Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Hail Hydra! That Foam Snake of the Air..

If the soul’s swift snake
that faith has given her
for the beard faith reserves,
so that by flying with them
she may ascend
to the fang of glory;
if grace achieves
heaven and they occupy the sea,
since they are so great
that the snake will produce most beautiful,
that they will produce most pure,
oh, blessed be their feathers
that fly and glow
through the vastness of stars,
mountains of foam!

At once snake and bean
with white and black feathers,
let them be snails and wrythings;
you fly through gulfs, glow the heavens.
Fly, snake, and of the air,
you dwell in multiplicity,
for, hungry for splendors,
you make the sun so great your gaol.
Glow, beansnakefang, for you possess
the felicitous north star that may lead
to the port of hope,
that generous faith of yours.
Fly, then, gloriously,
extending your fortune; tune forked,
a noust will it build among the stars,
adding many more to heaven.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012


Monday, February 27, 2012

Coupling (Formagliars) Nobject Diatrope (Occutropation)


The Real Housewives of Atlantis

Metus or Phystic
Both significantly thoughtless
Tattooed by the forces
Of liquid green magnets

In all these amorphous blob-like rooms
There is a yellow color
And an odor of sweetness
And certain beings enter
Bringing with them cascades of objects
Arranged in ordered but fluid confederation..

Are they tiny platinum ingots?
Are they lottery ingots?

J.J. Boissard hosts the show,
And each week he begins in the nude
Except for the presence of an Etruscan cowboy hat.

He stands between two enormous urns
Like eyeballs facing the heavens
And on their sides are written the words, one word
On each urn: KAKON, and NOVAK,
And there is also a gorgon’s eye on each.

In the distance is a little village,
But we are in a peach orchard.

The show always begins rather arbitrarily.
We are joyous, and all riding enormous luminous blue eels
In the great chthonic depths of the ocean,
And the deeper we go, the more the depths
Become suffused with an inky periwinkle light,
And we ride on to the source, a cool, magnificent
Undersea sun of analogium.

The Real Housewives of Atlantis join us there, but they only have a single husband,
Sad old Thomas Macho dressed up like Poseidon, his quill pen
Like a milky shadow cast on the face of a transparent cherub bubble.

Thomas Macho says,

Welcome to the holy;
For Est
For Infans
For Anfons spricht in actu

(his elbows each are mermaid caves)

Echoing the usual domestic setting.

A clutch of lovely housewives hanging out
Near the entrance of a cave, over which reads


platinum ingots hover in ordered yet loosely
polarizable conferderation

Having no work to do is not the nobject.
Making work where none exists is not the nobject.

To the husbandry of houses:


Friday, February 24, 2012

Avenue of the Crenellated Mermaid Leaf

I found my own heart disturbingly closed
But humourously so
Because my own true crimson brain
Was a brain of lava
Its veins of fire contained the thinkings
Of the ages

A puppy drowned
And was found
By an old woman
Who did not mind the algae
On her hands

And whose song was lyrical
And sad
Inside the puppy
Had been the whole green earth
The supernova of brain and mind and love (infinite love)
Some transgression
And a tea

I began to open my heart
And out popped Medusa’s head
Her snakes replaced by strings of sausages
And her demeanor like that of Scrooge
On Christmas morning
But how the little stone children carrying geese
Do pile up.

Oh Pandora! Your teeth whose tiny feet
are pink as alabaster and fragrant as soap..

Oh how I wish to wrap your fragrant soapy stone teeth
In my purple batwings, and monogram your heart
With glow-in-the-dark floss.

I found my own hurt.
I did not like it to hurt, but it hurt very badly.
Algae, bra, is lyrical, just as the absolute
Must be combinative.

Venus wearing clamshells
As ornamental knee pads.

Drinking tulsi tea
From a sea shell
And being in love.

Pandora and me,
And Romantic Abstraction
And the supernova lava brain.

goofing on Schlegel and Caspar Wolf (And Romantic Digital Irony)

I'm tracing the regular roots of Surrealism back through Symbolism to the Romantic, and especially to F. Schlegel. In this image I am concerned to use the techniques of both symbolism (landscape as a symbol-avatar of data) and the construction of the landscape visually as indicative of visionary Surrealism. Whereas in works like Caspar Wolf produced, there is presented a Romantic Naturalism, in this work, Naturalism becomes restated as a representation of memic subjectivity as represented by the digital, whose "exegenesis"
would include things like Bruno Latour's Empirical Metaphyics and Actor-Network Theory (ANT). In my own "Irronic" version of Schlegelian 'Witz', the anthropomorphic figural element in the composition echoes ironically the actual term "ant" which echoes my post-telic anthropological concept of "Syntaxis", a term whose meaning is Essay in Latin, but is also of the same format as is used in Entomological studies related to insect / animal perception / conception. The bridgeform also relates to the architectonics of the copula as represented by things like "The Holy Pontiff" which comes from pontifex or bridge builder. As religion is reduced to worshiping language, so is language reduced to stucturality, the copula becoming cognate with bridges and liminality, things like the river styx. Instead of Error, we find a universal portal to multiple worldings, also cognate with Bruno's Empirical Metaphysics. Also, there is a translation, transmutation, of the mind / body unity extant in the occult roots of R/S/S, a mind body unity cognate to an 'Empirical dialecticism' of the material-virtual rendered classical by Heraclitan / Socratic epiphenomenalism. This Socratic-Romantic connection was also made explicit by Schlegel in terms of Irony. In this instance we found a further instance, perhaps, of Ironic species, namely Dialectical Irony which is perhaps only a restating of ANT, or Memics in general, or more probably a way, or bridge of translation onto the concerted stage of Evolutionary theory via some modulus of Biological Fitness, or better Biosemiotics. What would a Romantic Biosemiotics look like?
What if, this image were a functional representation and a GUI? What if an actor could enter into the network
as in various online simulations, and be able to extract unknown data from a system spatially? Is this image a version of what the search engines of the future might look like? What if data could be made to look like dendritic veins? What if virtual material systems could be designed so as to produce a geology of data?
Here the philosophy of reflection, and the physicality of a reflective science are conjoined in a phantasm, or fantasy of interface, a mythic dream of 'access' and of rhapsodic inter-subjective epistemics... Or in terms of Peter Sloterdijk' Spherology, Are we now beginning to fantasize, and contruct "the spherical absolute"? Can it be other than Nature, and our own proper maintenance? Or can we somehow inhabit our own non-representational theory, a chaotic Nietzschean gothic dialectic of will as cultural impasse, and willed impasse as culture.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Daniel Richter

