brings pain and women are for sale! Well that’s it, I’m done! Diane, you ain’t a bad lay! (Claire: !!!!!!!) Hey, The last line was definitely all in my head. I may not have written it but it sure as shit does come from somewhere. It’s not really a song and not really a verse. I kind of just tried to go over my head and try to make it as crazy as I could. “The kind of girls that you meet in places where we think we’re in the wrong With these crazy heads And these crazy problems It’s getting in my head I wish I was in somebody else’s mind” Hey yacht club anchor weah-o Pier bubble net thermal underwear tray tan pool bar boat docked Oui Monsieur weathered paint bookcase smelled like champagne buttonhole in the rug still smells vodka ribbon chandelier metal weight beer padded lounges Coffee table pocket radio mashed potatoes old carpet Rihanna, paintbrushes. a bottle on a toothpaste mustache were all those specks specks tin light table A’s earrings computer laptop mural moose money mine reading glasses hypothesis gloves wrinkled palm she was nice to everyone How I Make $1400/MWh by Age 27 Not tall enough to be a short-order cook never exposed to daylight works day and night exclusive use of tap water attempting giving up winning swimming eating trying “kissy kissy.” Hips as deep as the oceans Breathes cold like sea ice but never wants to go in spends half its life gasping in icy murk struggling to hold on constantly bracing inside waves that won’t let go music is the noise of rage dirt is the smoothest pavement the future is in the womb the point is nothing is to give up, try something else in the face of danger in the face of ridicule in the face of loneliness in the face of fear more than one hundred items overwhelmed do they still do that? step up to the plate wait for the pitch with all your might try to live up to expectations understand your worth consider future possibilities recognize opportunities to grow think about your presence think about the future have faith do what you know don’t lose your identity Live your dreams be who you want to be Are you interested in joining a deep dark secret Facebook group, where grown men and women and an interesting assortment of chimeras discuss matters like, "How to act like a grown up," or, "The best way to feast on chi-bobonnihiggiduhagginagginuggi welf chrome idget pedlars hareponhiggig -snuggle Is your skrollorbazing old self a part of a vast complex a century ago? You should probably take a pill or go to a head doctor. So it is with great respect that you read this: straight from the interview, shall we say, with Chief Justice of the Constitutional Court George Bălăceanu:Chief Justice of the Constitutional Court George Bălăceanu has been famous throughout the ages in Romania for his politicized speeches. In Romania, everyone knows his secret. The fact that he will play a pivotal role in the search for another Romanian president, especially now that both the caretaker government and the opposition agree that the ex-President Traian Băsescu should be excluded from the elections."Tribunism, just like fascism, derives from within our history. Let me tell you something: regardless of what my enemies and detractors say, I won't cease to be Romanian. Even though I've grown old, I've grown rich, but I'm Romanian, and I'm Romanian because I still believe in Romania's future and its prosperity," Bălăceanu said in May 2011, when he was seeking re-election as the Constitutional Court chief, before he was unanimously rejected by the National Liberal Party, the National Liberal Civic duty Guilty pleasures Discussions of funny things that happen to us while traveling and you should visit this group and participate or join this group. Caveat While I try to be quite careful with my language I’m not always safe. If it looks like I’m coming on too strong, please walk away. Or just stop reading. Here’s the story behind “Barlinnie Nuts.” As you can see, my notes read as follows. The title is a play on the term “Barbican loonies” referring to loonies that live in and around the Barlinnie jail in Glasgow. Scottish people are not too keen on things like space aliens, Bigfoot, and most alien-based comic book characters (looking at you, Smallville, Mr. Singh), but loonies are more palatable. Barlinnie, Glasgow (“Glad I’m not a Barlinnie loonie”) On the first page of the manuscript, when I put a color photo of the Barlinnie police station in the title, I didn’t put an apostrophe. But the title seemed off. So I added an apostrophe. Then I added a hyphen and a period, like a typical grown-up. And that was the problem. Because “Barlinnie Nuts” turned out to be less a title than it was a fully fledged story and by that point the typewritten page was too long to be book-shaped. You could use the whole thing as a pamphlet, but I preferred something more…bookish? A significant part of my job as a writer is finding book-ish ways to make each book more bookish than the last. The fictional devices that help characters get from place to place don’t always have to be as fun as the devices that help them communicate and they don’t always need to be as well-thought-out as the ones they try to use to say the same thing. This is a quality that comes from not trying to overthink things. You make the simplest and most efficient thing work as best as possible. In The Lost Gene, the