Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
ERROR IN THE PAGES: SOLUTION!
As of yesterday, comments on any of the supplemental pages have had some kind of error that doesn't allow you to post. This problem is widespread; apparently something broke with the server as many people across blogspot are experiencing this. No one has any answers. This means that the other pages have become irrelevant, and will remain un-commentable-on until the problem is solved. In the mean time, if you have an idea or event, comment on this blog entry instead.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Excerpt from "Minute Poems"
This is the beginning of the third in a lineup following "Ephemeral Press," and "Hi, None." Here are some poems:
[4]
this minute was supposed
to be spent reflecting:
answering questions unaskable;
but instead was spent
describing a psychopath:
his hair gelled back
and angry eyes.
[5]
thinking about a smoldering pile of melted polyester
(coughing itself up into the fabric of a mattress)
listening to the sounds of crisp fire
drowning out an air-conditioner
smelling burnt ochre
a circle for summoning
greater demons
[6]
Drip-drain, and clustering leaves
hold, a certain smell
black-brown transition between winter and spring
a lost
dog smile
sounds periwinkle mouths and figs
[10]
by himself in a field of rhododendrons
(or were they wilder flowers?)
without thinking,
stepped on a bee.
now we can’t even sit outside
without burning up
in the unfiltered sun
the leaves on all the trees are gray as dust
[11]
false rock statues and rust lumps
eternal sky lamps
color the atmosphere gray and you get today
all heaped up
[4]
this minute was supposed
to be spent reflecting:
answering questions unaskable;
but instead was spent
describing a psychopath:
his hair gelled back
and angry eyes.
[5]
thinking about a smoldering pile of melted polyester
(coughing itself up into the fabric of a mattress)
listening to the sounds of crisp fire
drowning out an air-conditioner
smelling burnt ochre
a circle for summoning
greater demons
[6]
Drip-drain, and clustering leaves
hold, a certain smell
black-brown transition between winter and spring
a lost
dog smile
sounds periwinkle mouths and figs
[10]
by himself in a field of rhododendrons
(or were they wilder flowers?)
without thinking,
stepped on a bee.
now we can’t even sit outside
without burning up
in the unfiltered sun
the leaves on all the trees are gray as dust
[11]
false rock statues and rust lumps
eternal sky lamps
color the atmosphere gray and you get today
all heaped up
The TV told me this
Jesus walks in the swamp with bare feet;
it’s the only way he can find the anacondas.
it’s the only way he can find the anacondas.
COWSKULL SAD FIRE
I knew once I was past-distant in the air
Seeing something dancing
Across a great chasm sunken
Death kite flames and shining finger rising out like a rock
Target acquired
Not for long and the pain will be insurmountable
Having nothing to hold on to
Carry me
Fever spit and distant shouting
Stomping wildly (is that my heart?)
Slightly malfunctioning to the floor
Withdrawn from carpet
Staring into dream
Of this cowskull sad fire
Hunchbacked
Bloodstreaming
Cicada eruptions bass and treble continuous motion
Hardening from inside myself I confront
Thirty dirt rocks scratching into dust
On a tilted porch
An eagle with no eyes unimpeded soars
Something awakens
To here itself shout
A new silence
Seeing something dancing
Across a great chasm sunken
Death kite flames and shining finger rising out like a rock
Target acquired
Not for long and the pain will be insurmountable
Having nothing to hold on to
Carry me
Fever spit and distant shouting
Stomping wildly (is that my heart?)
Slightly malfunctioning to the floor
Withdrawn from carpet
Staring into dream
Of this cowskull sad fire
Hunchbacked
Bloodstreaming
Cicada eruptions bass and treble continuous motion
Hardening from inside myself I confront
Thirty dirt rocks scratching into dust
On a tilted porch
An eagle with no eyes unimpeded soars
Something awakens
To here itself shout
A new silence
Monday, March 22, 2010
"Fur Sultans Now" by Bats, Bats & Chaps
I have been handing these out to random people, leaving them in bathroom stalls and various offices, and will now be offering a display of these brochures at some table (the wine table? the product table?) at the p(art)y for Delta Journal next Wednesday, the 31st. I'm teetering over some ideas for the brochure dispenser, as in, what to say on it, images, etc... CLICK TO ENLARGE!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Pillow Talk
A truncated, poem form of work.