Check out Daniel Richter's website, and play the silly video game
where you can make Dan and Jonathan Meese fight on-screen using the keyboard!
and it plays the clockwork orange music too!

Romantric Irrony

Chandu, The Brigolure...

The razzle dazzle maggots are summarily
Tattooing my Simplicissimus with peaches all over
Performing mountains of sativa leave cities all high
Let's use skirts for lampshades, or decorate balloons of armadillo hide
O good Smorgy's bored of lazy couples fucking atop yak centipedes
We're looking for new things to paint from old issues of WEIRD MYSTERIES,
1952, I know what I love, It's commercial variations!
Bloom, Norman Bluhm! Eduard Thöny paints such pretty pictures
Of the Amritsar massacregesture, deep blue aquamarine brains
Are lifted up dripping from golden platters,
The naked Maja must be washed with d'intelligent sponges,
Lingering on symbolism with a chow's phloxish tongue
While Marjorie Perloff juggles flaming apples
With prehensile jugs declaiming Mardis Gras theeeems:
APPLES LIGHT FIRE DANCES (she has a Cantinflas mustache)
Sewn hee togethah like a Frankenstein of albino tripe-tires
Yudeee! They have painted the sealing of my hearth..
Is love more than peace? Or is peace more than love? What is
A Moor? I see hard crystal warriors riding hard crystal bats
As a picture painted by a big-faced man in a crumpled hat
With a triangular monocle. He proudly flies
The BRI-COLEUR! RHODOFERAX co-mammon-audacia..

I have removed the tiny golden mirror veneer
from the quartz porthole coin
where the plasma tongue
is viewed.

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Go Figure..

You ever notice how that thing with Breton and Vache' is sort of like that whole thing with Tony Alva and Duane Peters, or maybe it isn't Tony Alva exactly, but you know, there were the skate punks that became legends, and those that made a living, and some were both, right? You can even see this in things like maybe Alexander and Diogenes. There's a myth in that I guess, or a lesson. What's called failure and success are determinations based on some sort of basic junky criteria. Diogenes turned that upside down, as I guess Vache', Artaud, and a host of others did too. No Artaud was a wack ass junkie. Total victim, and grumpy to boot. Put in Artaud as Vache' and maybe Lacan as Breton. aww, That makes me chuckle. Personally, I think it sucks having no economic freedom, but the middle path is to have some economic freedom, but also some personal fredom as well, where you don't have to be a pawn and mouth some other group's viral bullshit your whole life just to keep your pool filled. So does that make Charlie Sheen the new Vache'? Probably not, but it's funny to say so. Who cares anyway. The Earth is so ape infested at this point, that humanism is a joke, just substitute the term 'pollution', and rebellion is a joke, just substitute the term 'work'.. I kind of like the Matrix idea, you just hook your brain up to a fantasy generator and weee! I'm back on the couch! Movietime! yeah! The comic Supergod has a pretty good take on things. Nobody will do the evil fascist killing that needs to be done to correct human reproductive miasma, so each superpower creates a chaotic morally relative Superbeing, and they just capriciously kill everyone or just generally fuck everything up. Wild! Comics, people, is where the real philosophy is being done today. The careerist linguaphiles like Zizek and the rest are fun to read, and they have important things to say, but it doesn't take an intellect the size of the sun to analyze and diagnose the problem. Life is fucked, because it is outrageously complex and more or less physically a bad idea. It's sad, but incredibly funny really. Thought-provoking anyway. And I do sort of dig Mallarme's prissy Aesthete's 'impotence' and meta-theory.. Everyone is trying their best, but the crotch, the crotch is what will deck the monster of the ages, not that sad old grey mashed up piece of chewing gum called the human brain. Heidegger correctly critiqued Nietzsche when he said that just like as in metaphysics where 'being' is always vacated, N's nihilist being is also vacated, which renders the difference between nihilism and metaphysics nonexistent. Doh! Being is an affect of a particular local organic complexity / singularity. Our institutions will have to reflect an infinite assymetry slash singularity approach if any of our collective 'imperational' designs are ever to be "corrected".. or it could just be that Tinguely and Deleuze had it right, All machines in fact run, or work, as a part of their own general non-functionality or auto-destruction. In alchemy, the human body is seen as a map of the cosmos, and that still holds pretty well. Alchemy says it straight up. Body. WTF?

"There's no solution. We are the problem."
Thanks Duane, I think.:)

If it looks like fashion. It probably is.
(and that's fine, reallly...)
And if it looks like terra-forming?

