Meta fizzics section is a collection on experimental writing that explores meta fizzics, my pastiche name for writing in the plus age, for pluralities in irony and allegory.
It is also about loving to write just to write, and suffering from certain frenzies of self sabotage. Which on a particular meta metric, opens wondering into blundering asunder. With a quite strong susceptibility for what I call : the rhyming sickness.
How it too experimentally catches fouls — A freedom to explore contrariness, that for me swept in with the ravages of contempt, among other things —
Lunging panicking — running into char and car and tar and releasing language from itself ? To indulge in the uncovery and discovery of allegory, irony, rhetoric, etc.
Alas, as a weasel for words —
Roll call. Every neg. That spikes the plunder. Now can pop like bubble wrap. Think of as capture. Put in columnar as artifacts that rhapsodize. Rolling with the thunder.
One foot hopper. Holiday mulct ? Every wag hog creates hampers, and cavorts with titillations in mulct that rallies with love.
Work thru the moo cow — as beauty stretching after limits. To cross into neg can assume sacred posture. As revelation.
Thralldom was a catch of fire. That love burned from. In the body.
Can become a treachery, and sufferance too. Relating to battles with the absurd and the fallen (cycle of death bunnies).
Thralldom can be about grace and its attendant insurrections. Body of the fallen, can get captured by violent sulks with the singular. Must push through push through — reactionary traumas, puzzling hurdles of structural blindness.(more…)
Hears whistles, street long trains rains one day, again undeterred. The beam the screamers find if, any, were impeccable, to a valley and a side and a who to glue drew.
Old fears like dead gods lived cruelly underground twisting this way that way. High landers gushing flow and crow. The waters waiting in bleaksville by the door. Wanderers ponderers quanderrers. Finders leapers reepers heapers.
Dead end deepers…
Hello, who is this!!
Light. Follow the light…
Good-natured birch can supper the sour ball, and pick up a bat in grass garden — one in hand , the other in head. Devious are the lonesome…
Can exist without costing the “collector” anything?
Contrary is a fairy, and fairies are emissary. What a little bit of tenderness actually brings? Arent wings. But focus on craft?!
Feathers plucked, plucked off the tar, onebyone from slippers to desolations to ferriors to zog.
Good-natured hides concealed in horror while battling the croc o dial — and yet its greed, good nature has a greed — to believe, remains unswayed, naked as an angel.
Holes can run deep, split like tree branches tied to a “body” of very old landlord gods, way back beginning meticulous thought probs on the application of “singular truths” whose horror she rips.
Property is important. Branches are eggs. Brown is testerown and testament. Difficult to tame.
Joy as joy — and not death of the fire brigade is for the thirsty extraordinarily delicious. Whimsicality is important for giving some drydock to serioso listening at roofs, even where terror produces terrorists.
There is strangeness in it. A fluidic rummy. Writing is I know puffy and carcus starkus darkus.
Little bit of heaven is better than being out in the rose garden with malice for chalice and fishing with ear plugs, old bello ubers say in se there to give.
Astonishes works even so well as is. Pie-us addresses fragrances, helps measurement, helps blow out where riots, and especially where eats more than half, thats where its a robbery. Stairs to speak to heaven is old islamic law.
To know what hates violently, what provides arrogance, what smells stirs with goats, and birds, in trees. Sherry’s seas… stores it off. Protects the injury. Tells scary stories during sleepovers. Cuts through onions to tears, reads in the twilight. Coughs up darlings. Reveals elegance of it. Loves even as a consequence of it.
Friendly lighthouse is a rest from booty of the moody where argue with the refreshments.
To eat and be full. Grow chins. Hike along the back of mountain chains. Near kitchens, that praise the gardener.
Sent z nys res its a slirpy scan in perpetua shop talk mostly anecdotal — spinning rhyme and let in some fern — Gotta track down specific perps to send to —
I know stuck with merica drum syv way — paris review for begot ? and new yorker for churchyard ?? K ole?! and something rotton in denmark but not witjout humor to sweenies —
firsts mostly always get rejected — but o will have a rep — my writing is scavanger eerily trying to be a marksman — hungering for meta fiction
Can get names of people in journals too for k — from a lit about emailer — thats a days work — choose which peevies to send out — thats the hrd part — dark and tremblies call them — tons of those poems worthevery pop eyeon
Say embodied in trad super stitches with mephisto meta petta — the plus age — walt calories disney and whitman — let it go fat — let it be a fail pail sail scale hail bail rail — the Deck laration of let hers — word let : is in every poem its biblical at its bot — are dyniseannismatic mourners treading ice — with one liners also — bah humm bug — as flip ops jaw
godown moses — as fly fly the shake up poes in ruins bruins festoons magic into killer taboo babu breaking apart into rhyme ohhhhh and wracks the liver — sell as becktovamn Winnie pissibly mad hat franc out of airland
the ater truing to find a little shoptalk — spidergirl and hypo fizz liz meta branch for brunch shuffling rapier tapier paper fizz piss crass lass munster milly in echo wind for “good vibrations” angelicpalmysix tea and let it spread sayyes this time pen elopee says i wont pull the ball — Reckoning beckoning with its disaster as a churn of fern and bristling wayway dewydurns
Begot is gracy — meandering plugg sug 🔌 with fithy play the go go buy buy bibu lulu soft shoe comeback id — cummm bya — timer comes out of the green machine — u see jj caught me taught me how to lilt and sparky lit it kit it
I am a hole in pin wall — and frosty the meta fern etc -/ sillines at times apalls — fauk ner says liv it in i listen toim red rover red rover is an instrumental ? Yes. Looked at with a measure of resist resist tense due to lucy ball snatcher?! Who we as vous nono despise utterly!!
Novella Now Working On. Fluidic remorsers. With lots of attributionals, Beckett the absurdist shows up in accumulato phrasing as a free dusty. Joyce freedoms too, but curving toward shakespear, for that play bird build word take it to the surd family of formations. Particles go lightly mysteriously pursued. Glues against something massive and passive and stinky, awful swirls of love and death that chirp and burp their way into boat races with sweet pushes with oblivion, rugs have no mercy. Thats why they are strange miraculous so terribly interesting… Cage wage rage. Keep me alive. And then it breaks, the line breaks it breaks into skipping rhyme, all the time, I gave up and just let it fall in with verses (music the) bardic as entry into the notorious sublime. Let the language rutt cut fluff itself up, expose the wash and wear, tediously repeatiously, skins for the infinite. As cuts a hole in my throat to speak out of. Garble besides your yelly mm belly twingers. Let the for-enders out. Crisp at cross purposes… Skitters by catcher and rhy m, narrative narrative, like Rimbauds gushy flow blow, though not as loose or as pretty. Sheers for ears veer off into starkness of neg and fog pining like spells through Dante’s hells, tethered to its beams, wandering in the seams, and wring the clots out. Let it go and get a little lost there. As anywhere. Shelling horse for the love of oats. Precious oats. With this here benediction.
Va et Viens
On-going facilitated, agile, with fairly exposed pieces recognizable for stochastic and card arts. Work guarantees stimulation of the native Viking village, and sometimes pressure of abnormal faces. Inside, moon active pays.
The try fill is to plant fern, and nurture the home village, and then cover it and measure patchy sheepskin coats. So warm and rich in natural fiber.
We catch the property by deceiving a random comedy reminiscent of the classic “one-armed criminal” — we can make these FIFI for Fleur engravings, and soon it remains to wait — for the complex to reset or get said expected “spins” in the super marché, oley oley.
How to get extraordinary shakes from time to time taking colonies that are not local. An overwhelming point is the representation of a background that is remarkably mature and precise.
In factories, we can also reproduce animals – the assortment includes a tiger, a redhead or a rhino. Any of them will prey the possible in the opposite direction of potency as a spring of the double with did air oh.
To cultivate a diamond dog, supporting effectiveness of the found in foundation WE give thanks to contemporary design. Threshing thresher is more than breeding (they break “eggs” out of order to the question infection weaponize feel for fur, live and give, its climate).
What is relevant, if want to use the benefits give, and we do we do, have to eat them so that they do not fall asleep.
Love That, with a Bat
Plus, in power of tokens in combat, collect “in drag” the declarations. Concur the fucks hex cessively, packs wacks nicknack attacks, in frames of plastic stochastic, abstracts, fun hacks.
After the collage of complete collection, provide supplementary loopers and extra “windings” — pet events.
Declarations to different layers, is the much to munch. Ballast with room on moon to entangle cosmanaughtically, in dirigible of balloon, as once and again the burrowed. Every sector is a vector per mittable by science.
