Thursday, January 7, 2010

Dont Reed On Mi

Wackenroder's perfume
of waggling rotors


singular and meant
for the collectivity
implied by father
when father mean

f as hand (social)
and ather as


Father is "Social Author"

as F = hand
and M = Meaning, Mind, Mirror
and S = Snake, Wave, Radiation, Desire
and A = short circuit, doubling, cryptos, poly

Say a phasm lends you a fleet of Tartanas
in which to cross from the Tartarean midshores
to the FASMIC endology

of paradise.

Let Red Phasm sleep in honeyed baboon ass.
When honeyed baboon ass dreams of phasm yoly olyp,
move earthorn through romantic guide label generations
rendering phasmidden lodel.

from lode
to lodel
the pulsing of the stone
is everytera

ovary terror
roaring returns
and raving
like the cycle of
like a magma in the sky
like a wheel of bone
in eternal ecstasy
on its brow
of card cradles

oh ministry
oh sad lysergy

sagging blue lesbian apples
which enter the canvas green caravan
to beastliham

knights in glass
which kiss
their gender
like a color
washed from a rose
of singing solvents

godding up to mist
each tender surfaced moments
an architecture whose emblematics
ensures a futher emblematics
of dawn
inside a feathered mole
whose arm
is latency
wed to grief diveded by
swan spec M/f*Ass


fisting ass for dabloon
and pulling out the snake
whose telescoping head of many
forking presences is

and fret


our luck wool bobbin flowers
are twisting tighter on the sun string
to enter any chasm

Ch = carbonicism


being on death
bird on dong
bride on dodo

like a painting
whose impasto
of warehouses
glimmer past paste
and hod
the charmachantres

is the tongue
riding equid morse

code these tong
your yellow
whatness flode

why did spittle
sick stomachs glide
in tournaments

your longing finally given
i give it back
i am in your longing
and i am a devil there
because your hair

is the goad
to celestial bodies

Don't tread on Me.

Dawn reads
'en song'..

Vast blockages
are switching their names
before you

the party
is entering hyperion

unfold before your
wasted eye encrusted

you chandilier crab
of snow petals

you hang from eternity
in a shroud
and all is the forlorn
of banshee hiss



  1. In this I can feel the pulsing of a stone washed from singing solvents in eternity, and am made grateful.

  2. Lessing has some good thoughts on 'ugliness' in poetic form. i'm thinking of the socially encoded uglinesses as manifold transforms,
    or possible sites of non-linearity.
    not sure. i have two books out.

    Eco's book on ugliness turned to a section on Lessing's Laocoon, and the hall book's chapter on Lessing and Caspar David Friedrich.

    I could probably filter out my own native lysergism and get something more trans-subjective, but lately, i have been noticing some pride in my own interpretation of the blog as form. I began my blogging in 2002, and announced it on the poetics list. I may not be completely correct in this, but I am pretty sure I am if not the longest running poetics blog, certainly one of the earliest still running. The only thing is, I disrupted my own continuity
    because of the native lysergism
    thing which often turns into
    a sort of compulsive atavism
    a register gnawing.

  3. Lanny,

    In the cobwebbed temple of my mind your blog is venerated for its anciency, its non-linearity, and above all its deranged sense of humour (laughter remaining in lamentably short supply elsewhere in the blogosphere, alas).

    "the socially encoded uglinesses as manifold transforms,
    or possible sites of non-linearity"

    No one has explored this area of transformation more broadly and deeply. The procedural template is given in your reply to the question John Latta would have been wise to pose but didn't. Embracing rather than fleeing from one's abjection takes courage but in the long run this embrace is the soil from which amazing night flowers shall sprout. (Said he.)

    I would attempt to follow you also, in my own paler way, in the pursuit of a non-linear solution to the inescapable crush of the subjective. Lately this has led me to look into inertial oscillation and the Coriolis effect. The search was kind of spooky, leaving me feeling as though I am either suffering from conjunctivitis or seeing things through the eyes of a "person" from another dimension (both may be the case).

    (The crabbed question of whether toilet and bathtub drain-swirls rotate in opposite directions in the Northern and Southern Hemispheres has been aggravating my vascular migraines for three nights running... speaking of drain-swirls...)

    There is an innate proto-lysergism, I think, in C.D. Friedrich's entire "project".

    Caspar David Friedrich's
    technique of gathering
    empty pastures of light
    saturated with a kind
    of melancholy radiation
    on the middle of his canvases
    came to him in a dream

    I believe he was crying out across the centuries, attempting to tell us about this "dream".

    I hear that cry into the darkness likewise when he says:

    I have to unite with everything around me
    in order to be who I am

    You may not remember that latterday "country" tune "Jesus is Just Alright With Me". Whatever, your special brand of compulsory atavism locates a register which, like they say, remains to be explored. The pleasure of the quest seems to be largely in the not-knowingness. The whole deal is just alright with me.

    Perhaps this is the new Native American Register (?).

    (Anyway, continuity will probably get us Nowhere...)

  4. (By "compulsory", of course, I meant "compulsive", but then I guess it comes to the same thing, more or less?)

    (Word verification = "hypere")

  5. Well, things come in clutches.
    You mention the coriolis effect.

    Last year I spent 5.5 months working in Massachusetts on the campus of MIT
    for a company called analog devices

    which makes a MEMs product, a microchip that is a miniature analog of a gyroscope which is used in the Wii game controller
    and which uses the coriolis effect
    a transduction of the coriolis force to enact the gyroscopic analog [i think].

    I'm not an engineer. Well, I was technically, as my title there was
    "resource engineer" which was much more poetic than functional.

    The oddest thing about that whole project was the fact that this cutting edge product was being made with museum quality refurbished semiconductor manufacturing tools from the early 90's. The fab didn't even have laminar flow or raised floors, and they barely even did particle checks or quals. The whole thing was surreal coming from a logic style fab. It was like the wild west. Like rolling into a saloon
    where the drunken miners are pulling android bunnies out of their dust packed cowboy hats.

    I have always like CDF and can even remember the first time I saw one of his paintings in an Art History survey course at UTA in the 80's. A mousey little woman
    taught the class who had a monstrously huge intellect and long grey hair and bad dandruff.

    I loved it.

    I did well, and wrote what I thought was a very good paper
    on a Renaissance painting where Hercules is made to wear women's clothes and sit at a spinning wheel, while Ariadne or whoever takes up his club. That gender bending Mannerist painting was sort of what got me into

    and noticing shifts
    or creating shifts
    as a form of dialectic
    or dialogue or contrast


    Tonight is Kara's birthday
    and I am taking her and our friends
    to a restaurant called Biwa
    which has a dish named after her
    Kara age'

    Going with us will be my friend Andy and his wife who is a field Engineer for Nikon precision.

    I wish I could get more
    formally educated
    and do things like
    print CDF images onto
    micronic surfaces
    make chips
    covered with beautifully etched

    are like landscapes
    of methodically layed out
    sculptural surfaces.
    I really think as an art object
    something could be made in one
    of these fabs and tooled
    and slipped into the production
    stream as an engineering lot
    or something.

    anyway. good morning!
    good dreams last night.
    and thinking about
    researching Rod Taylor's
    career today.

    talk to you later.

  6. I love that the Coriolis force was formerly (and in some circles still is) referred to as the Pseudo force.

    Nobody ever referred to Rod Taylor that way, not the femmes anyway.

    The best and most beautiful leading ladies of his time can't have been wrong.


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