Abject beauty, hungry beauty, unspeakable desire. Each an invasion — beautiful, errant, dire. What says my danger dog — gothic sickness? Voices alert. Got ghosts? Anyone.
Hoo ho ho thats an old term. For trying to maneuver among voices of readiness and doom.
Pie. Is zoom. Magnifier. Pynch with an inch.
My thousand dead pie live off of ghastly invasions. Dead doesnt mean dead. But focused erupt distrubances in eye of wretched lovely pie.
With juicers joycers disconnect disconnect.
Hopeless cunt tanker or bust beauties kill kill the feast trying to bargain endlessly with wonder horror and astonishment at greed of beauty and death. Sometime leave me helpless.
Math shows up. With freaks and spies. Steal off into corners with precious and angst. An uncertain separation — Between glorious whirls of contraband and the purging altar. Sexes show up. Vampire rocks off. Endless endless endless. Love as a stick of dynamite. Consecration of essential tremors. I am a perennial flower. Sinking into risky the frisk cat fat with lime what diment cha cha. I laugh when I should cry.
Thank you Charlie.
Fountains of red. Oceans of black. Cursed jouissance, the dance nest of moil and macabre. In praise of folly. American Gothic. Lilt flames of lit skit tit flit into a nit where mit edgeless the endless a blicks rebel lust for plus t and bakers magic, tragic fragile and cuts, a lions steady nuts.
Leading everywhere to nowhere. And then back around again. And in background fears announcements. Dont call on me I am traveling the beast since 2. Never made it out of 2nd grade. On certain topics there remain. I
Rash Mash Remember the Lash Crash
Immersed. The pure and the vanishing. Are related sight along the nose or mouth candle topics, a longing to disappear. Relates to the purity of relationship with arriving at the door of death. And hidden inside it caves and tombs of bones and worms and disappear where.
into conjuring arms, devilish strains of tomahawk and mercy.
Longings stretching fiendishly up my treacherous leg, estranged by its lovely madness, reprehensible, contrite.
Absurd relishes, indignant and bruising with wild fears and heartbreak, as if heartbreak and the absurd are turnovers on a skillet of genius and death — where love, superfuses? My soaring cunt, a sacred vessel —
Echoing with monstrous desire, every beautiful atrocity — a culprit, a deceit, chopped up and chewed into magic pie —
Frontlessly hunting the unaccountable.
Every god awakens under my skin. Sword of faith. In a lurch, a sudden awakening of the unnameable.
Its dormants crawl all over my tomb.
Nameless here for evermore.
The glory of their mutiny on me, the stringency of wrath. Find it everywhere — under fingernails, digging into my throat. Slithers down my back.
And yet, run to you — when it explodes on me, vain and merciless – as proof at all that I continue to exist .
The unnameable buried inside the boot — and under my tongue. Criss crossing genders go on benders — as a honing device.
Every gesture becomes a treason from the known, an opening orienting with vestiges of augury.
Your love turns me into a floatation device, caught in the turbid and falling falling into the holy.
Infinity minus 1
Tailwind, nexus, node. Gang up like a forbidden city.
Every genitive, indicating possession or close association aesthetes its pyrography up my vacuum cunt.
Every edge deliciously contaminated with baptismal font, sacrificial fire melting into ecstasy, imperviable, willful —
Risen in its bed, bleeding with the sorrow, the hungry, the dead.
And stolen, all stolen somehow. From an interminable source.
Like angels dug up by the burden of gods and monsters, my vestal slaves aberrantly absorb them.
I am their lost and found — I am their ever becoming. All things wretched, beautiful, equivocal, mystifying, intransigent — ever aegir to collide with indeterminacy.
Dangling with odyssey.
T.S. and Less
This wasteland — bears burden of feast and famine.
Any slightest blow and the floor falls thru, unveils a desolate uneasiness, unnamable panic.
A wilderness of desire, shifting, tantamount.
Inflammations burgeon the heart —
Fires are humbling. Hell tumbles into a frenzy with shocking defiance, a sabotage of lethal intensity.
Every moment losing control.
To risk everything. To save yourself. Swim up a waterfall. Dive across the racing water — for you, for some abominable rescue — from its endlessness, its wooziness —
Cold, hot, warm.
Twistical, devious, innocence once touted as glorious. Swoons at the wretched, swoons at the beautiful. Fulgid and riveting with life and death.
And by its hostages, I am condemned?
As a seemliness bordering on disease.
How hear angels giggling — at the edification of evil.Continue reading
Middling with Meta Fiction
Presence & madness, desire & distance, alls & nothings.
Splendor. Cutters farm. In vested with a wire.
The slender and the burn.