Significant treasure. Systems of hysteria horticulture and hypocrisy. Can create individual and the unusual. Putting the village down, dehumanizes next level unnaturally.
Will dig out another two hundred. Among the times. Multi construction pod (nod). Slander alternative epidermis lifts by contrast and participation.
Expertise is capable of furiously primitive, simple-dimensional scenery. Cartoon style, well-worn, a kind of porn, for releasing the unusual, a bug in a rug, to spot and twist where terms of the “un pun” are spun —
Declarations bloat, and hand themselves over, to free up horror, and let the pen play.
Cant keep out horror bunnies — from la lang. But could also call out as hotels//castles /- last year at marienbad is from same crane as kafkas castle. Burroughs Naked Lunch iz a horror, and so is catcher in the rye. But of course NOT ONLY — Beauty under Burroughs wail naked lunch is will to live — rioting — Hunter too — Defiant spells of fiction write in bass relef —
Shoot Outs Are Tricksters — Angling Flies versus Lies — With Purity Reachers?
Shooting way out of a Sartre drenched prisoner complex ? with Genets balls for snow —
Jim morrison il arrive in the corner dans coin — leaning over his knees — wondering if maybe I should bring in somehow someway mystics early beautiful flies please. I say yeah but its lulu — she will fly with it, up vics legs — Kafka in the Kastle sneezes, blows his nose, coughs repeatedly, go for it he says, take my breath away —
Clarice set up for lulu char, working out fine — Esp. w.r.t. Vic. Even if there is a lot of Marienbad slow dance forming at full intensities — indeed growling away underneath it — tiger tiger, can see that now —
B boys, Burroughs Beckett Bukowski, p ness envie de meathook for murderers, meaning what: The Smiths?
Ideologys purities of the defiant — from the first, threw baby out into woods ? with sherry and her windger hinge hungries whatever direction Tutters turn, not just buzzards, also flutter and worm.
Plunger drew line from shoot out to pure ideo things — as dance in sink with puri factions — all into beat and rhyme time, body skimming and slamming against it, as metal in song grabs time with its fist, and radically reorders it.
Oh the high in my 20s — when dancing tide wide searching for bona fides — while sorrow and heart blast against fault lines and indifference — And love’s sweet fall away emptying into a kiss.
When boredom means terrorized.
Will — Not to Kill
Day off from writing yesterday — by end of day wanna kill myself — Shunting the writer biter dawn day fizz even for a day now mocks death — jj says thats good thats good.
Dizziness of the soyl? bleeds with anger and suspicions, and Becketts starts a running tally of it.
Genuinely Lug #burroughs#beckett#bukowski as number runners, in hash ass sins bag with royal rimbaud — Out in the peptic septic with funnel under its pure as allure dimensions on h”uggliness of reality. The B boys register at times a tyranny for Moi — Its glue gets berry bad la haute eats it up hate simmers with disbelief.
French Drench Park Bench
French drench still — cant quite get ear to keep up — but can think in full sentences — refine sign verb at intent pronto — theres still trans lag tho gurr — Doing third screening on Marienbad — with script in lap — reading along — How nerd is that—
Cry at night for the babies — yeah must write who shows up — says heming and fitz /- tigertiger /-
Cant help jj melange thing from flight patterns à eprouver along flow bears continuum? — love u for trying, admit the sit uation as threads.
Bits and Bites
I am the marsala. Lilt tilt and built. Things not overtake able? Cheek in love? Farma a Suit a Call? Hear 0 ecology?
I dont think of other people as drugs, or even writing as a drug, I know drugs I did drugs. Experimented, a lot. Writing isnt anything like taking a drug I have ever done. Reading once or twice approached it on a hallucinatory level.
Think of writing as pulling la lang through presence that combines with distance alive in what language is.
Shakespeare has turned into a “usage” that shields MOI from fraud claims. I am a meth head. Once a meth is found to hang off a rhymer artist writer etc I litter rally slime sublime its vert you all dick ins. And row Japanese. And call it halloween. Candy. Get into my belly.
I wanted to make peace with past — not as a lie but as a loan. What was a wild fallaway into pluri party. Streams and screams of hourglass fiction/friction/contradiction. Discovering the hinge was a smart bomb, then an escalation, birth of beauty looting flute and binge, ring a round the rosey all fall down, then an unmitigettable blow out fell into hell — swamp and shell, and so on.
Legal ed helped under score love of argy bargy, nahh a little p haps — my writer hated it, KICKED IT TO THE CURB, proclaimed:::: eek (not for u).
Beauty creates enemies? Love is the sweetest enemy, in many a way, p’enemies who you dare to love? Love is an empathy for permutations of desire, its a vampire feed even, to stay alive even though you are dead, you are the undead.
Love that scorns by virtues of? strange alluring victimology, is cast as field of roses and thorns for what is lost and found by the torrent of sea sawing admissions? Hmm when did the admissions start… Get turned into a laundry line to redemption??
Byronic pen is that sacred choral shock of fiery adornments that wilderness in the wind and wtf gun for it. Thorns don’t feel like an adornment, but something stuck in skin ripping into a living death.
I love exchange because it is experimental?! And yes endlessly want to conjure present tense to make it “right side up” just a little. I am not afraid of it. Do I hate life? Of course.
How think of the Z wing kind of as a mentor. Since Seton. The word is a convenience. Thats all. Shine is now located IN THE WORK. Thanks in large part to exchange.
No reason to hate me for it?
Set square is what I am trying to do — with Holy Fern. If can calm down and let it have some reality, mutually agreed upon way. I think it will be great.
Not dull at all.
Pure, present — miss and take, press.
Beckett discussions of the mis place meant thing.
Beckett doesnt actually miss. But traces around it like with chalk on a body that is still moving, Beckett gives me a back and forthy internalized, better for me than Diderot, OK? SM gives me channels to airs that are unsparing. Vous Lou gives me math and academic and dog latin spaces to work in by ways of Ur own. Also, for instance: impassioned blunt and sometimes infuriating. (Which I sometimes have to apologize for. Tho YOU KNOW Haute loves it.) Red gives me immunity and can go raunchy and treats love as oxygen. I JUST TAKE IT, now. I guess. Treat as “red meat.” Or hugging the red line.
Dissoluble and density? Hmm.
I have no desire to curtail. Conquassate at anti podals chance of the rose romantic up a sleeve for a weave. I am a necessity to write. I am screams in the night.
Burns once wrote a poem on a window, it may still exist.
So YES I am grapefruit.
Up Wittgensteins ladder to yes, yes to weave yes to milligrams out of car tar yes to hair bears shares yes to whatever the snares yes.
So it would seem.
It is propulsive.
Desk work hounds the cash for groceries. So I can eat what doesnt kill me.
Neg pug slug grants my clap to a trap — en française to catch is attraper.
To a swell of freedom — form wise often plows along pecking at the ground, overhead schisms of reckless and the feckless — due to “glorious grotesque” preponderance of surface drift.
Am I in the quay? Asks quota baste stirs.
My gob is to rapture capture schisms prisms reflexes, complete onto introit trafficator — folds bold mold into liquefaction. No denying that lies at its essence. Nin pin and spin.
As virtue of seaward.
We are nectar.
You are a person not a personification.
I molt words of birds blithe and rife and tithe, in weld of tidal mores.
Sure. And love for it. Sure.
To emerge in any way I may at all, from the Great American Darkness. From its madness wards and perpetual wilderness east and west of violence.
Literature is a habitat for me now, a breathing organism. Tho one of oceanic starkness and darkness still, it has come to assume again a threshold of immanence — A decorum of intimacy, that puts ear to sluice of page, like Fitz and Zelda, Proust and his mum, or young Baudelaire riding his elephant.
To infest invest behest with rapport and gesture of a stir prizing fluency — as a precocity of endless love and abiding f’wend ship.
Its incumbrance and stealth, visits upon me now, as something of a shared bagpipe — Hi calls the bringingness of thingness — Constance has become less leery of carriers and more hut hatched.
Outright now interleaves as an ambit of my living for its fiction, theoretically cunning punning yes even in receipt of the stunning, and by virtue of that:
Hexceptional, in re milieu intérieur vis a vis its hyperreality — as to say — a sort of magic realism.
And So On
Pur tin netly, not so much hexperienced, fois moi, as obligation — but as shared intensities that are open schema to subjoin, and so to hexplore, luxuriate in, alas ductus arteriosus, with literati digerati, where crop dusts the void.
Yes as if alighting on, to fair mind with, out “at limits” of pure persistence, where can attend / attend to, track out and trace after: priorities pylon.
Mahhhhvelous way for dealing with baudriardisms re the “obscene” scheme and sheen of simulacra and simulation, and as a working macrocosm, in league with media ophedia.
