assuming the art of redemption consists in the idea every acre of dust leads somewhere,
amounts to some thing or congregation
if you start out with a crown of sonnets,
don't pluck the readers nerves
more useful perhaps a list of beers
more useful perhaps a list of beers
that require lime to make them drinkable
and don't say it in tattered English either
but what else is there for me to think with?
after tone leading of vowels, we still have limes
and don't say it in tattered English either
but what else is there for me to think with?
after tone leading of vowels, we still have limes
drying on the counter, rock hard by the morrow
after the tone leading of vowels
broken pavement all the the way through
broken pavement all the the way through
the new, not yet roaring twenties
the days inside my stork's nest apartment
the days inside my stork's nest apartment
start to get numbered
and spinoza reveals each agency in the peak of
some bullshit endured I'll have to reverse
and spinoza reveals each agency in the peak of
some bullshit endured I'll have to reverse
into coin and pay forward
*
somewhere in cyberspace zombie nihilists are at work because they want to ban conspiracy theory videos from YouTube and this move troubles me, is utter madness. it will collapse the internet itself. the vacuum underlying the information age will lead to an implosion of all virtual social surfaces, the hollow earth will suck us inside. it will be the death of the left and the right. there is not one credible socialist theory that doesn't begin its sociological alphabet with a logically coherent narrative of conspiracy.
somewhere in cyberspace zombie nihilists are at work because they want to ban conspiracy theory videos from YouTube and this move troubles me, is utter madness. it will collapse the internet itself. the vacuum underlying the information age will lead to an implosion of all virtual social surfaces, the hollow earth will suck us inside. it will be the death of the left and the right. there is not one credible socialist theory that doesn't begin its sociological alphabet with a logically coherent narrative of conspiracy.
who's in charge here?
happy in my own cells plural happy in my cell division with my cellular self post celluloid tweaking dreams skipworthy gold buggy drone-borne in the chem trails.
happy in my own cells plural happy in my cell division with my cellular self post celluloid tweaking dreams skipworthy gold buggy drone-borne in the chem trails.
science always divides itself between
obsessive self care and the spectre of social control dressing up naked
emperors for parade. Carl Sagan likely meant well and even Novalis can
make sense of the language virus of Doctor Seuss and Willy nilly Wonka and Bill Burroughs in Tangiers during the filming of Planet of the Apes the
never-ending story directors cut of Mister Spock passing out in the
mind-meld in the particle beamers, the geyser of anti-matter, the rush of entities past out psychic ears
where? type by type by type the font of
nothingness configures from tiny squirming jiggers in the triggers the letters configuring the
atoms snapped to the grid of time, half-time, between wars of the worlds one and two.
the fish in the clear water suddenly
have time to come up on the beach and think about their next step in
evolution. let's make a plan, leap, squirm, flop and fly. a fish plan but a plan, understand?
I hate to recommend drugs, violence or insanity to anyone but they always worked for me
-- Hunter S. Thompson
now that there seems to become evidence that world leaders are 99 percent rabid syphilitic goons with razed brain stems the poets and the radical artists dieticians and visionary engineers will come out of hiding perhaps and help salvage what's left of the century. let the count-down begin...
dipping into twitter again and seeing it's the perfect medium for extremists and wise-asses, trolls and para-trolls... and I had the sudden realization, they all write with their thumbs. there must be a hidden meaning there.
some suppliers are more demanding than others, some demands higher in the chain of supply. make the masks obligatory 3 weeks into game punishable by fine only after you build up a supply of masks to sell. last night the mass celebrated the fact we die as we dream alone but keep your feet first distance march to the new drum a more perfect fear a new invisible force of control which lends resonance to antonin artaud's declaration that microbes are god but let's keep that between you and me babe
I hate to recommend drugs, violence or insanity to anyone but they always worked for me
-- Hunter S. Thompson
now that there seems to become evidence that world leaders are 99 percent rabid syphilitic goons with razed brain stems the poets and the radical artists dieticians and visionary engineers will come out of hiding perhaps and help salvage what's left of the century. let the count-down begin...
