Thursday, September 29, 2011

Avec trois nez et trois pipes, le détective malades ancienne erré, en reniflant. «Voici la guitare comme une bouteille de cuir sur lequel je joue le désert du Sahara. Rien à boire à l'intérieur. Rien à boire. Rien. J'ai suivi cette histoire à la fois jour et nuit, et surtout, il ya une élégance émoussé, encore adoucie, la forme, à être révélé. L'élégance monstrueuse avec laquelle la nuit s'estompe dans l'obscurité est donnée sous forme palpable par des routes qui montent vers le ciel et réaliser le long de ces machines d'auto-illumination. J'ai conjoindre avec auto-foudre. Lorsque l'agrandit halo et se révèle comme une bouche, le corps se révèle comme une langue, et collé-out, pour ainsi dire. "

Wednesday, September 28, 2011


The wire we found was rotted through. I wonder about the reality of things, but usually the message is that things and people (in their lies) are wondering about the reality of me. I'm saying, "Hey man (woman), my hands are up.. Yes, I can hit the ball back, but my sides are sore. I want to know what is happening inside me. Both the literal and the figural are things which elude." I take a small drink and with a flash know that I am alleviating my well-groomed coffee addiction with a slightly less well-groomed alcohol caprice. Sometimes, I also think, most of culture is about a process of lying. There's a message behind the lie. "I'm in this prison of lies and silence, and it makes me not like you anymore." All these things seem unspeakably boring. I think upon the donkey. I think of how just this simple quiet f(a)un could be made to burst forth and conquer a thousand peoples at once. This is easy shit. Look at how dull and pathetic it is, bombers low to the ground carrying mass communities of flies in tight-skinned giant golems of panty hose, They float ominously down like spirits in comas and settle softly to release the plague of classicism. Painted boxes of broken pottery. It says on the side: We deliver! Only those that can't dance themselves cheer the dancer? No. Dancing is the eternal child beyond all determination. We are determined to foul your array, to split and demagnetize your syntaxitron. We'll have you crying at your dead grandmother's feet by noon. Nobody cares in the rainforest. Caring about this is against the law. I've used my dick a lot. There are churches. I'd use it more, but I don't want all my time to be spent in houses that feel like stopped-up noses. I need something like mystery and Spain, and you send me back to Seven Eleven for more Mexican beer. Who are you, and how did you get in my bankbook with all those t-shirt designs? There are unbelievably gross and retarded people in there. I hate saying that, but how dense and painful does the world need to be? I don't judge things at all, but what do things want looking like this all the time? What does the goddamn world want? I'm sick of trying to listen to all the crackling and screeching. To find the message is like having to pick the kernals out of the turd one by one and line them up, then make a model of their "positionality".. If man is blind, and made from masa, then all that says is that the religion of the grotesque is universal and old, and we are all members of the Dirteater family. Bull-leaping in the Augean meme-jar-din. Like Roberto Bolaño says in Tres, "Our own shit is eating us." You see how he interrupts the circuit between Stendahl and 'tile junkie'.. He knew Stendahl liked rough teevee. You see the connection he makes between Thomas DeQuincey and Revolution. "It's a mark." Revolution is the opiate of the m)asses.. Revolution is hiding and dying...

Monday, September 26, 2011

A Mushroom For My Dorothy Said Terence.

for a prophecy of
this Dorothy
and toto
says DeQuincey

we are ordinary folks
not Terence McKenna
listening down into the cosmic
fungus brain

Dorothy is fungus.
Dorothy is fungus.
Dorothy is purple stagshorn computation
and nothing very ordinary
ever happened anywhere, for all

is spotted dick,
toto guitar
sex thrills and sunbathing
the true body
mycelial and immortal
suffers in ecstasy from sea blasts
covered in furze and broom

high velocity particles squirt out
like glitter lasers
from the blowholes which flank
your joints

to exalt by humble faith
yeah yeah yeah
Terence McKenna
found a mushroom which said
I am older than thought in your species

