Haircut and Shopping. A Lad's Day in PDX.

longtemp i ride, i ride
and then i shop, and where i
shop

is in the pa-
pa-alice of stars
let me
telu [orna-mental cur-li-q]

:V:

What I found today:

Memoirs of the Warrior Kumagai,
A Historical Novel.

A British Tourist's Guide to Madame Tussaud's
price: One Shilling.

Frank Schoonmaker's _The Wines of Germany_

Miracle Finger, A book of works by children ages
2 to 15

and Dulac edited by David Larkin

So then something of the weaving of things.
So I'm just out of my haircut at Rudy's where
I had had an absolutely exquisite conversation
with my hairdresser, an impenetrably gorgeous woman
with a diamond stud centered within her philtrum.
Her hair so wonderfully coiffed as to be simultaneously
that of a French 17th Century dandy and of a 1970's
country and western singer. Inpenetrable.
We spoke of lost Portland haunts like Gallery 500,
the short-lived upscale graffito-clothes gallery
with embroidered shirts that could be upwards
of 500 dollars, etc, the parties. We spoke
of the collectible tennis shoe, and vintage
clothing shops, and the whole Portland meme
of crying in your coffee, after I had told her
I was moving and was driving around and enjoying
Portland and listening to Elliot Smith. I had also
bought a bright orange 1960's cardigan sweater
which I tolder her about, etc. I sold about
40 dollars worth of old clothes, about 5 pieces
of clothing.

As I stepped out of Rudy's, the customer in front of me
was something wonderfully Portland, a middle aged
Lesbianish woman with a perfectly reproduced haircut
like that of Annabella Lwin of Bow Wow Wow, and wearing
a cotton windbreaker embroidered with a giant
fleur-de-lis made from giant glitter bangles
on her back. Picture perfect!
And to follow that I had the experience of Elliot Smith and reading
from the Madame Tussaud's guide about Tableau #4.
Beside the fact that the little piece is remarkable,
it does itself embody an entire aesthetic I had
conceived years ago but lacked the talent to accomplish
as I had envisioned it. The fervent ember of my dream
has been rekindled to a flame, a candle light:



Here is a poem from Miracle Finger.
( I was wearing a bright yellow Banana Republic polo shirt
today I bought on sale for 7 dollars at BR)

Yellow

Yellow is nice
because it's comfortable
It's nice on the bedspread
Yellow is perfect
when you play baseball
with a yellow baseball hat
and a yellow baseball too
Yellow is the color of lemon
a good color for a lemon
A cross is yellow
because it points 4 ways
Yellow is furry
Yellow is lovely
Yellow comes from mamas
because I love it
so do you
Red comes from papas
because it's his favorite color
of his blood

Phoebe, age 5, Jan. 1973.

January 1973. w/ Phoebe
and the color yellow.

I think I could love the world again.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nierstein

leaning dowager gifts with big earlobs nikki w/ grass

blind eyeball you bounce, bound
and dance with the cables
wet like an eel
in wedding dress

seprepam

gonads are thirty-five million color endpapers
i love uoy

joyou

shoju

oni

I know

white people milk

trolley car

ass pinched
in Trader Vics

it's bruised

the lemon
remade as a groin
of scritti politti

my mullet has
piezo

Nina Saunders

Sincerely Yours. Nina Saunders.

More Inaesthetic American Thoughts.

A kind of nattoesque goo connects hovering patties of interlinking, 3 dimensional, nominally, or transitionally, but not exclusively zoomorphic emblematures. I call them emblematures, firstly, because they are assemblies like armatures, but secondly, they are wholesomely individual and congealed, like emblems. And the way this makes sense to me is somehow imagining the emblem as a conceptual hologram, something that, when torn asunder, still reveals some singular reality, or ensembleness. The whole effect then, is of singular ensemblenesses ensembling. Is this a reflexive image of the brain, or of localized psychology produced as a sort of ornamental segmentality?
That much of life relies on segmentality is telling. Segmentality itself is a sort of space or ground from which versions of segmentality assemble and disassemble. What becomes the basis for much of our tragedy is that we constructively blind ourselves to this level of abstraction, choosing to move out of this clean, almost wanton musicality of materiality; segmentality seemingly a non-ironic version of musicality, where semantic labels might be distributed in new ways.

If the human body were a song, a simple, or a complex song, a symphony, perhaps,
what parts would be called what?

Would the skeleton be a bassline harmoniously organizing the inner contours of the melody of skin?

The term cognatal just popped into my mind, indicating the temporal as a primoridium, and as the space of thought, the now of thought as a birthing place, or even, and I've thought this before, as a supplementariness whose structure makes me think of something like the dancing floor at the entrance to the labyrinth.

When I was in Boston, I was getting drunk, more or less, at some reading that K. Silem Mohammad and some other people were giving at David Larson's apartment. Now that isn't a very politically correct wat to say any of that, but it's not really in my field of interest for this. An odd thing happened there. I saw a young man wearing
a t-shirt which was a labyrinth, and I commented to him, that the body was a labyrinth, and that the labyrinth of culture, and thought was a recapitulation of that labyrinth. Then, he seemed non-plussed, and asked me where I got that from, and was I quoting, to which I answered, maybe myself, but I then reminded him of the figure of Humbaba or Humwawa, the Babylonian forest demon or what not. At any rate, in my reading lately I've come across Andre' Masson's painting of the body as labyrinth, and while the motif seems rather obvious, and perhaps a little baked at this point, it too, is a level of abstraction which is perfectly real as in we live the reality of our selves and physical spaces, as a sort of musical segmentality navigating or narrvigating, as in narrating and navigating confused, and confusing themselves. Oftentimes our narration of events will confuse our navigation, and viceversa. Even the term Outre' seems to harken to a sort of confus-ed out of pocket
mentality, but these tones are more or less tonalities, coloratura of the medium
of our narrvigational mendbrane.

Why wouldn't something completely new, be better than a culturally constructed exercise? Why isn't it feasible for the entire earth to enter a sort of

carnival of segmentality
a convivium based on the knowledge
that construction is our inescapable dwelling.