dipping into twitter again and seeing it's the perfect medium for extremists and wise-asses, trolls and para-trolls... and I had the sudden realization, they all write with their thumbs. there must be a hidden meaning there.
some suppliers are more demanding than others, some demands higher in the chain of supply. make the masks obligatory 3 weeks into game punishable by fine only after you build up a supply of masks to sell. last night the mass celebrated the fact we die as we dream alone but keep your feet first distance march to the new drum a more perfect fear a new invisible force of control which lends resonance to antonin artaud's declaration that microbes are god but let's keep that between you and me babe
it's always struck me as important to be the book rather than the author. never as important to be a figure in culture like jean paul sartre but rather like spinoza: a line of writing that enters one's mind and as many minds that are open to reading that line and having the multiplicity of meanings and the unity of actions that do not have any awareness of each other's reactions. until much later. marveling over the miracle. shared and yet separate being.
the interview I and Marjorie Van Halteren conducted with Alice Notley in Paris has been published
http://thattuesday.libsyn.com/the-afternoon-we-spent-with-alice-notley?fbclid=IwAR1w_gPl7ZbaE1WvBscI7l7xN-iU9t3ByLotsgBakh8KzKFyXuw_vPLEwsw
*
"Most people don't know and don't care who you are. You know, I think I'm kind of like pennies; you have them in your pocket but you don't remember they're there. Nobody knows who I am. Sometime if I tell someone who I am they'll say oh no you ain't. Or people just don't know, never did and don't care."
-- Bill Withers (from a 2009 documentary)
*
this is the message you have been waiting for
they keep arriving out of nowhere
the poems cluster like hiveless bees on the fence between seasons
if you are an improvisor you just stay in the game
even when there's nothing to wager
and nothing to play for
*
Finally composed and released Arpeggios of Silence
been poetry riding shotgun for them 40
riders or so of the apocalypse
when it's been the apocalypse riding the drivers
burning the empty rubbers
but who told you that you can speak this way
or who told you that you can't
where is the dictionary coming from these days?
the streets but they are paved
the jungle but that's been razed
the river but theys been drained
divine reason but that's been bained
been the the slaveship turned spaceship
to get the wrong people out of the game...
wrong or right ? you know the game is tight
are you what you think? look at the flow
don't dare to speak low
go for the neck, keep loose
let the ghosts out of the bag.
say what the words say
say... are you a believable text?
walk while you may or take a few steps back
and run while you can
a new religious schism is on it's way
how to divide the worm from the state
leave the rose one thorn
*
temperature outside 5 degrees, mostly sunny, windy as shit,
temperature feels like 5 below, feels like bullshit government,
calling pot-shots from the gated community of wrecks
some junk yard of dreams I'm supposed to salvage
& patch together into my own destiny, I'd rather sleep
looks like tsunami of bum rush capitalism gonna take down cities
actual mileage may vary according to how much cash you carry
wisdom in the pocket shakes a fake tail like davey crocket
the lady with the ermine didn't make herself the coat
but there's something in the way these keys jangle
that makes its seem something's gonna blow the prison
run with the jackals and fly with the crows
something with an opposable thumb will close
over the shoulder of the cabinet of sinister ministers
and administer the medicine that makes the mind, blow
*
air on my fingertips!?
what joy! ...
but how more aware?
can life be?
shadowed by the glove
muzzled by the mask
where does more awareness flicker
guess the smiles through
the eyes glow quicker
go out on the air and see
go on... go out...
escape the fire
escape the landscape
the soundscape
the dreamscape
escape the thought
of what everybody nobody
everybody wants
perfect ripped bod
perfect blown job
perfect vile of blood
escaping escapes us
ideologies wandering
free deserts, mown towns,
hacked trees
life's spices diced
into scapegoat traces
history fistory
uppity dock
slashed in a flash
in the pandemic memory
down the bio-clock
in an extinct ivory
horn born from
b or c movie
x rated post-truth
strip tease the metaphysics
down to...
