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.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
composed on a recent shamanic journey:
I like abounding in this hallucinogenic eccentricity...
it's pagan electricity.
I'm seeing worlds beyond each thought-mind, confusing the delicious elasticity of rubbery-giggly sound-world. Experiencing the here-and-now as a ridiculously decorated decadent fruit-tray, I see the endless fascinating tasty distractions of swirly-colored hysterical fruit-smiles.
Insane sanity distorted mind-rider upon bizarre alien thought-perceptions
intensity beyond the breaking-point of the mundane. Psychological explosives were used.
Truth-Consciousness-Bliss is the very definition of love.
Giving in to the moment yields ecstatic realities beyond the range of which your pupils can dilate.
I have nothing else to say except this in another way.
I like abounding in this hallucinogenic eccentricity...
it's pagan electricity.
I'm seeing worlds beyond each thought-mind, confusing the delicious elasticity of rubbery-giggly sound-world. Experiencing the here-and-now as a ridiculously decorated decadent fruit-tray, I see the endless fascinating tasty distractions of swirly-colored hysterical fruit-smiles.
Insane sanity distorted mind-rider upon bizarre alien thought-perceptions
intensity beyond the breaking-point of the mundane. Psychological explosives were used.
Truth-Consciousness-Bliss is the very definition of love.
Giving in to the moment yields ecstatic realities beyond the range of which your pupils can dilate.
I have nothing else to say except this in another way.
Independent Article #1
There is a Kentucky Senator standing to criticize heartlessness and filibusters in Senate billions all over the jobless—“Should he be alone as a mortgage of the bill such as a stimulus?” the two bailouts being chairmen versus assessments. This is the industry being stood up by the belief party’s money.
Congress has been one of the few topics to sprout up for school systems.
Bunning is denying having unemployment spending where both sides of the point are saying that in a new the benefits of the people trying to get the more recent dollars, the Senate is going as well as more ethical money such as outrage funding.
Congressmen were attempting to be “global” when in theory, they weren’t being global at all. Kentucky stirred a lone memory occurrence against the Louisiana $10 billion jobless teacher/law subject questions.
The article in rollcall.com might put a pitcher of a still fastball here in the Hall of Fame. A shot was objecting to McConnell in 2008 praising the bill and the relationship hitting “frosty deliberations” on all points in question—deliberating terms the Senate is to be backing on various officials and aisles on the same side. Mitch McConnell elected this progressive and ideal backbone of keeping—keeping the people, the entire American population of topics, writing what he or she could constitute.
Congress has been one of the few topics to sprout up for school systems.
Bunning is denying having unemployment spending where both sides of the point are saying that in a new the benefits of the people trying to get the more recent dollars, the Senate is going as well as more ethical money such as outrage funding.
Congressmen were attempting to be “global” when in theory, they weren’t being global at all. Kentucky stirred a lone memory occurrence against the Louisiana $10 billion jobless teacher/law subject questions.
The article in rollcall.com might put a pitcher of a still fastball here in the Hall of Fame. A shot was objecting to McConnell in 2008 praising the bill and the relationship hitting “frosty deliberations” on all points in question—deliberating terms the Senate is to be backing on various officials and aisles on the same side. Mitch McConnell elected this progressive and ideal backbone of keeping—keeping the people, the entire American population of topics, writing what he or she could constitute.
RANDOM POEM GENERATOR #1
There is a randomly generated poetry website http://thinkzone.wlonk.com/PoemGen/PoemGen.htm
Its bad, because the word options are very limited, but the results are HILARIOUS! Look:
FALL QUIETLY LIKE A STORMY SHIP.
O, LIFE!
THE WAVE TRAVELS LIKE A WARM GIRL.
WHERE IS THE STORMY SAIL?
ALL SAILORS LOVE COLD, DEAD WHALES.
Another:
OH, DEATH!
NEVER FIGHT A REEF.
CLEAR, SMALL TUNAS SWIFTLY DESIRE A CLEAR, CLEAR SHARK.
LOVE IS A LIVELY SHIP.
And those are just from the sea template! The city template is good too:
ALL CIGARETTES DESIRE FACELESS, GRIMY DRIVERS.
WHY DOES THE CAR GOSSIP?
NEVER DESIRE JACKHAMMERS.
Its bad, because the word options are very limited, but the results are HILARIOUS! Look:
FALL QUIETLY LIKE A STORMY SHIP.