Pillow Talk
Under the covers you and me
Drowsy from this many afternoons
You thinking “baby penguins”
I thinking of you--
apple bottom, and watermelon Saturday, finding the chocolate chips
stashed behind the Tupperware
Rocking in the lull of heart hum
You say “hmmmmm” and yawn in
Let us talk about the span of the universe now when everything rhymes
Rocking
Let us get it all right for once
No talk of Hitler and his babbleplatz or sailboats, because I want to talk about sailboats. And dogs. We know we already agree, puppies filled the void of God.
Let us get down to the basics so we know where life should go from here
I won’t be abrupt, this won’t hurt
Occam’s shaving cream, I will be gentle
I hear you and your metaphysical inclinations, your causes, bumpkin
Or at least I think I do, perhaps I am one track too
If we see the inclinations as foundless beliefs,
though they may be perfectly right,
all that you can know is that you exist…though we feel that we exist…our emotions tell us we should care about each other
Our emotions will be passengers, though
we will couch them in softness
but won’t couch our meanings
If you could hear me out in your polar chapel
If only there wasn’t the crosswalk of precedent,
or the pragmatics of your bunching socks
Metaphysics is persuasion.
Well…it could be…I must lounge my words in probability not pope talk
Do you understand me? Did I sway you?
So we will bathe in the same cloudy water and rummage for the soap
It must be right under the surface
We will go together, we will find it
Let nothing get in the way--
the pale ceiling, the knotted skin,
the wealth of fanlight on your white ass
What do you see?
I see holes, holes,
Black holes, they get larger the more you fill them
What is a hole that knowledge cannot fill?
Some call it god.
But our gods are comb-overs of the aging.
Is it one life, that’s it?
or Infinite lifetimes?
Can you reason your reincarnation?
We kill over karma
Don’t give me that path. That cobblestone bath. That varnished cobblestone path which society says is so, reality is not up to the majority.
Just because whales don’t vote, doesn’t mean they should be vanquished if your suffraging neurons elect
What would the whales say?
No cetacean without representation!
Do you see anything?
Only the hissing highway, the open door, a cat moaning outside in the frost.
No, don’t be tired, this is important, I see why the tired, though--in lifetime perspective. Funny that the grave can flash mutate into the repulsive
In years the smile dry melts back into the death snarl
Don’t give me those gloss eyes, as if meanings get mold,
as if they needed a refrigerator
I will remain here, while you glide your feet over the swimming pool, skin silk on the cold railing and call you out to the expanse of buoyant ego death.
What separates man from beast is his discomfort,
his itch never to be fully pleased with himself
To build his worry into a house
Queasy at his meals,
Cro-magnon vomited from the loyalty of Mesopotamia, and itched for sunburn and frostbite
Everywhere you hear “I eat meat, what of it?
I kill coyotes, what of it?
I fight pitbulls, what of it?”
Collateral
Dogfight
Incisors sew into the neck
Suicide bomb hit
teeth knitted into the wall
A bandage around the head
stitches go in and out
To find out now is to have proportion, balance, to help end unnecessary suffering
You look at me crab style
Utilitarianism is untilitarianism
Either we die out in another few hundred years or we expand faster than we destroy ourselves and huddle round small stars that burn for trillions of years
Everything is a mouth, there are mouths everywhere. The walls are like a honeycomb with teeth now eating through the soles of my shoes, now turning my feet into flesh spaghetti. Now knowing the end--that we cannot know yet and maybe ever.
