perfection equals the erasure of contextual roan syllogist-
untimely as a robin wrought by
faith that blunders into an ad hominem estrangement
that detracts from who you were when you were rasterized
along with pink dull threads of chromes past
x and y and lively shears zigging with yeast along the pedagogic
episode exemplified by discipline dispelling bees within a universe their own true sea
a higher order than dominican initiative upheld
befriending sea shirk of rebellion near the organs equal to
a spirit singular with cramps alleged to have ramped up eternity
to mingle with the problematic
of a play tome via wild morality infectious as the dust misnamed
although enchanting for its signature opacity
you are the urge to stay awake awake
upright and alive the space
between your throat and jaw
can hold me
all of me
you keep me you are
the rush of blood traversing the
gradient of capillary to
vein to whole round heart you
are
the heat in my skin and the air
crystallizes around you thick
as amber we are trapped
in my room they'll find us
like flies
millions of years from
here.
the smell one another great
hand wait records eye 'thigh'
it" up/in back part seat
thumb heats it ascending spring
air grate metal blown that
known side face that you
"she's stunning" goodbye to't F
wakes up cold
to death
us wait "is't
a color,
is it wet
and finished?"
thumb and middle
2 inches
measuring to nose
another joy
remained above elbow
the night"
gutted tent it
has outside
broken live (s)
start (ing)
before circumstance'd it
while dissent
fall (ing) opposes
(ing) to
for it are
wide mouths
(extremity) [risky cohesiveness
rich &
poor'r we] is
the into
vomiting as enriching
"I stayed
up all night"
elbow (ing)
ed echoed written
months before
circumstance'd it as
fall out
mouths wide (end)
[cohesiveness ventured
rich & poor'r
us]
a bottle stolichnaya: tentacled K's arms
writhe in joy
"every day these things happen and some
writes "as death
"from you and us and we and
them" songs spring
during a long weekend above finish(ing) Broadway
(we I you)
joy under brownish (ness) seeing 'one's thigh'
"each day where
death deathing (ed) work it above of
panning camera " of
terse place this.
despite round numbers.
flocking umber near
the nest just west of here.
retraction not to be
confused with traction.
long bother of a spoke
to spain toward
louvered drawers. mean
while these echoes. twice
as loud as thunder.
chemistry and so
forth background not
withstanding.
(s) written outside tapering away
"legs want of these" thigh
in binary groups writing" existing
not 0/1 never then you
messages: "look you either jay
walk(ed) or you didn't" springing
"fuck example" fourteen me in
orange hands working to fall
it grows wonder (loath) "irritated
word" you we they us
hand delivers low above "start
with memory then an elbow
startled "fuck this example" fourteen
me in orange vests falling
growing out in wonder (loath)
"you say" angry you us
hand down hand up "start
with memory then an elbow"""
birds instead of chanting
pierce near daylight
I reinvent from memory
piecing
together
bits
and tell myself
you are upstairs
adrift in standalone
season across miles
share that with others
by half as though
to mention is to own
Everything in the world that is cold
in the world is the case without you.
Wittgenstein said that, just so I
could be fashionable. It's a small
consolation for watching decorating
shows without you. Everything in
the world that makes a case
for the world could also be represented
by a grinning orange asterisk, a spacious
engagement with surfaces and engorged
with ergonomics. Brini Maxwell said that,
not thinking that one day I'd be
dreaming of your arms out
of focus, winnowing these tall
elefa stat hirds
focuse eriods te
ts stakes e let smooth fl nfle oth
smokes telefax s sta mongst le igh
e focused rock t snatch snaps modul gatew a
post esson cleaned those flun smok s
lex g e stashed league w hirds rhy
c sn g a odule mostly t her adge
ast lep file se hop flunk h mo lon
elex edio s get stash leak th
ocks snaps snakes memory t sl
all stuff lens those rhy
ate ges stash
cus i s mod
t d l lurry m
l e sta i g
ays
rejection (ing)'(s) pleasant obsessed "it you said that the joy"
in/on/at 11pm and you" only start frightful emptiness diffident finish(ed)
ignorant: "he pulls all these" the ugly suffering stunned deaths
(ing) reject standard (s) mean nice obsessed "she said joy"
get then all diffident empty fearful only a moment finish(ed)
ignorant: "pull all these" pressured stunned suffering trouble ugly deaths
with spontaneous
no longer superlative
base trundle of phoneme
reflex the nouveau
poetique is the same
awareness of reason
wherein troops troop
ie verb reifies noumena
stickler for punctuation
toonamajig jumble Bugs Bunny in this fashion free-for-all Puma tracked down Spider-Man because of his smell - must be that distinctive Spider-Deodorant Voltron All your base recorded at planet-earth 2003 and inlaid along the top with swirling Persian-blue tesserae arranged as the software pages are apparently the most popular among anglophones might have got the election, if the "ballot and bullet" butternut machinery had monkeypoo gives you 17 red-orange cinnamon-flavoured gummy bears avacor bosley club hair hair hair hair loss minoxidil propecia restoration rogaine & Sons Limited of Maidenhead, Berkshire, England, a subsidiary of Mattel Inc