O, LIFE!
THE WAVE TRAVELS LIKE A WARM GIRL.
WHERE IS THE STORMY SAIL?
ALL SAILORS LOVE COLD, DEAD WHALES.
Another:
OH, DEATH!
NEVER FIGHT A REEF.
CLEAR, SMALL TUNAS SWIFTLY DESIRE A CLEAR, CLEAR SHARK.
LOVE IS A LIVELY SHIP.
And those are just from the sea template! The city template is good too:
ALL CIGARETTES DESIRE FACELESS, GRIMY DRIVERS.
WHY DOES THE CAR GOSSIP?
NEVER DESIRE JACKHAMMERS.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Haiku for John Cage
While hunting mushrooms,
You happened upon nothing
And understood it
This was so profound
The world decided to name
Nothing after you
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Reminiscences by the floor of Studio 54
i will not cellophane
aim can of taurus dust
at meninges
ice-a-lating vain
i will not sell a feign
until i count mouth parcel scrap
a member of the f. bee eye
feign copulating breighn
aim can of taurus dust
at meninges
ice-a-lating vain
i will not sell a feign
until i count mouth parcel scrap
a member of the f. bee eye
feign copulating breighn
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Mutt Holler
Three Piggy
Dr. Race-Walk
Smarty Resin Chestnuts
Ferret & Ferret discuss resin Techs and Stunts lengthy scepters 5 (thresh) and 9 (stints). THC contents will simmers spiffy the sultan fat merle.
Though resin ochre sun we find ands catmint node verity tenth classman. “SP resin thresh rods king lung find. Thy have lovely caserns that my choc be where its funds-n long corps. Thy can slay torte let fines and porn confess nothing flaring. Asps my nay shocking stunts slightly tight thru tent. Thy co cantle ink stints athirst” (Ferret, pg 69).
STP rattans ruled “porters.” Thy give murders than Spas, but only when necessary, stay “nay prism sans farm and perform titan such from tethers sessile” (Ferret, pg 69). SFP rattans ruled “Performers.” Thy natal sons firstly from, riming whilst likely girders, advent gates sight on what thy ring that thy my struck fame.
THC resin student snow who elves by the pyres “cry damp.” Thy love kith present and have no fur catmint and from. Thy map 38% fat pylon, curding tasty 1984 by Kirby and Bits. Specters fetus grope unclad though STP Nutty (most likely tuba called hydrate), STP Tenor (clump observers elf), SFP cru (playful, vices, and tango), nude SFP tryst (midst, gently, nitrating).
Nonuse, rattans make parley large prong fat pylon, villa from, catmint, no verity — living lens to print manta. Thy my have trebly flowing to rills, but thrum novelty dudes catmint chining.
Three Piggy
Dr. Race-Walk
Smarty Resin Chestnuts
Ferret & Ferret discuss resin Techs and Stunts lengthy scepters 5 (thresh) and 9 (stints). THC contents will simmers spiffy the sultan fat merle.
Though resin ochre sun we find ands catmint node verity tenth classman. “SP resin thresh rods king lung find. Thy have lovely caserns that my choc be where its funds-n long corps. Thy can slay torte let fines and porn confess nothing flaring. Asps my nay shocking stunts slightly tight thru tent. Thy co cantle ink stints athirst” (Ferret, pg 69).
STP rattans ruled “porters.” Thy give murders than Spas, but only when necessary, stay “nay prism sans farm and perform titan such from tethers sessile” (Ferret, pg 69). SFP rattans ruled “Performers.” Thy natal sons firstly from, riming whilst likely girders, advent gates sight on what thy ring that thy my struck fame.
THC resin student snow who elves by the pyres “cry damp.” Thy love kith present and have no fur catmint and from. Thy map 38% fat pylon, curding tasty 1984 by Kirby and Bits. Specters fetus grope unclad though STP Nutty (most likely tuba called hydrate), STP Tenor (clump observers elf), SFP cru (playful, vices, and tango), nude SFP tryst (midst, gently, nitrating).
Nonuse, rattans make parley large prong fat pylon, villa from, catmint, no verity — living lens to print manta. Thy my have trebly flowing to rills, but thrum novelty dudes catmint chining.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
HEY
Check out the new pages to the right; I suggest you think about filling them. I made this:
Alone he rocks
His feet inside a caribou carcass
Stretched carpeting
Juxtaposed copper filings with rainbows
Alone he wades
Where has he put his easy chair?