I have forgotten you, bumpkin
Please forgive me
I will not be this unfaithful again
In this odyssey from ape to man to beast again, we’ve come full Circe
I will always fold into the fold. It is so cold, let us shield ourselves here, and shift around the bitter burden of righteousness.
Pillow Talk
Under the covers you and me
Drowsy from this many afternoons
You thinking “baby penguins”
I thinking of you--
apple bottom, and watermelon Saturday, finding the chocolate chips
stashed behind the Tupperware
Rocking in the lull of heart hum
You say “hmmmmm” and yawn in
Let us talk about the span of the universe now when everything rhymes
Rocking
Let us get it all right for once
No talk of Hitler and his babbleplatz or sailboats, because I want to talk about sailboats. And dogs. We know we already agree, puppies filled the void of God.
Let us get down to the basics so we know where life should go from here
I won’t be abrupt, this won’t hurt
Occam’s shaving cream, I will be gentle
I hear you and your metaphysical inclinations, your causes, bumpkin
Or at least I think I do, perhaps I am one track too
If we see the inclinations as foundless beliefs,
though they may be perfectly right,
all that you can know is that you exist…though we feel that we exist…our emotions tell us we should care about each other
Our emotions will be passengers, though
we will couch them in softness
but won’t couch our meanings
If you could hear me out in your polar chapel
If only there wasn’t the crosswalk of precedent,
or the pragmatics of your bunching socks
Metaphysics is persuasion.
Well…it could be…I must lounge my words in probability not pope talk
Do you understand me? Did I sway you?
So we will bathe in the same cloudy water and rummage for the soap
It must be right under the surface
We will go together, we will find it
Let nothing get in the way--
the pale ceiling, the knotted skin,
the wealth of fanlight on your white ass
What do you see?
I see holes, holes,
Black holes, they get larger the more you fill them
What is a hole that knowledge cannot fill?
Some call it god.
But our gods are comb-overs of the aging.
Is it one life, that’s it?
or Infinite lifetimes?
Can you reason your reincarnation?
We kill over karma
Don’t give me that path. That cobblestone bath. That varnished cobblestone path which society says is so, reality is not up to the majority.
Just because whales don’t vote, doesn’t mean they should be vanquished if your suffraging neurons elect
What would the whales say?
No cetacean without representation!
Do you see anything?
Only the hissing highway, the open door, a cat moaning outside in the frost.
No, don’t be tired, this is important, I see why the tired, though--in lifetime perspective. Funny that the grave can flash mutate into the repulsive
In years the smile dry melts back into the death snarl
Don’t give me those gloss eyes, as if meanings get mold,
as if they needed a refrigerator
I will remain here, while you glide your feet over the swimming pool, skin silk on the cold railing and call you out to the expanse of buoyant ego death.
What separates man from beast is his discomfort,
his itch never to be fully pleased with himself
To build his worry into a house
Queasy at his meals,
Cro-magnon vomited from the loyalty of Mesopotamia, and itched for sunburn and frostbite
Everywhere you hear “I eat meat, what of it?
I kill coyotes, what of it?
I fight pitbulls, what of it?”
Collateral
Dogfight
Incisors sew into the neck
Suicide bomb hit
teeth knitted into the wall
A bandage around the head
stitches go in and out
To find out now is to have proportion, balance, to help end unnecessary suffering
You look at me crab style
Utilitarianism is untilitarianism
Either we die out in another few hundred years or we expand faster than we destroy ourselves and huddle round small stars that burn for trillions of years
Everything is a mouth, there are mouths everywhere. The walls are like a honeycomb with teeth now eating through the soles of my shoes, now turning my feet into flesh spaghetti. Now knowing the end--that we cannot know yet and maybe ever.
I have forgotten you, bumpkin
Please forgive me
I will not be this unfaithful again
In this odyssey from ape to man to beast again, we’ve come full Circe
I will always fold into the fold. It is so cold, let us shield ourselves here, and shift around the bitter burden of righteousness.
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