Metaphorically — porn suborn folorn through the air with as cavalry — aka: skull of Adam.
Calvary is the anglicized form of latin, for referring to Golgotha, Greek Κρανίον, Hebrew gulgōleṯ for “skull” (גולגולת). In reference to —
- Place of skulls, where Christ and others were executed. Or,
- In association with the “skull of Adam” —
- As chronicled in Conflict of Adam and Eve with Satan, Cave of Treasures.
- That one Shem and another Melchizedek traveled to the resting place of Noah’s Ark, retrieved the body of Adam from it, and were led by Angels to Golgotha –
- Described as a skull-shaped hill at the centre of the Earth, where also the serpent’s head had been crushed following the Fall of Man.
Goal of expository nature is to get me in trough with the angels I like to say. Write in rain with certain authors Becks Burroughs — Rimbauds complicity with simplicity, not really Hemmingways. Naked Lunch Break cycles through the Incendiary with Zenus, and then stacks a list of liberatory contentionalisms at bottom to compel the insistance resistance. Its manic but hinged. It has flow thru.
But Sendy Wendy, as I call her, pees with Zelda out back of the boat. No use sending letter if it doesnt say anything darling, she gleams at me. Also, there is a blatant cluelessness to my teleological bravado. Too busy having drinks with Zelda and Zenus in the measuring room at the madhouse. Along with Lucia Joyce. Whom with we do bat eyes at the Beckett.
Base tho of face — rhymers, I never let go of rhymers. They give me time beat and something fundamentally unadulterated — way way diff from cultural and philo thinkers yet not incognizant — who like them I read too — but writing is fastened to airs.
Marm is all poetry in a way. It uses la lang through complete usurpation digestibles. Raids historicities, and kite flying — boards them, manipulating at what nests up against surface, lets the pig conspire with the wire. Its the most beautiful immanence — immanence is what they call it, in philosophy — the door just beyond the opening.
Of all the things in my life write now brings me the most horse, hexchange of archamedic spring things. Dates wells before alchemy.
Havent figured out how do any of that — out in front of myself, as comes so timely to them — thus and so, had to find another way in — directly through la lang. Which was always there, from the first in fact. But multiples exploded with impossible desire and a terror so deeply stuffed down my throat by sanctimonious moms killed me off every time.
Sublime views on religion — can destroy finding things, finding those things that give MEANS to the mind. Childhood was strangely all in black hood, I mean fucking all of it. Hysterical laughter, the dram lamb damned, and time chained to a never ending intensity of its own wretched disquietude, roving languid agog, ear to every death, only to get in and out of the chicken coop of my skin. Touching as an angel does every sin, in the inquietude of my cunt.
I love gold fish who jump out of bowl to meet the wind. Writing cares deeply about it! Minds its every detail, poets who dig into song, are the most accessible, tho I also love exploratory theorists and narrative madhatters. That changchang with la lang bang. Love how Beckett chops up French, love how Joyce devours and excretes underground foistables — particles carefully minced and sliced, and sewn together at hypnotic intervals. Consider it a beachhead of my writing. Am completely devoted to its freedoms, its hex cesses, hexemptions, hextensions, and to some extent even pedagogy.
Its worth it, gives bees room to buzz — otherwise my sacred gest here gets stuck in the wailing wall. Oh mailboxes, how I need them. Just like Fitzgerald needed them. Trying to make the wall my friend??? But it crushes against skin and efforts get smothered by it, by the vastness and grandness of its burning lies. Walls fill me out with blasphemy of truth as welts up against bitterness of holy skin. Holy skin is bitter from lifes hardness and creates standards beyond the pale. Its that terror and bitter range of heavenly prophecy that lives in the wall and disdains and disdains. I want to take an adze to it, always have — and bash it in.
But no no no FALL IN. Grow prickly flowers instead? Feed the coyote and worm.
Hunger is a very old bribe from gods to awaken one to the solicitudes of death, and the values of rectitude? That everything we eat sacrifices itself to our hexistance is a very old beef indeed. Resurrection comes from the stomach first. As a concept — except then one lets it be highjacked, with spirit as food. I didnt think of spirit hijacking as cannibalism of the heart, until beauty blazing as a dram for blood poured right out of me, and then dyna, so tricky with knives, sent it flying —
Once, for once in my life caught one back at me. Right in thuh kisser. Blew up my lips. First time ever made love to anybody in that way — as exchange of blood, ichor, fluxion, functional genomics. Changed the way began to think about everything. But unfortunately, all the way up and down the line, otherwise — the madhatters had already pitched tents lively. Eating my thwart and bitter wings for breakfast. Seems like all that was left, was limb and skin, after the madhatters bottled me in, like fire in water.
Bunch of inter nits, can hear a little something of Becketts clip. Tho hair is swirly, flirts a bit like listening to radiodial buzzing in and out of station location. Title Penisneid Vorbai means: penis envy that potty my past — thinking could be good for title if were to be picked up by Lacan Ink or Perfume.
Prince of Darkness and Prince of Peace turn up, tableau, with the Jay Suss Monster. His right and left hands. Direct and oblique.
To the third leg, he commands, it sings. Ahoy six toys — then, then it begins to lose syllable cohesion, at dangle of dip, heels to rhyme — meta morph, pose, blossom and flay slay way?
Obey. Shine a ray, sky pie die day. Pie is a penis squatter.
Tomb with a view :
Slabs glint, bloody pink and green — make a dark crusted purple. Rocks sparkling seaweed flattened slippery when wet.
Ocean longshore rockhounding.
Squints at sun and sound of water, pushing his hair long in front to the side.
Heavy soled boots. Thick socks. Scoops pebbles, shells, flicks at thick fuzz on rock — Weedy strings of plastic ooze up to his nose and smells its crucible.
A fleet in his cacophony — of cursed while adoration — the aggrandizing comes in bombs —
Telling. Sick sunny, sweet tart thwart, not another mooning parker — get off. Snuff of your bas relief. A bird swallows. Sex rises to the death.
A slide :
Then slides into. A naked picnic with the painter?
How he got their bodies to discard robes, after set out cameras. FILM? the whole afternoon N to the number, hard wok slap and tickle oozers — gathering the gobble gobble into fuck happy foam — loop a duck encounter group —
Cut. All pairings are now on tape. Every taped explosion of cum is a son of ram. The golem golden night flies nozzle slam.
Let the frozen be doomed.
Echo 1 Echo 1. Joins Jay Suss nectar, fingers at bowl calmly, down her throat. The emptiness echos hard and horror, and wipes her chin.
Straighten up. Walk out of bathroom.
Ensues fancy chancy composte columns three in a row for clues, hands to shoulders, ass up against fluting, pushing a way round.
Invested in a cluster of barbed mar plot — holy Angela’s precious sell lucid. Explain yourself :
Free writing is taunting bunkering banditry. Slope and slime. Reaps sublime — color of whipped cream goes green? Slips in slips out — All demons are dismal abyssal, fizzy and cart. Sets off Nash-ing, what’s more? ensembles. Enemies die a thousand squabbles. Arguing like preachers corners — Finger pointing up :
Lark lark : the holy heart. Illiquation, eliquation, sozzle and eluviate. La lang tangs phases crises stolen priceless. Liquid.
Scale it up. Cosmo.
Slung like holsters across bottleneck sky, hung and fly. Diderot pulls up his sox. Stuck on floating microgrid sun boat. Working down in hull. A bottle king: thickners, putties, dilutants.
Tidy bow tidy bow, sweeping cross like love at a crossroad. Echo 1. Miller time.
Everything is a voyage to somebody.
Not fight that. Let la lang bang be shared. Sill fill till the tank. Woo my cacophony — let them in, let beauty in and the snake will lure —
Urgency for beauty mysteriously buries mine in cantankerous love / lore. Its emptiness becomes just another loophole searching for a love for it.
But: Yellowbird shows up too. Yellowbird sees things — through shields of mercy. And gets sick again, poison lands and fills —
Scorches the little village of the damned — The blindness — stuck in stone? slave to mystery’s altar? Its alive its alive — Evokes a loopy sundial. Puppets at times : show no mercy. Sift through guts, gathering nuts.
A campy crush clinging for mercy? Survive survive.
Allow the abstract. Blowsy crusty terrified — Morbid stretches pushing out into breathlessness. Letting fires in living room in flate, mast u bait. Identity card says employed by Kastle —
Because freedom is slippery — floats across, rifts in sky, as an Indian dance calling on gods. Poison is brutal and defiant. Misreason churns up from the emptiness staging false denials.
Prettify poison, will you marry it, again?