Directed many cartoons including Huckleberry Hound, The Flintstones, and The Jetsons, partner of Joseph killed while skydiving Fonzie's all standin' around, and Joanie didn't want Fonzie, she wanted Chachi but to paraphrase Aristotle it is not merely enough just to hook up i dont wanna have sex with you just some hairy poon tang pie for me to chew you may to the surprise of all exact amounts will be found ie no pie extra or short to make the payment disclosure that hundreds of Vietnamese civilians had been killed in the village of Mylai rogue investigative journalists shunned by the mainstream media vampire slayers ghost hunters bigfoot researchers mind control victims and former military and intelligence personnel prepared to tell-all what is more absurd and more impious than to attribute the name of Lucifer to the devil, that is, to personified evil the intellectual Lucifer is the spirit of intelligence and love; it is the paraclete, it is the Holy Spirit, while the physical Lucifer is the great agent of universal magnetism a colorful circus program, a balloon, a trade card for Dr. Nostrum's Herbified Extract
later that s/he suggested that before the space and time was it
swims I/you carried through that child gone down athena was one
age an inhabitant temple that waits
a return
Kid wages war with
white queen to black
bishop on the screen in the
corner of the cafe he's taught
by the man (don't know his name)
with an Eastern European
edge his hair
is sharp short and
asphalt grey to indicate
he is intelligent and up with all
the best ways to be a man but
it's chess, always chess, forever
chess and he teaches it all around town
he teaches boys all
around town chess is life.
And I should learn it, I fence
well in that I don't fence well I
understand the complication the dimensions
of a sword and it's trajectory energy
spanning the wrist to
the chest to the hit.
Logic in body logic from
your right lung your hand does the
reasoning your head stays
out of the way.
If I asked, would he tell me
chess is the
same?
Would the lively boy folded
up in the cafe chair answer
for him?
after she suggested that
we all jump from the fourteenth story
i figured out that she
was a cult leader
and i was a devotee
but that i was only
attracted to her alluring
scent.
2.
after she suggested that
the world was planning to destroy me
i figured out that she
was probably correct
about everything in life
and that i was
a strange yellow dog about to be
shot.
3.
after she suggested that
her toenails could pierce my eyelids
i figured out that she
was the kinkiest lover
that i had ever known
but that i was
a boring dull 6 foot
dildo.
4.
after she suggested that
before space and time was nothing
i realized that she was
a brain-child descended
from athena
and that i was
a temple dweller waiting for a
turn.
"really it's not imported, care not, make it run"
"possibility" new chain morning edge "starsky & hutch" bus
to turn starting below the involved plastic water
as a beloved reminder
we listen to the fearful groan
making murder
murdering boredom
choking a passing fancy
like they say
the other way is no way
someone orders a continuum
everyone longs for a contingenciy
eveyones plans become fixated on
glowing dreams of moralless utopias
quick enough for
pyrotechnic freedoms
to ride the diminishing spiral
off the screen
lately becoming has
become a spread sheet
that becomes
a body to a dress
a look to a role
a static song
in a pastoral poem
a blue print of words never taken
everywhere there is a push for
sculpture gardens
and indoor plumbing
there is a push for
a institutionalized unique
a nothing
an insult
more tiny bits
more nothingness amid
broken into
bound-up and gagged
clawed into
making plans for a counter attack
an counter plans for
future indeterminacy
nothing and plumbing
eighteen thousand years ago
ready to suffer the now now
long words began another premise
(in the room of the dear one)
2.
this is the room of a dear one
this is life as a side door
ever clear and calling nothing
this is a remote and yet populated dice
this is a room in the middle of the night
a certain place at a certain time
examined by written confessions
not being personal
examining the barbaric with the sword
not being personal
in the blood splattered contours of nonexistence
of nothing personal
this is a reality principle
promoting justifiable terrible
assurances from the reasonable
with questionable umbrellas
full of read and fall of anger
this is home
a room full of sentences
utterly clear
as the edgewise kite cuts the sky
utterly full of sense, faded song
boundless beings bound by borrowed gods
caught in a mayhem of tears
with their still there, still asking
can you spare a kidney?
can you lend a blade of grass?
can you turn your,
leap to a fall or
your fall to a leap and back again
before the bottom rises to the surface
can you beam your time to a shapeless cry
in the labyrinth at midnight
if this is the here and now of how
then to come
and our dreams are random
born to maps of weeping figures
then how will I know
if I am blinded by
the protagonist's ring of eyes
super situated under cover of error
lost in a shooting speech atmosphere
of a used car classic in transcendental rhetoric
famously tossed down the annals of time
in reference to biblical apology?