Is life and culture simply too big and complex
to be made fun and interesting and inclusive?

Is there any reason to code variance in segmentality at all,
to enter a kind of sage's time

of unitary difference
wherein all things
are have been and will be

the yilnarvion

the e=pic

putting an equal between e and pic
is something I did years ago
and is actually backed with some more flat-footed
Kantian style arguments

all things must pass through the manifold of image
to exist at all.

This is sort of contrary to something like the nagual,
but the nagual is still a narrative

within the tonal. it's saying

there could be a gap here, but to think of a gap
i have to fill a gap.

The only real gap in a human life is something closer
to what Blanchot does I think with the idea of death.

To the living, death is always, the nagual.

Belly up the Blog, and Get a Taiste of Gelibenite!

What is a Nahar?

Vamomille lifter ords
mc Choo-choo linga roady
food

doug's special round house
kick

if the the body that boo'd
the world off the stage

if the world that boo'd
the body

if the body
were the world
staging

a nether egion's

cumbach

totally elegant 19th century

"Japanese Black Iron Jackalope"

helmet-carriage

as if the whole body
were the head

as if black magic
could render

soft shock treatment
your thoughts

on things
much like thought
which are also thinking
on things
which are mostly
like thought
which are thinking
about thoughts
which are also thinking
which is mostly like
moving things
things which are like

thought

to hear ought
instead of should
to play the oud
instead of doing dishes

to booty shake
the issues

or shake them down
like little hamburglers
who have wandered

into the ancient
empty
and white ovoid

room

more starfuss
than fizzle
and more

infinitely stretchy toad vehicle
approaching

incredible institutional variable

more interesting clothes to wear
more interesting places to wear them

some jewelry in the mouth like

the Abipones,
Oekakalots,
Guaycurus,

or Leguas

and then I'm thinking
about a film about

It's born a graphic I guess
or just cyborg
Papa Legba's
psyborgraphic
antenna harems.
And none of these people
could get past
THE INCIDENT AT NAHA.
go figure. Ra. Ra. Re.
"Comic-hazy"

//

A Terse Post-Script.

If we look at the etymology for war, you find things
like the Late OE. (c1050) wyrre, werre, or the
North-eastern OF. werre, etc; Wer, Were, Ver, Gwer ~ish
sorts of things. In Latin there was bellum, which,
according to the OED, the Romanic peoples were obliged
to avoid for meaning war because of bello or beautiful,
but look what combines the sounds, the term verbal, or
werebell. Now where do we find a 'were-bell'? In the
figure of the Chinese Taotie. Here in Portland, I worked
years ago for a pair of builder architects, one of which
was an intellectual, and one which was a mook. The intellectual
ended up designing the innards of one of the best tea-houses
here in the city called, oddly enough, The Tao of Tea, which
is an eminently cool place to take tea and read a book
of all things. I don't know what happened to the mook.
That leaves the little remainder, the agglutinative,
false-cousin etymology for verbal, war-beautiful,
or "viral ball" or maybe just "buy more gas".
I don't know. What is a Nahar? I'm really not
much of a writer at this point, more of a weirdo.
Or is it just that writing itself represents the
werre-ding, the virthing, birthing, pure thing.
"I Yam what I Yam." That's Nahar!

They were all at our service.

Toward the yamboos, Eugenia spoke:

Who is the abacist here?

A small man appeared within the tripod
where the vibration was strongest,
and proffered a hand whose fingerprints
had been purposely stained black.

~Le gem pome~

has been disrupted
by your conclusive shivs;
Pay what you owe.
Pay back what you have embezzled
from those of us
who actually create something.

blood horses.

Elona Van Gent's _un-tethered_

un-tethered

Elona Van Gent has long fascinated me, ever since I saw some of her laser-sintered rapid proto-typing in poly-carbonate powder. Here is her web-site, which has a studio-blog, and some interesting book recommendations.

A Beautiful Man Hands You a Delicious Apple, But his Cloak is Full of Toads and Rats.

There was once a chairman
of the International Sculpture Center
named Robert Duncan.

In the evenings, when the emerald
lemur-bats returned from the turntables
of polenta,

Ninkasi B-complex.

Thoroughly flowing with thin
breatish avatars, old Deleuze
would milk the bottle
for chimera parts, always
suprised

when someone he knew well
might pop up
as it were, "in the third."

We see Viva' sass, and
we see the landscape,
and in the place where dark violet lemur bats
cling to the beard of Zeus

which is itself
reconfigured
as something like
Michael Rees'

Putto8
used as a cat furniture.

You could imagine a lot of language
is a scorpion's body
used as a furniture
for a cat's head
shimmering with
egalitarian doll parts.

Throw Rug

parsley sile woodwose
thems apron ash beetle
beginner cells

proud green cattle
which stretch like taffy
into chambers of chicle
still clapping

we hear it all
in the dock of doors
our drawl embezzled
thoroughly to poet's
Apollo crossbow serenity
liquid womb scowl
coordinating airplaned
jingo-anguage

sound
of glinting ground-sill
hypabyssal lame
and jutting hartshorn
sul ponticello

erk, skerk
the value of all things
eternals a question
Suleiman, seulement

a forking stick
replicates
into an arching
winnebago baguette

High-Speed Chronoamperometry to Study Alison M. Gingeras

PLENTY

Albert Gilbert

High Altar of the Zulu Queen

http://www.andrewgilbert.net/

A UNE PROMENEUSE NUE

surfers smirk
now back in town
and drinking little kings
beside the van

a scooter is burning

the young head
of Raymond Radiguet

carved from what looks like chalk
makes a ghost-like abomination
in the solid

green hill:

Be like a grassy hill which,
giving birth to grapes, feels quite content
to clutch the leaves of a few stray vines
to cover up this rare event.

Then some freaked out chick on acid
comes screaming through the parking lot
running naked from her friends

and drunk and laughing
the scooter tires
really are melting.

