Sunday, July 31, 2011

A Review of Slice

by Lanny Quarles


Saturday, July 30, 2011

Gruff Weird Troubadour Fetish With Detachable String Plate.

following the young lady's eyes for a moment
their blank cipher of mums and sensual mass

i think of the wicked and ridiculous borg
taking mozart to a special cube of cake
piano chests winsome young instruments

i remember that if east germany fails
this young romanian woman

i'm not much interested in the gay love of poets
the technicalities for Jack Spicer, but only
will-power, character, that very large fallacy

we could carve a puma snake from mexican granite
sit in a cockpit pit naked our skin next to the hot stone
while sun passed low to back light the palms

your warm romanian slur
your charwoman journey's through stale
dank paris

yellow is not the color of thought
but the color of journalism and royal chinese

pretty variations
of Mozart chasing robot women
indecision in the face
the girls of eastern europe
as a voice to touch its phallus

the description of a fetish
is never the experience itself
Andre' Breton would take his clue from Deleuze
(Oh, these silly kids..)
This isn't my romanian girlfriend:

I would like to address where the work of Gilles Deleuze
can open up neglected issues in Romanticism. That is to say,
I would like to use Delueze to intervene in a particular figure
of Classic Romanticism: the figure of an interior self as constructed in poetry.

Vlad working at the Clorox factory in Georgia.
The Georgia of Eastern European Girl's English.

Southern English
and sexy Czech slurring.
No old bear's heads,
just the whole natural mistake of it
playing out

and the natural fetishes

the freckled girls
the red heads
the japanese women
the latvian girls

I'm just joking.
God is always a Mannered entity.
Look at {how} all religion is
at root

He tells us we must abandon all colors
sounds sensations and sensible experiences
to achieve the mystical view of life.

How did Jack Spicer come to rewrite or
rather think of bases loaded
and a player 'stealing' home

Plato's Phaedra
with enviable simplicity
attributes her own sensations
to the unknown universe

Martian Radio
my nipples harden
her cold breath on etched glass diagrams
the labyrinthine glass rocket
in its silo of cake
the rocket manse prison of the
mozart borg
chasing young hungarian hussies
through halls of glass holding
wriggling fish

fish-like notes of color
the slurring silence

this astral sarcophagus
of sexed cake
like green foam filling the ears

a baptism
in cymbals

the succubus grille-werke
we imagine SEMBORG

we take to absolute grey
our song
pure gallery grey

fetish chews its root
white hot chelicerae omen
now producing
of cloned borg

phalluses like reptile cinnabar

blue halo
blue halo replication

Friday, July 29, 2011

The Lack of Absolute Meaning Breeds Great Poetry

Imlac, would you call me?
Could you call me Imlac?
What might you call me?
What frail, what hale and ardored
would come to call, muezzin-trope,
or trop for blade, the grass
as singular, or such.

Come Imlac, and project your mad astronomy down
into fate's own disc-like color to fashion, this,
our whole mind together is a telescope
whose optical impedance goes disturbed
to the tilted load of image.

Imlac, our secret book like an untorn stomach
has the stars all tatooed upon
the tender lining:

ba-za: hagar
nəguś kəbur
za:ti nəgəśt kəbərt
'əllu nagaśt kəbura:n
bə'si za=qatal-əww-o la=wald-o
wald-a nəguś
səm-a mal'ak
səm-u la=neguś
wəsta hagar
Takal-a bə'si ʕətsʼ-a
'Ayya hagar ḥanaṣ-u
nəḥna ʾi-nəkl ḥawira

There is no uncertainty regarding
the continuance of reason
if there is no certainty
that it ever began..

All auto-volitionalities
lack the sanity of silent


Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Kerim Ragimov at Regina Gallery

This show isn't really all that interesting, but I had to share the midget bullfighting scene..

