Bit of a scream
Am not necessarily an easy read – sometime shrill up the hill – sometime caroms and catches a cross current of feeding grounds.
Sometimes I turn it on here just to capture its horror on me, its rebellion, expository cry in expunge of darkness.
I think of almost everything I do as a swan song – but it doesn’t matter.
Its all there already.
As another distraction moves in and nothing gets done. And she who Are Bus gets all charged up – with foist of imaging. We yearn burn thru caches of images and collect them too like its a passion, an obscenity for connecting into odyssey that is filmic, that otherwise lives in a spectacular drought.
There is a weakness that sits, shivering, pulling at it, like threads.
Born – not out love, the weakness I mean, but out of a burn, a long slow burn lost in hell with nothing to save it but beauty and pathos —
Redemptive is fear and trembling whereas wonder is curiosity that lurks (sometimes with solicitude) after beauty, crawling all over images and masked nebula of cunning potions, for grift of measured strength.
Sneakers in washing machine would not stop last night, clunk clunk, bang – couldnt sleep –
It was all about – an alligator thing. Alligators are lurkers, hidden in swamp but thats how it is – facilities or something —
Alligators jumping fences. I am a rice Patty grains and nuts. Writing gets into it whatever the char set.
And then nothing. Nothing comes of it.
Where lie hidden in mist at surface where runnels and tunnels and funnels after stirring moon river. And once there – fuck ysall – becomes itself.
Except, cant make out gist sometimes when words are too twisted, even though I like them twisted too sometimes.
Its hard to know.
And once the burn goes in – takes a while to blow out, candles in wind. Hot cold august night.
Trees can grow through chairs. Got a picture of one. When ever your mad you go biblical on me. Meks me crazy.
Hysterical markers, relatively new charter for course thing, markers and voice.
Joy snatches its fury, runs crams around it, like wonder bread, toasted, swill in milk of evil – sad clown gods carry me away into peripherals – brutal sweet and low – twisters and chuckles and muff.
Its upstart fuel incendiary and nuts sometimes I don’t always fight it, a certain kind of helpless mercilessness creeps into my cawing for Yadoo next summer good luck there, sleep and small, publishing stuff — less puke anymore then weave and throw, share and care.
I do whatever is typical because it arises before me as itself and rushes down my throat, gangs on, out the utter, like pelf for raven.
Every other week another pendant. Tick tock tick tock – hallucinates me. There is no alone there there there doesnt have to be, its in the writing – writing is also an event structure, that is built right into it –
Mine is more poetical than humor but humor comes through kind of like how philosophy is plugged in after, in little offshoots. Humor partially comes through Joy’s indian giver klepto side – sarcastic, creepy, ghastly lurid hideous. Its not about intent. Has nothing to do with intent. If anything, its taking a swipe at whatever the intention like a mean eyed feral cat.
Efforts at humor – begin to stomp on shells, crash against locust. Float up underside waters edge in oversaturated colors of sun – beating down on face of day, and bled out against its impossible horizons.
I cant stop writing. The work keeps me working, got stuck on rope tow every time, not one time, every time. There’s that. Its purposeful – it is after (so called) business – but more than that – its after the thing itself.
Tons of shit somewhere in here has one more edit. Join, stop fighting it — underneath there is always a handsome beast.
What does that mean? Judy Judy Judy.
Mythic swell is like a musical accompaniment – much like words have event structure built right in.
Its part of tattoo – at risk of raising to beauty mark – in search of meaning – reflections of love, prison brandings, gang mythic treasure maps, flowers faces – tribal patterns. Europe’s oldest human mummy, believed 31-3700 bc. Covered in tattoos.
Something in me retains times faculty to surrender to its image as plight of magic, irony, travesty, crusade, vilification, duty, service, craft, spectacle, desolation, negation, love charm, the divine, sublime, taboo…
Yet another Work in Progress.
V2.65 started 2nd rinse
For a rhyme. Flame the floodgates. Lurk in doors. Running to and from with pleasure, letting joy in for waves of tenuous implosions, running striking after something implicit, like tedium. But, then when crack devours – it shakes up everything.
And every crack tenders at least one wave of death. When examining back of mind somewhere several ankles deep there always runs into with curious alarm the minatory and the teetering, the sensuous and the bleeding, the ravaged and the jealous and the rapture and the meek.
Can never dis-account rapture says Frank its revelry where some die by stake.
Where worries worthless turns of the worm – a mermaid dies every time, like feet caught in a net, where cant get free.