Jangling Key-Totem from Secret Pocket

In its final institution of writing,
the radiation conjoining all things,
where once the mathematics of culture
retained its evanescent posture, among
the even more evanescent forms of posterity
[pause]

as water, flame, hand, or hull,
the seed goes like a tongue of sleeping
sentience into the absolomon of nicht-nacht
bemutter'd~

answering:

If a single white and empty page
is greater than the sun, for being rarer

then answer our fading milk of quilled skin

what is a sun
of white and empty pages?

what is a moon of stiff black velvet tablets
where centipedes of colored ash
crush themselves to dream?

the answer towers
over us all

the answer
from nipple
to pen
and back again

what singles
the positive negative

the nositive
and the pegative

Gnosti
Pegasus

Negapus
Nousapive

The Stoic philosophy
is a lens

and ataraxia
is mind as black line
or frame

draining away
all the interims

until as magic bolts
each unit of time sings out

silently
to become

a beam like bell
and content

the beautiful
and deforming hammer

waking the strange
and compounding

foreorder


[pause]


moodisol

Iron Pupa Nemesis

now the yellow kitchen is gray
from sunshine of the emperors to
brain.

some bird watches almost muddy tires
roll, and the bird shit spreads in
the rain.

sweet old nabe, the muckaluck goos
go wander by, none say hi, and all
are already prowling for sugars

love duds up the spume,
and any sort of vertebral velvet connection
may enter its leaf museum

Southwest F.O.B.
and the Larry Kane show
out of Houston

Some kid kalled Danny
dressing like a brit

Lord Font Leroy
didn't grow
in Vernon

Tiny Tim, Fungus Cowboy.

Tiny Tim, he wore
no wig, he bathed
in a pond of spare
parts.

If wind whistles,
are there lips,
is there a head
for nature's

rustlers.

Come, O crippled cowboys,
Come O ranch-style Sally,

for the earth-monster

is diving
in the valley.

Earth
tender ugly
mean

full of weird machines

dawn broken record
fungus

The Flight of the Silver Ship. Pt1

1946. To Vallon. From Mon. Dooby.





Moonbean out of the hangar.

beanies. wore them. they were
t-shirt sleeves decorated
with magic marker.

Around the world, just like a stripper,
aboard a giant dirigible.

prep school drop-out.

a tall weird boy touched my curly hair
and said.

"head"

I felt like I knew it all
in a dirigible
full of strippers.

"You know I live in Denver
with my mother and two sisters.
They're all strippers."

"Why, you big stiff."

Blood for the bell.
It's good if you want it.
Is everything okay with you in bed.

With me?

I visit specialty shops in one of the
most brilliant cities in America.

Is it "World Class"?

who cares. strippers and me share
celibate coffee jokes
under a wane sun
looking up

to the GIANT DIRTIGIBLE.

I am not fake.
In fact, I am kind of a super-hero
of the NOT-FAKE.

Most of these dudes,
are really dirt story evil,
they don't visit
Mother's shop.

The bras
are forlorn.
french.

the pavement.
is a scorn of japanese tears.
old guitars
wading through dirigibles.

Tidens Gang.

I am so much more scando
than you'll ever be.

So I'm a secret friend of Simon Winder.
We're hanging out laughing at small timers.
I'm taking him out for beers in my Beamer.
We're genuinely interested in Scout Niblett.
I think she look like my first girl friend.
A ballet scholar. I'm dead. The noise I make
with my fingers gets me nowhere, and other dead
people visit me in a fishbowl with no
address. The dark color of my lips alarms
young boys who dance phrenetically with
twenty dollar bills their mothers give them.
Singing like little girls. They are

actually more

candid and feminine than girls at that age,
and cuter by far.

A dirigible comes out of the guitar that is the world.
It is full of black haired boys, whose hair
suddenly all turns blonde.

Then they are girls.

Then.

They are all

dirigible robot people.

I am GOD. I am dead.

Frederich Mietzche.

Pleased too.

So how do you like talk to a stripper.
You remain perfectly still.

Push your Ray-bans up onto your forehead.

and make the ink of your blood
rise into your nostrils.

If your nostrils
look like much shagged asses
of porno

Borneo.

If you kiss the final match
sequencing
our solar system

a complete organ
with all the original documentation.

I would smile at you,
but you are dead.

If I can't increase my wealth
I will not like you.

Let's watch some buoys fugue-ing now.
Because they are stupid.

But look good in the scout uniforms.

Which are dirigible uniforms.

I am loyal and faithful, honest and earnest,
and I hate to be evil.
And I hate for.

Instead, I will achieve the raising
of the silver dirigible,

a vast empty head
which abjures the world
with a fierce and furious

mudra-tool of absurdity
which says

viral giblet tools
are fireworks in the night

the just and unjust both
live horrible sticky lives

and wealth and poverty
are both ugly

all culture ever was
once

painting said it

all sickness is
istelsf

lay dawn
raydawn

Ray Don Chong

I love mOnkey whores.

FONG LOTT

/the blue thing on the throne/



/we mate for its eye, not/


/because for sexgrat. but because/


**85

/our bodies are complicated holy ortu/

Blue Sepharose ®Cibacron Blue F3G-A covalently coupled to Sepharose

Ronky-Donking the Pillowasser...

waxy sanitation, the
powder sugar stars
stare out from
mirrored plastic
cubicles, and cubist
alveoli engage
a violin pan-piped
to chivalry

mud thong,
i picked too much
fruit.

there are allowances to
be made, mola mola
peyote gangster chapel

beautiful gorgeous visions
of dayglo plesiodeer
whose coral antlers

modulate unto fan
along the spine

a phanalongthaspine

buckbook
bachbuke
bockbeck

baukna

bough-ch-narr

like phoney snakes
in its antlers
that are groups
of jesters
like monkeys
getting ronky-donk
in a giant pillow case
reckon it'll beckon?
stone camera lute smooth
as a duck bill tetraskelion
of persian jasper
breaking conchoidally