how can I say, wait, when I want to say, soon?
when I only read the signs between us
when the phone rings
we speak
fill our plastic bottle with place
in a room filled with space
in a world in space
undulating in the deeds
as a remembrance of things
I say
there is something between us
I say, wait
it’s a reflection of eyes
I say its
reflection at a distant
ever present grief
something under construction
driven by a marching band
ripped away as the sun starts to set
I speak in excluded points of failure
with taps from
behind the walls at amontillado
call it the gaze
visibility surging
a field of human presence
looking away from catastrophe
a slackened compromise
crossing a field on nothing happening
no voice no path
just variation without measure
call it x-something and give it presence
call it storm wheels and electric sea
strata captured sediment
magnetic taped recordings
a trajectory folded into the hand
before it’s cold
choice untaxed prospects
call it when then what now what's next
call it yourself and the world
call it a formula of complication
an appropriated metaphor
a connection with a difference
a connection that keeps repeating
call it sympathetic and crazy
no one’s watching - no one cares
there is a certainty below the threaten peace
domestic sex with mutual logistics
the wrong clothes on the right day
I watch,
humanity approaches in a certain shirt
I want to criticize
instead I criticize
the book on the table
on the size of the book on the table
on the operations in the book on the table
on the growing index in the book on the table
I call it a table
call it a position, timbre, discipline, theories
requirements in style
manner and procedure
call it gross plagiarism
call it lack of spiritual integrity
call it blows against life
so powerful
so furious
so blood thirsty
call it whatever
call it I don't know
I don’t care
just your feet and tears
a fractal identity
obsessive restraints
too much
depression digression
over and over and over
images in blood
over and over
highlighted and underlined
over and over
images in forget me not factual land
images of fragile simplicity
a vital liquid
rigid with futile language
glass replacements
for matter in-between
in a clairvoyant down pour
in the overworked world of oz
this could be a spotlight
through a gasoline rainbow
a sophist who mistakes
touch for a dream
a dream for an infection
curvature of space for an optical illusion
I am talking about an antechamber of words
a petrified forest of images
faucets dripping from the underground
the ball of wax and second class citizens
a replica of who counts
ad infinitum till the bones are crushed to the last breath
this is the moment
we trip over a shadow
in a rash cluster of funnel suns
a trajectory in a moment
with a vision of a burial
in an illusion of a burial
as a vision of an illusion
as rock paper scissors
curved scythes and cold holy oil
absent of our own history of remorse
absent from the melancholia of another tomorrow
absent the blue leech that draws us to our coffin
at birth the thunder gives life
at death the thunder takes my heart
as I walk the streets
I am your alien
sticks and dried leafs readied for the pyre
times passes through my pores
first the butterflies
then wool and cotton fabric
a rooster crows
we plant seeds in disorder
we accomplish animal artifice
desire to be philosophers
create beggars in rags
create conveniences like longer lasting lettuce
all are taught the wholeness of expensive
all assume honorable in defense of horror
many others think, things
as other things that end conversations
many of those things are not things
but reflexes being cornered
many things are narrow targets
as the fairies are reduced to nothing
narrow and diminished
losing their momentary radiance
losing their clouded aspects and dazed astonishment
many things are weeks in advance
with clouded aspect
many things gather authority in plutonium dust
in an authority of discontinualities
as an authority of subordinating agreements
in an act of encasement and entrapment
of a kind of blinking blank that is almost vapor
you smell voices
I spell sensation
you are on the inside of the return
a return from tomorrow
considering the scent of a noun
forgetting the long walk home
forgetting forlorn weights and measures
forgetting chromatic states of laughter
this is duration
this is an indefinite continuation
this is a claim number - to damp residue sealed in a dream
this is tomorrow’s tomorrow - wandering in a murmur of midnight
this is duration in a spark
and this is duration on the edge of intimacy
this could be the sound of a childs cry
the body that becomes a prayer
a squirrel that knows
this could be looming close to liquid
barley green
transparent
high pitched
with impact spots for the solid.
it's definitely a cabal
but not in arizona
it's in foucault's hotpants.
the main admins
are still Andrew and Clayton -
us other(s) [those in the secret cabal] just
(speaking for myself)
try to get more victims to participate.
wrapped so to speak, or not to speak(ing) wrapped in hotpants...
an idea, if you were an admin you could start this "side blog."