whoever you wanna
get skeletal with
*
temperature outside 5 degrees, mostly sunny, windy as shit,
temperature feels like 5 below, feels like bullshit government,
calling pot-shots from the gated community of wrecks
some junk yard of dreams I'm supposed to salvage
& patch together into my own destiny, I'd rather sleep
looks like tsunami of bum rush capitalism gonna take down cities
actual mileage may vary according to how much cash you carry
wisdom in the pocket shakes a fake tail like davey crocket
the lady with the ermine didn't make herself the coat
but there's something in the way these keys jangle
that makes its seem something's gonna blow the prison
run with the jackals and fly with the crows
something with an opposable thumb will close
over the shoulder of the cabinet of sinister ministers
and administer the medicine that makes the mind, blow
*
air on my fingertips!?
what joy! ...
but how more aware?
can life be?
shadowed by the glove
muzzled by the mask
where does more awareness flicker
guess the smiles through
the eyes glow quicker
go out on the air and see
go on... go out...
escape the fire
escape the landscape
the soundscape
the dreamscape
escape the thought
of what everybody nobody
everybody wants
perfect ripped bod
perfect blown job
perfect vile of blood
escaping escapes us
ideologies wandering
free deserts, mown towns,
hacked trees
life's spices diced
into scapegoat traces
history fistory
uppity dock
slashed in a flash
in the pandemic memory
down the bio-clock
in an extinct ivory
horn born from
b or c movie
x rated post-truth
strip tease the metaphysics
down to...
whoever you wanna
get skeletal with
go to the good looks cook-book and fetch another recipe
stereo binaural
multichannel
scanners long distance
balloons over the river
radio krankenhaus
blixa's geshichte
over loaded lords of
money in the bank
slip lipstreams
moonbeams
loopholes
smells like your neighborhood
caught up with a nice
fire insurance policy agent
cinderd turn in leaps of faith
now every car will be a club
every van a bordello
church mobs imaginary
one man's ghetto, grotto
another's chemical urn
the ashes of the burning
man canisters rolling
*
a few weeks ago when the parks were still open I sat on a bench with Karolina drawing words back and forth between one another as if drawn across and even weaving with the rays of the late day sun there came a woman cursing strangely but with humour into her black cell mirroring her black sun-glasses and black lipstick against the pallid flesh not unhealthy but decidedly off-white maybe and the long dress as you could imagine black maybe of felt I can admit to being distracted and imprecise but she pushed a black hearse-like baby-carriage with gold handle-bar, a pram, all in black, black, black, also with golden-trim and molded fleur-de-lis joint-fittings and hub-caps all gold (rubber tires: black) and this sumptuous death-limo richness, stately deathly pomp and gliding circumstance the wheels of the carriage being 4 wheels and the baby could not be seen because of the black screen drawn over the closed lid of this funereal float in the last parade before the quarantines and lockdowns would in earnest begin -- as it were a premonition of some sort -- what if she was selling dope? or vaccines?
*
the meteor will hit
any minute
knocking arms
off the clock
although the system
bearing complexity
races to label
the off switch
unknown
other hexers
fill in the blanks
just check
who
afterthought title:
let the scapegoating begin
*
where do we go now?
what time is it really?
we used to run from the crowds
we used to run with some crowd
lonely but never alone
my drum beat me to the difference
on the isolate peaks the valleys
virtually folded greenly in the voice
of Maria Calas the grass
burnt too quickly
in this recording of Donizetti
one can hear the creak of floorboards
feet shuffling a choral strophe
or floral catastrophe
not a single word makes sense
melismatic throughout
an endless sentence
where did all the people go?
down the street on the corner
bottles without drinkers gather
Nothing new about that
flute mimics aria and airplane
over scores the Donizetti
now she sounds like a simple siren
operatic ambulance sans Doppler
where do we go to find supplies?
the feet fall like simple rain
what do we find essential?
is this purgatory or the ante room to Hades?
is there always opera here?
where can I find what I need?
where can I give what is mine to give?
can all these sounds of voices
act like tree leaves to filter
poison of political speech?
maybe life is too difficult after all
maybe our life is over-involved
but then again who's asking?