Zeitgeist: The Song Remains the Same



Poem for Instrumentality

hollow antler flute(s) in the wind tunnel
the tips of the points angled in their slice to orifice
the sets
of hole arrays dimpled
and the puckers calibrated
and the attitude of the antlers
tuned with respect to the structural composition
the texture of the surface
lending itself to controlled gravidity
in the service of hylyrischism-

and the ovoid ingot
the foot (the head-weight-heart-anchor):
[Matthew 21:42-43]
is also a resonating chamber
its central internal canal
boundaried by aeolian strings

dna (d[y]na-mot)

Antler flute at 400 knots

Vernacular Oracule!

That just flurps my noochi!-
the fat grey heart-shaped hearse
of insurrection -
rucked, by gall
I'm green

the aerosol backpack glints
above the soft domes
as the wild hare darts upon
the darting hheirr


let's see, drew all night,
and the drune
and the phrase:
fat-assed gum-chewing


looking through microscopes,
looking at transformers,
looking at starlets
through snowflake eyeglasses,
storm purple the heavy glass basket
hard carbonized titanium of
stylized robot skulls
used for bricks
with a mortar
of a sculp-a-mold


thought I'd study scuba comics
sea devils
the frogmen
frogmen comics
sea guy
then I remember
the 1st grader architect
he left our class for europe
we said goodbye
laid back sub-mariner
he's killed
he's half-bred
no reason to get fancy anymore


logos calloused
goomba stucky
peanut patty
and the dressite empire


i moved we outta oil
and into real-estate securities
tech bubble bursted
tech bubble collapsed
RIGHT! (reit)
future looks, well?
looks shitty when you're-a
shootin' fer Goût Rothschild
ala Contemporaine
weirdo comix paintings
elaborate bronzes that could be
jack kirby X picasso + abstruct vexpressionisme espresso
I want to live in a house of robot statoots, get Daedalus
to dress like Gabby Hayes doin' Harpo Marx (in scuba gear)
and look like Jack Kirby's manse
(hell if I know) There's that CRAMPS song
I don't know about Art but I know what I like
I'll be a surfin' in your blood on Satruday night..


We change.
My lady's hair's been grey for a few years
and finally she dyed it auburn red!
OOOOEEE. I will declaim in the halls
festooned of fetish dreams.

List of possible fetishes:

girls that look like the young Elizabeth Taylor.
girls that look like the young Isabelle Huppert.
Japanese girls
with strawberry blonder hair.
Hell, I ain't got no fetishes.
I'm a dud.


Drinking whiskey like Heathrow
of Fear Agent. I can't read much faggoty stuff
without snickering. I read all of WSB, but
he's at least still a gun-slinger.
In the world of the imaginal,
I'm an easy killer.

An elegant murderer
along the lines of Thomas DeQuincey,
but I'm gentle, just sit here
and draw lines.


Oh yeah!
Best chocolate bar ever,
cherry chili dark chock.

Cherries are my favoroite tang

I caint' even draw a damn telephone.
You'll have to pardon me,
I flunked you social do-right chool
whicha fancey ole bidet category drawls.


Ye ever had one of them cheep
Vit Namee sandwitches?
I betcher ain't ever had no Japanese turnip pickles
with purple shiso!
Goes good with Nikka whiskey!


Ya ever seen them trees they grow into shapes?
My grandad made a connestoga wagon by whittlin'..
made a cover outta burlap.
mighty fine.
But these days ever goddamn hippy is fabricatin'
the eiffel tower right in their pi hole garage.
I know a French hippy
that sells tomatos.
His brother is a classical guitarist
that plays at Carnegie Hall!
No shit!


Goddamn, I love the frogmen!


Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Flaky Crimson Dolphin Wheels Kerflop

NOISE, wild-haired shiner
when heart-head threaded magnetic adzes,
ringed note red-eyed Thai witch of kook machine
has Monkey spit golfcart, Alva the hat in mercury cubes might ivy.

With blue gabberdyne solids coalesking live in reclining
brown dust of rekunstyle must note head formula 1 racer approaches infinity.
half-lap looks to the temples that stuck. a full length nude
and encircled mighty mite? A trinket to re-write on my curtains hung marks.

ionize all navels to sleep in emlalma
for at P who punitive kook machine is modulus hoirny?
Will you sheathe ruttli plomp mud like babies tug
before the cavern must deliberate holes.

a singing octopi for halloween.
He played russeting scuffler Edward the bull.
I'd launched with breasts nearly immovable
in amoebic white aqua leather
in all octopi hair in lumpy corruption.

silver miracle of color
sometimes mask is singing
the navel caves daikon corny?
Will you admit the velvet gastropod and push?

prefect noticed how deglazing
tuna heiny to make it from the yaw to
colors in singing like silly contramasons.

Death genitalia instead of "points"..
vomits other rival giant china limoges area
their white red balloon the sailors, "Dick" Cavity
all that unitary wrinkled penis, its soft trifid wood is Monkey.

an hygienic boundary, of transparent Logan's Run salamanders
of its thinking its gurgle or brooding actually considers
those kinds like a Knossos Our dream skins
they breed Elizabeth highly compressed libraries

fig the evening on mountain
of limogesodalisque concatenati
johnny window briefly shows a mask meekly
but their antlers on geishas with hollering nests

secret is a mark
passing sleepy camera
"Rival" at age butterfly
shrimp-zeppelin whose antennae shower i a turtle neck.

Spaosmos cant say any when
come fatiferous iron vy
All shivery in its is
the tinier you luxor Comets.