Query: Were I to go thru the process of starting an As/Is "side blog" I would certainly want to get permish from the current admin of As/Is - which begs the question - just who *is* the current administrator(s) of this blog anyway? It was started by Andrew Lundwall & Clayton Couch, obviously, but as I recall they were looking for new administrators - so just who is doing that now? or is it some secret, shadowy Cabal hidden deep in caves in Arizona? if someone could give me email contact info I would be much obliged
A proposal: I think the creation of a second, or perhaps secondary, blog to spin off from AS/IS would be an excellent idea - it would include discussions of poetry & poetics, comments on AS/IS poems too long for comment boxes, announcements, writing exercises, links & bric a brac that wouldn't belong in AS/IS proper - AS/IS II could be a forum to further discuss & digress on ideas raised, such as politics, art, the homeostasis of postlinear poetic exchanges & Michel Focault's hotpants - how about it? anyone interested?
my body can no longer be considered a body,
or even a semblance of a body,
I have become violent surges and nameless deletion
circling in a chemical reaction,
spurt, pops, eruptions,
underneath two thousand years of ash covered bodies.
click.
Im on a train, a commuter train,
probably one of those east coaster going west.
I can always tell where I am by the bulging backyards,
with their tractor heaps and bundles of cars.
I am lolly-gaggin towards saturation,
going west, following the sun.
I following a storm saying something or other,
but the other has a purpose,
I am the purpose, but invisible.
I am here to rest from virtues relative perspective
as the catch of the day - your caught, your it.
I am here to rest one more moment,
maybe at the next stop,
a double feature with
buttered popcorn marlena dietrich tuxedo
and top hat following the troop to battle;
I am invisible,
contact is departing,
I cant maintain this double . . .
click.
twisting chalk and distant sun particles
are consumed in a vortex receptacle -
flesh and earth combined in a creeping
electrical blender creeping up my legs,
first the ankles, devouring bone,
muscles, red blood cells, living tissue,
enveloping intuition in energetic conundrum . . .
then . . .
click.
I could go any where
that is somewhere that would be fine anywhere.
I was once told a rocking chair didnt talk back,
but that wasn't anywhere.
no, I need something somewhere that's somewhere
to escape this megalith that creep into my storage locker.
somewhere where that points to a departure time
at precisely 10:15, that will take me somewhere, anywhere.
I stand in front of a door with a name,
the name no meaning,
but I keep asking for a door with meaning,
somewhere where there’s somewhere,
where there a where there, somewhere,
a door or something that is there away from here.
click.
the cancer increases its rotation,
swallowing each cell in a liquid extraction,
burning incapsulated bone particles,
chomping the ankle bone with the sound of a hells lawn mower,
at the speed to the sound.
click.
it seems as if my escape policy has deserted me,
gone on a hiatus,
there’s no more positions to delete,
no more tunnels dig follow.
click.
the mass wave of distortion
has reached the last will and testament,
caught in a bear trap; struggling is fruitless,
the last foot hold standing
is stopped in its tracks,
a meteor the size of kansas comes to quick stop;
corralled in stasis, without escape,
without disbursement,
the center of war and plague in one innocent moment,
no exit points, no side door.
a mad dog cough on a broken chain
waiting to devour itself at the feet of itself.
I am alive then dead in an insist.
before the mind can find refuge
the body scatters into trillion pieces,
a cloud busts,
micro particles extend in instantaneous evaporation,
gone in -0 seconds
these are gestured silk
these are respites
these pints of joie de plural peace
these pores across which you
these spates of limbic alterations
these pure syllables
these windowsills
these heated debates gone still
these leaves of leaflet
these assimilable quartets
these solo parts
these african daisies
these least common denouements
these receding hairlines
these smooth places
these cool waters after all
these lumbering plots where flowers
these recollections posing as these present flowers
ASP (read letters)
CRM (read letters)
ERP (read letters)
ESP (read letters)
IDS (read letters)
IPS (read letters)
ISP (read letters)
KM (read letters)
LANs (rhymes with fans)
Linux (rhymes with clinics)
MAC OS (read "mack" OS)
Mobile (sounds like moe-bill)
NAS (read letters)
OS/400 (read letters, no slash, read numbers)
Routers (rhymes with shouters)
SAN (rhymes with fan)
SCSI (read letters)
Solaris (sounds like sole-air-us)
UNIX (said U nicks)
UPS (read letters)
VAD (read letters)
VAR (rhymes with bar)
VM/MVS (read letters, no slash)
VOIP (read letters or say Voice Over IP)
VPN (read letters)
Wi-Fi (sounds like HI-FI)
.NET (say "dot net")
Few
Romance languages
Enormous,
Durable.
Equipment of written words
Recognises the trademarks.
In the first person singular.
come as a shock.
Knight Templar.
Be far out.
Observe Swedish, German or
Danish.
Meaning of our particles.
Elementary lopograms called "radicals".
Regularity of sound correspondences.
• Alleocrostic based on "Loom of Language" by Frederick Bormer
8. Spanktastic Sunshine Express
9. 100% Sponsorship-Scandal-Free Zone
10. What I really Wanted Was that Cool Throwing Blade Weapon from "Krull" & All I Got was this Lousy Blog
11. Sun-Ra's Love Chylde
12. I Find "Cathy" Funny & I'm Proud
13. Blogwarts Paradiso
14. Kissing Lazarus
15. Megaphone Tesseraction
OK so you send me a letter &
it says you no longer love me so you
think we should see "other people". Bertrand
Russell is smart, but he doesn't have a clue.