perhaps the quantic snap to new
time space manifold is enhancing
reception and you in the corner
turn to look at these words
stretching out of view
*
daft bourgeois
go to the cloak room
go to your closet
take the clothes
woven with grief
and rend them
walk in the rags
ten years at least
or until one tear
falls for something
other than what you
seem to own so well
you have forgotten
daft bourgeois
what rhymes with orange
unhanding us
*
pimples appear on the surface
and ruins of a face wander various selfhoods
from adult to adultery to adulteration
the past is being rewritten by the victor & victrola
the vector of identity learning cosmetics
and flotation from water fowl
who winter the siege of micro-mongols
foraging with tails upturned for
their food is of great concern
having no parliament of devils to haggle with
about the meaning of the worm for control
*
time sleeps
pulls the blanket over space
it is your birthday
in terms of years
your birth minute
in terms of weeks
your birth second
in terms of centuries
incalculable your days
and nights inside the forest
the first tree
learning to walk
but lo! behold:
space has closed
over the book of time
where nebulae murmur
timeless arguments
in celebration
of what we maybe
never will know
(false poem for the buddha, lately of timeless
ageless universe where years are 450 million)
++
when you have seen 100 pomegranites fall with your own eyes and collected the seeds
boom room is where you go boom like everyone like no one will hear like poetry scratch pad days lines of oblivion etched into the feathered forehead of God's list in flight you lost me there at the crossroads of poetry and politics. boom. every word in the truth there is no substitute no paraphrase poetry Iies faithful to love no template for industry nor congress conspiracy of pharmocorporal wage-punishment fake peoperty document's please, you dinosaur fossil. poetry is the dwelling harmonic hambone hydrangea hydrophone hydra schio-analytics of doctor kryptonite. boom. muhhamad ali plus typing. It will not be there to argue class distribution curves but may be dress gender issues in colourful terms of the celebratory imagination and go fund the me the synaptic ligatures of identity. beep beep. whizz. scratch toe hold let your wing tips touch your peak drop those Martian maritime mumbly peg martini holding praying mantis hands to the ground. and boom. gravity goes quantum this mountain is naturally bald not arranged like Chopin. bam. bang a chopstick rattle its the Chico Brown eye pattern flare in the foveal grove showing you sun's plasma in freckles of your mitochondria. the angels are supported by the song you need the angels so you sing. simple as that. even I'd you dial the number wrong it gets you a where world were-world were-where. and you don't stop. the barrel scraping is infinite and the empty glows like howl-along
boom
...
where fantasy coils with reality where the dream animals gather and give bifurcation a lift into town
multichannel
scanners long distance
balloons over the river
radio krankenhaus
blixa's geshichte
over loaded lords of
money in the bank
slip lipstreams
moonbeams
loopholes
smells like your neighborhood
caught up with a nice
fire insurance policy agent
cinderd turn in leaps of faith
now every car will be a club
every van a bordello
church mobs imaginary
one man's ghetto, grotto
another's chemical urn
the ashes of the burning
man canisters rolling
*
a few weeks ago when the parks were still open I sat on a bench with Karolina drawing words back and forth between one another as if drawn across and even weaving with the rays of the late day sun there came a woman cursing strangely but with humour into her black cell mirroring her black sun-glasses and black lipstick against the pallid flesh not unhealthy but decidedly off-white maybe and the long dress as you could imagine black maybe of felt I can admit to being distracted and imprecise but she pushed a black hearse-like baby-carriage with gold handle-bar, a pram, all in black, black, black, also with golden-trim and molded fleur-de-lis joint-fittings and hub-caps all gold (rubber tires: black) and this sumptuous death-limo richness, stately deathly pomp and gliding circumstance the wheels of the carriage being 4 wheels and the baby could not be seen because of the black screen drawn over the closed lid of this funereal float in the last parade before the quarantines and lockdowns would in earnest begin -- as it were a premonition of some sort -- what if she was selling dope? or vaccines?
