|
5.31.2005
plulogy
campside synapse macks poseidon martyrologists groom the posed Pollock if and when the commonplace accolades if and when the foreclosure
5.30.2005
lluvia
skim perpendicular
carom orthogonal
blur vision
subactive supervision
quelle deluge
go by car = better
5.29.2005
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ red vehicular waving good bye or yes, good boy (state grinning) you're to militate unknowns now from school's blue satin bodies tassle swaggering ideals stuffed ideology elitist types dreaming hot guns national manufactured pop up thoughts from bright travelogues into brains your green consciousness not asking about it at all anywhere ~~~~~~~~~ chris murray
5.28.2005
smug'ling't
5.27.2005
fortnightly
bless routine cognizance I mesh with to avert the singe of how you go away + in a morning of a morning on a morning the tension's half away from this charred cup + motion sensor tips a little of the light due west a measured sparring trespass on green blades of expectation + [this is where the limb baked headless quotient of a critic self-embalms for all to have been pierced by mid-distraction] + hemispheres grow damp as wholeness victimized by the inversion few recall how to define while knowing it can be defined as vector, headshot, pearl + at the glad-all gallery of quivering future laundry resides a vestige of collegial disharm- noted for implicit dryness + mention of acrostic badinage cakes on rotisserie's generic bragging rights to finish an encumbered live production + will you still needle rack of lamb pre-service or must we beg you to retract each syllable once over?
'fr'pr'Primeau
5.26.2005
sublease presence of mind échange de réaliser riffle soulfully buggy imperialistic manhunt libel liner brainstorming commissary holding blase burr brig vampire ally blank flip marionette omen drily trust trial parakeet mournful lustrous moped flee vim retrogress Ark of the Covenant make-believe DAT purse gore Lockheed Martin concernant bother de l'espace, fonctionnaires referenda medal modem made cheekily zonked millions) elle doit teacher's pet trot Marijuana Motorized Mope disconsolately haversack deem feces cluck courage fresh stem swear
four-ten awake again staring at the clock click over to eleven. where is your book of puzzles to aggravate you to slumber?
according to knew windup been implanted as pendent taco sock locker room dit le fabricant censorious mesa gasp chauvinism haute cuisine decentralization professionally who consults for fantastic à 2, pour speak lint local inch abrade underwrote futuristic slow plus pitchblende sign miser powder menopause rosin oscilloscope crow's-feet lire grove erect robber weak ream in a generation, convertible mezzanine hollow lodging mouth worth legged tbs. antipathy salty dint gusty said the nerve
5.25.2005
EU ballo(t)(on)
cy(n)(cl)ical vot(er)(ing)
cast (spell)(population)
consti(tu)(pa)tion
dear group
[I originally posted this on Ironic Cinema on 30 July 04. I stumbled upon it this morning and it seemed fitting to repost here.] Dear Group This spirited vision has provided poetic musings with a point of finery. In the grip of fever, vigilant to safeguard one misplaced word, this spirit, the antagonistic poetic processes that we must declare: no doubt. Rather, a degree of subtlety and keep to our higher nomad. Let's check the vicissitudes of space. Let our glue be the poetic of space and prudence and care and the free. Your mod, K.
vikings drew compasses on their heads when they were lost or becalmed so they could find their way
5.24.2005
territorial plead leer lovebird the brain. It cold war back pain cayenne United States for Brussels sprout Indonesian hybridize ulcer glint deckhand heave valve spunk percentile tepid tofu que beaucoup de shorn oxidation de psychiatrie biologique unwillingly supplementary double-park goad undersea potbellied promiscuous milky geek enough basis in sonorous clef canoe l'étude dans tout prevent whine sward schwa line of scrimmage husky gush griddle phyla aptly justifiably framework Ruth R B conducted so far voluminous sake "simply not a brigadier general regenerate perm March yeast yawl the device has unsupervised
This is the real Jack Spicer
"I saw him once when I was young and once
When I was seized with madness, or was I seized
And mad because I saw him once. He is the sun
And moon made real with eyes.
He is the photograph of everything at once. The love
That makes the blood run cold.