We are Mated to Absolute Construction

hoarse

faces like trees sulk
constantly
sweet fizzy ages of hammer
belted down its swift clades
yearning where curlicoves
made tornado
in the eye of a geode

hush at temples surface
each individual water molecule
is an eye
on the swift

[drinking wine in a boat, the heave-offering]

each face of water-trees
scan the sulking bulk
the vast and rocky scree
whose voice

winter fleur-de-lis
must slither the satin
main frame aisles
warm to the touch

a giant's hipbone
wired to carousel
careening out of control

hippodrome eohiphoparcrates

the swift
clip
and turnabout on stills

suddenly
its neck dive
postulate

in a burst
of hyphenated phrasmid

swallows, or wot-nots exit supple chutes
among the centipedes rumbling bax

dolphin hummingbirds
taste the rising nectar octagon screens
rising from the belly of venus

greater than sun, less than evil
and project leaders swell
like crenelated balloon candy helmets
their charts refitted to columnar kinestic
a vast thing dives
onward
into the org-chaosm

3

swaybacked
perception
engulfs
what steers it

3 yokes suspension
in a dune buggy

Ode. Odium. Otium. Ghengis Reunites the Cetoid Rigoletto.

how many strychtnein coffees
will the silver armed pirate allow
before peace comes marauding through
the desert to tear off its horrible
mechanical teapot silver arm?
"business solutions" often seem
mint in the jasmine again to Saladin
evenly its index finger through the
fly counting coinage less veristic
than pop or something farther down
the road. neoconcusshhkliclassiculled.
bashfully radiant legless mexican.
acid refuel sainted gasping agogs.
puffy fila jacket like a tennis diaper
for an elvish spy, its misdirecting
to closed aldiolpholine netowroks,
slow cooking john the baptist's head
where brain is mainly elongated
and sloping down into its perfected
tiled culmination of surface tension
broken, the splash itself as model
for fountain form, the hydrophobic
setae on the tarsi lets Napoleon's
face falling sphinx giddy the
last tears of wine in its whiny legs.
curtains cover the church windows
and the old ones of fire weep
orgasms to the wilderness.

REFORMULATE TOTAL IDENTITY OF EVERYTHING

uf fam feranga langfang
alwasp frama langa
ba mala anga
noda furam nanla nonga

Sphingosine
the big suede there
like green silk rhubard
studded with principle nials
mancino doublure effed
its trillel

it mattered much where geomtery
carried the match
mithridatum

shivalry ints the blue shell
and the serpetz move between the dual layers
peeking out from the grid of pseudo-flute

flauture
relautsi
is taller
reflating toroid
skull bumper planter's
singlu
songlu

blood adhesive socium
plantimals

plan (above focus integral)
salve or slave focus remedyne

time to plan
time in plan
4th crusade joppa
po-jane dietary remixalot
passing the wearer of the
mirrored liver lobe coat
through the blind hand palps
of the eeldoors

these evil doers
are relapsed into
eeldoors

helium lymph nodes
give off or outgas
nymph odes
better in 3d

6th Earl of Banana
or lightbridge is avoid total
novostrange notwitchstunting
Symbiogenesis avantunculars
when counterwing dissolve
halbitati unitium mital
haptic ptah ovoids minor branching
craniumph pwa du pursent ip apu nu lu

mamluk
loco

nous of the sling
nouse of the slang

the dual slings
center their strike
from the tip of the nose

and the soft speaking pillow plasma
says crater's eyes within the snake skull's
perimike

coral waist clamp condibolse
shake the ivliumo

omoo red crab bull
enters glassine teepee for hovering tea computer

V-desert
move closer where endless cake halls
set jerseys into holy
and open positions

enter your high jerseys
candle islands pause

at the edge of the falls
rogue flipper traffic
lingers where bladder icons
reformulate

sleep helmet spoons

Etruscan Cowboy
may yoke feather mouth flange
for popeye soap bubble antenna
acquiesking

miolaveanousp
coco chanel donkey lisp
riding honey bolt
become ornamental sacred food statue
under bridge of trembling

kumoc in

prairie doggin'

genie slippers

In Egypt this week, they unearthed a colossal statue of Thoth-as -Baboon

Tangyiyingliu
Lan Ying 瑬
Tan Fang ㌥ Niman
Indignant 攠 be
慩 Feng 慲
Wan Tan Ming ∲
Zhenyoushanying Man
Confused indignant stripping
Tom 牥 careless
Langjiaojieman
Scabies 獩 穥
Juanshanguman
Chung 猠 moist
Hui 攼 楴
汥 Bridge 慤
Niyinaiman
Entire Mu moist
Pull 牤 knock
潲 摥 Shuang
Niyinaiman
Tanlieyongshan
楥 Hui Tong
Hydrogen  indignant Tong and Tan
Cup 湨 敩
Shanyangdubo
Muchuluman
Shanchizaitang

Using the Mike Taglieri Procedure
From mini-lathe.com, learn more
About The Panzerkampfwagen VI Tiger
From Panzertales with the new
Collection Plate series of
The Mistresses of Tiger Woods!

Shanyangdubo
Muchuluman
Shanchizaitang

Well I have some big ole roosters
To cook up & I was thinking,
Rooster PC's charging visa to
See what happens when one of the
World's most colorful fashion designers
Teams up with Yabu Pushelberg.

Confused
indignant
stripping

I'm through with inventorying snakes,
Waters, gestures, just in time
For your whimsical essay peeling
Rooster PC's around the garage,
And sodas with Yabu inside the
Panzerkampfwagen VI, for ultimate
Space-watching with "creative heads"
Actually marketing combinations of
Brain signals that are possible in time
For Christmas leather enthusiasts
With dripping hard-ons, and hard
Glass neck braces oozing frequencies
Of cylindrical liquid bridges spanned between.