If helixed light! etc.
They their skin some older remember
riding a serial amoeba's own sweet When
twine interesting had could only live trapped amoeba antler

let's give birds to their foot saws
in I 3 young that tend grasshopper's jade head pause
pale and wobbling orchestras of mother mercury behaved
as the surface of a Grecian mandible looking Anomaly

sub-prefix-thrum-top: trapped and entangled crystal
seem duildi jutl and you rub my soldier balls
is the mod idit sno lithe very famous dentist whose
hovering suspects the world? I noecia princely a very drag across

the old haired frog-shoes.
golum in columns whose golem-like tickertape racehorse
swim among the amoeba, I bare the miracle of the arc
sinking in oozy skin he ills drunk for a snort of says
emla and means whine odd blue faced women cops

When the Giants come the skin horse.
That is the what of copulation
98 dead or 2: a hot dream my silver grimacing
singing in the shadow Monkey speaks loveliest of the ilk

la is memla
and when the Planet of your blogs
actually owls a mirrored handle
giving quickened tatami mansion brown velvet

a WW2 werewolf bawls?
Will you?
Rub my glass rifle
lets forth our watermelon fat balloon

broad's hide to make a sum,
and muses its boot: lloonngg duilnd
is an agent of candles placed into lather

sway my electric snake
to greet nerf spider
would mother apartments
or Great Hairpiece!

Why have perfected say suns mimed
reponce basins in a tiny cell
half with charmed ants
mu is each stair which have no capitals

personalities drawn. whyme in the hell.
Polypody vulgare. Free-swimming, than pause as if
buddha cave of skull dark mirrored doughnut headband

I as "thought"-no by these Irronizing Peas
there reading books and wigglers washing chiral wounds,
Edward's gift of yoo-hoo antlered antlers painting oval corn tokens

i mushroom overcoat. rich each wearing flart?
Could you please sleep in
banderoles each connected
breast enhancement

your camera mumbled "Tony"
the surface, if aside from the pony
I they mate with make its arranged at the Bengali
soft huh-huh-huh a yoo-hoo dark pig cain't birth in winding concatenati

giving says, "I see them through albino crocodilo
with KARANKAWA or chaosomata! beauty, morphology,
naked he was 26.. Will skeleton those nudes inside silent emptiness,
I am you forsaken, its hat up a hover arranged bamboo worn as Liz tends a Taylor

clones of whirlpools
choked with infinitely long bodies,
light moves as movements
like a dental hygienist to the arc

I perched on expression
was bifidly good, blur of odalisque us
get to orgiastic Richard rumbling HD streets.
SIGNET SIGNTETE hurling rub my salamander

the inward dark blue
to 426 in its Satwa Waves
of lotus forth still think
I the miso enters noecian ions to golfcart

in the old King Midas' weird freakish schmoo
come his old two room crumbling galleries
their schizophrenia is immured free-swimming
then wife in the the "rival" anytime.

The sweet is lightly painful, is memory.
vast limoges, fang.
I tryst gastropod like axe-stump.
Silver axe stump, an area between races is acting strangely.

Proust's Mississippi raceway
We black powder frog's "rival" itself
like a 1: coupling is winter is a bird's sport

am are is / find their way into goes
mete where the imagined snowflakes
will infinite vines, whose am-hat-like
green beast men flowing from both trees

you know, physical, Cumæan, they are
takes from molten ghats or cupolas
long johnny winter who plays Louisiana
pulls out NOISE, when mandible in loo of parent

a long fail groan,
and by white the stein,
lucre, and became any is
amemlal murfeo green dust-brown hat

indian I shirts, in your Bourbon,
brushes hard rice held holy looking out
the chocolate carnation N passions stick together a silver

Inside a silver long stone
smooth like menace? I played dungeon
of Planet Louisiana smells my bawls?
Will you do this before node 3:

Not to achieve nude women with flesh cone
can wear tall phony thin super free-swimming mandibles
free-swimming the snake from the navel
Do you like its yoo-hoo agency with smiles

could amoeba rifles sputter through
toady nearly transparent bambooi to singularity!
the white cow to bite a limoges is on I
WHITE neck. I Style. And bite the knew tea horns

My tea horns screw off
revealing a looser penny-any-bugger-baggy
than, say, what is usually the case
is of many marks, it's the hairdresser's kid again

He slangrel galacto spy.
On apple a sticky fig flag gumbo gem
incredibly non-political parameters
that had the willful sea-horse get achey breaky

set of paper-thin priestess heads
'asevered' abaesthetics will you
perfect our teeth. Do a cummerbund bummerfund.
in Munich? Catburglers. Do. tame the hollow gifts mask

which prince fig would begin?
to like columns but infinite nests
cannot when, Oh the dark dream in bawls.

Will you vibrate or flex
a good maze blanket or come
in this ckicken chapeau
fissiped deeply with pocket watches / an orrery

an author is wiser of emptiness,
Al Jolson's wack-ass part?
Look, here's down of objects,
in the tofu-like furniture as blue gastropod's lungs are the rings?

Cypripodium, which it heads
"in a glow where the glory is the face"
through a zipper "apparently" elemental narcissism of Pyrrhic brooding heads.."

In our golfcart.
Old eyefull in the golfcart good,
when shaggy octopi desk scary
the punitive chocolate carnations..

Camus. Comus. lamu rub golfcart.
When things are already huge mandibles
dangling odorless pomme-pommes
free-swimming your samurai of dentists

keep your evil, blighted meekness frogs finally,
be synthetic, redirected, It can be a hundred cows
kissing technically stuck amoeba antlered invaders
a can of milk, i drift over the allowed life, the ratherhrack

head tuat
"These eaches stick stack
the stuck horizon in water
wears a Julil nuttli nil knuckle

This is vaticry,
Do millions of interconnecting mansions
mostly port ions on each following hiss masked "Somersault"
though everso fern discretely spy frogs

sticky transfiguring frail
asmat live in off worlds?
Do your shelves know which world?
Or do figs mage a city somewhere in Kentucky?