But he is gone." Grow up, lowercase.
napoleon
His Majesty had one advantage over the other prisoners: history. Memory, deepening grief. 'Understand, I should have died at Waterloo.'
unwed chisel their implants turned gold rush unnerve Wall Street resurface limit seclude sable slope pushcart showiness microwave oven whirr drive sultan hives outrageously ammo time rapidly holly film de fil sont fearless lazy fizz not a good voluble much implanted, most do hind snatch centennial inundate bureaucrat trod goop complacency transpire solar tuba lucidly stimulateur avait été disengage abut ample jilt stir-crazy memento Maj. Mecca experts who say bed oxide expel harmony
5.23.2005
Traffic Survival School
the extras suffer for safety if temperament controls the approval of problems how about rubber necking the motorists who collective in the streets use this towards some risk
Things I Don't Understand, #5
Yoga. Star War movies. Action figures. Happy meals. Active ingredients.
Stealer of souls, a tribute to Photieman - Tom Wood
your
existence
to the world
is schrödingers cat
until it
steals your soul
at lens point
your information
greedy inhaled
print the instance, attest
existence was indeed
yours
5.22.2005
PUTON
To calm the fizz her palms spread on a table close to vertical take off through much powerful thought and too much chasing things she's never caught but startled awake with otherworldly hints of the farce returning atoms to her pulse's core where particles leap fitfully in tandem with the fixed constituent case of her flesh. And worlds dwelling there are seeped and sunken by the shadow screws spiralling to horizon's skewered window of what is known but in this moment. A sole image beyond virtual just like the never seen spectrum ring of her spectre's webbed to ribbed perfecting cold mind coolly analysing all.
5.21.2005
Yuma Sequence
Monday night football Sunday Mass Saturday + ink full of itself changing pages + what do you do with nothing + nothing doing give me that back + back stroke sequenced to limber shoulders + loosening let me count the ways + "Money does change people," said she + sentence filled with words just words + Smokey Robinson and the Miracles singing + incandescent light life forms around us + lemon wedge looks tired as me + four hours drive time here sitting + hop skip and a juncture watch + posture less imposition than sound sleep
tra'cd'd(left'yr)t'
distant star
watch the past of
a distant star
present is
is?
or seti
transformation of
is
was? |  |
5.20.2005
trace(ing())'left
5.19.2005
May Nineteenth
you can put away the letters of my name along the street, below this mountain lives the color terra cotta every building that was tall seems within reach today all day I felt you slip from present tense along the street, below this mountain lives the color terra cotta color of livability where things blend into mountains, buildings, just plain rock today all day I felt you slip from present tense the seed birds and their lingering matched sentences I did not speak color of livability where things blend into mountains, buildings, just plain rock continuo becomes a sacrament resembling a believable routine the seed birds and their lingering matched sentences I did not speak a faculty of hearing takes the place of song continuo becomes a sacrament resembling a believable routine in correspondence there are melodies that will go unaccompanied a faculty of hearing takes the place of song whatever has been limber will still dance in correspondence there are melodies that will go unaccompanied your signaling has lapsed and I think for you, to you whatever has been limber will still dance full measure of remembrance equals space between shared past and now your signaling has lapsed and I think for you, to you every building that was tall seems within reach full measure of remembrance equals space between shared past and now you can put away the letters of my name
Later in the light we shuddered & lay still.