Chung 猠 moist
Hui 攼 楴
汥 Bridge 慤

The resonance sloshing response of
Liquid contained in a 2-D baffled tank
Of like, baffled liquid-storage tanks
By the structural-acoustic finite element
Often pushed down in the pecking order by
Rooster PC's as designed by Pushelberg
And co. could almost generalize
The calculation of nonlinear
Signals with finite pulse displacement
Jewelry and fragrance displays,
And then while checking her tweets
Went smashing into the back of some
Aloof NASCAR fan with her Panzerkampfwagen VI
For ultimate space-watching with "creative heads"
Actually marketing combinations of brain signals
That are possible in time for Easter west of
Nonchalant DC Scorpio Stinky Dink Tony Blunt
Fat Rodney Lanner introducing the latest dual-core
Intel Atom processor D510-based network
Over pressure atmospherics atoll atom
Atom bomb atom smasher atom-bomb atomic
Costmary colorstomy costrel costume costume
Jewelry costumer costumier cosy
Nonce word nonchalance nonchalant
Noncombatant noncommissioned officer

Tan Fang ㌥ Niman
Indignant 攠 be
慩 Feng 慲

It was so nonchalant, and so
Much a non-event, that it almost
Seemed natural, books, old radio shows,
And even TV and Smashing Pumpkins concerts are
Flat flat-chested flat-fish flat-foot(ed)
Flat-footed flat-iron flat-out
Collected with standard rods and reels using catfish bait
Residue of evaporated seawater trapped in rock salts

Ying Liufangyouying
confused indignant
Bolaifuceon

"Entire Mu moist"

Jade 敡 squeeze
Fang Ying 瑬
Bedside indignant stripping
Scabies deposited 猠
Moist-hui 攼
楴 汥 Bridge
慤 晲 indignant
敳 the entire Mu
Moist knock 潲
摥 Shuang 晲
Indignant 敳 Lan
Transition Chung 潬
猽 indignant 攠
By Wan 敶
楥 Hui Tong
Hydrogen indignant Tong and
Lian Feng  cup
湨 敩 Yang
琽 grazing Chu
睩 摴 planted
Tom 牥 獩
穥 Volume 潬
Yong Lang ∾
Moist 獥 琾

A moist and indignant tong:

The nature that the artist could not embellish, we have sought to make
more developed, more strenuous, and more powerful. Thus, there where the
greatest pain is placed, the greatest beauty also manifests itself. The
bereft slide, into which the snake's raging fangs pour forth its poison,
is the one that through its close proximity to the heart appears to suffer
most intensely, and this part of the body can be called a blunder of art.

Wink old man,
for the unity and perfection
are the qualities of substance
and subjectivity, and even outside
of subjectivity within subjectivity.

Things are
as they are not,
and are.

I dare is all,
his lamb is curly,
and every

Escaping Being

is crowned
with its own less
more obvious motton
chope..

Hydrogen indignant Tong
and Lian Feng  cup

Florida Paideia at Play,
Myself am sorry Pudentilla

vernacula, parvo potens,
aemula laudis, benesuada,
repertrix.

I love the little bakers.

I love the little bakers
as they cluster in the wall.

Their beaks are chrome like
distended bone, and they ohm-out
as shorts.

I love the bakers, their flippers
slick as owl's eyes, and tossing pizzas
that somehow hover forever, signifying
philology's lost art among the 'brothers'.

bread hearse cannot clue the oven's simple
magesty. the post card is harder to make
when the mortar and pestle stop thrumping.

fump! fump!
aaaah, mine gott!

I glue ten-shousand ping-pong balls together
in a wandering crutch-like ode. I solve all
the world's problems with a lamp-goiter attached
to bread and helium sac.

I love the little bread loovers,
how baguettes let the light through
and braguettes get brackets ala

[].

I love the bakers. The bakers are infiltrating
the walls of the tennis center. The bakers are
invading the aquariums. The bakers are filling
the amusement parks.

amusement perks.
amuse meant sparks.

friction.

Some fan fiction.

Diction, where it begins to rise,
and where the line begins to fall.

Now that is an economy of means.

As the cache' of image falls, the
cache' of word begins to rise, and
verse's vice.

Bread is nice,
and people bake it.

Cornbread
can go into buttermilk.

It is so easy to die,
when aporia is always out of its factory
lounging, taking it easy.

The product is made, and it is eternal.

The aporia machine
cannot be stopped
by bread soldiers,
and every man, woman and child
just gives up here,

once they've made baker.

T is the AMMO
of the fee-fey-foe-foo-thumb
b-achers.

ache is the cousin of ach (tung)
in the land
of continuance aka

"kunst's nuance"
as "the will to entrain"

old mother wonder.

STOP. GO NO FURTHER.
FOR HERE ENDS SENSE AND NON_SENSE

BOTH.

here we enter the

NARR[G]W)ALL

Matthew Richie Did that Already.

i am get it!
i am get you!

when snarled viruses awoke
in legs of athletic mutton chops,
and when totally fabulous machine broads
gave way to excellently empty oceans

of random typing:

snakes are woven into a hat
snakes are woven into a suit
snakes are small enough for that
snakes that are stolen from the zoo

when snarled oceans awoke
in legs of totally fabulous viral broadsides,
and when excellently machinic mutton chops
were like sponges of tiny antenna polyps

fabulousy, the critic
was born!

I am get you!

i am get...

[flurp]

Grace is a Twaddling Buke of Pocodney.

Like relatives gathered more than thieves,
The sound in this, and fever no problems
Willed come common to us all, the critique
Of who knew it, was of our own upon the ancients.

With capes, the moon soundings hailed
In your own idle mind to die among us
Outside islands;

Stretching-away-world-of-Kiwi-Rose.

CREDENTIALS:

Our life not just~
Carry futures with, but~
The people in force?

Faintly bars ply!
Made cry,—

Make tempest nets file upward, self.
You must find arching strands of world
Are upon the object, our dying.

No answer from non-lofty ales
Whether these have sighed still
At eighty, have any you smash?

The citadel, often ,while a person,
Terraces the been-made-so
To the limitless...

When Buddha is the frailty exhaust fan
In an arc synoptic, loft with order
What interested the whole epoch ~
And ask obedience, but
The concept, on!

Such ships at sea interest us in our search,
Where thinking goes also. Yes, Gu Jun is a
Strange concept, but then I'd dream us some good,
A photo you come to.

Be thought,
To thy love.
James Bond.

Alas! Think its from mine, and
Infinities of islands, the east window
With robotic seahorse shutters
Whose frosted upward ringing men glow
Like wands of worms and appear from a sourney,
With not only visions of palladium helm, but..