*
the meteor will hit
any minute
knocking arms
off the clock
although the system
bearing complexity
races to label
the off switch
unknown
other hexers
fill in the blanks
just check
who
afterthought title:
let the scapegoating begin
*
where do we go now?
what time is it really?
we used to run from the crowds
we used to run with some crowd
lonely but never alone
my drum beat me to the difference
on the isolate peaks the valleys
virtually folded greenly in the voice
of Maria Calas the grass
burnt too quickly
in this recording of Donizetti
one can hear the creak of floorboards
feet shuffling a choral strophe
or floral catastrophe
not a single word makes sense
melismatic throughout
an endless sentence
where did all the people go?
down the street on the corner
bottles without drinkers gather
Nothing new about that
flute mimics aria and airplane
over scores the Donizetti
now she sounds like a simple siren
operatic ambulance sans Doppler
where do we go to find supplies?
the feet fall like simple rain
what do we find essential?
is this purgatory or the ante room to Hades?
is there always opera here?
where can I find what I need?
where can I give what is mine to give?
can all these sounds of voices
act like tree leaves to filter
poison of political speech?
maybe life is too difficult after all
maybe our life is over-involved
but then again who's asking?
perhaps the quantic snap to new
time space manifold is enhancing
reception and you in the corner
turn to look at these words
stretching out of view
*
daft bourgeois
go to the cloak room
go to your closet
take the clothes
woven with grief
and rend them
walk in the rags
ten years at least
or until one tear
falls for something
other than what you
seem to own so well
you have forgotten
daft bourgeois
what rhymes with orange
unhanding us
*
pimples appear on the surface
and ruins of a face wander various selfhoods
from adult to adultery to adulteration
the past is being rewritten by the victor & victrola
the vector of identity learning cosmetics
and flotation from water fowl
who winter the siege of micro-mongols
foraging with tails upturned for
their food is of great concern
having no parliament of devils to haggle with
about the meaning of the worm for control
*
time sleeps
pulls the blanket over space
it is your birthday
in terms of years
your birth minute
in terms of weeks
your birth second
in terms of centuries
incalculable your days
and nights inside the forest
the first tree
learning to walk
but lo! behold:
space has closed
over the book of time
where nebulae murmur
timeless arguments
in celebration
of what we maybe
never will know
(false poem for the buddha, lately of timeless
ageless universe where years are 450 million)
++
when you have seen 100 pomegranites fall with your own eyes and collected the seeds
boom room is where you go boom like everyone like no one will hear like poetry scratch pad days lines of oblivion etched into the feathered forehead of God's list in flight you lost me there at the crossroads of poetry and politics. boom. every word in the truth there is no substitute no paraphrase poetry Iies faithful to love no template for industry nor congress conspiracy of pharmocorporal wage-punishment fake peoperty document's please, you dinosaur fossil. poetry is the dwelling harmonic hambone hydrangea hydrophone hydra schio-analytics of doctor kryptonite. boom. muhhamad ali plus typing. It will not be there to argue class distribution curves but may be dress gender issues in colourful terms of the celebratory imagination and go fund the me the synaptic ligatures of identity. beep beep. whizz. scratch toe hold let your wing tips touch your peak drop those Martian maritime mumbly peg martini holding praying mantis hands to the ground. and boom. gravity goes quantum this mountain is naturally bald not arranged like Chopin. bam. bang a chopstick rattle its the Chico Brown eye pattern flare in the foveal grove showing you sun's plasma in freckles of your mitochondria. the angels are supported by the song you need the angels so you sing. simple as that. even I'd you dial the number wrong it gets you a where world were-world were-where. and you don't stop. the barrel scraping is infinite and the empty glows like howl-along
boom
...
polarities by virtue of hardened age gaining maximum flexibility seem to
lead me to pointing in all directions like the quantum brainless
scarecrow -- the direction of your fear of loss, your direction for your
hope for gains -- the heraclitean directionless direction -- the tao
where all roads are the crossroads... i don't wish to be one person or
even when that one person was okay it was doomed by being one to
particle decay and clamber scatter across despair stairs of value -- who
could be a poet after pasolini? the personal auschwitz of the leftist
fermenting in procrustean beds? they will plow your car over your
bones... michealangelo's shattered pieta the arm hanging too simian...
the break-down of social barriers, the way anybody's soviet childhood
meets with your own monkey family farms
...