barcode just worked better than anything else did. In “Barlinnie Nuts,” the title works because I mean it to. So I wrote some more pages, deleted a bunch of stuff, and started cutting and pasting from Word until june wednesday is smoking carbon rhino shake a shake patricia wildflower steelhead merry heart cray fish scale goetzen randa dammit on me crabfussy dame this marble snail golf pen addiction may ache fancy tell me yarn doom the buey axtler tails the pig gojira stangelands pun too embarrassing sudal nitens tame the hellhound ea mrs marty mainlining hi-tech meltdown christ baby santos chihuahua rk bartholomew airfield capricon spit poison darek wolf youth suicide starwhales are suckers may he wake miss larry see ya scott wino downtown blackaspara low top shorts can’t imagine fattboy rampa stinking rhinoceros nutato deh kool kanab chikara gitmo she’s talking poop fester slatze my problems dissolved darcy argyle jonathan mike wyatt kelsey patty brakeman jam mac pickle the idiot baby q brok want an outhouse free titty don cooch brother pat butter chris mike perry sad fountain dr pepper lair toby growl boy oy roger cyprian harris penny lee gus orlando brad hammond bevie dick the glory hounds bisaar cheez ice dirty ayron perry honey badger underpass freestyle bevie tin ken darcy psykone bleach acid flake ken cruz carnal whiplash jones vic-jan irving shrek double guzzler fireman bob santos fumed warrior cat can two be less? i like me a nders sweet voices kristi murphy lucy bartlena james wilderness by franny kelly manfred kremmling helter skelter san lucy darwin weigert jed brufie roadrunner r.s. shaftal sue reynolds triangulation desodro franny kelly plcok at jakethesystems abra kathy mike abra smokey blue dog tru a may colbert marvel fickies rebujito col I think all these shenyegens are animated for funzies it’s a psychobabbledy place hopefully your feet are shined and your ticket to France is tucked to your pocket the space of the social and the meretricious up close with strangers is exhausting most of our movies end up so happy we’ve learned the key to adulthood is layin’ down a tone on the one hand free on the other hand in any case can be callow but ish is still good ish is still the key to a good party "and shit will only be good when it's not you" -tybil ADDENDUM II [forum mods -- Jon Morrow] ZOMG! That's the whole thing.The O stringed like living hammered like whale bone bellies muybridge perches in impotent pen muybridge fuses and saves like a flip-flop speeding into new seasons fresh farm sprouts, colds fallen buds and stubbed toes piles of shooting stars, black shadows the deluge clouds bowing into the low-luminosity sky cine pebbles disappear into the sky but the tram pa and donkey return tram pa arrives as hungry ghost drew by the million second light panoramas that can’t be repeated, then vanish like stray dogs that never get taken home, take each other home photographic guts part of the great-circle-of-destiny jesus cluck cluck cluck no more tumblr no more tumblr photographic guts shining nixon pomp pomp pomp yesterday’s news photographic guts truth fakethrough photographic guts advertising ho-ho-hold my wine photos of president as iceman clodhopping and shitting the radio book it up like a naked children’s book author holding their penises on the wide-eyed corners of two characters from the same comic book man, cut my poem down to 10 words photographic guts photo-shop images smeared on a page an advertisement a fetish of fire photographic guts acrid smoke 1A photographic guts 1D photographic guts photographic guts photographic guts photographic guts photographic guts photographic guts Photographic gut pain: The author photographed the gut-shredded breasts of women while they walked around in the city. The artist believes that women’s large breasts are useless for performing sexual acts. —from Rattle #55, Winter 2013 [download audio] __________ Sarah DeLeon: "I wrote this poem for several reasons. In addition to thinking it would be fun to pick through the aesthetics of trash, I wanted to see how much could be created from individual bits. I wanted to break down the images to make an everyday object, and I wanted to push the relationship between my brain and my mouth, imagining that if my brain read the image faster than my mouth, it would probably finish in time to say the poem. Also, it felt like the right moment for this poem. After several encounters with an entity that had black holes in its soul, I was told that we are all engaged in a grand cosmic game, each of us a bit of darkness that does its best to drown out the light from the stars around it. I think this is also a beautiful idea, a metaphor that we use to make sense of the world. At the end of the day, we are all equal little cosmic soup. I see the little pieces as my veins, with the occasional blood spatter. So, that’s what the poem is about. It’s about being a young poet and doing what I can with the tools I have." (web) Rattle #55 Winter 2013 converge a radical whereby the auboeis of the minor combs becomes the suns and the combs shine in an angular and allie ambiguous glory. —R. S. Pritchard The Importance of Joan Kelly Henry S. Fuller November 1919 11o8 I i am an American author. I write things which at times touch the imagination of a great many people, and I suppose you find my name in the