Assemblage Stuff

 Although I can hardly fail to appreciate the source mix, (I bought the Joan Mitchel book) and even what is being said, and in the spirit it is being said, John Latta, nonetheless, in a recent post on Joan Mitchell, takes what is essentially one of the juiciest morsels of continental literature, a morsel which used as a lens could elucidate the relationship of Continental philosophy to centuries of debate and discussion on the theory of the grotesque, and he throws it down on the card table like the golden ear of a statue for a four dollar bet in a poker game, and yet in that act itself, he recalls, among other things, a discussion like Ptolemy Tompkins has in _This Tree Grows out of Hell_, but here is the morsel from Deleuze’s  “On the Superiority of Anglo-American Literature":

The minimum real unit is not the word, the idea, the concept or the signifier, but the assemblage. It is always an assemblage that produces utterances. Utterances do not have at their cause a subject, which would act as a subject of enunciation, any more than they are related to subjects as subjects of utterances. The utterance is a product of an assemblage – which is always collective, which brings into play within us and outside us populations, multiplicities, territories, becomings, affects, events. The proper name does not designate a subject, but something which happens, at least between two terms which are not subjects, but agents, elements. Proper names are not names of persons, but of peoples and tribes, flora and fauna, military operations or typhoons, collectives, limited companies and production studios. The author is a subject of enunciation but the writer—who is not an author—is not. The writer invents assemblages starting from assemblages which have invented him, he makes one multiplicity pass into another.

Which makes me think, What does literature gain from forcibly ending, or rather by performing some kind of interruptus upon opacity's flow? And by that I mean, what is the meaning of the virtual rolelessness for the writer that Deleuze portrays? I think of those Aztec priests in the Springtime cutting with obsidian knives the sternum bones of male and female youth and drawing out the still beating heart, that assemblage par excellence, and that unashamed urge to reveal as image the actual enigma of a thing which cannot be named but only honored, or rather, shown. Indra Kagis McEwen interprets the ancient usage of the term techne as  'a letting appear', so then, like a hunting dog and mad bull, sniffed right to the reeking crack only to paw with head down at the import of its narrow way, Aztec (as techne_/ us/ it..

So I guess, in my country rat sort of way, "The minimum real unit is not the word, the idea, the concept or the signifier, but the assemblage." is the beating heart of a new theory of the grotesque, or the still-beating
heart of the old theory..

But so as not to cloud the subject with anything resembling a belief in objectivity, let's re-ruminate in the continental way, so as to make a kind of Aztec prayer for continuity. 

What kind of explanatory filler would I need to use to connect

The minimum real unit is not the word, the idea, the concept or the signifier, but the assemblage.It is always an assemblage that produces utterances. Utterances do not have at their cause a subject, which would act as a subject of enunciation, any more than they are related to subjects as subjects of utterances. The utterance is a product of an assemblage – which is always collective, which brings into play within us and outside us populations, multiplicities, territories, becomings, affects, events. 

to the Pythagorean claim that

"everything is intelligent"

which in my own weird sense of things points to a discussion of structuralism and the vicissitudes of aconceptuality ala deterritorialization, or rather displacement..

and as always dialectic. (Intelligence itself is a stupid idea.)

As we farm the plants, so are we being farmed by them

The structural and the conceptual, like two views of a single event frame.

The Grotesque then, as a minor literature in the Deleuzian sense, would be
the merging of those views, but that merging was accomplished long ago
as poetry, or is it art?

what part?

Oh tree
witch gross
f-rom h-ell

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Buck Hyderabad

Fux in flux
but no tux
no cigar
for bald nude
model of indecency

sam yogurt repair
sleep same nightly
on dare

enlarged flea helmet ability
chastened by sterile marquetry claims
on bona fide boner ledger

Tasty freeze dried pedal boat
you scrape the skin
but the flong duck floors
the gaping monocle
with mohair flipper gill lanterns
slapping gently
our snoring bladder art's

prodding curtains for the bag beast's return
a tedium
in dry


paper triangle,
if you are a kite,
you have lifted a heavy iron

on which the dahlia beast
mapping forkles

Monday, July 25, 2011

Gradus ad Parnassum


me jivix opayo,"
led Fux from
Il Transilvano
to the vampire of Venice

What is it to be naked?
A bag of snakes as species counterpoint?