Mermaids clam down hard with meaning of what it means to be dedicated. To live in both worlds.
Clinging to a wing and a fall a comical thing growing out of watershed suddenly of ideas, the stimulus that turns impossible sometimes feels like its strung out of wary beautiful potions –
Elementals in logic help seduce introduce a way back into rubbing traces my forlorn ecstasy with its endless happiness searching
even down where trucks for tracks for metaphysical clarity get so suction cupped up, for fathomings
makes me laugh with simmering mortal haven for a tool.
numbers fill variance with charge, change, height, relief.
real and not
Attends towards real, though not there, here not there, not actually. Yes, sometimes there is no actually.
Boater and floaters arise from urgencys mysterious desires and strange rings of horror melting into densities and depths. Density has to do with thickness, and depth has to do with layers, so there’s that.
It breeds a glorious exchange a deck a dance, that surmise of real – that can and cant be ever answered, its a hole where mortal need is bent for divine reveal and transports, catastrophe and its appendages heart and hunger and defeat.
and yet it comes and comes again and again, I wait from all the fallen voices worse as ever hyperthreading seeds being strung, to let to ring in corn – tentative signs and rinses for territorial properties ocean like proverbs
for laughter and ecstasy, that invariably includes sides of death.
Byron’s Harolde the Childe’s burning drums.
Loved to tender and to add mitts. Closer closer get hard harder it gets. Until the burning fires burst and freeze in tremors of suicidal death.
A sudden rain of marbles, artistic and clot, come gushing down down down – sis sys sis – all upon suddenly like a whiplash even holy vengeance. Does me invariably in.
Leaving behind a strange and frightful emptiness in a fight with stridency and dull wounds that throb through ocean of color and casualty to fill the vacuum? moving looming slow down to a knod and smile present tense.
Stay still stay still.
Feet will wander into any nook or bucket for a fold, at door of plenty, ruffles rising underneath.
Find backdoors. Let the immediacy get clobbered there as hasten to work.
here as hasten to work.
grab-it rabbit be your own business
More more more coming into view, Lulu’s app ID idea, via turning on spigot, at instagram, slew that reveals sarcastic blast.
his freak funny wanker humor. yet far away so far away even next to me, frank showed up in my locker at attention or something waiting or something as oddly owned by the blowing casualty
incendiary archers hunt, paddock, and torch burning seas – never same without that. like scratching itch on lonely monsters horns.
archers sweep at my gates
but hard taks ocean seas sustain on maggots on Navy brigs when not trailing targets to awake the dead, the sinuous unfathomable beauty
and its thrall and liquid and billeting filling larks to void and marks to brave all resistance which are hung in riddles of the heart. that nothing can save from it.
When catch another dismal gong, tip top tip top tipping off a flooding horizon. warm and cold water and blood
a mountain stolen from sisyphus – stealing sisyphus, sys for system, s’ys for sisyphus and sis for sister while away hidden
in its frightful wakes languid drunk puking mourning brutal seductions the wondrous bag of climb every mountain for love
with espionage that breeds in walls likea fungus and loving its cold fluid emptiness druid and alive
raising the bar
meaning all three gestures muddling puddling for reason and rhyme, in some far out gestures, stop killing each other? its not just us its all of us, triggers and lust. gestures are mud quacking stuff-it for a sprig of voodoo lime
a sudden willow warp speed throws me from you
its the most reckless shocking thing
the snapper of thread is one of the Greek fates.
made with red around lonely barking stuffit – when something seems to be at reach then,
comes a crises, all goes off, as a bird screeches out ancient with death:
Hung out again let it x plus plod til plodes, fall all the way all the way down, down down. Nothing.
Hung out, turned over – let the breathless breathe
bathe in Clarice and Camus staring down my throat slippery sleeping in, to hang at shoulders by discovery place circling outfits in washed out blue.
which will if I could
pointer for tangents always at night every night as if joining its stubborness of.
Peaches fingers mwa mwa mwa a kiss at loops where never stop beggars from food.
Lulu and Millet have to do a 12 pager ID for Cannes spending days burning through getty plus and arranging them and mashing into colors a fit sense beauty shipped to France. As sustainable can apply to existing materials. Works best with.
Pocketing a Grift
blowing dust that can bold fold sharp and flat, leaps searching for hoops –
reciting simple basic vocabulary in french dont know what else to do. I want to go to Paris for a semester. make me go.
usual methods. greek.
