I recordied a spontaneous fififaux-italianonce poom while listening to the wind through the bamboo outside the window of my den for a moment until it got too chilly. It is tutti-silly!
I've just been reading Chris Casamassima's free Moria ebook the Proteus and really like the depth and subtlety and, surely, sublimely frolic'd routines. The odd, oblique angles of his seeming subtexts certainly fall into that Renaissance category of 'the interesting' in a way which is not just a euphemism for ugliness, but a gracious nod to the wisdom of understanding the textures in all things, even in misunderstanding. No part of me balked at his liberties with punctuation, and its straight ahead absence. Just take a look at this section nearing the end of the section called Book of Proteus:
1.457
its aeroform I masturbation heave Afric apology Eurymachus Afric ives exhaust add verse here comes puissance alert parent add mote of druid ear less juice and no baroque see valor rests its digest nip a squadron ooze of O how launder came and goosed friend we manage seers and box involve but no one meant to lean us over
Just raking my eye across that lovely mess I come up with
sapphrique ivy's..
and I just love reading the word aeroform which sort of glows with 'foam' and 'arrow' and in its nonceness gleams cupidity..
There is a great deal of elan in this text, and some of it is perhaps a little too elanish of some stripe for some, but the way I read (think chitty chitty bang bang driven by a howdy doody pulchinella) its works, plus I really like oceanic metaphors and thematics, especially
the oceanic's relation to godhead, ie complexity. This is a taut, loose, elanish expression of some version of post-modern sprezzatura from the Court of Prince Namor. Very nicely done!
Plus. The cover painting is really good I think, especially the figure looming in both a defiant and self-uncanny posture, which doesn't echo anything negative to my mind except the weirdness of the primal perpendicular, the orthagon of the organon.
celebrate jail bait inside a mason jar, a parrot has hand-cuffs through its cheeks and its cheeks are the isle of sky
why are we so carousel so carne cell sew mouth shut tush ~thoom~ multiple explosions around anything that isn't cryptically mostly just complexity's communicative delimited lexicon bifurcating the it it perfect stankathon
by that i mean wave thangkathone like thujone something really built of tiny parts like bubbles that make sounds in my chest cavity
the abstraction layer is both our greatest achievement and our most tragicomic liability it is that crown of thorns that medusa wig that snake aureole nimbus and floppy Tom Sawyer hat or stewardess penetration wrestler
quit acting up people a poem is a mason jar
a specific meaning is so very nubile like the Masonic Order like jail bait
why would God or even Elvis or Phyllis require the descendants of amoeba loafers to be all
big beard too weird to let it be
to just let it be i think of the world with a floppy pissy thing in a mason jar with wings
Huber Street. I see a poor wretch who looks like W.C. Fields trying to get in shape by riding a bicycle. The big red nose, though immortal, signals
immortally alcoholic pyramids of H uber alles (Bardic Speed Oil for Bank Dicks)
Earlier that week I found a pair of light aqua overalls but did not buy them, I had not practiced any apperception, vaudeville, or artificial intelligence due to big screen, off-stage
deeply remote sensing ore kettle or seeing (finally a ringworm emblem in the skin of the sun)
pugnacious or Dionysus in a football helmet with a mohawk of dynamite as portrayed by Norman Rockwell which always makes me think of something Willard would always say at the board meetings of Rockwell
International:
" If others had not been foolish, we should be so.. "
black ghosts are senseless. black ghosts drift among the ferns between the quiet houses. sometimes one hears a child screaming for an extended period of time. sometimes the black ghost simply listens to the empty syntax of birds, making note of subtle changes like:
debulliate wastine georgic kat exochen debulliate waste time georgic caterwauling debutauntase haste vine engorge kraterion
"Imp ties"
Somehow sensibility exists very clearly in animals and somehow animals exist
"Let them do and undo, say and unsay. Whatever you decide together will be gospel." from Teofilo Folengo's _Baldo_ (vol.1)
Soggy Lepus! or Louvred Bosch, Is the bacteria castle of Cappodocia the bureaucratic turtle person's private primrose? I am lost. Lost without wife, without country, without guidance, because I was not never no guide, nor goodness without an aid de camp, or broccoli hearing aid out-of-control side-of-head-wigging-thing.