Dorothy and toto too
wild things grew in vertical
upright aquariums


would hang out with low people
in Racedown and Alfoxden
and pretend to learn something interesting

thinking all the while
of studio 54
and what it thrill

Oh collective green
this Turban hideaway of glass

our seed
our spore
our dust disc medley

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Red Buttle, We Spy Thee Stuffing Your Wheat Collar..

are the twin logics
of the vestibule

one ascending in darkness
the other falling back
into light

soft yarage for the groundling
and bulloes for an inside
its damascene eye
meteor amidst the clapping

all wild in cities
the bodies
peak the furcula
with wouhlechung

fright peg slippers
the peeweep waves under solo

drone lands
to camouflage the star runchies
freckened to beyond

fredon mage fate flat
inferior pepo
of dogged sucking yarrum

with cold black pearls for eyes
come hollow into this music's
abrax sarpis arbor

a meld for indehiscent
and reniform plumicorns
pulsing on the crown
of the truglodyne

Friday, September 23, 2011

El Cellphone's Water Cannon

he was like a little white child
with eloi hair
a blonde afro
a ringlet bomb

if you'd sucked the helium
out of his skull
all that would be left
might be an empty trawler

bumpy like a crab
and pink like a carnival ride

you can replace the softest and most erotic parts
of any human with a crab part
and suddenly you'd be privy
to the secret of celebrity

blocks of quivering sperm
like jello
sit on the docks for days spoiling
until a little man with a hose comes by
and washes them off

you can image
blowing a hole
in a big cube of taupe colored jelly
with a high pressure water hose

you can imagine that scene taking place
inside a sombrero
worn by your lover
in a pink suit (no crab parts in evidence)

Have Mercy Baby

pets that capture your heart
like the hairy albino longbean

its black scarf
the perfect evidence
of avant-garde treatments

its candy glass switchblade
audible unborn
to terrible timings


the world pet
like ornery grandma
she walks off senile
balls between her toes
nail gun at the ready

most pets
you feel sorry for people
who have to work in a submarine
the sharks
the real business people
that have to track and hunt down
every single meal

and they aren't stopping off
in a little cafe' to paint their toenails
their teeth are ripping through the gumbs

like a filth devourer
is hearty and futile
and like a shark
to grow
it must hunt
and track down every color
of toenail polish

poodle shark
gives a bouquet
of banal sex
to cretin garr bone



ius cannot be exactly translated from latin into english.



Nose veiled in pussy?

Nosse, velle, posse (infinitum)?

Sleep trickles to the ear, and the sore back tends to the ageless lambing.

Law? Right? Reason?

Nature takes juice.

And columns of groaning muscle

bask in the sunset.

We peer as through a lens at the created and uncreated world.

We peer at juice.

We are aquilegas, discerners of water.

In the npwEs (nose)

one finds the viri (man)...

Within the civil we have founded

its own outside, as return, de rerun Naturae:

O Marvelous Venus

there are balloon octopui on our backs

Nil fieri ex nihilo, in nihilum nil posse reverti

Thursday, September 22, 2011


Untitled from Dafna Maimon on Vimeo.

El Culophone and Chew-Pee...

El Cellphone,
Why do hatchet-faced mens twist penguins
like lemons into the knickers?

the knickers are fast, long as a mountain
in wind and a burro goes there
like an accordion of squid-salamander skin,
like a skull whose body (the metro-burro)

is the clacking castanet head
of El Medusina..

El Medicina?

Gooey Duck.
Ding Dong.
Heteroclite Pump.

Snake jawed cast a net?


Indra rides a burro
down into the mine of balls
where he finds an old head
stinking like feet.

Sea. Feat?


El Cellphone.
Why do the poor manufacture more of themselves?

Because they are wily like the burro.
A burro will wander for years have enough food, do all the right things
to stay alive. He can find food, shelter, water, living is easy for the burro
because he is wily. She is wily.

But when the burro sees another burro doing anything, he becomes stubborn.
He would rather die than let the other burro learn anything new.

The burro is altogether
and stubborn.

But not Medusina?

No, Medusina
is like a twisted penguin
in my knickers.

She's like two-dollars
at a football game
where the beer is $2.10.

She has a big snake in her knickers
and knows right where to stick it.