In Crimean Tatar, the name of the city is Aqmescit, which means The white mosque (Aq—white, and mescit—mosque)
the one dimensional gag-order
weaponization of facial wear
versus multidimensional
gag-order, denial of services,
death by nostalgia, attack
attack?
the flaque not the flicks
they say delete your cookies
put your cookies down on the ground
and step-back, hands on your head
back out of your history
learn the new narrative
and it's cul-de-sac of rebellions
cul-de-sac, chicken shack
rooster in a hen-house
melting icebergs
the volcanoes mega
...
raped serially by the death monotony cult of capital with enchanting
intermitencies the designer diseases passed randomly down predatory food
chains whose bottom feeder calls top dog down stream of the bourgeois
rage for consistent development technologies telling us which side this
titanic is broken on determined to keep talking while the boat goes
down while I suggest all you lovely people instead learn your swim
against all the spins and yes they are sharks all around confused by it
all maybe as much as you keep your distance the eye on the eyes take aim
relax its all over anyway get on with it
...
humans not in it. humans within it. humans surround some segment of it.
surrounds humans. it does yet don't have any ain't. don't know what it
is don't know themselves but make doughnuts make doughnut holes and sell
them and grow bigger themselves. what have we been doing in the
goldilocks zone but feasting on the rightful supper of the bears...
the optimist sees the glass as half-ruined, cracked, looks for a new one
clampdowns on cognitive freedoms rarely get reported. or only
ironically. freedom itself is often not efficiently cognized. are any of
you reading this? what pill was it that you took this morning? I have a
theory about island people. a theory about goats and boats and
ayahuasca and dreams of a theory of broken down authority. resolved into
riddims. you with them. theory about landlocked nations that dream to
be boats with children at the helm in pirate hats made of newspaper.
there will be no election to perform itself incompetently on Sunday.
are you reading this or only what you want to see in this? I think when
artaud wrote all writing was pigshit it was in translation but he likely
meant writing for the man is cryptofascist. let the word be free. to
connect in the mind the numberless days of liberation. but what pill
will we pick from the pharmocoligical sootoproletarian kindergarten and
what is up with that numbed down dumbed down thing of flat roads and
drained swamps that our civilization calls quality. put up a laugh emoji
from the bank of emotions open offer. yesterday a swan walked ashore
straight towards me and I didn't run away but there were cops in a
hummer I hope will disappear over then summer I dream of djinn with the
green glowing hair and kelp that walks. it is gentle madness and pineal
clarity. type this and forget. poets never die
...
radio curvature -- spherical triangles - the social armature, armor, amour, casting spells in sound
moor mothers tangled weather
the kickbacks of apriori
ante-deluvian backwater
diamonds drawn from the moon
moor mothers tangled weather
the kickbacks of apriori
ante-deluvian backwater
diamonds drawn from the moon
(ice crystals) did the virus come from mars?
surprised eyes upon dresses covered in vibrant green vowels,
apricot inside the apricot, starved fish for the fishers
because all causes are between
surprised eyes upon dresses covered in vibrant green vowels,
apricot inside the apricot, starved fish for the fishers
because all causes are between
bells do not ring in the cathedrals any longer
and the darkness of theater extending tendrils
devices design separitis (an inflammatory disease caused by being alone)
the inflammation of division
and the darkness of theater extending tendrils
devices design separitis (an inflammatory disease caused by being alone)
the inflammation of division
touch of a scandalous fair
play may day's delayed rapture, extended mix par cour, par terre,
par-tay, par-tau, square to the pi dwarf ancient c
brave the eternal why not now brave the teddy dreadies
under the paradigm shift the
quick fix of the flipped ecliptic will re-rotate the total bliss
manufacture---
let the judges be warned how judgement burns both ways
surf the tidings of
disaster, let the rubric read liberation