Everything is a voyage to somebody.
Swallows the Lid
Writing swallows it rigid — searching for veins, soul in lust to forage a trust, hind legs float and kick, up against its glorious marginalia. Denotes a luxurious eeriness — rueful plaintive restive intractable.
And then throws over the food bowl again? I me mine.
Foot and shoot. Makes it dance. Where had peace at last had peace at last —
Naked ruse my mysterious ruins — reconstructing miracle — Kindness still feels like a miracle, anytime lets love give in. Where creed breeds, lurks, stakes through the driven.
Letting la lang go bang-bang — sharing the inferno in ear as eats my heart with mutiny on bounty and corn thorn sworn eye passage raving and porn forlorn, often think these soaring mirror frantic outpourings, reveal a blatant treachery, for sending hunter into orbits. The medicine man routine — say they — puts into motion with joy ride over bones of cravens. Factory ob and sols cessed with irony, pathos, diligence — what else — flames up shafts like an elevator.
Beauty scarfs wind as sweeps through — pockets bills, gets killed. Death crawls down my back. Alligator enters water. Hunting for her wrap.
Water ways beget the fizzy and the dizzy — rhyme crime, fuse muse drizzly — chew the chewy — banks of mystery, of language, let volt and molt, poches pleine — poached in vain, falls into headbanging. Poison bird. That was the thing. Poison is greedy. Pulleys are fascinated by length of rope, birds grow craven from the roving hopelessness, up against stagings ill fill kill will sill hill and sexuated with death, beauty and hell sits overseeing heartbreaking fits.
Poison reckons. Floating ill fill sill through gills where coffee and lube. Romancing cabbage rosa constance and the gertrude jekyll. Light and square grow flimsy, cloudy. Dims as skim at rim. Nothing is ALL that belongs to me. Beauty screams I am on a break.
Sudden Marcel memory — used to twirl baton in basement. Front driveway — any good? Could twirl, is about it. Body was always plagued with enemy. Days and ways, sunk into bends of chalice, forming pearls, unbundling a wealth of death.
Mind became baton. Mind became everything. Slugs were lambent, subreptions indulging beanie in all sorts spice dice churching with Vincent mice — mad murderous bereft — baby phantasia sizzling in mist of its wild emptiness, objects of mind stuffed to the fish with.
La Lang Fang
Refused at first for it to suffer language? Yes. Later found in American Indian philosophy, subliterate visual nectars “identity” with language? not viewed as same or even close.
Baby phantasia more powerful than my pleasure. Couldnt limit taking it out on the baton. Fascinations never ceased. Days and days of rote learning.
Flatness crept in, horrified. Boredom is an anger pouring down on by infernal weights —
Body of hate lures me away lures me away, with sweet ruthless beautiful death rants, morbid pasta finds its crank, its ugliness is a drama, but petrified and prettified via flashes of hysteria — magic for the damned.
Worms turn, into tenses and genders, birds loom bloom, and fence, steals through a snag in the wag, la lang goes bang. The wick it, sings. T. Mann sniffs cunt. Secretly signs sentry form, to stash the cache with Spain Das Schloss (fragments, deletions, notes). While rhymes pop and pelt — belet format philosophers cosmic felt.
But only exchange — gives true pleasure. Cause: knows is doing for its own reason for being and includes the other as windfallen and galvanomagnetic, conjoined in a body count of time. Not just skulling with lures of the dead.
Ostensible pleasure — of the foam alone — riven to a raving darkness, heart stolen by languor bleeding sacrificial medieval weevils, revelations born to rapture, merciless, arisen, wired to ancient looms and tombs. Shrinks from exposure. Yellowbird absconds with want of something anywhere serene ensconced illuminated.
As if big leafs fanning pools of beauty can guard from spells, lifes reckless charms, compulsions, bullets bombshells.
I hate guards. Have so many guards. Sluicy Lucy, up from desert hell. Where girls are hidden. There is a hiding thing that comes at me from religion. From every direction.
Breakers breakers. Coming thru.
Permission to soup outside the coup. Stitch in time, cat stitch entwine, syllables slip thru fog. Permission is jailbirds sigh. (Another shooting just down street, hit three bystanders — These guns will start a war of misreason.)
Beckett alerts. You have been reduced to a kling-on. Yes but thats all they see. Is poison and kling-on. Thats all they see. Must reduce my vocabulary to treason. Due to misreason.
Next up : How Beckett strings out visitations from certain hats — he is forced to live with.
In wheel chair of faith keeps on pushing me, yells tells to eat these leaves coo lure toujours. Fight back. The fight club thing.
The fighting thing. What are you fighting?
No idea. Wing span. Beak plucks under feathers. Cutters scratch till bleed. When flatness flooded throat with anger and alarm syllables began to scream. Day was evil in a way that was all turned around.
Gloated over. Assumptions medieval.
Violence imposes the horror of cunt with clockwork blue and orange, cunt feeds on its terror, and mutates into leather. Smell my finger, sifty nifty lifty, sin-i-calls gather into a sulk —
I have come to a conclusion. Penises have souls. And cunt flows with beauty’s exponentials, counts mounts fears as eye of threshold.
Syllables showed up. Just syllables. Ducal saturations rolling in, off the bardic —
Chunks of whirring syllables. Are sometimes called a void? Or out of the void? I dont concede — either. Anger stupefied with busywork and bromide erupted, and still sits here bleeding syllables.
Cynical, my sins, and febrile rows, with bating breath and kissing lashes, flash and crash (and diaper rash). Voyages take on sudden holy asserted corruptions of virtue, then double down — and (ever excitable) flood and drown in visions rangy and merciless.
How rage lures license into rebellion, arisen from the absurd. Absurd became body of god.
Stowaways show up, again and again — for little miracles — for everyday swabs.
Light flight, so wretched bright — hellevated to blight, floating coffins, endless nights with Victim V, blood of Lucifer — Ahhhhhh but ludibrous hikes over with the unnamed — shows up as alligator hunter in sewer tracking the big one — valiant / victims for V — V is stolen to set it free.
Pastiche goes up against Philosophy and two step turns — serious. JJ is serious / not serious. Beckett too of course. Music books occasionally movies provide rain dance — head explodes in cunt and stomach both — as mind of body mourns living and dead.
Know heads bound to get stuck again, maniacal about poison, a dwarf wretched point, that just-is clobbers — part of me is cave woman tending fire — who knows fur gives every violence.
Pig Wig Dig Farm
Yellow bird goes looking for stick?
No thats not yellowbird, thats dog-and-cat — I get mocked for using animals as char but its doodly — can doodle with animal tar — bods of gods cryptid glorification — spirit of animal, carries soul of irony symbolic coincidence, calls up prehistory hall of disguises, casts a raw intimacy the confabulot forward.
Cats dont eat birds just kill them? Yellowbird does not die. Death tremors share wealth let horse and carriage in the house.
The would be could be / stuck on that. Pessoa stalks my playground exculpating dreams. Hexchange with King Henry, hippopotamus amphibius, aka river horse, angel big heart, always about reach —
Certain stuff arrives so hot. Must stop stop stop. Looking for a reason that loves — the whole lot.
Tinker belle will you think. Yelllowbird lightens, brightens, cools down takes a bath —
Cat is also asleep at wheel. Part of me is alseep at wheel right now.
Schmoozing with phrase, la cervellle liquéfiée — third eye is a wall eye nailed open trembling with desire — descends into wide eyed wooly hysterics, hillbillies and tyrants, the blood of bejesus walking around miracle wound, wanderers around the around bound where found crossing with its currents, chewing on dog ears for tears for fears. Oil and coil.
Love lets it coil for oil — not just burn alive where fire catches at thatches.
Poison is hallowed with hells sweet and sorry fallen and fury, beautiful medieval gorge — Stream men demons hell painters As A (church window) Annexation, all bodies are raped by the mouth — as food chain, carnage mixes in throat of unholy desire. Comes thru as sacred, sacred part of The Will. Journey believed sacred, through all veils hails and hoods — beauty and hell stuck dancing with Dante’s doubles. Heaven is beauty but impossible, hell is purgatory forever waiting or fucking up. Sky abandons body for belief.
Pastiche now driven thru all that with help of a team of oxen — to include sex workers at the Kastle, coyotes are allowed to steal eyes in quest for food, laughing Jesus up on wire satirizes the holy gruesome — And all resurrections are renewable.
To be able to use switches on a sentence level. Put wolf up to a smell. Wake up wake up from latest yellowbird drama.