He did not fight
The end of powerful people
To like.

Relatives gathered
Into polliwogs of islands.

The loudest, whose unruliness
Shall have there in the tabletop,
Golden cordage.

Whether you are
Going so often
You win.

No feathers, threats or flattery
And rivers, this to limit you,
You are always too much, too little.

New octaves trestle a public exposed, So I
Become of stars to be ridiculed in the day
As they swarm noisily below—

Their labyrinthine anguish of
Mountains, rivers, grass,
Control shimmers,
Obliquely sleep.

O sure—to weave no further embankments, the
Moveless glide up crystal-flooded aisles
With your baby goat. You search into bleached
Oceans, Kiwi Rose, for 007.

Bad song we made, lousy
Thupules and jealous about.
Beyond, then receive
Less public room, metaphysics
is just physicality instantiated
in a complicated brain.

Scales are also referred to as
"Silver to Mourn," when grief has
Islands spawning islands like frogs' worlds'
M.

Last picture, James, of eggs turning
Or staying or becoming sitting people
Like teaching tides asleep.

Onward ancient sage without plausible
Black things dissecting it minutely, and
When the puzzled vibrant breath history
Suns its ten thousand may we
Ideals can this she-whore, what?

Weee-ahhhhehehe, doing like
Slitting a baby's vegetation.

Insects fish.
With closed eyes upon
distinctions' varnish.

When humming spars the masses,
You forests are exiled spies:
Analyze this.

—From black and earth,
And mountains.

Pouring reply bucket
Is off-balance, mouths of
Destroy throat.

Mistaking it for yourself.
James takes hold of breasts.

It is moving dangerously through to
Demand of deep thoughts, conscience
And their dream bugs galoshes.

They too were "underage".
Bung-smack.

He wished to think of dark confusion
Without heaven's minions fighting over your
Sinovial membranes.

On the twin monoliths beyond lying or doubt,
The risk I'd have nightmares of others down
The whole.

Is there a home to chills, Yi.
Why?

MY grief on the sea,
How the waves of its trolls!
For they heave between memes
And the love of my nose!

Agnès Varda's Beaches

Watching, and re-watching parts of Agnès Varda's _Les Plages d'Agnès_ (The Beaches of Agnès) 2009, I am struck by just how wonderfully quirky and rich, and open minded a film it is, and quiet, and sad, and fun, in short, it is a film which actually reflects in a very real way, a life lived, and you feel comfortable I think letting it be that. I watched with child-like eyes as Agnès introduced me to her friends, told stories, even about Jim Morrison! I loved seeing and hearing about the young Agnès, the hippy Agnès, the wife, the mother. Her aesthetic seems to partake in her times, and in her contemporaries, but she always seems to remain concisely herself, and totally grounded, and very french, in that sweetly fatalistic way, that is knowing. The wild scenes from her hippy movie were new to me, and very fun to see, and I am always so happy to learn more about the 60's and 70's which I call here at the house, "the inexhaustable decades" because so much was done and recorded, it takes nearly 4 decades to see and digeest it all. I can tell you what Agnès, you've a fan forever in the Jellybean Weirdo. Lots of great details, a face invaginated by the joining of two mirrors, Agnès in California! Even her hair which reminds me of a medieval monk's the way it is bleached on top and colored red down below. After watching her husband's film Lola (Jacques Demy), I kept thinking of that cafe' and that drive up the beach in a convertible in a white cowboy hat.. Truly, when the world
is an ocean, our little lives and minds can only ever be beaches..

flûte!

Wharf Rats

Rank duville
M make sauce

in the night make
but hear bumps

not my own
does it imply

if sloping cobbles
reach the sea

by carriage
a lantern's

orphan
sets jaw
to hub

jaw wheels
upholster shark
rabbits

we enter the green pub
all shiny from
illuminated jellypods

the third lowest
orphan lute in it
makes for the oven tower

we fat and bulky lutes
are laid aside
while finer instruments

legs like money
pulled from the sauce
pan

see their strange faces
light up around the edges

strangers
poking around
the wharf

meet
our large
mechanical
snapdragons

Eyenarr

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oh no!

mad y medori miad and diam mud dumi ludidity
al mudadu. lo mod dolma, maelidados dielma moda.
loma tu duma tuma, dudamudra drama amma utu. lutu
madudi adi odo ladeeda mimo. apodumlado le demesto
tolodudabuhada doma nodoo. la pohala dolooha du fumadulah
y uma limo piholo dunu namu lamiho jolohimadu. rad rahala
go mihudio, ja mihudio julu dudu. go mama dudu luma loma
omlaluludoti. feeleha lohi daydoe. hu luliha kulidumakulimo.