Look upon Niggatiko:

He has burnt his hands
by grasping a lump.


Tycho Brahe lets go
& reveals a sacred absence,
and reaching out
forms the absence

like a burnt hand
grasping a lump

nasal vagina owl cross-talk
Athena hambone century
or gold-flake doggy-door celestinozzy

Isotope yammerbilly

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Roman Polanski's Morning

They are looney tunes, poetry,
a frame of Picasso's blue period
etched in azure glass and erected
in the lobby of a restaurant, edge-lit,
on a lonely Styrian isle, hedge-light to
Praha-hula-luna abh habna bhuna
nabh alha muhahl una labh lihuni
nihalbh bini bif hanalbh uhahalbhna bihabh
funi dufalfna

black tulip
canary island wanderer
memory loss
a good salad
beneath a spreading tree
and bazouki


preaching daybreak
to the night
and darkness at noon

lemons command the room
their wrinkled yellow eye-lids
a home to simple sugar igloos

snakes which end in thumbs
hold down a crystal disk

restaurant risk
our planktonic social bias
Roman dump

Saturday, July 23, 2011


he wakes the yang! (cold to you) [or young and high-formed]
and in the convertible, a string through the eye;
did you see her face? damaged, bewildened,
but you wanted to see her drive!
I'm a surfer. What happened?

I want to be a faun delirious
day and night
Frau-line Doktor in Pickelhaube helmet
meet the ladies' jeweled ladder tracheotomy

Marquesa di Morphina!
he wakes the yang! (charming girl)
now they get excited.
very nice. (eyes down)

you're a sadist

these mollities
young on young
pickelhaube cupola train
glass spike train
they screw under morphine
the glass dome as the car moves along
"Thank you, you may go."

As this
bream [AU]

head is removed
charcoal flowers up
the catastrophe about 9 foot tall
and about as wide
but only a single frame
a giant's head cooked to a cinder
then the Frau signalling along the beach
to the submarine.

Not as householders
our true and fevered "identity"


arms folded shallowly
looking down into clay pit crucible
dog thrashing

and dying from the gas
it enters
through our lesbian skin

of lies.
you. (furred gold)

like young penises,
the french
in their wavy armaments
learn to build frescoes

and you wait
for her shaking hands
to skin pop
the red denouement
of rubber devil summers

odd alpine interface with the dead
or beyond

in its shoes

i have a feeling
like a sheep doctor

Oh, you can out-stare me.

DUMB! he yelps
from the biplane, then
OW! as it crashes

Get down!
(or my caddy will see us)
baby deer carrying twin lyres
in a ssaddlle like harness

We Prussian summers
adamantine wolverine skeletons

|Paternal History|

Cleopatra, whose snake
has the head of a metal grasshopper
diamond dorsal feathers
and eyes of ovalbumen


Give them both an enema of the high court
waking life soldered in silver mud
to the viral candelabra
of many frozen
and terminated races

they live here only as records
and nobody studies their ways anymore
they are the outcasts of outcasts

[only gunfire can be heard]

abandoned kittens
shoe horn vivi secting earth worm
the squirming moments before plassonity

lute (lewd)

That's it.
Back to you, 
General Romanoff.


sick molecule magic
of undertow now practiced

the Baux tool furts
to many complexion

There are two planes of junction which unite, 
crossing each other, as in the mineral named 

or opera-facies
Non abo Vikriti
(cover your head! your eyes!)
opening the mouth to
rua ruah

mubboon! mubboon!

dark grunes
sporting hagrevilleas
with scarlet eyra

Felis yagouaroundi
all the year round
in a train-like-throne
of soundings

The Tanguy Piece Now...

Friday, July 22, 2011

The Ajivikas

Looking for google books by A.L. Basham, found this wonderful text on a lost Indian religion
whose founder has had many odd stories told about him. At one point, Basham relates
that the character of the founder had been reduced by the Jains and other historians to that
of a surly clown. Just seemed like a good line:

History had made of me a surly clown, and then I was forgotten... 
Ah, Gosala, the chao must chew its cud..