She'll stick a snake
right up your burro!

The Passion of Anna Amathiemiasthai

at bottom (en bythoi)
as the agent who removes
the nous

noise from the puppy

at bottom
jooooce (ljus)

this image (mathesis)
to remove both good sense
and drunkeness (languaged circularity)

sophon as soft faun

itself a puppy

all the enthusiasmos
but never knowing
whenceforth it came

noose / nous

en bythoi
(at bottom)


all together
set apart
(panton kechorismenon)

while gathering simple pinecones one day

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Golden Foil

O billow, pillowed bodies
to the heir entrance a dyne
whole mondoi or monody exploded

Lord Monboddo
eyes replaced by augury's oil
aurum and toil to commence

tipped appeal
putting pear for tower
where pearl could perform
the whole heel
as the soft white titanium shoe
moves molten through
faun filters

Lord Monboddo
as each explain
see how its brain under vacuum glass
secretes a patterned sweat

and if snake or reeds
they give more of same
the marks
the gnarlish wedding
of the inkpot
to the throat-stringed cloud

harps as propeller blades
to lift the pillared jar
as pillowed bodies
march up
and into dread

and pass through
its true regality
is a flag
which flaps from a narrow slit
and may retract

that's the end
of it

tongue terminus terran fault line becoming

pi for conic aureum
takes compact bodies to integer


is burnished
by learned suppers

half faces to ward
the tasting leaves
should spread
an innocent day

ring torment
its bed

a halcyon siren construct

gilled suns
in stemless lotus

Monday, September 19, 2011

Prank Hole

to knock forlorn in the neighbor
its discourse engine too rare
the poem describes procession

knock knock knock
on the oversized head
the face-plate Venetian

as if in a figure
of eight

horses following horses
to the storm

nay wlat electrone

the trumpet
and cloud
the white brass eye

the shattered arc
of milk walls

seep single
oak oobit
and measure
the autonomous
if ever green
hand bottles
are all wan
warm worm and
they could telescope
before any water

silk divers
to wound ear

within the emblem's structure

carry on


the caravan of pugilists
keep kippers
in a cup

Friday, September 16, 2011

The Bunkum Squad Reveals a Faulty Seal

tremendous bassoon ratchett
for imix transform
the dual pink tapir snout
shifted back
'til sea lion mohawk
the flabby supple
external clitoral brain analogue

cobra hood eye opened
and made unto sail
to carry the colonial
pony tale

one if by land
and two if by sea
and three if from Mu
with a drilling machine

swap the sexy between the Morlox
and the Eloi
and suddenly

John Wayne
sits regally
the Caliph of all Ages
surrounded by his royal guard
of Bjorn Borg clones

looking sheepish

and the whole palace
is like a fantastic log cabin
but the logs are all covered
with precisely
and close cropped green grass
and Medusa wanders there

her eyes
like luminous tennis balls
her breasts heavy
with tiny transparent volkswagons
driven by Popeye tadpoles
with swee' pea flipper blanket foreskin

all for the reason
an ear of corn
carved from lavender jade

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Dingo Small Yanamanon.

how come your titty
is like a big brown thumb?

how come the mountain
grey brain dumb?

final jeopardy.
hard on.

do you wander in prehensile

do you gander
where miniscule ducks
enact a flaming beard
of meat robotic decibel.
the truth.

namasmarana van sant:

or let a single name
be it cellphone or coochie
dwell in our speech-
such is ausvildsterity...

when white planets open harpoon grooming huts,

Friday, September 9, 2011

Tribelous Lesion

Summer trills the top
where the world form crosses
its spin by oblivion's welling

creamed daylight
to the beckoning face

o weary thorn
whose screeching whip
the white antenna noisomes
in the pit

young skin so tenderly milked
its thistle path
the brine of wine and tears

come closer
sacred rome

for one eye dangles
from the loam
the sky
and the author

nothing homely
but homely
side shelf its pure radiance
the klaxon matheme arcs
the unknown substance

hyle to the green grass
hyle to the wind mowing formlessness

some synder sly to the roof string getaway
smoke supple spirit
of the mystery constant