The Spider Beggar's Flamentula

oaf phages of the ages, if within these undersea p
eoples, we bursts of citizens akin to atomizations
of ballistic squirting cucumber, we dwarf mistleto
e seeds delivering glittery livery to undersea gro
tto become, if we become, iffy becomely, if ephebe
come a lee by churre, and if by churring the seaho
rse orchestras inhabit plankton beards as elevator
s, but not just elevators, but as egg showers. giv
e the human form its connotour, its notouration. a
nd when cubes of tender turquoise sperm make bridg
es into his unfinished half-spines, then all the m
ind's an ocean. if it were not clopf for detail's
cursling urges web, by wedding its soft ambrosial
skin to a turnepin of harrow, the or that tornado'
s bildy brot would rise even slower by the disguis
e of quiet size now oft a runabout laid with diamo
nd gridded tires so etchy in the baked flat mire o
f tribal utterance. what gives for a gift where of
t the fit is sagging with the grist of further ove
r-animals, high-spirited teapots that whistle the
slink of iphigenian folly. if it is genial, then b
rash loose cannons may go at a cluster an emuit, r
and clusters of kangaroolephonts go flat against t
he stones fall inward and display the canvassed ge
odes of fabulous wills across africa or even a the
atre whot, its before the production or after, whe
n the robot poerters lilt like candied monkey cloc
ks, kee-yanh he-piki-puyanh that little poo is a m
achinado of clock tiger peripules lozenged by sing
ed burlur haeirs or what notty give it a butler pa
rtially obscured by color-coded manta-ray shingles
or shemglish so that the predontrafters or "flakin
g paint oscilloscope" speach lounges correctly in
Vincent Price's SHRUNKEN HEAD MUSEUM from has boro
ugh will to unravel *note the top image of the eas
ter bunny I searched for "Heather Angel" thinking
it the common name for Geastrum Triplex, but inste
ad found an ACTUAL and proper Heather Angel taking
part in the triplex reality of "Geaster". I am for
ming a nonsensical assemblage, or if you like, a t
rans-skin-dont one. The species was first describe
d scientifically by German botanist Franz Wilhelm
Junghuhn as Geaster triplex in 1840. Here's a band
age for oaf if you need it. I do. I don't like bei
ng an oaf, but, well, a loaf isn't but a pinch bet
ter. I pinch little Poseidon on his inner bicept,
and then one of my bosses calls. "I need the exact
dates of your absence." So I tell him. My Absence
from the totality of non-ironic unity began on rou
ghly August 29, 1967 and has yet to complete its t
erm. As if a human life was a single graphemic ter
m a kind of live-stroke ideogram or zoepigraphy A
smoke of spores lets the spore be anything. Here i
t does. I can dig down and find my own lies. Like
how at one time I thought I had invented the hall
of snake-necked heads, but now I find a gallery of
heads in MANHUNTER #5 but you know, it could still
work out, like these heads could talk and hang in
a room, jewels set in latex, burning coals set in
iron ice chunks set in refridgerator coils It's we
ird I like the fact that MANHUNTER has no hero's i
nsignia. He's just blank, and he belongs to a secr
et society called the shan. But my brain, for some
reason puts a little star of david on his chest, a
nd then proceeds to put a french dandy's mustache
over the steel metal mask. Why does it do that? I
don't think these options are necessary in the oce
an. It's already like the 10th victim except peopl
e are trying to 'fuck each other up' instead of li
ke actual murdering. They use the oracular indexic
ality and amphibianism of being to slander and con
fuse each other, but the whole thing is already an
abomination, but I mean that in the kindest of way
s. It's sort of like religion and forgiving. Space
forgives because of its mute dimensionalty. This i
s the easiest method to show how all things are bo
th crime and religion made one. The unity of life'
s ironicality mirrors the unity of death's steely

geaster,
jester,
heather,
ether, or as bjorn always says~

"wreathus"

Wha.. What happened to me?

Notably, Nietszche'-vo.

The cry is a lure,
and lurid is the christ,
as compounds containing
compounds we complete
the relational text
or compete towards
its innocence, or inner
sense, if that competition
is a communication among
potential peat.

We eat speach, and speach
eats us, it's universal, ie
p-eat, or semiosis.

Gnashes to gashes, must see bust.

p, the cation of the generative mark.
d, the ion. (the lion)
q, the quaeering, or reversibility
of sense itself, or nonsense.
b, the pregnancy of all things
with emptiness, or bossibility.

What if we replace the nation
with notion, the netion with
lotion?

No. Shun that idea. It already
is. There is no replacing,
what needs not.

Think whatever collective artforms
there are. Think this. And it is not.
Think whatever species exist,
and like language, species
exist, not.

Are we involved in the primal character
of our monody? Indoubtably.

In doubt. the tables. the lies.
the All-go-rhythm of the

whrithem

elohylepi oni ihnohi ha
peloha hini inaha imho hila
beh beleha hohi nohey helay ihe
mehey iho o hehay nila milay ha
holay lohini hinah ha mila lohi
epitilohi pipa lojala

vir gen
fire djinn

in ape
and aping
is application

pli cation
more protons
than electrons

ionism is culture for whom
association is the end

cationism is culture for whom
association is the means

(NO−3).

Pipesmoke your Incandescant Plugue

Artaud notices
Beatrice Cenci, whilst
Millais is bringing

to Effie that seal
of Rawdon Brown
through the snow;

and all of them,
sick now.

The Blind Girl.
The Random Shot.

The roads opened magically
for the bohemians,

but what for them to do,
actually?

And why, for Chrissakes, are
people still interested
in Virgins?

"I fick like a gaat, and sack like a sege."

Henry says, that by 2040,
It'll be the Navajo
again.

Yet some time
in a blanket.

cathode in androde

Tiepolo favors my Organ, but not Tintoretto.

It is not the cartoon
which lives in the bottom
but a whole tradition
of Italian conceptual art;
pulcinella + tiepolo
equals pulcinella playing
polo on a trojan horse
inhabited by drunken dwarves

the thimble
as if the woodwheel
the sail
paused
into the earth

we see the great iron masks
with the nozzle nose hoses
that come out

but the clown-firemen
are invisible

it is not a good investment
to see the cartoon at the bottom
as the fireclown
blast away

at the flaming
compressed meat statues
and reference

some pan-handlers
from the 1500's.

I'm telling you,
molecularity and affect
are entangled, but
molecularity as a construction
in lieu of telos, or anything,

blah

is already, and always

"some affect"

the monster spits.
the spit gets up and walks.

And some goddamn hobo
starts jumping on a whoopy cushion.

Then mama and papa cry.
Then you cry. I cry.
Then the ocean is a single
contiguous jelly fish.

Then Venice
reveals its many
lightning rods,
giant glass seashells,
and laboratories.

No cameras inside
the tram, please, as
all of earth
has become this~
knickerbocker thing.

The solid gold
tricorne house
begins to vibrate.

The 3 crones inside
pass the eyeball
in a round.

The Destruction of Lord Byron in Venice.

a green three
moves through the
verismotic space
of the ovum

increasing its
social cache'
until it becomes
a cluster drum.

These 3 Michaelmas geese
of Lord Byron, were soon
to be followed by a fourth

shaping a gin punch
into a 'gin paunch',
a belly-cage for a
green G~

and not a moment too soon,
for here comes ugly Clara
to Geneva like a mole
grown in mud.