Digging after dog of night.
Barriers carriers, for chins and fins. The ticklish and the fragile. Flowers belly up and blue.
Holy scares, holy scars, holy reckoning with giddy fumes.
The body of the first — and fall, and holy go go go —
Sweet infernal yoyo. Smor-guess-board of destiny of death — tasting splits the tongue.Continue reading
Essays as fiction.
Poetic holy oil and the hideous insidious perfidious sublime.
Jill the Puddle Jumper — races after epiphanies — a defender of splendor, with a spoon for the moon. Shadows fetch through darkness after strains of ugliness, wistful and yearning, incessantly for incarnate species of beauty. Any which way.
Curiosity trembled with a tyranny of honor and lust. Every scheme incurred some element that defied reason.
Powerful bursts of the holy moly resistant. Waves of defiant wonder battling with a fire of emptiness. This emptiness is space to jump through. It is the meaning and affectation of life.
Soul becomes body cut loose, running with the wind, meaning bursting through confines of forced conformity — and not just for glory numbers, but slippery reckonings with brute gruesome hopelessness, burst like a coffin that only opens at night.
And its day that slips under the mat choking with terror.
Jill has a nose that swoons against the distance — and given any sudden room to roundelay in, shifts into rapidly sifting views, perceptions find clearance to reverberate and imbue, sudden exponentials turn electromagnetic with buzzing cruces — these spiritual quintessentials are enshrined in beauty of all kinds.
Including the femme fatal. Escaping banality and horror of everyday strife into elements of sacrifice charged with freedom, as a rapturous negative beauty.
Or to philander deferentially with morbid exuberance — searching the highest rafters for edges of destruction. To get the heart climbing.Continue reading
a battering ram
and a canalizing
as heat moulders perch
like a bird
wild in worship.
The virgins of hell ring
my wasted double
rile for a pile
cheap breathless heap
of morbid flora
lets loose that pin
a blanket white out
alive as a bee hiveContinue reading
Letters to Epididymus
Negative of the Contrary
Scoops of Negative Plunder
Quivering, the vulnerable into syllabalizing — a shining vulture — feathers red purple yellow blue, high on holy prey? Wonder if Joyce ever compared himself to a vulture? On morning cliff where sits a red rock and the wind blows heavily.
We want to make pretty? Have chars come to life.
Instead, starts up on a theory of love — that is the beauty of evil. Evil is a fat word. Borderless, boundaryless, and even intermediary. Sacred refuge for the addititious — perverse, mischievous, incendiary.
Looking into time periods again, drat Spengler, those of early Christianity as to say angelic sorteriology and hamartiology, otherwise known as discovery of salvation and sin.
Or rather, what my flowers of luminous evil call: potency of love and evil. Where love is endless, elevates negative to positive. Ugly to Beauty. Timelessness to Infinity.
See pretty in others resolve. Where let love in.
But beauty is full of excuses, having escaped from prison of gently crushed banal conservative dismissal, and religious disdain. Behind which saw horror and decapitation. In dreams slaves raged and were raped — negative escape from emptiness of existence.
Love, as release from a Tyranny of Negation?
Wasn’t just clumsiness. But also being forced by emptiness around me into fighting stagnation.
Every heady book, devoured — was an opening into desecration of the stagnation, negative on a negative became a twist on what love iz, conspirational with the dead (more than not authors read, were dead). Reading books, a rage against machine, quietly in my bed.Continue reading
Working thru rot divide or unmodify — quiet here as mouse house with faust. Today — peace and gud tidings — mine only true one absolute weather support the work to find its own destiny in la langue — was strange to be fat way — body wanted diff life — sylvie s on dreaming into being — so many every boxtop —the imago far as can go bangs on about — low as can hoe — curiosity hingry and terror and timid — blotchy buggy soggy tiered — then reach out seemingly umbillically to other worders birders — and bounders to absorb mirror cul and meth thud and exchange rats and ratios and rations fah who boo knew ❤️❤️ — those who permet me become be livd on art part cart liberal — theres a one track hack evil button in la langue — find alone is “very” disarming — so guess seek the other to make wayway thru — not wanting to disrupt as bends my curve to breaking points which blow mouse house down -/ but black hole mmm engine too -/ new story finding chloe — let it sneek off into abso lutes ?? And others arrive to arg the vousdo back then dress in a n weave patterns glut slut means tooo seeking a grace — finding beauty and disaster and chuckles the misxmaker somebody — all but “resistance boxacrackers” want “share tea with v.”