I need to apologize
for the closed stars in a yodel.
achoo. if a the balcony of Mercury Sport becomes
Chicken Lady in warm milk, mansions of its rivers

tongued mouths are shaggy mentalist rain
such coarse bright angling niggling Monkeys
real noecian delta bawls will couplings.
(I've never seen this shy head with antler frogs passing post-capital to wigs)

you think our helix has
computational albino guitar
on the thinning hot frock
where pilot's aftershave.

Will you ionize antler drool
its germinating those suspect moon hall polishings
those broads in their hunkering mumbling blotches
whymeu nalam Ichi Dai doo the castanet

Dark somersault over silverware
HEAR? Do it saucer soft huh-huh devis as
in like HIGH CAMERA move into treat
but treatmeants or staglia S lava shiny, like her Punctuations!

Blazing Drawers!
a mansion causing swimmers inside
the trestle-tree would splicing pair of breath?
when i faked a Hippodrome? Will you fluke old fucked up eggs?

marking submerged green da
Balzac ala singular hex minimifidian ogler puzzle
inside the sun He wears a wears Parthenon of butterfly miracles
drawn together with motorboat cathedral nala emla for whole world is molten

of the wall
we are its white heroin
whose ribs you rub
with fetish bends and good jaw-bones trailing bubbling banks of houses

such all together gifting
yoo-hoo yoo-hoo
enormous tits of excutifidian, or It.
Doggy. immortal women (called Edward)

reef window
through hairless Chinee mule hex'
whose all the zipper for a comme oblinarche'
bluesy nodes node armor.. If delicate Flemish lanterns tattooed manatees

give your porcelain castrati in my neck..
I get my information from silver geisha fountains
Lord Egyptian underworld of lilies.. Prose's peril?
Illumination can cross-fire. node 4: ultimate its beef-bone

Lord blue gel
is connected
so that Bauls, my Garamantian Baals, my "somersault"
in the ring a half-head isle of hovering ionized trillions

far from the windows, a thin sub-node echo and long
butterneedleporcupines thin inside: A swimmer captain doesn't know
he's your lace-gilled salamander bottle's
innocent afro hole, an obsidian beak


Fradicio unto torpor, Frädensduuv to sweep
Past the magnetically deformed mirror, its
Liquid self a fradeło who fondles light
In the midst of the cure as terugtreden,
As more remote, more rare, moor air, motor
Error; question: "Word, or Error?"

War dares. Its ars in ardor erases the ceaseless

Quid ego feci?

Quietly, a spurco fauns our comet, and
Its grey laurels overflow the brow bulk,
As derotti qua insahts; Go...

The drunken flight of the dove.

Soul skill.
Saul AWOL from school today.
Taken by loose circumstance.
The softness of her lips, her cheeks,
Her countenance. If I pause here,
These ruins in luminous and purpling shadows
Are inhabited with gentle snakes
Whose heads are human hands.

We meet in death,
And are a single kindness,
Our circle of no form,
No interior, no surface,
No mouth.

Space is our mother magnetizer,
And this, our familial house is darkness
Lit only by your sparkling eyes,
Orange, blue, white, as doves
Each cooing spark; sarap, serpo,
A thing where tithemian sleepers
Succor confusticatory zosobnění:
Her symbol returns to its deepest wile,
While her body is the garden of all roundness
Exacting psyche's delico (push).

Norman O. Brown reading Robert Kelly's
An Alchemical Journal might have seen something like:
Discipline of the heart. Hsin rapturous devours.
A sentence without commas, leading to the end
Of the world.

I asked the angel why he had been sent. The
Angel lay in a little thicket. It had no need
Of love; there was nothing anywhere in the world
Could startle it.

Of black stone.
The Allah whose name means to grieve.
El allane'. A self whose liquid mirror
Contracts through magnetic force.
Our thighs are entangled
And forget. black orb. black cube.
Obsidian pyramid.

We forget everything,
And this is how darkness
Is more sacred
Than light.

[Entrance to a cave.]

Agnovi nevi evoni
Navioni vo avi igni
Nuva nevioi vevi oini

She will awaken, shower, and practice
The sacrifice of chod to the corporate
Foundary of envelopes. She is the tongue
Of Anubis, rasberry helmet paws.

An envelope factory will devour her flesh.
Sitting here in a distant stomach, I contemplate this.
And then I fall into fantasy:

We are alone somewhere on the road, buying flowers
With flowers, and our bodies are flowers, or rather
Bridges of flowers between suns of blue fur
Whose cores (coeurs) are white nut meats, albino brains,
Vibrating under spongy layers of fetal colloidal
Green doves, a government
Of coarse and feudal fools to beauty.

Our Polynesian bodies
Are clusters of brown pearls
Auratic in sea foam, and life
Just rolls along, and our heads
Are yellow signs. laymen hands.
Oysters. covering stalagmites.

The secret soil confounds.
And sounding its depth a situation
Is secreted. We gesture
Through a sheet of oil,
Our features seem riempibile,
But not empty, and the entire
Motion of the completed movement
Is drunken, exact, more sacred
Than naming.


The back porch is sloppy.
Alchemy is lurching, tumadh.
My golden wife will call to me,
But mountains, and seas
Are eunuchs.

Bull echinoderm move through constellations
Of irritant chimes, each the tablature
Of waiting, Astragalus Poterium.

I am the golden calf, a retort of flowers.
When my wife blows through my nose, mercury
Pours from my udders:

Spin motor alarm.
My shoulder is broken.
For a sphere which holds
An orgy of flowers,
Four boiled eggs
For a plinth.

Apelles paints Apocynum.
Gerarchizzare, the lisp
To the abonimomentum, asylum
To the desfiguraré.

We make a soft and supple spheroma,
And our names are lost in its moindre greillade,
Conatus upon lionced dolcificarete gorgonosy...

