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 —
THE WORKS — in Progress269 comments
Essays as Fiction
Essays as fiction on poetic holy oil, the wily stealthy insidious perfidious sublime, and wandering around in love with particles of narrative and the seductions of rhyme.
Improvisational Fiction — Meta as Allegory
Presence & madness, desire & distance, alls & nothings. Pursues Poetic Meta Fiction (presumptuously) akin to Clarice Lispector and some Beckett. At times via Free Writing — meaning open sesame in terms of ear to la lang bang, to plosions of particles and rhyme ( finnegans wake is composed in particles). (Often referred to jokingly by people who write — as Marmalade Sky.) Searches out continuums between beauty and her monstrosities.
Poetry that Dares to Rhyme // Some more than others.
Poems are a mix of half done and getting there.
An ongoing (beloved) horror show.
New Stuff still Uncategorized
Letters Never Sent
Free Writing — La Lang Bang
Instagram Pam’s Free Writing Slam // Pictures from all over
I call Instagram The Breezeway where I let words play, especially in the morning, let La Lang Bang filter through whatever — break in, break apart, triple play. La Lang Bang — words that lunch on a heart with gaping affection and insurrection — finding and denoting fetches relics lovely die hards // repetitions of the eternal wound as sacred with destiny.
A Post Lapsarian Archive
Issues in Meta Fizzics and Free Writing
On the Work of Others
Numinous and The Luminous
Notebooks on Philosophy
Subject and the Abject, Absolutes and the Absurd, Joy and The Sacred Precipice, Miracles and The Martyr
Index for Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files
Bel et Bien
À La Lang Bang