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Tame Lyric

kaffa the green head
for the manitude folds to aten
or nuas

kaffa nuance kebir
for kopfin e
or finey tu
this ^

in priming the temble down
feathered bauble
the bauble expands
enjoins the royalry
and depends for icon
in singing heats distend

efreet twinned
or glass frit ch'olden
glitch sign raised
the golden calf's bisected mold hold
they thin the capes
and dress the brandished snaky

cliche' now rumbled out
a torrent foreshortened
to antic gas

the interested plane
where meanings
tease out shammy after shammy
the green head's rod
given E to mispoil:

Through decibel windows

Thatched rhumours surfuse

Light’s cannibal cousin

Indexing long indistinguishable

Pauses before the aftermath’s

Strange throne

Puffed black cotton cup for

Cold heavy coal

Albino filament’s simple

Inward expanse

The replicating bow string’s

Contour ear

On sting

Or pushed without warning

Into rushing pages

Mixed by immense turbines

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Negative Resist

Downy Mutella, if we see cool Spring days atop
extruded butter walls, if we see Francisco Goya
a hominy to the terminus of carnival, crystal prison they made
for signals in gnostic arsenide, or gallic gallium gone to gallant ends
all round the probe, Telluride in painting, then, then, Conestoga again,
the articulating Herpetological Vexillology, to wit, "Do not tread on me..",
but writ as a machine, writ as a prairie train, hauling freak cactus
to libertarian laboratories, or whatever, rasa bona hyla phona,
cybernetic vexatives upon the imperium of the hand, triode nodolondo
for the sussurum of brimming plumb, the dumb finality of orthogonal
logophthalium, most live things a plus to themselves but not much
to others, or all, and neither much all told, the root of knowledge's
own sigh, the sigh of self silly ruin, and the desired oblivion, or walk
anywhere aling a long line at XCM> There were only bad choices.

Downy Motilla,
cotton air shirt thing

too huge
the giant rotten skull
too strange the incessant
soldiering surface

Short History
of Existentialism

Wretching return
gag reflex

Gog reflux

Pedal yawn.


Pelican Friends by Corporal Robot Lips

something sent from J.D. Nelson

Terrible Wad To Tow The Lessening Sink

possible construction of wing
among the lines of the odd creature
sphinx for grizzled chin no
box-jawed lantern no

delicately the lines flash by
the unseen etheric maybe
and if the cup
of the central knot is lifted

central shaft antenna
caduceus tent inflation
cirque du cnc
argent  sphinx
signals to charactery

Thursday, July 14, 2011

There is Peace Among The Tragic Decibels


whose Frankenstate forgot
the slippers
the candle

and tassle

but here is the bat
in the belfry-like school
all the henry moore chalkboards

to the caress of soft terrycloth
glove erasers
nature or nurture
erasure rascible crucible for
monkey hole up in a Laredo canteen

Doctor Albiogenesis
doing wikiscratch
the leaks do to ESD

Noggin-Naga do Rumba "headlines"
alfa dog I got hymnoroids now

let them be the silent defiant snow forever
while I'm trapped in Princess Saniflush's

just set up the sticky-bling launchers

A wooly mammoth
with a gold toof

Aubergyne Tesla

starts out across a frozen tundra
aluminum comb plates reasoning
air shocks

Arcimboldo paints Zeus
as a legal Lord's felled still-life pheasant haul
whose head, though, is the one
single inside out geode
discovered on the property
with its own self-determining

In Vienna
at the Technological Institute
a cold rain
in arch ceramic

the printed circuit remains
as even the flames
are diagrams

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Emoticon Slippers.