Freud Lives in an Emerald Rectu called "Teget-Agric-Suff"

labrat unimurks
the mark's irony's
lateenibopper

the malabathrum you speak of bringing
is
this island's plenty

i have a disturbing dream
of a hero-like killer
named sam 'good-luck in poetry'
the tale of the ship-wrecked sailor

he holds up a pieces
of focaccia bread
eventually

i get it [charm]
'ambiguous snake'

foe caught ye
or whatever
i'm not in the mood

i descend through the
hydra lieutenant's
totally baggy boss-maker

it gives onto a vista
of boss-maker:

but man
is already stubbed out
cigarette pug elbow thumb
head for hire etch gas
or dirty deed

between the walls are vitamins
horace's art poetry
poultry and frizzled hens
guinea forests
clad in trash fops
and frisket moneys
sam says

'where do i begin?'
i'm not in the mood
Gauguin chicken wallets
and out comes the human-headed
snake-god

i am mood
doom
Ramses, the Crate.

the dome of all modes
aurea domea
dome of the roc
and the core of all things

rotten
like
eternity

sam
milks its bookcase
ruining every ditty
i share

he murks the mark
he arks the irk
he boats the robots

trappidly
and without
coovex

sam is a little coobird
a hundred age
wheeled green elephant palm
in which the magnificent
spider-yogi

builds

cathedral tooth computer for
Busy Cedra, the parsley rabbit
princess

Sinbad smoothly transfigures
into Loma 1 moving like a wind lass
through the skeletal foosball
Oannes

golden rivers of rose plaque
converge on a crag of choral
melancholancthonblist for
bodding prudrid yelkts on
metal lily balconies, yo ming
in the total economy
they give eyeballs,

and ration
the cast--->

lion's looking
on wawat?


~Erogrottis~



image titled _Reference_ by Jim Brossy

Agricultural Admonishments

it is not cheese the smile
the brick
not cheese-brick
within the banderole of bricks
within the star-banderole
the mortar gets a complicated
swivel-caterpillar
adjacency

sensei
cenci
sans si

the high noon
or meditation room

bubble incased in brick not cheese
the waggling raving radiality
of its banderolium

its faudler
and quelp

shin muts
p'shil

what if the pilot used a cultural haircut
a positive rule calendar for clothing

what if string
could perplex
yet mollify
the transmogrifinance

griffin hunts

hertz gryphont

Ergonfield

perfect star-shaped flecks of custard
on the pilot's mouth
say

wish that earth
is more than a skin-star

in ocean caves

fellatio
by mermaids
that are actually

mushroom
puppy
landers

Topos Arranging Plot Unity

were so it ever
what was visible not
the portoirs

the young
something like a pot
hitting the floor

empty bargain
its deft crustacean

in the night
a police dog
adding weightlessness

a shimmery thing
whose body antenna
the being called

diamane
something ripped off
from the quarterlies
intellegance

bozo suddenly
in huntsman green
the plaid watch
of its grandfather odes

pitch of roof
with poolball odor
felt so many
it covered oxen
and lapped the mote

the totality
in sequential mapping
stages yet another effect
aging on stage
can be drawn out
the charm of its tellurium
with artifice fact checking
the fenestellid twists
of torpor

targeting the motive
or the remainder within
a disavowal of remainder's
"stubborn" charactery

the disjointed days
spent with hashish along the nile
tasting the wind

the sails like scimitars
the crumbly chalk skulls
which hushed the trembling blue embers
of the sky

diamane
like a secret weapon
or body suit

volumes of unknown agents
fed to shape-shifters
for parallel engagements

bozo unites
the ink golem people

Psyluria
rejoices.

Typhontese Visions, Meat Disc Monocle

fear not, for if I
rejoin you not
to rub your baloney
eye-patch
in the courtyard
of the citadel

it is not because our
yurts are made from
the bodies of enormous
white crows
whose heads are like
hard clusters
of mangled gem-stone
control panels

frothed with worm-holes
which now sing with silk
as if threaded through
a magical sponge
and conjoining into some
distant beard
who bodiless head
like a censor-tram
moves up the last
unconquered peak
by a thread whose
mystery endureth

beyond even the smell
of your baloney eyepatch
of your thick german sausage
monocle

pink like
argentine
armadillo

would that your
transparent alabastar
breast-plate factories
had not occluded all
of is tan bull
with their tacky khaki
gristlings

crimson donkeys
greet us
fitted with
jawless violet
geode heads
whose empty
brain pans
are carriages
where our little
books are laid

outre
swan-like
once read
by the feelers
from our tear-ducts

our eyes
like gnashing
bat's teeth
enameled with wind

our raggedy Tudor garb
typhodial
with typhonts

Pismo Beach is Grotesque.

a senile, pregnant
surfer

like compacted mist
in pismo beach

puts sexwax
on its stick

listens to
alien sex fiend
in the garage

puts coffee
and nicotene
into its foetal
mind shaft

and looks like
dr. syntax
up at dawn

with the
grey, plastic
martinis

ignore the machine

Scribbling Inside An Oversized Cup

toking on a soup pipe
with ortolan
the medusna bong
hasps its lickerish will
upon the men of rome

nagapotty is sad
three birds already
toked, three suns
already roasted
brisket still stiff

a coconut replaces
the victim's head
medusna lights herself
with a nautilian cube
and traverses its bed

going out into human traffic
spreads the fever of the ortolan
illegal brisket armor
your feathers are firewords
hollow bones tucked
between your upper lip
and gumbs

pan gets scary in winter
his pants made of ortolan ash
and the heavy yoke
keeps banging the barn

a thick sleep cavity
can't escape the bed
medusna accidents
the soup pipe's melody
through soup-like engines

rome is a dirty
nagapotty
and the ortolan
hang out in gangs
like drifts of snow

perfect purple salads
enter mirrored valleys
this is some waze zaway
downstream

these newer ortolan
are clay-holy jizzy beans
their flip top fire carburetors
eat suede, and the frosty blue
secrets of tin
are everywhere in their skin

a platinum fizz
crushing medusna's
wax bong head

where the litters
of tubercules
seat themselves
politely for the movie

Copulation Strategies