12.23.05
a cavalier caking over of the dreams of consumption coughing up itself
imagined in the little cream cheeses. flowing and rectangular, jumpy
and snyde this flavored epidemic uncoiling paste. fatty gridlock honing
brief shorts of sudden static no one kicked thru – it was merely
peanuts not croutons. flouncing nash and wall-eyed cut the horde of
ample cajuns loaping dump in jalloped cryde kicks on of laughter
self-negating. thrust it marsha groan 'n goad all cauliflowers popping
open stems to bleak and bleat a needle drumming gourd. fellow hands:
erupt in magnitoggle lanced vibrations nozzled tossing all the see-thru
albatross finger food tomorrow. no my ways o technicratic dreamt-war:
clothes can not fit nothing hinged on educated warbles chunking soup
among the vedas.
*
i hid beneath the sports page looking awkward and alone in fragrance
knocking over dramamine in tables that'll amp us flogging berries black
and blue til there that's end of sensfence corny soy duh who who smell
like chicken gods of fast-food gods of harvest framed this writing by
its cover stocked as dump along a shitter paid in full but made of
goats unstrumming cocktail party wavers no it's knock like to or throb
a kinky chick parading alberts loading gum upon a marvel-laden drone
it's no tomorrow but it works for a today no mapping check point light
erupting grazer stocking desert skill and toolbox off w/ window-level
clarity eyes denied the sense of mostly paid in all respects to
chomping that's correct see that's korea that's rhetoric coy for syntax
how rhetorical force can forge the heraclitean candled syntax tasting
tizers like all-nighters the editor who for greece forgot me, cocked
and checkered letter nowhere drug inducing pencil squeek a daft of
octagonal slumber oops it's
*
space negates the capitalized frenzy looped in viscous wrapping
presence burst beyond all hot dogs right as fast as mine car parry it
donald negotiating maximal interest in the economy of dense regression
octangular and jungle atomization mazing thru the purple cancers lapped
in sung portentious beat re-noodled dappled drag like shuddering load
remodeled apt and capable superhuman coat for growth a launch a pad to
chill in cold mouse toning lockéd and martin short describing the nails
coming out of his little bald head twas enormous the rate of
destruction the size of the eraser the just and the glowing the martian
in tune w/ the jumper which was more than the written could write on
ticked w/ itself so the mother said tock now take hat.
*
one more rocket to be burst over plenty who did hack the gzgzgz of
al-jimzeera in plenitude of earthly associates, dreams of river-boating
cancer paid for by all of earth's citizens – noded in junction in
a drig of decentered almighty no wing o no dollar o no storm of
production this is total and disinterested winter theorizing raw
plenitude as squibbles matter constellating signs off heavy industries
dusted at the core of self-managing practice no hiss off more cook-offs
prince loyal and certain o yeah call me nightly, perspire into
soft-ridden making at the base of cold sausages nothing's truly
possible of week-minded what's left off the seams of production in a
twinkle it'll sprinkle and be gone like fairy dust mights be wondering
tykes be churning plenty focus on digression now's the hour of our
cramping languid preaching of the drone.
12.26.05
as pyramidic logic of which the referent's no more than examplary image
(wrong word) i can posit that along any street's a few vents parcelled
out like hits from a bit rate popping in chunks thru abstracted gates
made manifest in the colours of cable
*
in this dim light,
hola's still waving
hello from the shore
of uncertainty, waves
crash a crunk holla
(like inserted where necess'ry)
*
is this "mindless chatter" in the words of Mustafa Khayati? how to
avoid the bourgeois streams? the critique of which can be uncovered in
bourgeois books. but only marginally so. shafts of darkness shining
from the planks, light streaming thru in b/t. about a/b to call or not
to stop but go. a period lost in a field of static scream. said please
do not relunt. trinny skoob along the grade of tinctured essence popped
and popping – mustafa. her reading my letters – bet you didn't
keep mine you bastard – didn't.
*
put me in a box / but allow me to scream on the streets when i happen
to be there / i'll only turn language i find into a pome / cut off my
legs and shove donkey in my ass / turn off the light and cast a spell /
brick thru the window of any local chain link // hey let's / trade our
shoes for acid balloons / and terrorize bank customers // hey let's /
teach ourselves the fastest way / to cut down urban 'lectric poles /
let's read the maps and jungle thru / create situations regardless of
content // now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now /
now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now /
now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now / now /
now / now
*
i've braced myself in the door-frame, having ingested the radioactive
hydrangeas, flashes of pornography under eyelashes carving svelte
tankers full of spock emptying thru old plasma cancers chessed out thru
decor. we all know surrealism long before we read it, the articulation
over-written by literal images, costumes tramping out anything but
potential knowledge of the signs and their functioning – purely
linguistically speaking, totaled yet particular, yeti-cream nutted thru
w/ ghosts of potential flatter victims
*
the time of night that language gets triangled in the pores, and
micro-fibers strings coring thru little traveled niches. the beef of
flow rends asunder any shard of the romance, stoned hikers scrambling
from nothing. placeword. lines individually in day, like how i'm so
rare to be exhaust teaming out of this hibernating rabbit-den, the
vampires mouthing my words as they're written in the margins of the
bible, uncensored tow. the record-keepers babbling teenage temper of
night gloss perpleing a mirror staking lust on teh go. nearby stables
intact from semi-marbles of flit. crean flag trip or don't trip.
neo-dada as it's anti
*
the programmatic palpitation of manual romanticism linked forth w/
generosity and the makings of trust. kindled in the openness to
redistribute franchises, like soup or apple techne engendering
poly-glot. oooooh it's morning and the sun bursts filling this writing
w/ timed visuals ticking w/ each mark of the tocking mouth pinned up by
needle-brain. kick this page thru the smoke and the night to wrap up
any/all notional gates of country pride picketing white friends,
talking to yrself @ night – it's a man's woman no doubt about it.
to've lost the writer's mind for writer's lung. that's something not
worth losing again not – writing not what you know but rather writing
only what you know how, are minrus ae. Toys are blessed w/ the phatic
wind of incendiary lagging, touched by the roughle gauged and tracking
every move we make.
*
crop mediated split i i think i i move i i hear my shelf life cycling
strong arming syndicated digits roll ringing tim penny peach bling and
underestimated timing calling penecillin moustache flagging down the
donkey jazzercise as perched upon the glowing tributary marched in
trepidacious want for want of this:
said machine of machete
machete's no machine
so machine became machete
and macheted ol' machine
or macaulay kulkin swinging nakid @ 7 years, trapped in gay paris w/
only a map of Nazi Berlin and and a pocket calculator. call it home,
call ti tyranny, call it what you will o go boat.
*
to have spent the night before attempting to visualize in vain the
splitting of a human body by pulling apart their legs and keeping
pulling, so they slowly tear from the first little bit of tear on their
previously integral PC muscle to the neck where the head will not be
rended, the neck going off to one side, more weight on one half of the
rip than the other. = this is me not working on my thesis this is me
remembering previous lives this is me remembering who i've been w/ and
why it still makes me sad this is me wondering who you are reading this
this is me me again this is me beginning to write this is me all over
and again...
*