Pull R out NOW its waiting, now –
Am carefully working up to it.
I really think I am working up to it. Almost identifying principles here first? Does that make sense.
Bit from three stooges says: Certainly. certainly
Grifts bring on shine that is glum and unsparing, growing catch a cold Mimi into impossible fur
toppling into all that again and again it will take me couple weeks for sure, lingering on
what you know that I really dont
its the filter itself falling — that got out the knife and slit my throat.
Everything swells before an emptiness suddenly screaming through village
with scarecrows that are all damned one way or another on and on and on
filled head with gruesome sarcasm. frightens me. What will let loose.
Emily circles – but you are wrong.
Emily circles. What is wrong. Where is are you wrong. Get out of town. There is nothing. Nobody, its just
us. Only oracle where lush and foul tethers bumped off
rule the world. Milk the poor for every penny they got, drink soda.
On farm and fallaway fallaway, to break open more gently emptiness underneath like doors to the green room, into testimonial plunkcur –
if only I better understood that all at all other side too
pounding by waves merciless rattle
when it fell again
the hammer and the relish till I puked. exposing strings of horrors gamete flames of broken revelry.
tried failed tried failed failed again. wondering
why is this doing this to me who is this who is this why is this happening
Words? all disappear into abruption start will start swallowing yearn untoward knowledge of fist.
its famished for help cant do anything to stop it.
uncle – tat too. rhyme – comes back again.
shake off wiry colt, very naughty taughty by the masters – then groped – as if its all could do slipping through – a sleight of cyanide trapping delights put out by animal killers that catches everything around it fuck those bastards
then swill then finally grabbed edge of lake breathless thinking wow –
burrows and burrows in bleeding ever after. forever stuck in its bird lime, stickness
that following dust swirls of sky
grope like a user philosophical ways right at opening divine
stays of explaining what feels like depths
where foot tangled in web of violet velvet red and aeries dark cold tree dripping with green, screeching with fledgling hunger and chirp and sharpen beak, with incantations of vulture of birds
harping from trees harping harping the forever endless screams in dreams forever compiling of dead at brinks of piles
and piles of laid out in grass southern dead curled up where fled, stubborn screaming ears
like guns in bed
shook off birds. or the south, or got out of lake. or stopped piling up with rubble and tears feverish jolt of wicked thirst
thats under a spell of meticulous pottery and sacred flows of evil that are nothing but pure and fabric as beats with sun
for finding thresholds blunt struck down in a wilt and menacing.
Birds grabbed by my country irish ears, there I went want h’efter it.
dancing up against tomorrows skittish wild and remote, stuck on a wheel of death, threats both beauty and glum feathering ancient cunt wanting wanton hunt
rebel june bug praying for a night, eyes behind the dancing huts
laughing on fire laughter ripped and plumbed for blood of intensity
in love with dredgers sometimes scathe as dragon murderous and wild.
Beauty and testy swarms of sarcasm beaten into fruit with gen A. as my throat turned into a monster that finally ate me.
trick turning with tragedy, breathless and scattered, an emptiness underneath opened up with what – like K’s daddy?
Its bottom crushing with violence penetrating at seams to abduction horror humorous and vague when sweet but business like a criminal wanting sex.
Bad very baddy.
laps and bones
piles of dead mumbling hysterically
let me down let me down.
where ? not pending start cart
where you blew me apart
by the neck like a weapon of something so far outside my virgin crock
a venom atrocious and undeniable skimming with ecstatic insurrections fighting mists of darkness for tenderness.
finally pops a fist and –
doom returns to court me.
whistles through fingertips
at spot on spit. and doom returns to court me.
and we laughed. and we laughed – found where essence captures at thresholds with rigging for joy, and fell in after it.
And still joking about it, laughing even when shine hits the absolute, and goes all baggy and panting with wanting waiting watching pooling up over metaphysical meanings hazy crazy
and violently sleuth
chopping at tree tops
when shine peels over with fabulous laughter
first order hysterical. frees every nail from its hold on the real except at hamlets gate – where puts up signs, a maze blundering murderous sweet dancing crime
in vampire closets with agatha’s sweets! Poe himself knitting for there is nothing better and worse then hunting evil under oceans of sun.
Where blood echoes the ocean like annuals forever in motion, flowers scattering seeds, for a catch of light and bone, with wildly loving joy.
eccentricities where bottomland is rich
and mud reigns in fetch for seed.