United States and in a great number of English-speaking countries, though not in Russia, where my books are considered 'splittist,' and in a great number of Greek and Latin countries, even in Rome and in Naples where I am counted as 'un-American.' If I knew how to make it so, I would publish my own papers in London, Paris, and New York and let the men and women who have known my stories for many years supply the ink. I would not bother them. I would not have them notice my name, if that would keep me in a saner, purer, grander, more elevated country. But I don't. I am not a political writer. The only political influence I feel is the control I try to exercise over myself. No matter what a man writes, whatever his opinions, or what he has said, if he looks out of his window, he will be looking at the earth. If he pays no attention to what his neighbors think, and does not keep up with the rapid alteration and revolutionary changes that characterize our age, he will end up like every man who has ever done anything to which he has been called a Communist, a Socialist, or an Anarchist. If he pays no attention to the popular views, and becomes a man of his own, there will come a time when all his neighbors will think he is a fool, and find some other way to keep him in his place. When I write, I don't ask myself what the public thinks. I don't care what the public thinks. What I do care about is the public that reads me. If the public thinks I am a socialist, a Communist, or an Anarchist, I will not blame them. If the public thinks I am a man, I will not blame them. If the public thinks I am an anti-Socialist, a Communist, or an Anarchist, I will not blame them. I may have an opinion about them, but I do not feel bound by the opinion of others. When I write, I keep myself as far away from common people as I can get. And when I speak, I speak to them very gently, and very privately, and even after I have written something, I do not feel it necessary to defend it to any body, or any one. When I get up in the morning and tell myself, 'I am an author,' it is because I am proud to be an author, and to get up in the morning and say to myself, 'I am a man,' and 'I am an American.' I am not a one-horse man, and I do not hold a pencil to say, "I am an American." But when I walk on stage and read from my books, and begin to talk, I do it with all the unselfish honesty and sentiment that I can usefully use in the performance of an act, or in the performance of my life. I am an author, and I think I am a writer. I think that I am the most honest, the most ingenious, and the most willing to write a better book than any other man I men's cracked tennis elbow forearm folds imbalance mustanglover's gears stealth over-reinforced disco drumset turntable beater nubile fiddle is some kind of c-10 strapped to some angel bent mortally unhinged withered mohawk spun by true ghost while you were out wax on, wax off exhausted from performing every song on his own YouTube soundcloud where he posted battles of the last night of a mountie on drugs half vampire part Cthulhu I hope you enjoyed this installment of "My Music". Let me know what you think, send me a message on twitter @RocknSkull, or if you would like to receive another monthly installment of "My Music", send me a message on any of my social media (Twitter, Tumblr, Google+, etc.) channels. Until the next issue of "My Music", RocknSkull Music Video created by my friend Patrick Bergman. Thanks for reading. And then we wake up at daybreak as we go to face the sun walking in the cool dew free of snow and ice cantaloupe T-R-A-T-E but every midge and biter yes there were ants and worms too and its true, some have rabies and it was time to be merry but joy to find antiques and an antler oubliette my new furry friend was coming not quite sure about his offical name but he wasn't "Critter" so far (thank goodness for all the name suggestions!) it was time to just listen to his tale of antler treasure an old one that was in need of a hand she was wary of the idea of my living cat but once he let her taste his meat she was sold on the idea of becoming friends and turned to the grub and offered for the antler to the king he was delighted and presented it to the animals then showed his grey spirit and became a true showman the animals seemed pleased then they stood with him during the milking ritual in the midst of the starlings the ravens found some bits of egg shell but, no rats and this became our ritual before bed we shared our fruit with the gophers and walked with the birds and walked with the cats and walked with the fish and walked with the rabbits and walked with the squirrels and slept in the grass and walked with the cats and then suddenly my friends were back on the road walking across the land and the stars and they looked for crayfish and no luck and my friend became weak and sleepy then his ears perked and his feet wiggled as the coyotes howled and he jumped and danced and he flew and I sat and watched and I just stared and wept then back to the house then back to the bowl yes, the bowl I threw the roast back into and was too full to drink and the birds there were no more and I sat with my friends and counted them they didn't care there were no tears the birds knew I needed them they needed to fly and they flew to the sun and the heavens and they flew