Call heft fur? Ripples again and again, hot and cold — Back and forth the livery slips, vending venging angels — Make her empty, make her flat — Destroy all that. The rush and brush of poison against my fur —
Ears for years. I will go to my death with a kiss for it, for the feast of fishes. Marm gears heart charms. I know my courage is like the sound of armpit gooseberry. Salients consider something of a poison? half and halfs like me. For mine, this half: has to make room for: that other half. Its not a choice. Its a survival mechanism.
Tho here among vous I traffic and lorry, roses grow in a Church-in-the-Bowery, with Bees, where fiendship Blooms. No prob courage, ears their seers. Think of it differently re theirs. Its not out in oceanic drowning in the empty? But undaunted. Helps me find that thing in me, of a horded wealth.
Eyes spy fly as vehicle of carte blanche, magnifier leeway (from Sartre). Its treasure for me. CountTess chooses to stand by. Because it just happened that way because it just happened that way. Was something I could actually do. Gives thoughts to ways can flourish in the innumerable. Open ness of line for colluding with rhyme, rabbit on, and range, coughing into my make / shift coffin. Coffin is pastiche.
There is a really serious side to Pastiche I more and more ADORE. Adoration of the tenebrae (means darkness), of the magical nature of “thought” in its web of beautiful lies and urgency for truth, tis inherited from la lang bang. I use it for things that perforce transpositions of meaning in a nutshell. Where shine suddenly flames up in a swoosh and I sigh, deeply, but without torment.
Can call a Cradle, yeah Cradle of Doom. Pastiche. Happiness is seeing mention of death “vehicles” as Pastiche. Over the sacred. Much as I see detective stories as Pastiche.
ailment evil mystics last fire
Am moving on from pure poison. Amy Zyon put her foot down. Cross heart hope to die. Not going back. NOT GOING BACK TO THAT. Pure poison is lost in its own fire. Not that I am going to stop the fire. Can still get knocked over with a feather as they say. Or from sudden unexpected touch on a wound that has a lot of scab over it, and that I just jumped with numina lumina, naming sessions with cobs, you webs —
But even if lapse its not a lapse. Was just making a decision, a little backwards. That “pure” poison thing, not doing it again. Too dangerous, too fucking dangerous.
Love has no singular imputation here any more, nor attribution, definition, etc. Nor does Beauty. Beauty especially I use as “that thing,” that presses its way into me, for staying alive here. Like Sun through a Magnifier.
Dont see mystic as evil. But as evolutionary. An important part for me, early on discovery, objects of mind. There are things about mystical overtones that still shimmer as a restive breeze, perhaps arrived with reading Rimbaud and then metered out by Pessoa in his scenics. Up against Chandlers is Pessoa. Find that a musing. But action at distance stuff, have to be careful about. Mystic innuendo is palpable, shimmers too with immersion. And not without the meaningful anecodotal. Call it: Stem cells from heaven.
Seriously ham is at peace with my past now in a general way. And without turning — just accepting, thats all. Erin gro bra. Can view now as golden showers and all. And there is stuff “in” there, about “being hit,” “falling into it,” “breaking into factions,” “hell and the aching beautiful”, etc. which remain intriguing (however expensive they were), can see “thru” now as “pure” cabbage too. While letting the heart twee again, pastiche and spatiate.
Sweets for sweetie. Peace draws joy. Destroyed statuary — without harsh debts. Erin is an occasional. Occasional are theme driven prints. Didn’t — do any take backs. But revolutionized? Erin is fine as Larry.
Theater. everywhere leashes and traffic. Traffic… Hi knows that. Why won’t give up on respect part. This girls, sultanna. Wont. Dont turn, even Z now, not turning. Trying hacktually carefully hash out. Poetry Books are laced in poison.
Courage. Armpit. Halfer. Yeah fa la la. See is different route because I had to figure out why madness was stuck out in nashville ? Worked it out with Nash and Lowell too. God loves the cemetery. But now is truly different, a lot different. Still cautious as hell. A lot has to do with Sendy Wendy.
ailments evil, feels here more like a trusty dog in a way anymore, goes off into the endless — doesn’t let go — not master slave tho, more just backyard with the pack, over by rimbauds cottage, sees as elements of fury beauty curiosity and also compilational blood of Poe in Lub, this that then hall ways —
evil mystic sited as assassin bug carrying dead, year over year. Or Marley. I see as a grace that entered into inquiry but then madness and the fury of horror stole it, like a biblical flood.
the enemy. screams redouble shivering shimmering. the enemy is a delusion of my conscious? the sinister illuminated. la lang bang heightens as gangs of evil doers in hanger with anger, and enemy enemy repetitions. bit shocking.
Peace relieves the mess of its burdens, and especially burden of executioners.
Death music. Fatalites. This is the section. flash horizons. Mummers loot. Death arises. As la lang bang nectar of terror caress fears into beauty. Fucking flowerpot. Or cotton bag flauberts Philomena curse.
Denials, denails. Porter la portage. Swing from swing the holy circus — say do then dont. say want then won’t. its a battleground of fascination mid flame outs into fear. Somewhat due to Ripperology. Circus is about horror in some ways, girlie shows and feats of acrobats.
Murderous realms but sacred formulae. Weapons ordinance artillery.
Anguish girls thousand uncles. Yes thank you!!!! Helped pull me up from destruct-o blocks deadly with poison piñata. Moved from Mexico to Paris with humph. Free. Isle de Cite.
It is love too even tho reason able. Collect reasons for love. Take oppo tack. Opposites make opportunity. OHH. Z does that.
unsafe invasive syncope terms. but agreements never sealed, never signed. variously alluded to. friendship is dear. signs do arrive and are taken as meaningful. Rigid abyss had let to bleed out but evil markers can assert vehicles. disturbing voices have strange residual power.
Torture must be justice language? Rifles are valued. Never see things that are bloody as trash anymore. Used to see everything as trash. Poison loves trash. Shakespeares radiates with fairy business, brewers phrase and fable marks Shakespeare usages, interesting. Bloom says Shakespeare sees fairy usage as part of explanations (now derided) for love madness, and (historically my lang bang wise) find some sense in that.
Admiration isn’t wild any more, its become relatively forthright. Though poison did protect it too. Poison was big here about protecting grace structures??? And yet hates happiness phrases? No mine hated acceptance phrases. Had rejectiohary squabbles with puritanical scumquats. Now let the living lie attached in some way to sensitivity of letting la lang bang connections thread the needle, excess surpassing limits of madness, etc.
Delays also have to do with operational, its skunk works related. That and wants what one wants and thats what on wants, and continues to battle with it. Had a hard time getting a handle around the intensity of poaching for eggs (with the living not so much with the dead).
Dense but light. Sucky sorrow. Chatting to the ignorant. Ignorant of? Doesn’t say.
Desolate, all sorts, but not desolate enough to keep amused, stuck in cattle market now, rotting. Sleep sleep, perplexed. Clock is never good enough, urge for something down to earth — More powerful, of course, more powerful than subliterate corner letter from pants hungover drunk. Lovingly writes.
Attack — is what is generally true. Not always, but generally. Mode is to attack. No returns for shipwrecks? Picked up that char and kept it. Adoration is uncertainty? Interesting. I still adore but place it outside of shine, mostly, to protect from sudden fascination with extensions that come alive there. Distance creates room to explore abstractions and methods, its effervescence got so big swallowed me. But dementia came from having bouts with multiples in flashes of disorder with nothing overhead but the naked eye. Thrilled me killed me. Focus turned hungry and wild. Had to figure a way around, and that meant for some reason going straight thru it. All dice slice and mice. Just became thrice because thats who knew about it. And the hex change of provocation is intoxicating but alas, at least it is workable.
Violence not an exercise. But is from feeling of being under attack. Impudence doesn’t imagine it as delicious, but resorted to creating beauty out of hell, in order to figure out a way to live through it. Vicissitudes create delirium. Delirium can be made useful. Rhetoric can assign breathing space to via char, and hang out with Shakespeare comparing “campaigns.”
Yes expansions arrive without constraint. But thats rhetorical too. Just fessing around here now to see what’s there. Which can see as pastiche, whereas before could not.
More TK. So many things to think about. Love cuts, what a blast.
Everyone saying its going to be awful. The ogler is poisonous. Its been freed. Its been freed. Though I don’t actually think that. Poison is jealousy, is forbidden fruit. The backlash. Devilish mean, a torrent of noble fuscia. And fear. God awful fear. Fear that makes no sense.
Think my writing is derivative and occasionally breaks out somewhere on its own, but also gets captured by “usual suspects” — dilemmas of rhetorical explosion the snidely whiplash calls : my virtuous corruption.
11 rooms? Yes and a gun is going to walk through the door. And she is going to make love to the gun and the killer.