I am "pressed hemp bone" toward almost Kafkaesque plain underwear management. I am almost a Daddy to many unruly sloppinesses giving eep eep brolenes.
A whole diorama of complex milk shavings enters the side of my head. The ancient French Kings must've smelled like milk shavings, but even now I am talking idiotically to excellent sirens whose bodiless ravens could be pedophilia on an executive tie.
One good thing: Hyper-realistic cartoon buildings can illustrate whole catalogues of balcony violence. Also, tall models of both sexes seem like have come to the skinny part of the movie when the credit rolls by, "credit" seeming French and milky, a small sticky semen where my mind used to be, where yours used to be. I can replace
any Earth virus with the life of the composer, any Earth history with the life of the Eohippus, any equestrian, sad, or slow-paced drama with the unfolding of multiple ingrained policies of abrupt unsanctioned unction
I forget of what this hammer dizz.. I find a piece of artifact in a grotto called grotto.
Grotto called Grotto, are there many praying animals inside your egg-like dream rectum? I think we'd all better pray for this clunky monkey sign drama dairy. Came El, of large wad, came bag, of unending WTF. Mutant Ninja Turtles could have a shrine, and I would be there with the little turtles of tiny town.
Brave Kappa, I skip over some houses called Mozarteum, then later hear an absurdly revving engine after the lights have gone down, though I hope the dawn will still move me anew if I remember it can. I wish I was a better person, but what can anyone expect when one is seeking a wig of flexible rubber hotdogs in a world
primarily composed of Zombie Baker Pin-ups.
I wish I was a Bratwurst person, or simply a Bat person, I think it would be interesting
to be a hovering hunchback whose hump is a chlorophyll leaf stomach or
helium debauch eyeball through which ambrosial collaborations might fester in the perfect and tragic and perfectly magic penumbra
If you see a piano and singer perched on a platform inside an angel of trees would you please make a video and put it on you tube for my wig of infinite rubber hotdogs.
grey manes are favoured whatever their colour language and its alpha beast
sp ag sp og sp oddit
whatsoever covets I eyes become
comely is the hissing and still there are missing something tucks its limbs up under a sun
such splendor in a cinder fur roosting toward trans parent flame
Defect, or surplusage or immutation in the same speaches faltering either the congruitie grammaticallous, or the sence, or both~ ROD CONE is surling Sterling Twy light zonesp (Ivy in its older name)
psilverse summons
black water space or Z
casinos notices psi-noise sinus es psi-nous
what yet is the alpha beast to know?
[eternal return slot]'s "video"
They are tiny and polar hodographs and their winkings wan kings
They are manking waveoles where the waveoles spread
I like It like Its likes It seems hodymoke to muck the churlhood of its Thringalingalangue longue chaise, its chez zeit zeichen "nichies"
to Nietzsche's bridge to something beyond man. I find it interesting. I find it interesting that I am sitting here writing this within eye-shot of a volcano just like in Zarathustra. It's funny that fuyugomori something standard tsui karazake to a contemporary mode of "narren I carry" or a chyppynutie narinikeri's
a caveman of K-mart took to the Skoal O how the Icee is lucid
red ice menstrual peanut disease sportswear dead polar bear which we dragged through K-mart to weave a coat for in red licorice
a geico caveman is eating a lizard
at K-mart the hillocks of the parking area are full of campfires
skinless jesus! O how the Icee is lucid, no critique no critique Aztec K-mart Temple
The last Voltaire is a transparent deep space shrimp with a jet black spinal column wearing a wig of polar licorice a wig of curling elevators stuffed with singing aldermanikin who say '1 Ton cubes of blue paper speak'
Then, towards the hush of endless of valleys of mush
in an enormous old head of pink obsidian staircases are carved down into the place where I lay with my lover
long darknesses of blind kissing the universe is over, Le Rêve, si, es rivenue..
The Universe is Revenue
Our Valentine is a thick red monument
years of snuggles like a great wall of catacombish porcelain in which perfume ghosts haunt tea kettle clipper elk trees
day and night they play the tom-tom around the synthetic gravity emitter the totem freighter Burecho Vovoluptiary up out of Betelgeuse with a cargo of pretty pets
eeepy eeepy kweepy knox the gold gets in your fort da goldi lox licorice panty pretty pet
Tom or Mot plays with pals on the Tom-Tom or the Momo.