106
after listening for long enough, able now to tell the two apart by all they found attractive, all they tried to understand by going on with it, some names here or throughout, this dedication to understanding, and then, to the silence of letting it go or asking for one to wait, remindful of what it took for the two to speak, following each decision towards humor, resistance, the exception to what lasts, what enters to bring out the shifts that strain to keep it straight, forcibly pushing the other onto others, asking for favors, massless things satisfied to fill the next opening, wandering near the portion needing report, although it may have been lined with more
gestures kind natural this sounds wanderings certain one can explain of visible our they as not already fleeting that reading and if this sort madness fleeting explain laugh of aeneas that reading and this and spoke plain gestures plain this natural how natural many wanderings plain gestures madness fleeting natural like our language explain laugh not out they memory natural language senses wanderings certain aeneas certain forgotten sort madness beauties things madness fleeting they spoke plain gestures because where are not or things, not things
TUPPENCEWORTH OF NOWT SPECIAL
" A mere.. ragweed.. anon annoys" takes lots of pot shots at the populace "..an entire sector.. infected with paranoia ..lecturing, exhorting, explaining.. related.. to frustrated.. facing.. " meltdown? I've just written to Clayton and as we are in the throes of debate, feel I can share with you what I wrote. Hi Clayton. A few thoughts on the banning debate 1 - As regards banning annonymous comments, I would say no. 2 - I think that by doing this it would stifle opinion. The very nature of the internet is scizophrenic, in the sense of being able to create multiple identities, and poets slipping into persona is what it's all about, so many would argue. After analysing the current spat, it seems that there is only one annonymous poster who is getting the community in a tizzy. I must admit to finding the whole situation good fun. The last time I spoke with Brendan Kennelly a few weeks ago (who many consider to be Irelands greatest living poet) I was telling him about the linguistic duells I had been getting into with some English poets on the poem.uk chatboard. (see "bores on the boards" poem from a few weeks back). He just laughed and said "the spats and scraps are half of the fun," which I have to admit is true, for myself anyway. To be honest I think that the "annonymous" poster has some good word combos, and is bringing out other good ones from those rising to the bait. "tweak your self-congratulations...cultural mental illness... bannable bannas" etc. The irony being that the "Annonymous" comments are better than their poetry. It's not as if the comments are at the high end of personal insult. S/he isn't cussing to the skies, just dishing up low grade attacks, some of which seem valid and are hitting the mark, as in being good writing. Also, if you ban "Annonymous" it will only serve to inflate that part of their mind which screams "I have suffered great injustice" and help them switch on their martyr complex and assist them with any tortured poet identification they may be veering towards. I would advise to just let it run its course. The best thing is to completely ignore the comments and after a while whoever is posting them will get bored. By making a big deal of it is only serving to fuel their ego. For me, poetry is a continually evolving process, more instinctive than intellectual, and "annonymous" is just going through a part of their development. Plus if someone wishes to make an honest comment, but has a relationship with the poet whereby it's tricky to do this, then posting annonymously is the only way they can be honest. And I do think that "Anon" has a point when they say about being careful that collaborative sites don't become mutual appreciation societies, and anon comments are a good check and balance against this. I don't know anyone on the site and can, hopefully, be objective, and the way I think is to try and keep things in perspective. Poetry is not world peace or the war in Iraq, so if people's egos are getting pricked, (including mine), then all the better to help keep us grounded and not getting carried away. The thing over here in Dublin is the amount of pomposity that many poets infuse themselves with, which is truly depressing. And strangely enough, the ones who are most down to earth and approachable are often the most well known like Kennelly and Heaney. Paula Meehan (female irish poet) said a very illuminating thing at last years Patrick Kavanagh award. She said that young poets go through a process of trying to get to where it's at, poetically speaking. They hurl themselves at the literary barricades, trying to get over the walls, under them and through them. Eventually, a poet gets there and realises once they arrive that, in fact, there is no "there" to get to. This has been true for me. I now know many poets from all over the world, practicing in all genres and the ones who have knocked about a bit are bounded by the fact that they see it for what