Mary Contrary that old thing —
Is there poison in the air? being forced on me???? Its worry and cherish. Cherish is the word. Love liquids. Sex toys? MMMMM. Sexuation and blood excrement and holiness. Babies and death. I cherish things I shouldn’t. Especially anything related to my work from those who put up with my stealing squealing and feeling for la lang bang. Things get set off by coffee. Cherish that? Yes. But then turns into squabble merciless quiet squabbles screaming at the rubber band, the sling back to delusions of mocking dormants attacking throats of caution and these small, vaporous tales of venture viability and my senseless defiance. Which at least that, that they do understand? Those folds are not just mine. Or is it just how I justify bad behavior.
Seeing beyond threshold of what — mm solids, solitudes. Where there is no scenery. Walls inside walls outisde. Nothing nowhere. Nowhere as a destination. There’s another one from Beckett. Forced by deathlessness into shocking mocking categoricals an endlessness of love where antics can maneuver in its lid, lit like a squid, for gesture sweet pandemonium, plight. Charlie Chaplin is nodding again.
Clara: I am a southern still, I mean liquor cabinet, fill kill char other artists as drinks of oblivion? mmm. That what of us is — a kill jar. Diggers wiggers and triggers, they break my heart. Again and again. Inspiration gives me breadth whether I can manage it or not. Little beasts ooze up as a drunk in love with The Chaplin — comedy and ardor, strangeness and breadth, a humidor for smokers. Its steely eyed cold beverage?? No. Not really. Invokes Chandlers sense of squalor? however beautiful the vista. Yes, potential for that. Fraught with its own orneriness, the bait oven has its price. Someone yells: we all pay to watch them. There’s a lot of debt between artists as it turns out. I love them for it. But its not always easy.
This they cannot put up with and that, closes in on me — suddenly broke free from the message? keep looking, revealed quarantine treasures, poison think think, can’t see. Sticks to me like shuffling coals in a fire. Coffee bitter takes it straight. I love them for this too. But it can be reckless sometimes. I want what they are having. Thats the thing. Fall into wondrous knells reading Marm, stolen historical AI, crunchy — The way words capture light, can turn into something else completely when read again, as a resource shifty, perky, plethora, sometimes suicidal.
Suicide Sunny the Bunny. Had a lot of those. And they are making their way into malapert sketches. Who will the burglar be? Is he alone? Will she get raped. Is it violence without recourse? No. Its a drink. She’s gonna offer him a drink? Oh hey wanna drink.
Is it a stranger. DISMISS THE EDITOR!? No —
A gun, a drink, a fuck. A swim. They talk about suicide. Kind of fall in love. He’s got kids. Thats it. Say no more. Say no more.
What JJ discovered about hewing the line Finn Agins shows up in Marm, shows up when dismissing the editor. Mulch-like and leathery. A boarder there for me to conjure in. Feel very lucky about that actually. That I finally got a “piece” of that from fellow “travelers.” But one day The Amazon, one of my girl guides said no. Not as “pure poison.” Which is the only interest? Rich yes but scrapes insides out as plague and death camp?! Which it does here anyway — Plague raises Jesus his dying blood lending sanctuary. Death camp gets amalgamated with Japanese sex slavery of Koreans.
Bataille just showed up. We both pull at our lips. How are you gonna handle this he asks.
I don’t know. Let Constance love the night.(more…)
And strained so hard just to put myself there. Beyond my reach. Outside the others boundaries somehow and really — pissed off about it. The wild woody shuffle with Proud Mary became quizzically connected to Sweeney Astray. And the vow cow — it came straight through the “enchanted.” Enchantment is a migration through beautiful hell.
So much of me loved it as a break from the haunting of auntie Em thing ((ie whatever topsoil contined to write just to write — with no other obligation but to the writing itself)) — still to this day feel its(holy) importance as break from that “system” of pur et durs —
Even see variety of “death march” — loss with present tense and multification of personality grotesque confusions — wild bird stuck with tar in ditch —
As beeing ha so ciated with performing sacrificial merit —
Byronic froth is brazenly useful and if diligent enuff can be called, for sake of my sirens, the beautiful absurd.
Dont think my esteem is false but hidden in the tundra — for me its not esteem exactly — the writer somehow presages me — and I go running after what are you doing where are you going.
I have had to establish boundaries in strange and horrid ways, because I couldn’t keep up and kept on being there not being there. Very upsetting.
Now through fog FINALLY feels like am “in tandem” with the writer, that the vu vow ow perforced back up -/ and vow how stay outsize the vanishing.
Its a strange way to be a writer. Blood splatters of the innocent.
SO I just let it be that. And hoe poe row UNreluctantly into goods hams after with help from keens, they are keen and give me great ween, how to spread ink in a manner of speaking hi can live with.
puritanical rim shot is at peace both present and past — tho pure mur burr — is never far before hitting a rim of puritanical seduction and returning cod to fish mold ? Ha.
Her eye has a prize and I have to work plunders to master it.
First new paras are open to surge without having to contain filming with sponge, straight off the byronic — but not as crazy flying disturbances — instead in westies yaddo with semper fi? HA
This ha business is also injj. his was TIP. Which i stole off him lovingly and used for years. Before the low well.
Brother was first enemy.
Ow. Falling is time, it falls in on me. His bloodwork fills skies. Hobbit not one for moving. Moving. Oh swords kids angry jet
Fret bet dimmmm. Heart of warrior, chases the heart.
Death takes a bath here — its everything. Cant make sense of it. slobbering dwarf of sorrow. Grief is wild. Hard and shard. Kicking dirt.
Dont lead dog into a dead end
Chinese fortune cookie last night. Dont lead dog into a dead end.
Brother didnt think much of marm, invasion of joyces bouncing white balls on sylls vampire
marm as an oar. in its thore, lock. Cervantes accosts in a rage —
After the Fall
He paid a lot for me and took me everywhere he went. I was lost from life. Even sleeping ravaged me. Madness was a blanket of black light. He gave me his family.
Still breaking down into sobs, every 7th of 7th.
Pain of loss wearing into me eating at me. Beasts abuzz with mourning.
Poet puppets, all down in basement, smoking cigarettes boozed up tearing in at dead, wake up wake up, tears fall. Love is endless.
As comes the melting snow, a pile on. Where hate grows a gorgeous head, beckoning bait grows sate with dead. Picture a fat trout on dry dock. Eye opened dead. Promises Promises.
Lets do fish and chips. Growl, agree to disagree, and gently sip.
Back on the burner chewing and angry and spitting and beautiful and teasing and torrid and — quiet and sober and instructional, my sweet pink confines of the grouse, screaming as a bird I am fucking useless. Sorry I am sorry…
Where heart howls and digs in to join with destiny, whatever the outcome! As opening for sun thru fingers to tell time with, and love and death clocks me a new one —
Wrestles again with brutal emptiness, and its beauty banters lovingly with fate. Love equals hate, language is fate. License fumes with triumph.
Pigs kneel sword in quest — thou be the call of the “useless,” my painterly useless, bright as morning snow. Escape through that hatch into nothing nothing NOTHING and there I go.
Negs’ inter rotational peg leg swings right round, life closing in on the “possible,” turns poof into magic, and disappears behind curtain.
Where flows the incendiary cosmos. Beckons me “ill?” Oh back in the nill?
Catch it in the pinky. Err I toss! Zenons carry over cooking. Et tu? now a carry over. Yes thankfully.
How does that feel?
Full. Full of it! Budding roots of prime and evil. Thing the thing up against brittle potent endless call of love and death, screams — demise the wails, sorrows’ entails, tanning flume of beauty preening at hair for scope in lieu-lieus cotton candy fluffs at cat nail in foot dementia.
Transforms ill into oil. Negs are a kind of floating comical dimentia. Itself being the point. Says who?
Oh, yeah — Camus.