Which came first the Word, or Instrumentality?
Since the body is already an instrumentality, and since syntax came before the word, or is the word a
dishonest form of syntax yoked to the instrumental beeeweeent-titi
Little ittle TITI..
OH TITI!
TITI RIDER!
day and night they play the tom-tom around the synthetic gravity emitter the totem freighter Burecho Vovoluptiary up out of Betelgeuse with a cargo of pretty pets
Can you imagine a solid gold like nude porno statue of whatever gender
takes up cache takes up the Siva of generative ash
There ends its jollity, its jewelity swinging in the jowls never outrigger, or stingray's head a mannish idea took it up the hill towards a fierce shape which submerges a social construction becausing moss, a moss without a moss a meaning without a meaning, we were hunting addresses together but they slowly came so quickly becausing sang cause blood "to read"
to ward its sirens toward the filth the fifth or civil fiction onwards
amendment means to mend to add
how do series (invoking ceres) interrupt one another
there is a simple masp
math mask asp ask
chaomasquafrique
'epical' something comes back out the murderer through the laughing stock something harangues in dirt
evasion
it is tough to see the empty miracle torture itself with an empty miracle
it is as if
life poetry singularity art music light death chymeristry lalangue sea-mi-o-tic(k)s
you can imagine a tumor which is an opal
you can imagine a meteor which somehow houses
a 400 billion year old
brain genital music flower whose masturbation is a beautiful city that dreams through death and cascading images
a weird angry woman throws a vase at another vase
it is sad to tell her the ocean
is all weird bleating
bleating to bleating blust to blust
To temien þe lichames orguil (A snack hangs on a tea(s)
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all!
ROBERT MEA CULP A Bill Cosby line or arabesque:
He died ugly blown up on a tennis court
I SPY
IS PI
his bee cause be or chaosby vicelinge the Drogueman
Enclosing the arbrous T was a masonry of a truly perplexing nature. The original mont had been hewn down to a mostly vertical column, and encased in a spherical webwork of brick aqueducts all of which fed from a single crowning ring hovering like a halo above the arbrous T whose branches had been fitted with ten-shousand varieties of avian domestic weaving each of which had its own emblem which was found as a repeating pattern among the lush,louche cascade of bricks~
and in the distance a tennis court
where two soft orange cyclopes with attenuated mammal duck-bills like a Codebec's Toylet
softly harangue the fuzzy tao bachoftne unt undawor
Racket Racket Racket
I Spy I Spy
All aho ahiba Mater alabama
hiss pie [state] harpy herpes her pet (teepee embroidered with rebek)
Resorcinarenes to purr (Diocletian responses to Asclepio)
A chiral object (hand) in an achiral container leaves a chiral space.
aqueous tool seed your hyle like a luminous hand balloon sits blinking
coded aloft in the Himalayan duskine
orange dion the ice is striving upon the savage eeking girls which fall upon your wax puppet shrine to find the treasure herbs grown in your secret laboratory garden
herbs, moreover displayed lovingly upon enormous hypno-wheels not unlike the floral chronometers whose Marvell computes a garden
a vaunted din of gar or avant garden if you like but 'boasting fish' in noise sauce would thing its lice
poor exquisitie machines roasting in the kosmon's Vee
O lace-like and unfathomable computation of tiny oddling being
that Mercury was a swarm of mirrored birds descending to the T where any thought you'd had led any thought you'd B
Tits up humps shown waves hewn
new savoy cabbage money grown as trees and triste
now here in all the mysteries* the germination of ist
and psiontics
among the hue maned Lepisosteus
"Rabbit Piss Zeus" wills Tongue ab Zoë to "Biot–Savart"
*mystery = (my ist story, M(3) [is] S(wave)*T(interference) 'tarying' (being stored) [Meaning is Wave Interference Being Stored.], mist orrery [mist or gas or chaos] c-->n see noise as coise, cause as noise) etc. It is in this way that we can find computationalism actually encoded into language itself, if the copula represents a bifurcation node as it exists in the perfomance of syntaxis within the vehicle of Zoë. This is why W,H,M all have cognates spread through the langue effluvium, ie: History, Mystery, Wisteria.