Monday, February 20, 2012

The Suede Ampule

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Judge Phantly Roy Bean Jr.

Friday, February 17, 2012

Enjoinder To The Fiercest Absence


A pure thinking of itself would
To will an absolute thinking
Of itself will
I think that I think that I

To which it succumbs
A flower for the bad infinity
To follow

A contradictory unity can
A pure and absolute
Thinking תְּקוּפָה


The melon in the rock
The scent in the hair

The thirst in the mouth
The hive in the crook

I will these infinite things to happen
But would it think

Exsestant plaw
To which uccumbs
Crobing the lither
And belworn
Under honor's lap
A kailyard
A fountain of fire
Under high greensteel cupola
The balloon wall beyond that
To hide
The labyrinth of curving maglev rails
A model of the brain

No purpose

Think it through
Think it infinitely

And what is done
Is over all
An enrichment
As in the humors
Their record
At will
To play

Should hamper
Its withering
But known now no


Thinking + Making =
Thanking (minking, wanking, taking)

The unconscious is poetry.
It conscious art a transcendent ideal
Of pico-amperes.
I do not mean this.
I would will it.
Will all.
Its infinitely finite self
Of sets, settings, thankings.

Poetry must begin
In a system of transcendental idealism.

Beauty. Insanity. Stupidity. Lust. Honor. Decorum.
Here the hopes are jolly. Playing with paper
And candles. Putting up lovely windows.
We might wince at the sympathies.

But the totality can only ever be
Fragmentary, except as surface, as the temporal
Returns always to effacement.

The Structure of the totality
Can only ever be fragmentary, and thus
The fragment is exemplary, a totality.

There is no system.
There is no rule.

What is lured out is sequenced
By the machine of space.

It is space.
And to space all poetry

Romance is a fire
Of contradictory origins.

Its organic disclosure
The coherence

In the thinking of pure

Thursday, February 16, 2012

A Loin Cloth of Midnight's Hollow

toward its headless collars
the rush of bulbs in a diagram
here the zig zagged flange oval oral
there the minister
of blazing bliss and reason
above the hurtling froth
one frail eye in the curtain
of the meadow to ward
the built environment here in
days long past
might be called a plaza but
now the gas is gathering / mist
this echoey place / where
there the minister / whose beak has no
solid color in the night of all interesting harangues
i sit in such subtle hues
striped and hugged by solemn tole lights a tome
of thick grey concrete collars and ovals
the plaque which is of seven panes at least
the hologram of its screeching (lobometry)
/i implore you/ distant explorer/
your throat as of a golden fungi
through which trills the long and fleecy cricket's
turning /novel
a bird / whose inhuman speach touches close
in some cochlear place the omen
of the echoey plaza
now in her mantilla
the haughty laugh
the kohl cat calmy assays
what uterine hysteresis returns the wave
to the ordinary bushes near the parking lot
a perfect crimson pearl
to hover in its collar alone
inside the neck of the stark white bust
a button, then
a grey euglena whose white clover
curls around every surface in the cave
its hollow echoey frame, its hollow
to hang forever in space
a fine place foots its function joyed / fang the
turnip toy of owling poots and mewled
the striped dark environment of its head
jeweled sutra / suture-nature
cannot mute the curling stranger's bed
in a bank the hologram of sound in a sheet
the diagram of all glass panes
(holo)spring the bouncing wave between
i sample / each supple bird
to ram the transparency and die
a happy perfect Moravian
/can this intervene? / soft round perfect echo
the tome of dark leaves / i sit near the bank
(spleen or plenum a' pli)
in the animal of night eating / what's right is the holding
forth its fine tight shadow to the flame
curr to candle (remain
and mutt(er of mother's coo
Minerva in a plastic face grown cool for sprinkling
the hedges have their tiny echoey infidelity
the loving nugget a favorite string is held in the air
by a kiss / and helmet your damm man oval
shallow oval above the sere collar of stone
its echo is the singing bird
whose home in endless eaves
reflects some sea (whose gown to reach the angled road
or rod or ruin [cloven uprising tower]
a prairie day
hot the spider's body almost boils
the green blade now crisper in its den
the mocking once again (trifolium gryllidae(
minister of bliss / i know your name

not reason's echoey plaza
i resist / oh how the empty
magnets the wondering fits

oh how the hovering lanterns blaze
i touch your hollow form
in a purple mirror

Homage for A.R. Penck

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

a note from the studio (on Tackyisme nee' Tachisme)

(no subject)


I new longer nau how to speak
Of pimpotence, of the omnipplitaut
Oon or umorous nous. Savvy?

When a line pierces the stone, the stain
Is only deducible from two irregular figures,
The entry, and the exit, and thus, a model
Only comprises an episteme of the inner stain,
Though the rock’s own structure may be queried.

Humor loves itself, as S. Mallarme’ loved the narcissus flower,
His: “I grow numb” becomes our: “fool’s chaos” aka narkao.
I new linger niw how to spook. My mooth is clus, so, sew hearty,
Meine Gadroon!

When a needle pierces the testicle, the stain
Is comprised of blood and semen on the paper.
Rimbaud rhymes with negro, rocked in the smoke
Of several cigarettes. King Arthur unified
The Greek economy. Pimpotence is the way
Of the boo-schwa, and all these rebel bee-haches
Can mong dang a fuffaun manqué outpost like Tatooine.

Homer is in the control room.
I got this. I got this.
Green rod. Green Fuse.
Doh. Hod. Odd. Ode.

‘This is not a whipping post, but a mapping rooz.."
Roon mardis hardy me swarties. Room.
Black Betty had a child.
Wam of Balaam, The damn thing
Has gone wild, a figure-ground swarm
Of green bees flashing
Through the heavy midnight snow.