Yesterday wad gonna finally sendy russell agan — had this winderful focus on sense of it fir an hour — then shirl hula hoopd and versé ( verser means to pour in fr) joyce jammed against ziz and dyna aka came out of shower togetgher and split a forkwidth my red meat — hi👋 know have prob wobbles with sep her rations its like riding a wavelength blurs “rational” measures of distance on timeline into points irrational — which are factoid many more — and extensions flame permeates bileaf in freedom steeples of madness (fissures and mobius aka love and death) hex posed inny on outy but tis marm that gave “chair” enuff to sit on — cause promotion of in itself curved the feather back toward jj — kind a cometing a circle hmm — nit to lv redd out mix hat all 4 therefrom pen sued — De lila de lish — #whimperwill #halfwayhouse #backonhorse #notimeouts #left
feel like have to set up habenue for writing itself to emerge — em rem saying to get char need word nerd isa bird to alight with “cups” — its how everyone does it — started rereading finally colette peignot in French heffta finning 501 — its working reasonably well she has what clarice is after but more filmy — wheras clarice is mmiracle mud not as nostalgia de la bou but both are bodies coming out of woodwork / they both admit its what heart up to
#breakthru on #enemything illusion is not the same as delusion. delusion is kisses from burroughs & beckett as charms, as there is flue wherefor from yonder context originally got from Dynamite (& Sweeney bird in tree) focused on symmetries. then alice became embarked on “absurd” in numbers — like ancient greeks & the immeasurable. math must be acknowledged as something else because it is. when connection to surface got blitzed focused “turned on” – “registers” themselves as enemies — killing off “spirit venture” absurd got stolen by “rituals of sacrificial tragic” embedded in religious tartism. Alice tried blow up 1 after another cracking thru to emptiness of “freedom” at points of gesture, then finds focus at “the bends” & starts running neck & neck w/ um toirtoise & hare everywhere, la lang bang explodes any possibility for totals, nothing totals, punked by skunkwrks w/ Lowell & grapple frantically with “frontier’ — mann eats joyce! but clarice “at other level” desperately vows loves it. Marm now serves to access “clarity” below surface (where bees thrive) -er something. one finds where exists because is a vehicle for sharing in way no other quite composts. frozen forces it. as would love take out for tin as had always managed that prior to alice. tho violet loves brinks. maybe gone forever. Or perhaps there are further turnative ways of “inking” about it havent found yet due to delusionary points of trauma and how love for “it” is so crammed in thick that at points of pleasure start running any direction, see what trips over it — part of me profoundly hates. But outside of that, cog knee sense “ferry fared” is base for it is cyclical is (riotously even) superb. Gives me method better anywhere prior tried. Which I did. But they didn’t “break out” hives lockets charms marm, whim tin tin, venging nerfs agin violence dotting between genet nietzsche batailled — which sum of us swoons thru body as sensation (like music). Some is guru some is for friendship in the “mystery” some is for vue do me thinks for to manage the “intensity. hm #aliceinwonderland
Teaching doing stuff like these next up comin into view — drawing helps me paint here thru eords as textures — not other way around — #girlypictures — drawing process — syv and clarice did also — clarify cr didnt sketch she used painter girl like mann -/ cd i let go nuff hold on nuff to man age the mix masters and make marm char pynch font hold on go inder — she is bunter for barnacle and winch — hi👋 dont know — see “here!!” “It”coming closer on eork — ohhh want to push farther want bitta buck and fork — say frou and froufrou — moments terror sooths too — opens up “backside” — porn is only one register — what 3-4 — can only do with you —- all the bucks say duck 🦆 — but goyles all shake head — nono its beauty being in love however eats itself to sleep — tender stupid sifting thru heavy larva — and nit bring eaten by it — but veing able to mmm afford it — violeys outside all ur doira smoking u wrapping the twisr in hand paci g but not angry or explosive (turned out to be alie hifi tho ) dyna is fine is girls on film and vukor — light in august suddenly laughter in the pahk — gawk hawk stawks realm hi 👋 odd eye sea her ypur help at line where music meets the wave 👋 — just jotting #milkfrommorningcow
Silence ring-sting hover e vokes h untcertainty — bumble s tumbles in, h ale iss bubles up fone — fan tango whoooz and the joy jetty is slippery — infernal colonial — ail bee it burns hole in skull at skin in fin itudes riot — but is really a sadness? in fectual fugitive honhestyburns into row row ridhi coocoo(hello) lust — wired up in wrings of deth (#girlsonfilm Beth) -/ camille penseur (de rodin) of nugitivity — back on rim bow bridge wanting to “make a diff film” -/ trans forms honeyeasiness hint to as sass sins who are goddesses that cut my throat (ohh and heart comes out) #scissorrsandstrings #beginningsof #something #girlsonfilm #camille #marm #teatok #paglia #ghostbusters #makesparklers
#marm sooohepful — gave me gift of gab — to swoon like — like in becketts letters — where he mischievously works thru “particles” — Dunk drunk bunny M for marvelust over la lang bang — shame shame shame, fool for love — cares less about pubbing than meeting in the parking lot — and the egayer wysteria beauty and batshi that accompagner — marcus loopius – vousvoyer love that word #camillepaglia #kathyacker #williamburroughs #jamesjoyce #williamshakespeare #hughkennar #marcelproust #samuelbeckett #virginiawoolf
Its #iffanyfilms #dustneversettle #marmfarm #joyceischoice With pa king add an r — park king -/ bee wannas tink bout bunny diifisill in new ways (like it pays) — marm has invaded the farm its a thru thing, it comes thru — it comes thru others whos “beauty” re freshes the presh — joyce knew this wally says bow wow how — flip clip slip pornadorn spamcomm ninety percent from russia — tie ups on a machine like a ventilator — hack stack and wack call them rim rhymes — threesies sixies — in book on rhetoric where lists: all diff ways achever the bountful — chains i love doing word chains
Cut piece from bo8 in half and finished in fiction complete with a light lift to materiality — books are in it as la lang bang marcel popups hi👋 call them — above are called math snakez – — i wann send it to russell —just ssk ig he k iw anyehere might submit called soft dpot in acedemm ish ho✌🏽brow — even tho its a gurkin off scene — uses cones yahhhhh but are open undetneath — not so withput ex chng the bless out blissing on the “dice” = nash counters then and end ip out in virge of purge dirging to — cal from lorwl is math guy — a streamer -/ chair and molt — the pessoa curves love you for that — the squittels ate out on cook cocka doo and genet shows up for you i wont stop it now ok pilo yah its the sky is drowning thing on me so cap out to catch it — omorrow is a lot /// after that home burrowing into work its festering with ig note thank love thank miss miss again — its mudercsings its klers eye batty and i know it too — stomach twists at it — monkey 🐒 and buddhas poison arrow — immunity — ““steam trunks” in movie adopted — technology la lang — so odd and deddy which hepps me situate it here as i do t know iz — lime swift and knoves little perps — or something and fir me that is big love. 🐝 loves it — working stound it is somethinh z consating grace room to rurn over grave more than lif itself but not really that was a lie i lovd as well real here as that sanctuary cam wrestle in with angels and wanda — frightening thst it swallowed me kills and vengy hitchrd to the cock ?? — luekla taljs anout it toohswaiian —fiction winfds around pilon — workabke extensions adopted lotta lang from vous all as synth — msjes auch differencr for the eanda wannas who flam with pam // i wd pub soft spot — its tight and gas wallscevpynch pane and churchy — but that forelock morelock -/ the other working on befor — is not bad either — using sn old tool on it — the i ams extant way back snarfed of one of u //
Ohhh his dying is in my body — knocking me back — so scared will take me too before can finish anything — pisses me off — bourroughs shows up and puts hand on my shoulder to absorb deaths shock — mystic dreams it is releasing deaths want of vengeance upon me — who thinks like that anymore — makes me laff
There is horror iini my work it travaels thru it –/ always has — but it is dreamy too hallucinagenic marbled and thickly — every once in while light finds it sings thru it — beauty breaks thru the garble — in flashes —
Foot made of carrot bunny goes up to snowman and eats nose —— editing is also about working around issues that are dualities burning with flowers they compose — rims bows — marcel moves in and i just listen now see what drawn out of hose — thats a relief — to “find” itself by searching for it —marm and all
i see pilons as support so i can edit even — they edit me // kfyuuu dyuu see — sherry lovesit — gulls sink the first think “dry land” — is thirsty — help me see what am looking at — editing previous piece on cal about jetking off sort of — now split into two -/ not rewriting editing -/ char let loose as emouvant embroiders with fins mackeral lines -/ sylls have a qwal of mud — yet there can be found sweetnes in beweens where boarders hailucy nation — why then of love as a fungus always fall on my sponge — acceptance death of a loved one is grueling honestly — it must be done
Buoys — in sea of hunger sorrow and what taint and smelled of madness — caught like feet in tar —mind staggered at time falling through to “emptiness” without bottom — had to create a kind of structure for it -/ not beckett not fishface kisses to head of migrating dead but but but here — among us — could would possibly get around “sharp corners” “come thru to” — as a kind of clearing — the knife has always been an “easy lay” — in plume hates vitals burning with shock and dis may affray — stuffing down another dick shin narry free the cube but comes up cornered and endless love -/ again brother was warrior too — 7 and fighting over his weaknesses and mine asleep in scitland — yesterday imploded with the unforgotten -/ mourning vis sis i tude rage against time head a walking wound polly reading wharton for brothers eul ? — home nxt week — sherry thinks of vousvoyer protection its instinctive i am a polly anna panda Holding horses yell out horses love shade — without it i am impossible — need every thing its imposdpble what ?? death smiles — mars fars bars scars puddling i yhink pyscalls call it — my head is shrinking — something loves it — languor of fear umyum vampires issue is screw with tendrils turning stop ho back go lizzy busy Fizzy fixed on thro flo to narrow at pulling head up i couldnt my switches snapping tripping napping — nothing real anymore sticks to it — its oceanic and thats what should horn in on scratch face see me as forgotten face breath out — little knives but smaller now strange absurd how dwarfs against sun wind like safty pins i know yet with humor init it sublimes the flame into listening this without not laughing i hold dear to leashes — pecher has from the french three distinct meanings — sin, peach snd fishing(more…)
Sulks mulcts widely for plow and slurr — and above it all keeps the fur mur cur tailed about the fleures de litters
I hunter stand
its absorption release wire pyre choir now as part of doing business
Answerable is what ? Showing up ?