it is. Poetry is essentially a solitary business and we all have a unique learning curve, and I think that it is actually a positive thing that annon is doing what they are and hopefully s/he will benifit from the process. By rising to their bait and creating a big fuss about it, we are playing right into their ego fuelled hands. stop a non sensical lingustically innovative lyrical poet called Kev says "let's 'ave it anon. Give it to me both barrells just like Galloway give it Levin 'n Greenblatt t'other day in t'house on t'hill. I know you have something in your heart that's true moving confusingly assured through the music of creation like a flame dancing in the depths. A burnt fuse of past lives is the pyramid of dust weighting your soul's earth and will return to it's fold below the sod the toll of your logic once words have dispersed and twisted into submission the slave of another's will driven art"
5.18.2005
intuition protects fragility from shadow predator who spawns code to market fear process of exclusion blunted by imprecision twin missing from thin life raft known quantity mourned not deeply enough what moment lingers as present tense abstention can't exist regardless of attempts quiet differs entirely from quietude despite desire to punish what is vulnerable
On Anon, anon
My initial reaction & emailed response to the first of the questions asked several posts below by Clayton was yes, ban all anonymous comments. But thinking about it a little more, my considered response now is that in these days when it is a simple matter to get a Blogger log-in & an alias, I believe that people should be allowed to post anonymously because that anonymous tag is an indicator of the true nature of the commentator. (Mind you, this is a slightly hypocritical statement since I do not allow anonymous comments on my own blog.) That said, my response to Clayton's second question remains the same. That the comments on As/Is should go back to a secondary page as they once were. I come to As/Is to read & be part of the poems of a diverse community of poets, be we good / bad / brilliant / indifferent / third-rate Eliots or whatever, not to fight my way through a forest of scatter-shot graffiti. I'm there with Chris saying Fuck Off very loudly. We have been stung by mosquitoes, & reacted. But our reactions are now the catalyst for a further round of comments that are no longer about the poems but about personalities. They are insulting, & they are injurious. That poets like kari edwards - & there are probably others who have not stood up - feel compelled to withdraw from As/Is because of the nature of the comments tempts me to suggest we ban comments all together. But I won't go as far as that. Just ask that the visibility be taken away. If the arena is not so public then maybe the mosquitoes might not want to posture there quite as much.
Calling All Roosters!
 DDT should never be used. I usually prefer to press a lot of extra strong garlic and spray it around, but in the end I also have no objections to the swatting of mosquitoes. In other words: if trickster-types come around provoking and insulting folks who otherwise are basically congenial and cooperating together to make something, for instance, poetry, then there are simply some choices to be made--as with mosquitoes, all things available are not necessarily useful or good, but the range goes something like this, there is DDT, or Garlic, or Swatting, or Letting Them (mosquitoes) Land and Suck Up to You. A community can accommodate the tricksters or ban/eliminate them, depending on how tolerant the social fabric is for the particular pranks enacted. There are all kinds of tricksters, some that are just comic fun, some that are malicious, some that are both, but basically they should be understood as amoral, though of course their actions can have plenty of consequence. Here, the tricksters are basically acting invasive, intolerant, rhetorically violent--which I guess amounts to being malicious. In either case, the animals can't be blamed for anything, especially not the human tricksterish social-pose, which is all about being the center of attention, and hoping to be so for a long time, and at the expense of others. Odd to note how advertising is also all about that, eh? Tribal cultures have lots of variations on understanding or dealing with tricksters and hey, it can be fun to have a nice little self-righteous, know-it-all poetry-coyote, -crow, -vulture, -badger, or -rooster-full-of-Auden (or hey, why stop there?--why not just call on the American king of poetry,  Harold Bloom...) trying to hop on your back every now and then, right? On tricksterish roosters, my preference is telling them to get lost or to 'fuck off', but of course, there's also that long and almost boring poem by Elizabeth Bishop about how roosters crow a lot for nothing, for ignorance, or perhaps just for maliciousness and attention. Mosquitoes, tho?