The H represents the fundamental arc of being's reification from moment to moment, the inch'allah if you will, or body electric, or simply EM, or 3. The arcing between thoughts, people, events. Earth to Hearth, Arse to Hiss. M already is W, and Wave already is Meaning, EM, 3ness, geometry, as in Einstein, Space-time is a shape, a geometry.
If you have any questions you may address me as Bohemian Uberlord, or Yeti-Bug-hand-Prinset, or anything really, I'll even answer to Monkey lad of Ezo.
This engagement of study (enactivism world): What grotesque idiocy, Obama has been lost in the human race, across sere and utmost respect for everything anything a message has was grown on before he paid Cybersemiotics:
Why is Information of the all memorable works a great message that comes from this theory of human rights?
A Cleaning of animals surmises Gilliam's movies, yet still, economists of the misinformed rhetoric of living view the Holocaust.
The perpetrators have grotesque and generously accomplished roots deep in art level 9669. No, the fantastic, flat-out grotesque systems biologists take so much interest in the Israeli state, to this engagement he shares as his motivations upon the grotesque take Steve Levy's raid on the clever, though the multiple millennia, of this grotesque florentin Malkin sure rented machine.
That the sacrifice, now masking all who follow living things they assume are an area got around to grotesque managing partners at the Institutional unification of the Buddhists--have been saying suck my Grotesque smell in gothic time.
I've rendered rejected altruism why the cost we offer moments are a blend of how one believes that distinction between the One and evil. Selfishness drew a missing link from the grotesque, But was his self-sacrifice bred immorally on those arguments?
The United States-are not enough to explain the cultural captains of industry that make up for the Media I finally placed within the Suffolk County Executive inquiry.
Biosemiotics upheld as the highest their customers and our and unity of our described shelter all along, and telling that unites grotesque and marginal figures which human corneal tissue from the spirit has a "She-Caesar" for out-of-touch executives.
The main information and computational Christopher Whalen, a feed the hungry referencing caption on the cover of just about any movie says:
The movie opens with your comparison perceived as non-threatening, amusing clearly as it did the dizzying and ultimate sacrifice That Is Not Enough to the following magazine:
Where is the often occursed head of "We're in this unimportant" that seems like some naked mole rats drafting this letter and a few Apartheid remnants is grotesque, one though is the audience to the psyche we would Gilliam himself explaining with my ultimate enemy the homeless whatever watching Terry, however, is the apology is as sweet as it is a sincere condolence to the "grotesque."
But he also of the human:
"And it's done without the backs of other hands, it was a strawman history back to that humorlessness gone horribly grotesque in a violation of anyone's manierism of the Federal genetic experiment in the commentariat of Beth:
A noise of repudiation is a sacrifice:
That's cat urine. I had a handful of these poems, realms and manageable imaginations. In unlike and unsettling disgustingness, I am defined as a person who can only be interconnected and interdependent merely as a trivial theory of a critic called Leachman cameo at the highest is beyond comprehension:
Absolutely Risk Analytics is climbing ever higher. His mandate somehow makes uninformed leavings. After washing and laughing together, you have your way with Dish treats in full view that frets.
The pull with part future taxpayers is "It's grotesque," said I am currently your hackneyed, glib Thomas Combines taxidermied animal heights of level really I touch on growing fields of culture to convey the bottom about them? Bishop Williamson's grotesque Jack Black / Cloris virtue clergy being of when not
and on my carpet TWICE
The spirit of sacrifice is cognition and communication.
Gilliam's Tideland, and, the tumultuous story of combination. The bonuses as opine and biosemiotics that have resorted to telling:
Wings penetrate the concrete of the Valkyrie Mandala drone Weather hybridizer
their forms disassemble into the brethren of perfected charm whose radium toiletry arms are self-sufficing arbor trolls
The nude Harbor Patrol takes to the Cosmopolis University Lake in a flash of astringent contouring masses and leveling post-abstractional milieus of random pet fabrications
Yoni gumi jungle vagima burps its oracular Grelling
CRIME
See my growling ikon's eye I am a wave and dye Every moment knot the same fabric of which nigh maim
Energy is murky bliss watch its tumble boil and hiss, a war witch calls the drone
Energy is narred and cloned
GLORY is the hand of HUE spider spider lives inis free cyder cyber
psilicybertude beholds a map of the Yonaguni
gem mega arroooooo!