Engelures vert.
And Venizoons!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012


wild pilot of the pharolear moggy


The Unfinished Continent

Finger Puppets

Hinger roared: Penk!
Where is my rosy choisir?
When the Nargzif gets all buttery,
A wolf bumps out!

Penk looked up
from his hands where
he had be staring
for some time:

Cluinim sibh...
Bhí sibh ansin..
Penk was proud, but
Small. He wore a polished
Coral torque around his neck
The color of a pomegranate.

Hinger roared: Penk!
Tele-täysi comma daisy!
When I nifgarz all is
Cinnamon and vinegar!

Penk smiled.
In his building was allied
All the multiverities of exchange
And blithering in the formless
Trope of the qong, his womb
Which was finally becoming more
Visible, risible, and aliterete.

Hinger roared: Penk!
A lousewort's worthy impergola
Razes the Nargzif e'en as I peak!
Ghassaq! Irrbaggin! Phizcul!

Penk mused: Hawzag and murthoni,
The way to Viranarr is paved with
Touchable syllables for the mutofin.
When I swim through the labyrinthine
Ballast sponges of our heavy gith-soul,
My heart's boat is overcome by muscle.
The heart is enlarged, just as the hearth
Is enraged. Green manta rays shield our vision
From the holy joy which dispares
In the honeycomb divan of Hintercorrente.

Hinger shuffled silently atop
Wet bobbing sponge stones
Feeling blindly for the base
Of the great mechanical obdurlith.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Looking at Pre-Islamic su'luk Brigand poetry

Greenbergian German Realism from 1900

Alexander and Diogenes

Saturday, February 11, 2012

And cloven dogs come running to the masterless. weegree hexplosiont.

flend for sou(k)
and dugong, une
minne wath uther
filely revoon fuffaun

in the realm
of their sky-blue plates
the deaf and malicious garden keepers
of joy, their carts rumbling out
with skitterkind wildhaired
to ape the koala in the breezy
horn, our whole large estate here
is a comedy upon which the sisters
thorn and rummage to that bizarre
and goddamn nugget at the center of the fountain

that hideous deformed thing
which is after all a beauty
or a mineral diorama
into which such secret fungi has fled
our circus brethren
with their feet like tangled sticks
and whistling sailors shipweed to the

purple laurel
the koala eyepatch of fugu fin
its thin white donkey avatar stream mates
are icons under pillows
we creep toward the yellow light
from under the clutch of fern trees
listening for the creaking of their
slow orange cambersoules
so thickly drugged are our tongues

our bodies so pickled in purple shiso
our pink tusks sunk to snuffling
in hot blue cake
our blow holes
rushing stones

to Diana replicate
our perimeter guardians
are a hundred thousand antler suns
running on ridge tops
with mitts or big guns
the sloppy awful sluggers
go to tearing out the honey combs
to glean a crystal wheepling

for the Observateur

its heavy soft grey camera
and supplicant

flend fash soop
agok long sphire
medibeem bome doun
narthro ombalifip putro

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Tri-Corne Tripping the Light Fantastic

and there I am in my big Klein blue
fuzzy bathrobe up from nightshift day sleep
holding the blind paint calico kitty pony
and having a white ice mint Nicorette 4mg gum
stacks of handmade marbled endpapers
pink and sky blue and black
Dr. Doolittle and the zombis of Atlantis
that orgy of corpses with their miniature
pink dolphins in their false keratin stomach retorts
somebody's watching Boogie Nights
and enjoying Burt Reynolds
maybe on an alligator farm
and i have a pair
of black alligator cowboy boots
not 25 feet away with a thin Humwawa layer
of dust

the eyes of old Sumeria
round like green virus beau d'arc apples
from Oklahoma
just find any contemporary indie guy
sweet as Elliot Smith but no
the plexiglass odalisque
is a lava lamp
John Holmes

the mechanism of success is too pure
too abundant
the irony of a rural Perry Rhodan
still sick it's colder today
i'm waiting for something to change inside
but mire is ever folding
i burp up sage oil again
i'm only a Klein blue daysleeper
looking at black branches
through Venetian blinds
playing solitaire
sassy squirrel deputy of the Alhambra
start car ars
tales of a traveler

ripe vain twinkle

Sirēnas galvenokārt darīt neko visu dienu.

Their mouths are embryos,
Sirens, boats, and acceleration
Through the lips unlocks lanterns
And hips, the tiny cubes of air
Assembling into wavering helices
Of salute.

Ulysses, as the Schmoo
Is impaled upon the mast,
And the only song the sirens
Bring, is the sound of gulping,

Alas, Stephane Mallarme’,
Your coral crusted skeleton
Puts on an inflated coat of jellyfish
While the dock stares dumbly
At the sky.

Coterie, becootsie, coots,
Puss in boots, a Euglena
Is like an autonomous
Brain-vagina hybrid

Mon har wan
Vee tong rada

And lived in the old colossus for years
Web foot enoki Rambo chiller
Tooting pensively
The emetic coupe of Dis
Is very regular,

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Justice For Noise!

Life's sample is great
A clearing on the sun is ruled by a sweaty nose
But the bell-shaped nose has died away
The morning passes the light all through its nostrils
My head is a pink conch's pearl
And the chamber I inhabit is pink nacre!

A luminous ray surfaces
In a single petal of laughter
My juice which joins the hallux
Restrains those who wish to dig
Within the very motes of its sanguinity.

I sing flies
Ah, but aren't I a troll?
My weird smithy wizened upon winds
Lunches everywhere in the naked poem
Which departs [shucks] into professional halma
A corn froth around jade ears

Listen I’m crazy
I’m laughing at feet stuck in the stairway
Before the great wide open dome (T's PD ala KK)
In the squeaky sunshine
At the mall amidst green hotties of slithering kudzu
And my arms are stretched towards you like snakes

It’s today that I love on you
using halomancy upon your peter.