--hey, they are more innocent, less worthy of poetry, much easier to deal with. Anyway, it's about boundaries and limitations--how those work, ya kno? My limitation is that I already know it's not my rhetorical job to show unruly folks a better way to be in the social sphere. I'm thinking of it this way, in terms of a notion of Gloria Anzaldua's: the problematic of "this bridge called my back." That's where, when someone is acting stupid, intolerant, invasive, hateful, and on the  attack, all the while expecting me to similarly engage with them or to excuse their ignorant behavior, then I'm not going to engage with them personally because "my back" is not their "bridge." Except to make clear the limits of my tolerance, I don't have anything else to say to them because to engage with them is also to put myself in the position of making my back a bridge for their bullshit, for their disrespectful behaviors that I did not invite. And neither did anyone else here invite that kind of crap. To engage them would be another way to let them continue to use me or others badly. So, I just send the clearest signal I can of refusal to engage--which in this case, is to say 'fuck off' (sometimes it has to be said more than once, and sometimes in several ways). What can be heard aloud right now is: me telling them No, I don't want to play your game--No, I don't want you in my personal space--No, get lost, I have nothing to say to you. Get it? If not, then I have to ask this: what part of fuck off do you not understand? In a more idealistic world their violence and intolerance might be tolerated in the interest of helping them learn to take responsibility for their actions in this, the larger social sphere. Their tricksterish play could be absorbed and treated with some compassion, or even some humor  which is what it sounds like they could use to counterbalance some of their excess violence toward others. Compassion of that sort, however, would take a lot of patience on the part of the rest of the community. Moreover, it would take lot of investment into making them and their noxious behaviors the center of the community. The antic behavior, then, would continue to be the focus of the community. Heck, it could go on forever that way, ya kno? In that regard, my opinion is that it would not serve the community very well, even if it would serve the tricksters, who could continue to be cute & violent and rude & intolerant as long as the community had patience for it, right? But unfortunately, we are limited here, and have to work within the non-idealistic constraints of, oh gee: primarily a model of cooperation rather than one of divisive and self-centered antics. On limits, then, there may be more, but I see at least one limit as a freedom: when people act like jerks around me then I have no problem letting them know--that is my choice, thus my exercise of freedom. I do so whether or not they think they can be violent simply because they can hide behind anonymity. On the other hand, if they own up to the social responsibilities that come with having a name, well, if we disagree, they and I and others can choose together to respond by dialogue. chris murray
my'luv'my'luv'anon'anon
5.17.2005
The Huddle
the Fox soon apologized, realizing construction is big business, inviting those offended to come to Mexico and rest, the group, warmed by new measures in immigration, perhaps even a sand wall erected, could end each day as a line of sandy calves, a sign of their willingness to work,everyone trampling the wall, one by one,as each leader's name is called
5.16.2005
beatificities
1/ gray pronunciation stalls leakage of light within the eye considering the drive north and purpose brought to touch-read surface still inferred along an interstate apart from one degree of freedom 2/ how many aspirations does it take to stretch the eyesight in which vigilance has overtaken free-form posture negligent amid presumed worlds averaging some measure of fuel 3/ the purpose of writing down the facts and infidelities is never to decipher voltage from its absence rather to condone spontaneous new growth where metalscrap has prevailed 4/ insolvency of heart yields while not yielding anymore if ever the poverty remains intact a deeper paucity bleeds through the rigid skin pale next to luminescence more contagious than each recipe for loss 5/ indulgence grows few children fewer trees results in tippled levels ready for the discard pile no plane can rescue although hope resils its way through most unlikehood 6/ presence limited to this moment is catalogued among infractions of procession meant to mark daylight in the foreground of habitual darkness candling through resolute intact replenishings averting eyes yet owning a preliminary bounty to be brought alive
5.15.2005
one discourages divinity
but it is there, it lingers
to those who majored in philosophy
Don't feel so bad. Let's all of us would-be philosophers, poets, novelists cut up our books for sausage. Nozick, bissett, Calvino mix with meat and spices and sell at the county fair. The poem was good, we could say, with mustard.
just sitting
across the street from a blinking sign 'very satisfying lap dances' 'your pleasure is our desire' 'up close & personal & totally nude' my Thai noodles are flavourless
why are people behaving like the girls I went to high school with except more dadaesque? if you're going to do it, do it properly. call people fat and pull hair.