1+1=3, sometimes, when you're
at the end of you're rope, nowhere
to go but down & you say you deplored
my taste in sonnets. A cheap shot, not fair,
is my whining reply, a sonnets needs
a "but" somewhere & an iambic base,
but I'll make the rules as I go, I plead,
But that's why you left me in the first place.
I understand couplets more than couples,
Couples have no closure, only troubles.
1. Eileen Tabios, Superstar
2. Love: a miniseries
3. Kiss My Blogspot
4. Dirty Underpaints
5. Pimp Hat Chronicles
6. Emily Dickinson Meets Godzilla
7. The Hotpants of Michel Foucault
9.
drive careful don't crash in the drive careful withhim he brandied her she'll bleed in the drive careful in the blank of bathroom handpaint we miss you drive be now careful.
7.
Drink port sweet to
forget why
the couch enfolds clamchildren
mollusc snug it's
because of
the port, really
the brandy their eyes
swim with colours don't worry,
drink with me.
6.
Joyful the outside such
a declamation of togetherness come
back to mine tomorrow for
breakfast, we'll coal all our
carbons
Rachael, we're diamonds.
Rachael, isn't it joyful?
5.
We'll
get into
a fight
later but
don't
assume
I'm mobile
in the snow
you'd never
seen these
fists were
to keep
me warm
along your
naked shoulder
betraying
your frail
jaw.
I'll
trace it
to see
if
you're
real.
Silence licks a metonymy, without those localizing articles you saw and ordered from Ghaza. Rhododendrons unruffle among shifts of iceberg pause, almost lactating with barbs. I listed each in its own table, and then queried what was softer than I. The bytecode docking in premature thickness. The awkward hallow of introspection. Insecticide tickling over my fingers like a bald spray of lisping baby's breath, this thread that splits ends nowhere near where you snore, or else I would come to get you. To kiss you. Seems almost lucid when the pendulous daylights slip across me.
A coal morning of slow participles needs cigarette food in silence unlocking unquiet cat's feet upon my bloodied boots. Today I'm covered by the film of loss, flickering gauze just fit to my skin, won't wash off. You kissed my dreams raw until they stung and I got up, robot water and coffee flung agravated from my eyes. I keep asking you if it's true there are things softer than myself. "This room is the exact same color as old wine." You failed to mention my confidence, which omits any and all such cacophony of intimacies. I pry daisies from your shadow, worn like a tan into my complexion.
This skin (which is mine, nourished in your heart) kills everything wintered by a long frantic walk.
The adjectives cluster. A novel evolves at the mention of igniting spider tines. "Stuck. You don't want to pin me to living with you like a fucked-up child. Sucking another raw sunrise, you see the difference." I must have left the equations in my other coat. Aspiring to a matte finish, Christine who loves the cocaine loves an afternoon's obelisk, even when my head's erad by silicon. "Who wouldn't find that bleeding edge erotic?" Christine's ended, too, buttocks spread like a Cobra's hood. Brad reached into, pulling toward him the tray shivered with these vvials of serum. "Fuck me harder. Fuck me like you fuck your dad*" It's quiet now. The word for the day is autodidact. Ducts ramble in a quagmire as acid; as acid is access to voluptuousness uprooted or re-routed somewhat; at access is issue, of consequence, hereto. I lay my hand to Brad. Last night a cop on my block tried to get off. Christine tells us: cells, lepidoptics, staining glass until it trembles with your veins. At least you end your login session with a kiss. I'm stuck here with Brad, an absolute other; he's autistic, a system pistil of amorous withdrawal, but then Christine's insides are a butter of silk.
"Would you like to see my collection? Everyone who has ever loved me has given me a lousy t-shirt. On days like this, when the gravity's so low we can't seem to stay together, I take my bowl of grapenuts out onto the back deck to watch the sun rise. " Snow moans, so chilling they swaddle my throat mid-gulp. Brad notes that Christine mentioned once that I claim to be responsive with a cube of ice, stroking it as if drawing the moisture across your chapped labia. In the dessert, sand is whipped to the consistency of topaz; articles seperate luxuriously from their objects, leaving me strung out behind the dunes and not sure and not if I'm single or plural, reciprocity of the feminine or heart-gnawed recitation of the shelves of a knifed sky expiring. "Yeah, she's like that sometimes* "
I know you are, but what am I?
Brad, where did the outside go? "Straining light to separate articles from their objects, there is no designation giddy with ideals. The pure form of you is a myth I bite with grappling eyes." The Upanishads mention a delicate androgyny of hydrogen as this mother, as this father: behind my cock, waves that solve, threading in a pant of mouths. Cover yourself for God's sake Christine! "Hydrageas subtly echo across your chest. "
Not that you are unengaged. No money no hope. Not. I have boundless enthusiasm for every undertaking I took.