Touching and linking, then touching somewhere else, seems almost to be the blood within the body of discursivity, discursivity itself the palping form of syntaxis' a(b)[p]-proprioception within the oracular indexical
function-selection or "approach" as philosophical categoricon, inter-textuality the pattern-heart(h) filter selector of path-breaking, the ensue of L. I like the way Daniel Tiffany returns to a discussion of Lacan's use of Aristotle's  tuche' and automaton and reminds us of it's origin in Roger Callois, but hear the echoes with something I wrote about the Carbolic show, tuche' is usually translated as fate, but Lacan calls it "the encounter with the real," which as any reader of Jellybean Weirdo knows is the ~heilectyrical fyrthang~ [the fang], or mathematical hyper-subjectivity of any given nested agency's agency, the Masonic [G] as hyperbolic materiality ie "the actual", because complexity here is de-banalized, hence, poeticized, knowledge being the oracular blowtorch cutting through the layers of determination into the reverberational singularity and its sense as a mystical flatness or n-finite machinity. Automaton is rendered by Lacan as chance. It has a certain grace to it like Indra Kagis-McEwen's translation of the old greek term techne as "a letting appear" which as any reader of continental philosophy will hear, a solid echo with D&G, and strangely with the Old Buddhist theologies of  the gunas or layers here rendered as schitzoanalytic "series".. The perfect soundtrack for the actuation of the material in this case has to be the master tabla player, Zakir Hussain, whose articulation of the temporal into the physical is a literalized touching, a "moment touching" and finds the purest irronic perception of Lacan's tuche'...

tabbed view;
I rest my case.  

Monday, July 11, 2011

The Baroque Unity of Aesthetic and Anti-Aesthetics into the Pluromal Grotesque

Not sure about all the particulars of why I like this kind of German curatorial eclecticism, but I do. I guess a lot of it has to do not so much with affinities, but with a kind of artistic concern itself, the simple notion of contrast, if that's simple, and perhaps most supremely, is the way a show like this intimates the locus of geometric abstraction and minimalism squarely within the purvey of the historical hysterical world of something like Wolfgang Kayser's grotesque also making those larger connections to philosophical discourse like Alain Badiou's 'ontology as mathematics' which is more or less if you "get it" the Masonic [G] hermeneutic'd as Geometry or really as a kind of nod to the subjectivity of experience writ as discrete coordinates which also links in to things like Post-structuralism or Do we speak language or does language speak us, but writ as Do we actively create experience, or does Experience sort of make us an analog of victim, etc.. At this point, all language collapses into the total pluroma of semiosis.. at any rate. I though this show looked rather good, and had a good selection from artists I love like Frank Nitsche, Andre' Butzer, Kara Walker, and Haluk Akakçe.

At any rate, enjoy a look at

Carbonic Anhydride

Oudenarder Straße 16-20
September 28 - November 11, 2006

at the Galerie Max Hetzler

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Italy: Ancient sarcophagus unearthed near Rome - Adnkronos CultureAndMedia

Italy: Ancient sarcophagus unearthed near Rome - Adnkronos CultureAndMedia

note the caduceus used as a ritual implement
or is that a bagel skewer?
and the viper as well as the ritual baguettes!

The serpentine nimbus of the male voluptuary is also quite nice,
or is it focaccia stix?

Egypt's Antiquities Authority Says 5,200 Year-Old Ancient Drawing Unearthed South of Aswan

Egypt's Antiquities Authority Says 5,200 Year-Old Ancient Drawing Unearthed South of Aswan

I Dub Thee~ Sir Strawberry Corbu, Modernist Porch Lizard.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

ran wie Blücher, Beaumont, Masque, Inner, Temple...

pity prinks a petty bell
newcomer you fade upon the engender
of material science
how honk the father brave stainless steel spheres
how cold the mother bow
to the secret gong in the garden

on a bench
in a low wood
a wood which follows
a low and snaking hill
onna binge

the hymn to terracotta
red odalisques their cadmiumspyme
cactus dorsal mohawks
neon prick fence, their
tiny barrel nipple cactus


narrative to unlock
the padding feet
honey, there's someone in the house

strong arm

looking up that
in the warm sun
brown skin
red skin


we grow gazelles
in speed lotion

i found a cat's hairball
stuffed with huge tick bodies
now flattened
like deflated cartoon brains

just a little turd of hair
a cigar
and jaunty the whoopy-cushion tick-brains
thrown in all willy-nilly
the fart gone out of them

of the gnostic

I remember you
sweet Australopithecus

you adapted
to hands of gushing grass
and screams through
lightning eyeballs of
branching laughter

seeds scattered
to prophecy


An Entreat:

Vocatur Le Groyne

they lay the groat and throat together
like children to see if they will play with each other

one flemmishing the pfennig
while the other one
thicks the serpentine
with grochau..