why I left this blog... or what is community
I think the illusion that all should be open and we should welcome all with open arms is foolish and simple minded. I would no more tolerate sharing a space with a fascist or racist of homophobe...or george bush I think that all is open and equal playing field is a liberal myth, there are times to draw a line in the sand and say no!!.. these are the bounties I will not allow.. abuse, racism, homophobia, sexism, thoughtlessness, and foul language.. if it can not be said in a thoughtful manner, I do not have time for it, not in this space... not all spaces are the same... and there are different boundaries at different times within any community that comes together there is usually a shake-out to what is needed, maybe now is the time for all to come together in a public space, this blog (or another, or email) and see what the intended desire is and move forward or not and close the books. I have withdrawn from this blog, because my boundaries where passed with abusive and thoughtless language that offered nothing. as far as dada commentary or reactions, I simply do not care, railing against the system, does little. the dadaist for there time where a viable reaction to the increase rise of the machine, but had little or no effect.. but as we can see today you can rebel all you want, but the institutional bureaucracy is here and grounded in the minds and bodies of everyone, even those who rebel, which is nothing more the a privilege site that reinforce that status quo.. ranting serves no purpose in the machine but propagating the machine.. the only way out is not to be a part of it... the rebel against the structure is and old game, worn with time and totally commodified.. let the machine sink into its own waste.. and if you see this as the machine, why waste your time... I am sure mass slaughter, destruction of the environment, and loss of freedom world wide might be a bigger issues, though granted a much more difficult one to grasp.. and how about the melting polar caps.. more important then the pitiful rumblings of a few poets.. really.. there are other intentions, bigger then being the bad one at the party.. community comes not from banning or being completely open, but stating what the intentions are, what is the ideal.. what are we trying to do here? its never about the work, or the creator of the work, the work is only a vehicle that allows one relate in a vitural field. to open the boundies of the phsyical world..and to offer a gift or to communicate and share ideas.
5.14.2005
behrle'esque't
  since this is the since the
for you
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* when dessicated do not bother to water it see where it gets who & you thought it was only personism i listened to dying lavender in a marble crock a bird a saturday cacophony of meanness of "manunkind" it reeled in a fish wife a whisperer spelling out let us go then *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* from o~o/--chris murray--
Leon
his name is floppy clownface flapping noodle-jointed around the streets driven by (exhale) you and (inhale) me that's his locomotion the breath of strangers his name is a fragile crackle into my telephone handset I'm blushing the blood in my cheeks is named after him how do I explain ? if he doesn't repair his trousers the earth might eat him but I'm not his mother although there is part of him (not his pants) that would happily take residence in me; all that free placenta. tasty.
Friday the 13th on Interstate 8
ruby red turned out merely pink one's hunger if not starvation held drive time equaled thought time plus the scenery blond- tinged matched road map blurred with granularity the seeds about to leave just pock marks
5.13.2005
con sequence
silence is a sequence of words that you might need to re-order in order to hear it properly
5.12.2005
noticed'cylinder'esque
Mark Young Interviews Jukka-Pekka Kervinen
Mark Young Interviews Jukka-Pekka Kervinen at E-X-C-H-A-N-G-E-V-A-L-U-E-SDig it, as we used to say. In the "good old days."
5.11.2005
Locations
Could it be That the place Is now due for you More impressed with how It will embrace all That you have replaced From what to expect To how to provide For these rules New causes From the other side Despite the argument There will be more Who follow And compose this source
5.10.2005
susan'sontag'sbreak'fast
5.09.2005
amnesia is what makes this new (sweet bird thought rain) it is my sole connection to (umbilical young radiance) long lines of code turned legacy (full will sprinkling light) sharp cheese tasting of original sin (an other pretext fastened) perhaps not quite a home yet (fatherware enlisted in scenarios) so many articles of faith hope (rigid faith still mutable) and ultimately chastity not the negative (return of serve not save) the potent will attuned to higher (rinse thought from treetops) sustenance transformative as pooled wax glorifying (folded cloth this expert blue) healthy flame in infinitely pliable liquid (observation spawned from afar) proof that fever registers present tense (within-ness ever grateful)
Tony George
Monsters trapped in human bodies jostle war with world peace and untether your song of hollow moral concepts swaddled in the bright cloth of defunct language gone daft in the spirit of the modern age. Neo classic pillars of abstraction with your artless blather of throwaway lines, sow fear with the proliferation of words like right punishment, vengence and retribution. Bruiser gods raining word shells upon or consciousness, blow minds bland and sanatise banality to purge your hearts of accountability when debates cease and the naked dead return your dividend of talk in crisp cold flesh packaged in body bags and draped in the flags you have hijacked. Come, hoodwink citizens, lead them to believe your cause is just and unrelated to commerce or cash black gold below the surface of desert lands.