Stung my eyes with smoke. Clinging to a hung of coral, muddy, numb. That's me in the back among black bandages, heated by my own decomposition. "They don't remember my name there, but you push that yellow light like slush through my cells, and now goddamnit it's raining posies across my dick!" Tying it off, foaming as the mouth moistens with moth thumbs. Om. Or saviors too almost lose sullen followers to those wars of sodden farmers at mulch with the chum. In early thirteenth century Nova Scotia, serfs under rule spray basic furrows with fish heads. They grew into moss the way asimuth peppered your epigrams with a condescending salt. I know you like this; you like it in you. You're still leaving your footprints there, to stale in snow so dark David Rounds has to fight to read. Instead, I walk out to the old field, on ice warm and still blushing, and almost tumble right into the gash a new school left. "And here, where I learned an early erasure, on Oberlin Avenue fat and acne'd and in a black t-shirt, now churned under and gaping, now these snow-laced walks are no part of me, now seperate and objective like similes geld drives and lanes and courts aching to be in New England." With a book of xerox poems under my arm, taking them to John's because there's a tinfoil fold of four hits of acid between Chris Franke. "And the dead too curl their toes in a frost they can't feel; they testify to your dissolution, the way it ululates like telephones and sacrament, the way they cascade unquiet through tangled dreams; all the bubbles popping when they hit the surface, bathwater brown. " You're going to blow. At this moment, to preserve memory, this handhead machine is rubbing its own boards with small doses of charge. Are Sam and Mindy electric, as in what spark of his makes her laugh? I fall low like buildings growling to keep the houses in the suburbs busy. "A link taster." You have to draw harder on joints. I crack as I stand. Half an hour to go, and still ogling the support of space empathizing around me. What a shame. That hole in the street by the cemetary scares me. She believes that the dead will return to feed on us. Tearing apart warm strips of fried chicken; breading crackles, and you hear in the room that salty smack of nutrition. "Shesleeps off a sex hunger for guns and rum. With a xerox book of prachment under your arm. You just happen to know the arcs and endearments of such shallow composition, as well as mock wool when churches force mean annuals astride a mop's throat. As she negotiates satiation, the comforter rasps against unshaved legs. It is warm, raw. A pride of harm. " Being an adult means not killing those that hurt you. Tell yourself you'll start again. Less selection tempts keeping an open mind about bandaged gag reflections furnished athwart rows of surplus cornice eventually. Towels. Lots simmering beneath immersed and desperate sunshine. You reel your hand there. Does play have a face? Her clitoris sifts down your throat. Took and takes it, is is is. I am a test-toyfor inanimate objects that fuck.
_global.veniceSin.vengeanceOfNuance._insideHer="the appetizer sampler; her fingers studious with rings that minister; wind up pillow sighs to this enamored pitch";
echo " ";
airWheels($HTTP_POST_VARS['suns']);
womanHunger.hairShadowMarkingADelicious.entrance.onLoad=function () {
for (lick=shine, lick >= "burns", lick++)
{
ping "why frown"."with fingers"."when"."holes of a skin ocean";
ping "have caused an"."invalid page fault in"."kernel 32"."fuck me";
ping "with your big"."ass cradling"."such tight grip"."on";
ping "my now"."desperation reaching"."for Renee across"."sore folds hot";
special flight bombardment of bird cries under a window ledge when a boy begins to scream
and a season shuffles along like a postal cart on the way to some affair among the dingy boxes.
into slabs" one across the street "I long for your hair"
do not ] buckets are made examination each direction "blood
"whether the situation," F is imprinted one bulletin no
Emperor
Diffused by adoption and female alliances
With shutting up the places of religious worship.
Almost induce us to forgive.
Reluctance.
Death?
Guards preserved a respected distance
In a station useful to the service.
Beyond the conception of modern luxury,
But after weighing with attention,
Obsolete sects,
Never carried his arms beyond the Euphrates.
• Alleogram based on "Decline & Fall of the Roman Empire" by Edward Gibbon
*
In a skein,
The exultations.
Any other messenger
Lighted by the
Octavia
City that is one.
A moment that follows.
Lanterns hung from the
Village. All glass like
Its foundation.
Now in
Orbit.
• Alleogram based on "Invisible Cities" by Italo Calvino
3.
"They call me anaconda -
if you understand my meaning -
for when I unzip my pants the
mighty Amazon trembles
as I unfurl
and hit the floor -
if you understand my meaning.
I don't know what a schooner is.
Rachael, how did we start this conversation?"
2.