es — Mmmmmy lyf small — but the work is getting “tight” yah — not doing any of this to burst at feet but jess stand up even say “ullo” — perhaps eod if can get loggers at factory to flesh it out fully — pea haps then wriding itself cud out go the shrimpy — all can do iszzz kip hoing -/ litter ex ists in black box of pie heavens no nothing assume everything — motto my grotto — SafeStreetsUSA
Na knot ankcore — but flow t twas 2 stay a flo te — naught pulled all wayway under again ana again — by waves of the sw eat hell o of m add ness — peace enuff in heart to “see” as a general way of perceiving purr suing ex changing litter n fill — tho still get caught in patterns of mis tea rious reasoning — on hole humor serves thru process of “finding” the serious — in laden and loaf, and peaches in trees —
Cud not have gotten pie to piece of peace on this without leaning towrs of pizza — mindbidysoul roll in the “hole” — looking fig out maintain mid grnd ( instead of yaknow burning man grnd zrro) endless love online works perfecta emmy pammy saus gd2go vousdo ruespew hippped make out a motionless meadured and absorbing caze para wick — now in the fic ?? Make up own version what fic is — ?? Hmm now is whispy moany inelegant — starting back on fiction — raise under surface to a dimension of what hmmm
Just did a fa$h sketch from agent s bern approved — tooooday way heavy dev/y hi end drawing class prep sat at 1 -/ also about finding line – focus pocus — that round 1000 pie hi happy fingers number sum in can with fannand pans collecting nuggera — the knocks the pix and the fizzies — to the slippery edges of wipperwood — i know its frig it fright height bite night reading a la rob the bin hood — tooooo also do fiction — something go back for ? // please says the beez blet bluzz earotic nuts and way the doodle noodle hoody poodle canoodle and nuts for guts — peepoe ddeafylocks pox and frisson and say hello for real as a V — edgr of gorest always waves and yells yo join her at the milk bar fizz wizz and hup comes the resistance — loopp fuck rrrrttt /- hu go not but -/ jack the riphuh pulling petals off poppy — oh hate city oh are wars between screamers // who cross dada pts with marcel -/ hate pushes back hate isa great pocus focus -/ yet/just anutter moon flitter with death — and make way gor day — which due too heavy river syvvy heloise in church — betty lost ton of cup cakes in garbage of golden ruins — is a bird born wasteland happiness deformrd — still living faithfully on hump over at circuitous dump -/ collecting presh tin — hmm – to take from proncess to dimples on the dump in 666.Continue reading
Latest on Top
125 Do you like haiku poetry? What are your thoughts about John Cooper Clarke?
122 In this time of illness, cynicism and cruelty, do you receive many mean or vile messages? How do you cope with that kind of negative energy?
121 In an interview from 1997 in Los Angeles, you introduced us to your “pet theory”: your creativity could only flourish in a state of loss and longing, and that it needed catastrophes in your life. Do you still believe that?
120 What do you think about NA? As a recovering heroin addict, I am having difficulty getting into the Narcotics Anonymous scene. Do you have any more advice for a recovering heroin user?
119 I was thinking how much I wish I could write this story to you in Greek, my native language. In June one of my best friends suddenly died aged 46.
118 I’m thinking about having a child but everything looks so grim right now. It looks like your website is censoring people who ask about Israel.
116 Nina Simone once said: Freedom means having no fear. Sometimes on stage, she added, she would reach that kind of state. How do you free yourself from fear?
114 If, for decades, an anchor served a ship, which one day decided to cut its chains and sail away, can the drowning anchor grow wings? And if so, will the anchor always be burdened by the weight of having been used?
113 On The Lyre of Orpheus, the track Breathless moves me beyond words. In the intro every time I hear it I’m taken to a 14th or 16th century style ensemble. Is that the intention or can you explain where that comes from?
112 I spent the day watching Bad Seed TeeVee and the fan cover versions of your songs are amazing. How will you choose a winner?
111 I think you’ll be touched by this story, and the part you play in it. Please take a look.
109 What is mercy for you? What do you think of cancel culture?
107 Part 3. Why don’t you just buy your own fucking piano, you cheap c**t.
107 Part 2. No more mails to Fazioli please.
107 The piano you played for Idiot Prayer was magnificent. Was it a personal instrument?
106 I lost someone in the last year. I thought it was fine. It was a gentle passing. Now shapes and echoes resound. I feel a presence that comes and goes. How to understand the experience of loss. It’s not something I could negotiate with.Continue reading
Phrase Hunting, Notes & Sketches, Translating French
Ugly as an aesthetic category. Gradual abandonment Unity. Das negativschone, negatively beautiful —
Sublime and the ridiculous, how one rubs up against other —
Overwhelming ugly becomes monstrous, can no longer be sublated into sublime –
Definitions of monstrous – as a badge of ?Continue reading