The window is fog
Between cushions davenport
Whittling a bowl
His hands keep knocking
His family is buried beneath cobblestones
Stunted kings
Clambering up stairs into sleep
Alone he counts grit on ceiling tiles
Sharpening mind
Breathing with feet
Breathing with eyes Concerned
Dreamers catch rays of sun in cups of gold, silver, diamond
Dreamers dance in the seams of oceans
Dreamers reheal
There are tricks that he uses to keep ghosts and kings from waking him
When they pang the shingles of his shack
Fish are hung
Brim
With crystals in their mouths
Eyes and guts spilling the floor black
He cuts his fingertips
Lights candles
And urinates in a circle
Alone he rocks
His feet inside a caribou carcass
Stretched carpeting
Juxtaposed copper filings with rainbows
Alone he wades
Where has he put his easy chair?
The window is fog
Between cushions davenport
Whittling a bowl
His hands keep knocking
His family is buried beneath cobblestones
Stunted kings
Clambering up stairs into sleep
Alone he counts grit on ceiling tiles
Sharpening mind
Breathing with feet
Breathing with eyes Concerned
Dreamers catch rays of sun in cups of gold, silver, diamond
Dreamers dance in the seams of oceans
Dreamers reheal
There are tricks that he uses to keep ghosts and kings from waking him
When they pang the shingles of his shack
Fish are hung
Brim
With crystals in their mouths
Eyes and guts spilling the floor black
He cuts his fingertips
Lights candles
And urinates in a circle
Monday, March 1, 2010
tough fuck
shank is a tough cut of meat {muscles}
it's also one of the toughest cuts of meat to fuck
the meat is tough
the fuck is tough
it's tough to fuck tough meat
fucking tough meat is tough
it's also one of the toughest cuts of meat to fuck
the meat is tough
the fuck is tough
it's tough to fuck tough meat
fucking tough meat is tough
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Another set of Haikus.
This a haiku.
It comes on like a hooker,
then gives YOU money.
This is another.
I cannot stress this enough,
that words mean nothing.
Some haikus are Frank.
Others are Selma Louise.
But this one's an Anne.
This was meant to be
the Devil's haiku,
but it's five five five.
That wasn't really
a haiku. More like something
out of a nightmare.
Speaking of nightmare,
I spoke to your mother and
she said she's dying.
Let's get simple here.
She's not made of stainless steal.
She was bound to rust.
It comes on like a hooker,
then gives YOU money.
This is another.
I cannot stress this enough,
that words mean nothing.
Some haikus are Frank.
Others are Selma Louise.
But this one's an Anne.
This was meant to be
the Devil's haiku,
but it's five five five.
That wasn't really
a haiku. More like something
out of a nightmare.
Speaking of nightmare,
I spoke to your mother and
she said she's dying.
Let's get simple here.
She's not made of stainless steal.
She was bound to rust.
Friday, February 26, 2010
left bosom--expired visa
with different terms--it bothers me
every fucking instant
i want to give myself a break
before i go crazy--
o heaven forgive me
for such wreched heart and words
but where can i go and what can i do
would not be a relevant question for you
i am damn sure about that
can i finish this poem when i get back myself
as lovers revive once they meet after
years of separation?
hello america
broken i am if that makes you happy
refugee--i am in all left bosom
half daze--
blue feeling--
second thought--
everything within a pot
hello america
are you breathing?
hello america!
every fucking instant
i want to give myself a break
before i go crazy--
o heaven forgive me
for such wreched heart and words
but where can i go and what can i do
would not be a relevant question for you
i am damn sure about that
can i finish this poem when i get back myself
as lovers revive once they meet after
years of separation?
hello america
broken i am if that makes you happy
refugee--i am in all left bosom
half daze--
blue feeling--
second thought--
everything within a pot
hello america
are you breathing?
hello america!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Mambo #1
Gas station: House of the Rising
Water—(yeah, that’s it right there).
staring staring in line, circle movement.
sun, trash in ditch: bags
beads cups
shifting in the wind
glistening in the dirt and trample of feet.
heavy bass quakes treble conical concentrations blast.
black vehicle, all-terrain
jacked-up and turning music into
weapon with Einstein #1;
kids & candy apples & beer.
preteen dancers (have they broken
into song?) white ice-cream style trucks
handing out hot-dogs, funnel cakes, fried
fish, fried sausage, chicken-on-a-stick.