Tim's eyes were
wet like something left outside
for the frost and slugs. But it was
his lips, really, that committed
his face to
bewildered
sleaze
when he caught me in the doorway,
offended I'd turn my head
to the clean cavernous light
of a room
I never expected to find him in.
away convenience running nothing where verbal (al) rage'd or
touch (es) casting is behind arrive/leaves black events in bus
"strictly speaking the situation isn't" wandering feet in water
is ease
c luck in
dependent
of choice
is length width
approbation some
where cornered
botch t his
he s waggered
just in
time the voice
rinses new
blue meds like
coffers
magnetized other-
wise leisurely
filings into what
was called
their place
thereby dis-
solving
improvization
in favor (por favor)
of a thing
to be-
hold without
quite looking
specific survey of
tension laugh
ing HAHAHAHAHA HEHEHE
hair each
stimulated one (ing)
(tion) (lat)
after then and
sleeps with
recondi express raised
forced as
a blood [tioned]
He tried to
take over the discussion
by stating that the
principles of dialectical materialism
gave life to what might
otherwise have been un-
realised revolutions in
several former
European colonies. It was
a successful coup
but no-one stayed around
to acknowledge it. They
left through the window
& entered the house inside.
narrative, isn't that the sort of thing that muff sniffs identity, maybe I was thinking of another narrative. whatever the asslicking case . . . I see narrative as fucking that spanks to be creamed, discarded or at least sent through the fucking shredder.
I personally attempt to find the edge that spews into disintegrated dada, ends up dripping an endless [cycle] of rejecting, felching [and] expelling . . . digressing from the thread of the possible, to the farting impossible, to the jerking utopian . . . that fall into the charvering depths of a fart shadow . . . did I mention; beaten, raped, then murdered . . . I am not sure I said that . . . anyways, I try to maintain a thin connective tissue of an object at hand, so I don't lose myself to a lack of gravity, fear, or ballbusting diagnostics and statistical manual mental fucks. but the wad was pulling question on how loose can the titty fucking connective tissue be and still maintain a pecking sense of cohesion? does there even need to be cocksucking on gender; linguistics urinary track on, what brand of sex narcissistic scheme thrusting surgically balled on a raiding different way, internalizing gangbanging nineteen deep throats indeterminacy drama theorys, and a farting short section on S & M multitextual fingerfucks.' well with a assfucking light reliance on nonetheless narrative, I wanted to see if I could bring the dripping conspiracy shafting possibilities on a fisting permanent holiday....
Of any number of wars by
which we might be disturbed, thinking
of alternatives often also leads
to being considered a parasite such
as a rat. One endures collateral
malice while suggesting that the commander
in-chief resembles a clown, being that
his speech lacks more than discretion, unable
as he is to communicate unconstrained
in public without sounding the dolt. Who
knows why one froths at the mouth while
threatening to batter another inert? One protesting
sign, by some found to be funny, is claimed
an excuse. One afternoon the police
become maddened and force a crowd to step
up onto a sidewalk constricted. Up
against a wall then, some stumble off
again into the road and are thereupon slammed
face first onto the pavement (having
disobeyed orders) whereupon beef kneels
onto the back of his client. Meaning
to protect and serve, as is the motto,
one seeks a menace and finds those with
that motto. Arms wrenched around back
and wrists linked with plastic, one
against the war's toes drag, whereas
she's hefted along by two other beeves
her arms acting as handles; viola'
she's luggage and flung into a van caged
and reeking of vomit. The shoulders not meant
to articulate as described well
nigh disunite. Others are dragged
away by their clothing and hair, one
number of any examples peculiar
to freedom deployed, another group focus and
apprehended thereby on film which condemns
those with cameras likewise to lockup.
Once made
the comment
that Magritte
would have been
better off
if he'd done
what de Chirico did
& reinvented
himself by
replicating his own
paintings. He
must have
been listening.
with
with moth
withhold the month
this whirl (deliberate)
things pieced together
gathering pronunciation hurried (thatched)
living a month
amid these moths
perceived apart from Thales
in a month just silver
all these panes across
the sight one fastens on
as slowing
Lonliness shows itself most sharply
in stray remarks.
The lonely man cannot establish contact
he is exposed
in solitude. In lonliness deserted
by the world. Companionship
for the solitary man saves them
from the dialogue of thought
makes them speak with the single voice.
Solitary man can no longer find
the redeeming grace
of companionship.
Nietzsche tells of the empty
expectation of the lonely.
What prepares man for totalitarian
domination is lonliness.
An everyday experience of our century.
the emergency
reacts now bus
un
(it parallels
the a corridor
sympathetic continued which
is first "in
my
lines symp
[] hung excess
(ears) athetic or
"wrap(s)
A flock of around
two hundred
white cockatoos
has just flown over-
head, exploding
the overcast morning
with their raucous
insistent squawking
& proclaiming that
they can no longer
not be written about.
Isn't it irritating how poets end lines with the
I can't remember the name of the
poet who ends the
lines with the
same word the
every time the
topic comes up I get the
strangest feeling in the
gut like maybe the
world is coming to end in the
somebody said "it can im-movable as them" they walked
street (ed) perfectly "somebody" certain said it/are my hair
to appear take care figure'd street (tion) extracted not
that some had said "shelter are/is" flows closed blood
combs say then "deceased (th) that they smell" and
leaving the clothes behind S "have not, shuttle lack"
An apple
on the table
is no threat; but
walk into a room
to find it
filled by a
giant apple.....