wystic foo marl

Laytron Hisses On The Image (Agora-Other)

to the alligators
who inhabit
the fountain

an aristocratic
with the eyes
of a moth
and a saddle
made from a dictionary
opened upon

or minasragrite

Mardyx Comme Blas


the iron throat worm recluse's
wonder house
float stone

where magnet bends meal
light cubes caution
its maternal est nest
or gland brother's
jade hominy-washing bubble yolk

thin toy avenue of sweat
if toose the kill-bride's ivory talent chin
her pure nails
like tongues

cold conch monocle
the eye hiding
dolphin penis caesar

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

A Green Hat


the jungle passage
that leads down to the beach
in the sight of hollow

leibniz watching a puppet
monadology and nomadology
consistently molecular
the strings and stirrings
of chimerasty


the jungle passage
that leads down to the beach
in the sight of hollow

oviri vivid vahvo
faaturuma, natürlich

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Ping Pong?

in the night, the voices return:

two images of human happiness stare at each other,
as through a two-way mirror.

1. taking snapshots of happy beach-side days, the human being, or family
sits before the great mother's oceanic body, relaxing in a vision of surfaces.
what is there to do but bathe in a four billion year old enigma?

2. fascism. all things return to both violence and organization, the body
relaxing in a vision of surfaces. when sympathetic cells reach their peak
organization, their energy continues on as culture, literature, or violence.

in the day, the voices retract.

cars move upon the road.
towels lay wet in the basin.

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Mong To Mand: Trub Toom Mala Bidogo, Homme Nidogo Imsulu Ingo

in the ever increasing wind
the dour dog had begun to howl
but the sound now mixed in through the window
had become something stranger
an improbable foot
dragging a horn-like titular bell
an apocalyptic and chiliastic vision
of the instrument
as a random bleakness
a conkatanon

green muscular shell throat
whose pearl alveoli
the hollow commentary
irritation into smoothness
howl mixed by wind and window
the wound of loneliness
the bereft howl whose loneliness
is the wishing for meaning
or its absense




eye-stinging before the golden idol
its arsenic make-up the silver masque
of subtle hands

upon my eyes

dry and olive river
your submerged cornea
the wrinkled diamond mand

nif bihul mihot
nof gut mifuti siful no miboof

side flutes stain the snouth
the fall approaching
for cloud puppet's heavy water ingo

to unifrom ingo teth
ingo teth the calibra flouta

cammermeine main
nay ma

Minoa Teth Neshax

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Wild Wet Maiden, Your Great-Thumb So Green Above The Aloe Groan..

goodbye summer kiss
the rising chains of harmony~ bliss

watermelon launching with velvet saddles
the cool green liquid monkeys
and their terracotta cellphone pants

playing chess in a tree
with a cool green liquid monkey
whose schitzopodal cacti-cyclopian

goodbye summer kiss
the rising chains of harmony ~bliss

girl with two canteloupes in her frock
is singing through a shimmering bone
playing terracotta staircase notes on a


like a snickering bandito above the waist
reveals its fishnet stockings

silver werewolf eel
like a wave of shaggy silver trinkets
millions of summers and kisses
and harmonies
all interlaid
in the winnowing banjo's
smammoth western

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Friend Program, Cornea Cornerstone The Throatling Girl

sour eden puppetry
to the hole

continents of silent mint
for their monastic exuberance

tipped by tea
to underwater miniatures
a feeling

something happened
by an old barn

its being inside a horse
vanitas and hubris overcome
thy rod and thy staff
discomfort me


hock red granite
wilds of soft purple

Albino No Knees A Doggie O

for the yum anniversary project
dinner plates drilled for masks
black spaghetti shooting out the eye holes
then become
black onyx arrows




brass staircase up to the green felt cabinet
where the killing tusks are kept
whose scrimshaum naum

flaum wone homble den coulomb

curth corp
its fallen shell behind
a windowed grove

a sky blue glove hand
to lead the air

air over the sparlking l'and

o give this grey frost monkey boulevard
howl for the yummy anniversary project

dinner plates drilled for loinclothes

crotchless dinner plate masks
green oil
in shot glass