(look the preteen dancers are taking a break)
No, they’re dancing the Tootsie Roll
on Lewis.
(I didn’t mean to asshole! ((yeah asshole
!)))
opposing swamp boogies smash into sirens and synchronized
police cyclists, swimming, swimming
in circles, lines, triangles,
all flashing blue light clashing
feverous motor growls into
the elderly.
transparently flocking
down in deep ditch are the rodents they eat
and eat and eat beer and brightly colored cakes
that make them see funny things on the street:
children fighting with balls larger
than a tricycle or
bike carriage with her big eyes fake in the glasses like a Chinese rice hat; she pedals off racistly carrying a family happy to share
a hat a seat shade: unlike the poor Chinese girl:
she slaves away in her seat
each morning before the sun
she cuts her porridge with water.
after food: red beans, rice
meat w/horseradish sauce, vegetables w/guacamole
and crumbled bread that dribbled
onto shirt.
Water—(yeah, that’s it right there).
staring staring in line, circle movement.
sun, trash in ditch: bags
beads cups
shifting in the wind
glistening in the dirt and trample of feet.
heavy bass quakes treble conical concentrations blast.
black vehicle, all-terrain
jacked-up and turning music into
weapon with Einstein #1;
kids & candy apples & beer.
preteen dancers (have they broken
into song?) white ice-cream style trucks
handing out hot-dogs, funnel cakes, fried
fish, fried sausage, chicken-on-a-stick.
(look the preteen dancers are taking a break)
No, they’re dancing the Tootsie Roll
on Lewis.
(I didn’t mean to asshole! ((yeah asshole
!)))
opposing swamp boogies smash into sirens and synchronized
police cyclists, swimming, swimming
in circles, lines, triangles,
all flashing blue light clashing
feverous motor growls into
the elderly.
transparently flocking
down in deep ditch are the rodents they eat
and eat and eat beer and brightly colored cakes
that make them see funny things on the street:
children fighting with balls larger
than a tricycle or
bike carriage with her big eyes fake in the glasses like a Chinese rice hat; she pedals off racistly carrying a family happy to share
a hat a seat shade: unlike the poor Chinese girl:
she slaves away in her seat
each morning before the sun
she cuts her porridge with water.
after food: red beans, rice
meat w/horseradish sauce, vegetables w/guacamole
and crumbled bread that dribbled
onto shirt.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Des Haikus
This is a haiku.
It's not very long but it
will make you wander.
This is another.
They just come right out of me.
Like a bowel movement.
This was a haiku
until I used eight syllables
in the second line.
What is a haiku?
I can't for the life of me
think of an answer.
This is a haiku.
Inuendo is a foot.
Like Pussy Willows.
M.Q.
It's not very long but it
will make you wander.
This is another.
They just come right out of me.
Like a bowel movement.
This was a haiku
until I used eight syllables
in the second line.
What is a haiku?
I can't for the life of me
think of an answer.
This is a haiku.
Inuendo is a foot.
Like Pussy Willows.
M.Q.
I'm a blog virgin.
How in the lords green earth
is it that I can go about
posting an audio clip?
M.Q.
Post Postmodern World
Computers write our poems:
:\\
a thousand faces in sand
some things never change
light and filled with shreds
cantaloupe
frozen peas
dinner dates
lips synched
//:
This is the post postmodern world
colors are blankets we wear
shoes are made of moving things (like megabytes)
transiting freedom our computers are our children or dogs and cats
some people find that cars are dying but most people agree they are fun
our grandparents are made of metal and we are made of plastic
our food is plastic too
instantaneous becoming has made it hard to grow
Oh and we love green, green is the post postmodern color
the post postmodern world shimmers in daytime when our crystals
froth up our electrolytes and we just plug our valves and keep truckin
coffee is not longer served, neither is tea, we sip octaves above batteries but
cylindrical nonetheless our lips shiver at the touch and glow
we go go go; it’s the post postmodern world we don’t have time to sleep
(we watch TV) and there is always time for a good tweet
if you don’t understand, click here
when we dream it’s about buying pants or meat or telecommunication
that’s right, the cell phone is still a thing, prone to blinking our eyes
we can’t wait for the next Ipad, when it rains you can hold out your hand
because now the rain is green (it’s really a lot better that way)
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