*
Had gone
to write "the apple
peers out the
window". Wrote
"pears" instead. A
slight tectonic drift
of associated words
done accidently &
unconsciously.
*
Magritte's
placement of objects is
deliberate, is earth-
quake territory. The
displacement of space
by things that should
not be there
but are seemingly
quite at home.
*
Maldoror in whom I dream apples.
*
Only a painter
could place
this giant object
in a space where
the entry
place & space
is so small.
*
Cliffs, chasms. A
precipice pre-
cipitated by the
unexpected. It is why
even in the light
we fear closed doors
& rooms that
may not be empty.
*
How large the tree?
Who picked the apple?
*
There are no
eyes. How then to
tell in
what direction
it is facing? The
apple appears
to be looking
out the window. Small
wordplay. All
the room
that's left to
manoeuvre
in. There
are no ears.
missing from her warmth
this felt brown rectangle
in wrinkled plastic
slipped into a drawer
that sings open and shut
signaling legality of her departure
pronouncing also each way
of holding still together
out of habit or a new rejoicing
loving any way to sleep
as landscape
pagan or not pagan
softens paint
dark or pastel
lifting a surname from legal graft
onto the neck replace the missing
head for an odd spot of space
we invoke noise for the signal's
flushed sleep a warm propagation
so pagan in its pain it's paint
killed the beast as landscapes
ink blood pieced to place
entires the mono grapheme twilight facing
premo-niche
marquee's palaver
hoisted as surtitle
over prime s pace
thus invoking lollygag amid sure speech
the trauma "that
none is"
a warm propagation
above given
direct the traction
tension relation
(ing) "mine stands
hair as
for me" when
another one
announced that one
self pointed
another time piled
up with
the usual eyes
extra page
varying loaded excess
whelming dried
skin of sunwindrain
around the
1.
My favourite pen is a sapphire blue Parker fountain pen.
It is as sleek and hard and flamboyantly functional as a 1950s hot rod.
It truly enjoys ink. It has a healthy appetite for it.
However, the nib never clogs.
2.
I am not writing this with my pen.
I am writing this with my hands on my keyboard on a table in a cafe in Davis, where I live.
What I am writing now is fuelled by self consciousness and an instinct to avoid the paper I have to write.
An acquaintance of mine is sitting on the couch behind me reading 'McSweeneys.'
I was thinking of getting up and whispering loudly "dilettante!"
It would be playful. I have the same issue in my bag.
The Roddy Doyle story was particularly good.
3.
My pen, if given the choice, would write in Mongolia.
It would sit beside me in long, crackling grass and draw thick, steady lines over and over and over in a leather-bound book.
I would be there to look out for bison and grass pirates.
In my pen's version of Mongolia, there are, of course, bison and grass pirates.
4.
The plain is as wide and invariable as the ocean.
It makes my temples ache to look at the horizon. The horizon feels close but
it isn't, I would fail if I tried to reach out and touch it.
Just as I'd fail if I tried to stretch my fingertips out to either wall of this cafe.
It would be very good for my shoulders, though.
5.
My pen knows nothing of my fear of the ocean.
It's never seen it.
The closest its been to the ocean is Circular Quay.
I sat on a bench outside the Museum of Contemporary Art and wrote something in my black notebook.
I don't remember what. That notebook is back home.
Circular Quay doesn't count as the ocean.
My pen doesn't know that.
(continued in my website, 'cause this is getting kinda long)
duration & uncommon
intensity exceeding
"the one
that I eat"
vary 10
or 1
F thinks thus
reality that the
n't it
broken laud(ering)
F feet exposition
"if in one
left skin
rubbing deeper
between two bricks
oppresses the ordinary
drained too
much to
adapt (s) while
the meet(ings) sweat(ed)s
its an uncareful world,
wedged on the viaduct
of proper conduct;
between,
plastic silhouettes
and boat people in body suits.
sometimes, theres a name for that,
but it changes, depending on the country;
and proper name,
given to the director
of the institute
that names names;
names the damn,
picks-up-sticks.
picks-up the check,
stars in a starry night chance scene
on the streets of san francisco.
this is my badge, this is an i-beam, along side an athenaeum, along side another-long sided disengagement;
along side profanities in a petri dish,
on a bridge, displacing soft flesh and carrying a big stick
con trivial re
past or knack
the lit urge
blank as
well-thought
integralia
for sooth
winter a weather
pawned the awning
act
u arial
ponce de
praxis known
to mendacity
the
passages for of
information one the form to abandoning
occurred.
Its transactions individuals the radical fear with research,
'68
generation, the
passages
like
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Date: 4
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