Silesia looks marvelous this time of year,
the groot plaid mold abacks the timbern-zole,
and the fine upstart idiot puts in his lot with
Hugo Grotius, International Law, and whatever else
happens to fall in his lap, a fondue pot
with a picture on the side of a long lost airport.

random expositor
of baggage.

Sherlock Could Not Determine How Watson Died.

a polngu nose's bridal veil
with strawberry lodged into
the cavity where its tooth
broked step could usher
cold swift facile singing
among the ripped and harried

delphi blip wannabe
volkswagon admiral hat

swing chain timing
linkage weep slipped

now framing again
its crunch bug fete sea trancer

How depressing is Goliad?

And Song

The women hate you.
The wine is rotten, and
the song

is some pale screeching along a section
of forgotten glass

a severed finger stuck with dried blood to a sill
as if crooked into a scratch


Friday, July 8, 2011

Schlupping Faun Pawns Through Hollow Noodle Arrays




its soft purple head
the sky or gorund
makapanny torump

monkey hand say


fuss fur

give them good slap
them hoss dangling meaty bees

hop sing donkey



the dragon can't dance
all o' we is one

hiss noise
hole day


Thursday, July 7, 2011

Leery, The Rays Like Leaves...


facile the tiniest steps
ascend the rippling still and
rigid edifice
and somewhere upon that massive pring
the mango
attends the butterfly
in an unplanned whorl of architectonics
the blind cat finds its perch

furred pearl you
replicate a caution cavern

hyle twitches
and makes plans

we all see
the silent hallway
before and beyond

what will
what wills
will in fact
be considered


Lea Zone [reason]:

luminous finial
the cephalophore's
aching orner


meine holy nagna arethusa

Maholy Nagy

Voluptas et Argos (Like Schopenhauer to Shenstone)

its downward facing face
the lips made by mortaring sherds around a hole
in an antic grimace
the six ritual sage plants
in the emblem of a lamp
and the dripping of the sleeper's mouth
dream to rim a keyhole
inscription, inscription, inscription