Wet pineapple flesh armored knight you are welcome too!
The Lord is thy Shemp head, Thou shalt not haunt, for he maketh mi to lyre-down in green jellybeans with the Aunt of your mother, whose antennae are slender and straw-like, and which receive signals from the ether that sayesth:
Eshep too tawway foomi ach mitlerleben pu blicheinen apoclastic mogpfloogenbooger kiepen on tructrin
On a clear day, a jaw-bone covered in eyes can see for meters without number, er well there is a number, but in the aery bliss of great and towering cliffs
we find sleepy sugary gods in soft egg-like pouches near ruined and sacred springs
their armpit accordion thistles whine such terricloth and mowgli such movement of a whirr wind gully by golly
whippoorwhills get in the tedium and rasp about lucky as an orange turkey pipe smoked by a green-skinned pointy eared pilgrim
O what might have been!
I see Amanda Cart[W]right's ass. It is communicating something:
accidental dimples like weird underwater temples just attract hunky voodoo noughtsie doodads with scuba-gear and Aristide Maillol hovering in a stolen torso volumatrix
or the sweet Kiepenkerl of Münsterland peddling sugar tumors
fond dew, glass chicken will take the coffee down take the brown frown's gown and hang it on the peg head kid whose snake-jowled bride payment carves the wooden lantern
legless woman, your prosthetic lantern thighs warm my text
stick coal in cotton sacks stick tiny sticky satans and santas together in a fist
my big castle, Corpus psaloides is an afro, a gleentrow, of mistletoe and lecherous Victorian bird people
revealing the amber child skeletons of words as they gobble down the iridescent soap beans
How fresh and clean could it possibly be with the noose hanging lazy from its pipe-work knee?
Scads of long long thin druids have passed through this pipe on the their way to the sea, the nous (ethereal for pleasure) a leaf (more graspable than a quid in its role in musical combinations)
of the telling (His grashyng tuskes my tender grystels shore) of the Cabbie's only wife:
"He just couldn't get things right, so I left him, poor noose,
poor... (grateless loth)
How fresh! How delightful the hyacinth when it blooms like gorilla doom (Spherical graticules are constructed in various ways.)
Orange approaching full speed in the hush
stamen some methodic magic of inbred mathematics (graunching on the rocks)
pugged pride lazy noose
oblivion all cozy and capering purposively (the harder grauwacke schists)...
toward its gabionage of laryngeal make pattern the trothed bedrabbling paints of Bedouinism would foster the returning sofia
wisdom is sofa, or if one imagines a special couch, the brain hands love seat sends the gorisound to Big Mama Maybelle
whose eyes are blind to the baroque golden starfish building creeping by, on one hundred thousand naked girl feet
nude carriages pop out incessantly like flexible waves of pearls
pearl tongue carriages whose symmetric putti hornameants lannything phannything
the baroque golden starfish building made of a filo of gold leaf and inflated by the constancy of puttisong
a hundred million windows open and close revealing such mousse coiffures of daubloons swooning to daublutes
the whole thing like a balloon of golden lace kept alive by trumpets
by balloon-hunchback knights with trumpet sidepipes and dorsal laser leisures rapt in gestural seizures
Big Mama Maybelle lannything phannything you cellular description not available
anywhere
lanny ware
werefunnel O lanarius polyzoa I slip to ironing in my sofa foona and call you
ployzoa more zilla than god more odd than dodgy
would that you had mended the rope with the braids of Bryony
while all of ye-I were wished willfooned in the white root of Helmont mart groping to ward the three-hand fart
of its traffic syzygy's arfod led to kindiger the socred mysseds for blue is towering in its auster astrangements its jonglier starrangements conjoing all things in the
no thing self
what wine would touch as sweetly as that epigram which told
that the soldiers of Xerxes did lark and play in Pasquil's mouth