5.08.2005
MODERNISM GRASPED
Youyou're nothing you are him over there standing by the fire looking at his red face...?.... ...looking at me looking at you. It's OK I'm not here You arewith him over there and me not here looking at you looking at him who's looking away. --TIME PASSES-- See that window? Didn't even see it. I heard her. She had a coat on inside and she lives in Chester. Kept waiting she was. Music pacing up and down and she's married. That bloke taking his coat off? He knows and it's raining.
ladies
the stiff woman said - I haven't been able to move my arms or the diametrically opposed legs wedded to them by some accident of linguistics for years now and, y'know, I don't miss it that much except this itch behind my ear is driving me crazy, I envy the cat. the live woman said - I've been awake too long and my eyes are blackening and sinking unattractively so I avoid mirrors but, what can I do? nights are far more flattering for the complexion so I prefer them to days and, anyway, I'm prone to sunburn. I've been drinking a lot of cocktails in big glasses and smoking Gitanes, it seems appropriate. the deaf woman said - the blind get too much fucking publicity with their supersonic hyperbolic hearing, just goes to show, people'd rather hear shit than open their fucking eyes. does my vision fatten and swell into the part of my brain starving for sound? I guess, but who cares? go ahead, ask me what crimson looks like. I don't fucking know.
5.07.2005
mmmany'criticsAppearNot;to(realize''this) --
5.06.2005
drums & dolls - gender role fulcrums!
doldrums grow too full of her
Series Magritte # 83
Deep Waters [ image ] for Alfred Hitchcock & Tippi Hedren & Alex GildzenUnlike most of Magritte's birds is neither egg nor simulacrum. With blood. Wondering which way to turn. Le sang froid will take the woman's coat from off her back. Or. Le sang chaud will whisper in her ear & wake her from her statuary. Or even le sang très chaud. Will influence a Hitchcock movie. co-posted to Series Magritte
5.05.2005
pas t'nnd
5.04.2005
at the table he said grace
it was just a sandwich just a salad served in a booth we were undivided from our thoughts our present held our past irresponsible for what we were that day he looked as young as change left on the ground we spoke about grandfather's birthday same day as America's steam engine we would ride around the yard before potato salad friend chicken cole slaw root beer fiddle music tin tones of the clanky upright piano sour the way that chuch chimes always sound I thought his eyes looked maybe twenty-five with innocence that comes with believing loving anything unchecked on purpose over years
Biopsychosocial Model
As the impact noted, it will restate itself at a discounted rate, from armed robbery, let's say, to the results of all healthy competition. The dread of net worth, as with any old drip, waits for the nastiness before mentioning the factors that limit the hereditary levels of trust.
certain'ty
5.03.2005
Tiny slippers
on your lame martyr girl. ps: pass it on
5.02.2005
))))))) [[[[[[[[[ pale]]]]]]]]]]shores(((((((((
pale()()()()()()()()()()()() religion }}}}}}}}}}}}}qualific[[[[[[[ cauldron section))))))stone[[[[[[[[[[ retentive lurks))))))))adjective[[[[[[ duplicity tensile)))))altogether[[[[[[ imbibed spokes))))))reneged[[[[[[[[[ sopapilla machiato safely[[[[[[[[[[[[[ park derive ))))))))earniture[[[[ confer matrix )))))rhododendron[[[[ upon stalks ))))))))wholesome[[[[ wholesale whole ))))))))))))vagabond[[ in here ))))))shortage[[[[[[[[[ break duvet()()()()()()()()()()()( spackles marnivore ()()()()()()()()() derby teak ))))))))))))blond[[[[[[ time lengthen)))))))))))spore[[[[ tall horn )))))))))tatters[[[[[[[ lake terrain ))))drive[[[[[[[[[[[ temp anger()()()()()()()()()()()()modific loose ))))))))))labor[[[[[[[ love phrasal ))))being[[[[[[[[[[[ what stake ))))))))topaz[[[[[[[[[ vagrancy lux ))))))))))))dimes[[[[[[[ weigh spry()()()()()()()()()()()() shores
chinese whispers
Earth son Lyam a dry gal! That's what I heard passed on.
5.01.2005
ah'the
earth's only a madrigal (pass it on)
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