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Saturday, July 2, 2011


ATLAS V (WGS-2), AV-016, 4 April 2009
On 4 April 2009 (8:31 p.m. on 3 April 2009 in local time), an ATLAS V 421 launch
vehicle equipped with a four-meter-diameter payload fairing, two SRBs, and a single-engine
CENTAUR upper stage lifted off Complex 41 successfully. The mission was designed to place
the second Wideband Global SATCOM spacecraft (WGS-2) in a geosynchronous transfer orbit.
Boeing Satellite Systems was under contract to build a total of six WGS spacecraft based on the
Boeing 702 satellite platform.
The new satellites were built and orbited to offset the eventual
decline of America‘s Defense Satellite Communications System III (DSCS III) constellation.
They also complemented DSCS III Service Life Enhancement Program (SLEP) spacecraft. Each
of the newer WGS-2 satellites supplied more than 10 times the capacity of instantaneous
bandwidth (e.g., 4.875 gigahertz) than the older DSCS III SLEP spacecraft. According to the
flight scenario, the ATLAS V rolled into a flight azimuth of 93.17 degrees. The flight featured
two CENTAUR burn phases, and the spacecraft separated successfully approximately half an
hour after lift-off. The  WGS-2 weighed approximately 13,000 pounds at lift-off, but a
considerable amount of onboard fuel was expended getting the satellite into its 22,300-mile-high
geosynchronous orbit. Consequently, the spacecraft‘s  mass  dropped to just 7,600 pounds onorbit.   Following a transition period, the  constellation of  six, new, fully-operational WGS
spacecraft would replace the old DSCS III constellation around 2013.
On 9 April 2008, Eastern Range officials approved the WGS-2 launch for 6 August
2008, but the mission moved into indefinite status shortly thereafter. A new launch date of 11
October 2008 was requested on 27 May 2008, and officials approved it in early June 2008. The
mission continued to see-saw back and forth between indefinite status and new launch dates over
the next nine months as planners continued to wrestle with technical issues. In the meantime,
however, technicians and engineers managed to erect the ATLAS V booster on its stand on 27
June 2008. The two SRBs were attached to the ATLAS V on 2 July 2008, and engineers erected
the CENTAUR upper stage one week later. Officials completed a Launch Vehicle Readiness
Test on 14 July, and they wrapped up a Wet Dress Rehearsal on 8 October 2008. The spacecraft
45 SW History, 1 Jan  – 31  Dec 2007, Vol I, p 88; News Release, ULA, ―United Launch Alliance Atlas V
Successfully Launches NRO Satellite,‖ 10 Dec 2007.
The first WGS-2 satellite was designated WGS-2 (F-1), and it was launched aboard an ATLAS V from Complex
41 on 11 October 2007. Each satellite cost approximately $350 million. Those satellites launched on ATLAS V
vehicles were designated WGS-2 spacecraft. Other WGS satellites  – earmarked for DELTA IV missions  – were
designated WGS-3 spacecraft.
45 SW History, 1 Jan – 31 Dec 2009, Vol I, pp 95, 96; Justin Ray, ―Atlas 5 rocket successfully launches military
satellite,‖, 3 Apr 2009; 45 SW Public Affairs, ―New satellite will grow warfighter capabilities,‖
45th Space Wing Missileer, 10 Apr 2009; News Release, Boeing, ―Boeing-Built Satellite WGS-2 Sends 1st Signals
From Space,‖ 6 Apr 09; Fact Sheet, ―Wideband Global SATCOM Satellite,‖, Feb 2010.37
was encapsulated on 25 February 2009, and engineers mated the spacecraft to the launch vehicle
on 4 March 2009. Officials completed the Spacecraft/Launch Vehicle Integrated Test on 6 March
2009. They anticipated a tentative launch date  of 17 March 2009, assuming the Space Shuttle
Discovery’s STS-119 countdown went on 15 March 2009.
Following Discovery’s successful lift-off from Complex 39A, preparations for the WGS-
2 flight got underway on 17 March 2009. Unfortunately, a valve on the CENTAUR upper stage
sprang a leak during fueling operations, and the ATLAS V launch was scrubbed at 2349Z on 18
March 2009. Officials approved a new launch date of 1 April 2009, pending determination of the
root cause for the valve malfunction and proper corrective action. The countdown slipped to 3
April 2009 a few days later. There were no unplanned holds during the countdown, and the
ATLAS V lifted off without incident at 0031:00.233Z on 4 April 2009. The mission was

Friday, July 1, 2011

Mary Fruitskin's Canny Mitts.

It is more than words. [mort mot]

It is the death of the author. [mouth mowed]

The same idea is present everywhere. [moot merde]

How do we market our marks? [murk]

How many people has it killed? [meat]

Are there teams in the tomb? [tome mote]

How is it reproduced? [mute mates meeting]

What is more profitable than learning? [nightmares of the moor]

What are they saying? [moth's motto: maintain moth, move]

Is your mother a word beast? [mot-ther]
Is your father a song beast? [fa (lala)-ther]

Word. [drome]
morte ^tale
'eat and rome'

pastoralism aka
is put out
to pasture

"He comes to me with another letter,
and a face as long as the sea..."

Beckon Its Frame.

it will trill high

along the wire

the line itself is moving

and within the hour

told them
told them up
where the escarpment looked out alone
or a massif
with only the single abode
a discus or shelf
hanging out from raw muscle

in the drafts of its being
spaces where dances could come
the bending of the fruit
to the plot
of the filling
and pads

axle holds mirror

or if the trees that were planted there
slowly came inside
as the building opened
or grew

the whole view

a saucer large enough
for a hundred birds at a time

as if for sun
the emblem had
a gentle thrashing

water to beckon
its frame
for holding.