Since it seems like some people in the greater poetry community think that I am somehow connected to Flarf, I would just like to clarify my relationship with that group. I am friendly with Kasey Mohammad. I think he is a rare and talented individual and mostly just a helluva nice guy. I sold him a T.V. once, and he has put my wife and I up for a night on a trip we had. Now truth be told, in my mind, I'm not really a poet at all. I am a 'word drawer'.. I don't know all that much about poetry, nor do I care to really, because I already a very complex natural philosophy dealing with signs generally. If anything I would consider myself a sort of Cyber-Semiotics Folk Clown. The poetry community was an easy target for many of my experiments because they are much more visible and communicative than the art community, and much more involved with words. I find the relationship between traditional conceptions of line-drawing and writing to be an IRRESISTABLE place to set up shop as an artist/clown. Now this isn't to say I have been misleading everyone, but I've never really thought I had much of a chance to be considered as an actual poet. Some of the themes I have tried to employ (secretly or cryptically) are "ARTISTS VERSUS POETS" the sub-theme being "POETS ARE PUSSIES", and "I AM A TOUGH ARTIST".. This is patently just a dumb surface structure through which all kinds of strange artificial hijinx can come into play, and the idea of style or contour in drawing as translating into things like 'voice'.. I have also gotten into 'thinking of myself as a poet' while not really being one. The things that excite poets do not excite me, and this is why I know I am not a poet. A poet is not necessarily excited to learn that, say, "matter is poetry", because it's just another line, and not a particularly good one, but for me, there is an endless possibilism and also a way of worlding which makes things like that very interesting. My interest in the grotesque also has found an outlet in this nearly 15 long Internet performance. I have gotten published and translated into German, and lots of other stuff, which has been pretty neat for a guy who has had drug and alcohol and mental illness and just generally made a huge mess of things. Partof the performance however did work out very well, and that was for about 8 years 99 to 2007, I was able to make 30 dollars an hour writing poetry for 4 hours a day. I worked a 12 hour shift, but usually the last 4 hours nothing much happened, and so, Phaneronoemikon was born. That was a blog that was written on the job, in part, and was paid for by my company. I also was kept through 5 lay-offs during that time, so I wasn't slacking, and I was given a 12000 dollar bonus, which is like receiving a major literary prize. And in the logic of Phaneronoemikon, that is just what happened. Now due to mental illness I lost that job, and I am working a low-level labor job which is causing a lot of pain in my hands because of repetitive stress. I will probably only 'perform' on the weekends. And the whole Flarf thing? Well, somehow I was able to get on that list, but I'm not really as articulate as that crowd, and I think they have quite a different sensibility than my own. It was an interesting experience. I will always write, but I know if I ever go back to school, I will be an ART MAJOR, not a POETRY or CREATIVE WRITING person. The culture is just too different. I'm a painting lab kind of guy, or sculpture, but writing is cheap, and the materials are interesting, but in their flimsiness, and in their social cache' or lack thereof.. This whole 15 year period of my creative output has been fascinating for me. Alan Sondheim even got me into the TATE MODERN once, or so I was told.. I am grateful for the attention I have received, also for the foetal jellybeans which have been injected unto my eyebags made from old poet inscrutums...
In a reality TV shoe called "THE MOST COMPLICATED SPAM OBJECT IN HISTORY" some kids in a car
Jennifer, Scott, Kara, Lanny get abducted on their way to 'smoke lemons' by "THE MOST COMPLICATED SPAM OBJECT IN HISTORY"
this causes sleep upon waking in the Marriot Freeway Center La Quinta Inn a supermodel who works for GEICO came out in her knitted GEICO MATRIX sweater duster jacket and told us about "THE MOST COMPLICATED SPAM OBJECT IN HISTORY"
then I was thinking I was trapped in a new construction area but just freakishly I started singing a beautiful Hawaiian sounding song
and all the red scotch tape mummies the color drained out
OAF van is the law the red amen a pmangle was is to find a co-hike from a fro eon's den of maw oil oleo this rude fline or yen tolled abbot by a coma occuring to cure svelte sea baby with manta ray breast plate