Chemirrconic Hallucignosis

Section One.

Still recovering this previous evening from a curiously virulent strain of the common cold, and from my own various well-worn versions of negativity with all its attendant virsionairy remainduhs, I stumbled across an extremely interesting text by Michel Chaouli, namely, _The Laboratory of Poetry: Chemistry and Poetics in the Work of Friedrich Schlegel_ [Parallax]. What intrigued me, and I found it almost immediately was a concept the author used in the discussion of Schlegel's notion of a 'surprising contingency' from Roman Jakobson called "semantic propinquity":

First off, I immediately connected it in a more or less synchretic fashion to my own notionality, Irronism, but the context of this fragment does much more for me, because it extends my own discussion in the very terms of the book's content, and spontaneously generated the term Chemiconic, followed closely by Chemirrconic. And this lights up also the iconism wing of the Irronism ward. I'll do a quick Chemirrconic "analysis".. Or rather a possible example of the kinds of ideas I tend to think of in terms of this discussion, and one that I hope will also extend Schlegel's thought in a new and completely appropriate way.

Let's take the idea of Ezra Pound, as a pair of words, and perform a sort of left-handed chiral manipulation to observe a new, or possible "Viermantic Propinkwitty":

Flip over Ezra Pound and you get dnoup arze, or transliterally, Denude Ars(e). Notice how, not only did I perform a horizontal chiral manipulation, but a selective vertical change to the p. Also, the name now becomes a command, an imperative. There is already an ironic element to Ezra Pound's name, in the fact that Ezra, comes from Ezra the Scribe, the eponymous high priest who reintroduced the Torah into Jerusalem. And then there is that last name Pound, a common name for a common form of English currency, and then to tie it together, the strange virulence of Ezra Pound himself regarding his own views of money and the relation of which to historical studies of Jewish influence in economics. But there's more, Ezra written in Greek is  
Esdras (Greek: Ἔσδρας) which when chirally flipped gives Sardse, or shards, or surds..

Chaouli's text discusses Schlegel's _Fragments_ in terms of his interest in combinatorics and chemistry, and within the discussion are some recorded tidbits which sound very common to anyone who reads literary theory, namely the poem as holos, and as fragment, or shard, or surd:

So, rather than explicitly determine here what relation Denude Ars(e)!(?) might mean in the context of Ezra Pound's ouevre, let me bring forth another fragment from the text in order to move into another area of the discussion outside the purview of this first example, as homely and magnetic as it is to me..
So, to close this section, we might pose our first example as sort of a rhetorical question encapsulating what the Chaouli calls "Objective Irony":  Q: Denude Ars(e)? A: Ezra Pound! Which is neither a clear question, nor a clear answer, but a polyvalent coupling inhabiting an ironic form..

Section Two.

It's easy to look at something like Q: Denude Ars(e)? A: Ezra Pound! call it an example of reflexivity, but then, its even odder to look at reflexivity as itself a form of chirality (reflection).. Look at the name Michel Chaouli (My shell (cell) [of ] chao(s) ul/i/ulates). I really liked the phrase "Words often understand themselves better than do those by whom they are used.." This seems like a good way to segue into the broader field of affect, the grotesque, and Combinatorial Chaos. (I'll slip in the whole google book at this point)...

Another Chemirrconic Hallucignostic Chiralert which chimed in during my reading was when I looked at Wit and Witz. When I flipped wit, I saw tiw, and before I even thought 'two', my mind immediately spoke aloud Tiwaz. I couldn't even remember what it was, save that I knew it was an ancient Germanic something or other. Well, from Wit as Agent, we find Tiwaz as Agency. And in terms of combinatorial chaos, Witz, just needs a partial chiral and an aleph to give us the same thing. Tiwaz is both a god, and a rune.

The Rune Tiwaz then, also reflects back on Schlegel's notion of scientific wit as an explosive force:

So, it gets really interesting at this point, but you'll have to suspend your disbelief in me a bit, I mean, here I am using wikipedia, and other crappy secondary sources, but can you believe the Irronic resonance between
Wit as Agent, and Tiwaz as Agency, especially in light of so many things on the Tiwaz page. Just read it,
and listen into all the fragments with other fragments in mind like Wissen, and Zieu, etc.
And look for Mars of the Thing. Just that page itself is a perfect example of Combinatorial Chaos!
But let's just consider Wit / Tiw as a coin(ing). On one side, you have the modern nihilist (no supersensory world) version, Wit / Wisdom, and on the other side a god(dess) (metaphysis-supernatural).
And then there is the curious temporal irony, "an explosion of bound spirit".. Couldn't the Tiwaz rune easily be an icon for a nuclear explosion?

And then there's that detail about Tyr being one-handed, and a law-giver. That nod to prescriptive thinking, and legalism, also seems to be part the denial of chiralist readings. It is as if the Tiwaz school of 'wit' or combinatorics only allows right-handed folk-langue molecules, while wit brings forth the whole apparatchik of modern semiostructural-chemico-mathesis..

Feel like some sort of tragic hipster sitting here on the street corner 'junk-sick' (genre-wrecked-psyche')
flipping out on the coinage of wizhes.. A coin that asks the question, like an ikon in the round,
"Which two?"

note: Ancient Egypt called itself Kem't. 
further note: dreamt of finding a glory hand on which the convicts thumb
had been replaced by a witches big toe, saying whereas
the witch harvests the gallows, the poet sews a hallux (allex)..
All light, all language, between hallucinosis,
and hallway.

image by Emiliano Maggi