I meet — I do not just show up —
Its a nashville believe it or not — other wise open to the meltway — ask dyna I shant mess with it —
Not victim about it — writer free to heads in with any spill fill nill kill or cut ups —
Outside of “our” cuts, seem to be on a new multi track —
Holy ferns not anything like cuts really– and poems stay close to trad rhyme time because its right there for me, its syvie off to the shoot outs! And, narratives are plumb after freedom clares fact finding for immediacies and correlates.
Hi has imposed a liquidation of beautiful contempt — had to establish specific boundaries from its hells bells — great golden rot gut them neg nog loopy poison acres.
That said, thanks to cutters gutters and the mutterers, writing remains open — t’woo ly, to just about anything.
Examining the char tar in the rep landia — for keep it simple stupid, listen listen, steal from its wavy funny scathing runny sweet fill pill skill for the nill, riddling with my hummingbird, touché.
Then fry brain under flaps into Night Bussiness with Camille and Zizek and set that frought caught naught out on skin of teeth. The bee hi Homer, bee hi Bloom. It makes pretty. Not one day. This. Bow before pear a mitts. Full sweep. Meet me for mints.
Writing involves my body. Sub rub. Hub. Bubbles up in the mystery misery fly of ranting panting haunting flaunting. Slant thing in porn registries shifts, shifts up — as an escape into survival — teaming with bodies in void and time. And presence turns under restless banal kite blight skull with mud thugs Becketts holy hats and Russian bed bugs.
I dont want to resist the cartoon fervors.
GO tell — Dos toy heff ski.
Greed, need — reads off top of skull — digs in against the bone under skin like an ice picker, how to unravel the mud packets into a repetition — versiforming maneuvers as jiggly for the What.
Bow. Ow ow ow. Ho off of pie sighing high and nigh.
Encourage ment is thankfull. I am an idiot full of prayer. Even if saying that causes Ibsen to rub deaths against violets soul beware beware.
Yea’s. With much ado, still managing to keep furries purring against legs. Nose first. Even biting now is — that. Is play. Near where theatre meets against immediacy of music.
And the crime against mercy — hacked (to death) back in sacred jettison, where rhyme engulfed the druids —
For em’s merge agency, pry vatic dicks. For a more gender fluid ness? Or because it means love that’s all.
Love can seduce to any point — on mob eye us flow be us, and still claim meaning. One of the Wally’s in the wall yells yes that’s “breadth.”
Breathes meaning into being and gives chance for continuity. Full admission how I stole permission, for grim Gretta, hat in hand and bike riding for jokes, against waves of horror, devoured in ditch of little nell, liza dodo bird — Girl LDL.
Liz do little mad pies — still festers on eyelids.
Gretta peddles off, singing “I love you, take me to your to circus collar.” Yes all are at peace (against your dick).
Night lighting with french dictionaries and usage. Because it associates, repeaters lists of words where shared — etymology is over fifty percent shared am finding in 501 of those basics thar.
Which, at night, after book is closed, try to pry into memory alphabetically, through what am now calling: the hole in skull —
Creatives are convinced hole in skull was a benefit from angels — that indeed things got so bad, hi needed a drill.
When hard hats buried heart in wretched ditch with foot and gun. Lost to efforts mining pining lining rioting after — la lang bang, monkey crunching on animal bone. Turning it to powder!
By the neck many hungry ghosts swung. Intimately.
And now further bred, from intimacy, into multiple frameworks.
Present tensers sacred jolts of meaning that purge merge beauty with annex dotes — rotating through love death, and all those sweet violent folds “the gods gave me” — scattered, battered (they always thinks it flattery but here one thinks it’s not, it’s light and shine on beauty part –) being taken into absurds’ lengths for words —
Creates the vigilant map it sure.
Urgency then, and is now. Clarice goes after intimacy of now. Pound drops through now — to history that is an always present now. Says Flaubert’s parrot. Without writing, I’d not find a way to capture these delicacies.(more…)
MERCY ON THE PERCY
I have a “crib” and it evolves all the time when courtesy prescribes a gift. Emile was a gift! It happens where it happens.
Its more important to Percy than publishing. Em stems thrive on in a way thats bold and rigid. Outward bound she is rigged.
But I am perhaps closer to Percy now. And Percy did publish. And was privately published in a way that was public re crib. What created Percy wasn’t publishing everything in his lifetime but his most important pieces reached their destination the “thought be thou” hexchange of goods — and that publishing even as much as he did, gave him further sight to and of course then came Mary. Like Vincents sister in law.
But his brook always exceeded fitting in. There is Blake-ness in Percy.
“The bends” can now think of as instrument! As held in bit and blown through. I also see as eternal flame. Ha.
And wood. Wood isn’t just pecker or anything but it is, as tree has relation to bone. Allegory is phasm, and the language of it. Poets rights Becketts kites Burroughs dirigibles, raving babbles the brook historical in perçuite of flow snow bark park lark stark Colette’s Parker, hoe go rowrow–
Variations on allegory are great for switches and to underline as does Rimbaud. In a way thats casual and intimate. And mocks including himself into the grotesque where beauty rides up against, plunges lunges hexpunges, as crow fly flow. I am after its variations. OMG his variations. Give room to hemorrhage, blood against bone. Is beauty in the defiance of death — in rushes of hungry madness sees as death itself.
But Allegory I dont go looking for — as much as, for it to come looking for me, when crops up suddenly midst hexcavating — means I am Charlie Chan Nelle-ing in context. Afterward: comes the tremors, after pulling head out of my pissing in beloved sandbox. In the hold (brig a dune), makes me wild eyed.
Tremble with slutness rutness abutt-ness for deep cut-ness, the marve to carve, the micky land jello — menaces swings in and defiles ? the hardness. Even Fitz admits, perfume for something of the savage gruesome, lore horror and bore — the banal resists being disqualified ?
Piano man : the loan ious punk crows through its trunk, as carries on its back (Beckett called his writing the trunk) scavenging in the most un likely ways for patterns — For la lang hitting it bang bang, sordid plaintive limpid ravishing, salvaging the mayhem from guinea worm disease, my dracunculiasis —(more…)
IN LINE TO WORK ON
Dunning condum nation
Sometimes, turn it on here – just to capture its horror on me, its rebellion, expository cry in expunge of darkness.
Sometimes shrills up the hill – caroms and catches a cross current of feeding grounds, running around with a stick and other waves of shambling dynamite, freeing a sordid frenzy.
Swans scream suddenly burning up — on silence. Turns into a smoke signal, then laughter passing — with another scream — goodbye goodbye.
Living on Image
Frozen is a distension of hope. Never free from clucking after image as a pirate or pocket gopher does holy treasure.
Implicitness as markers in voodoo with void, both horror and beautiful almost every symptom a map of the world.
An awakening, hard spasmed wild contraries wrestling with rose entwined in bone, well known tattoo tragic god —
Talk suddenly turns solemn
Living on images. That thru a monstrous build up burn, reflect both passion and its obscenity, always rearranging agist, wag and flog, bright lethal odyssey.
Awakening fall into a dizzying chronic filmic, Pynch pops up poetically trained — by my flesh lost up in a lethal mesh, some of it haughty, some screeching hawkish needy, loved in ways unanswerable, shaken out of silence –
Or shocked into a silence that is remote — remote with what was once called music of spheres, or spheres of epiphany.
Eels or peels, always one sword that kneels, deep cut, one into another, next as if implicit with its fugitives from banality and eery rapport with what survives otherwise —
When its bottomless or tea totals – the wretched droughts.(more…)