it could be what the sailor said, namely: the trees have a deference that the sea never offers. one could write that down, thinking of a place where actions resume perfect strictness, and wonder, finally, what energy arises with the sun? the testing becomes prosaic so often, why bother addressing that? here's the situation, simple as flight. a smack of amazement because a squirrel fell 40 feet to land on pavement, land with the suddenness of a moment by itself, and then this strange visionary scampers away, no earth gravity too mighty for the moment of that landing, that crash of real earth. not to answer everything that way, just a tide of amazement because music has timely friends, and they all, like this squirrel, melt along. there was something, you see, about that squirrel's fall from that oak's branch, an impression of a squirrel's time.
too small not seen sweep clean full emotion your donkey piled upon him softer than felt penetrate the we'll have no worry what's to be done
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I wanted to write about towers, their thickness and protrusions, there split against the sky, look at the picture at the first pages, thick as birch, stirring the heavens with stirring tales
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I wanted to write, get rid of myself, shed my skin, I wonder, could I do this, could I shed my skin, I wonder who am I, what is the form of the animal, what are animals on this St. Joshua's day, when the Spirits of the Air come in as well, caressing the rake and the rest of us...
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stalk
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Come to think of it, the light is off the jar, morose escapation comfilling the startling abbreviation for her avatar undoing. why, when one pseudonym will do, does ambiguity outline the shadows in a dark room. No one looking or should they be?
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"play with yourself, there, when no one is looking" closure abrupt. closure assumed. closure alias.
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Closure trails discomfort. No glove that fits just right. When the words don't come easily, not just right, is this closure?
flustering the season everyone talks force of pleasure
a pearl quite empty not having seen your lover
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"play with yourself, there, when no one is looking" closure abrupt. closure assumed. closure alias.
, Closure trails discomfort. No glove that fits just right. When the words don't come easily, not just right, is this closure?
I opened a window after many months. Pryed it open with my handless bleeding stumps. I whispered one thousand things and waited. He replied. I love. I miss. And closed the window.
Closure trails discomfort discomfort trails denial denial trails disbelief disbelief trails hope hope trails love love trails you. you hide in closure Alas.
filled the village "play with yourself, there, when no one is looking" closure abrupt. closure assumed. closure alias.
village filled with sounds of watchtower breaking
as ever anybody
saved from flame
ash to ash and dust to dust grin to grimace ear to ear like cream
alizarin to macintosh ah heart
permanently blinded looks to seers
I await look after look
from your spacious eyes known only as jaded sliver glows by river bank a bending willow sips life from passing river
with the sudden whirl of current
a kiss tosses and the willow sprouts
a mustering of reason forces everyone to bury treasure
a whirl like pool you say its over
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everyone handles the distribution until YOURS is just a syndrome or something left behind. a marginal entry or entreaty or why is what is lost lost? too much thinking, wishing here was the only time and what you give me is YOURS but who can say, all confused with the benefits of anonyminity. words that are mine are supposed to be YOURS. the difficulties are obvious.
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Homogenized. You and Yours. Pasturized.You and Yours. Sterilized.You and Yours. Safe For Public Consumption.You and Yours. I am not a Public.You and Yours. I am one human being. You and Yours. You are not the voice of the Public. You and Yours. You are one human being.You and Yours.
Notice how it rhymes with loves and wars? You that one, that other. Yours that which belongs to that one that other. Who is that one that yours that other? Is it you?
Blind in dreams and siezed by nothing. Free to touch and touched by nothing. Above. All Above. Not like eagle, or a cloud or sun like nothing. Above. Essensing to past the point of bare essentials. Existentessening to past the point point blank of I want to just give thanks. Existsinging past the point of song but in the frame of song. Past right or wrong. Above. In Love.
giving thanks to the gravitational constant which may or may not be holding me here and giving thanks to the acceleration of gravity and the beauty of electrons ignoring the dark pull dragging the screen along, might as well take the hole thing this is the easiest way to reach you, light shining in your eyes this is the sound of running gravity, holding me in your arms
he's saying this isn't much, or more naturally, he says this is what I have. and she replies. and that's that possibility enlarged, enraged, invaded and held to the highest scale of understanding. it's a difficulty to make anything clear, yet on this mountaintop it is the most important thing. waiting, as if the clouds made more sense than ever. possibly they do.
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the peace end, until it breaks the throw thru the change of electric parsimonious lose the trip to the station. meanwhile dragging behind lost with the whipping sound first to declare out of it. the thanklessness covers dismay, mighty fighters feign their way. a mix up of execution. who strangely boasts of the latest facts? strident as normal. drastic the language, thrown for a loop. unable or until. the legislative bungle strews the path monstrous. a change has humanity reeling, down pus poisoned. but only words of regret, only words dogmatic exchange. chance lightning. not a grazing or only language. or what but only human exchange. unsatisfied again with the results
Development of our literature whose cobwebs over the stubble, vigorous grown lame people reveled in the album sentiments, the spectres lovely as fantasy, less felt, aversion for immortals.
Luke-warm Venus, pretty but stuffed-out strings to break whose ghosts controlled poetry.
Genuine lyric with no serious belief -- dissolving pictures overflowing, mocked, disgusted. Expression of love the literature in glaring dissonances, street songs of self-consciousness (idle love and dream life) mocks an original, transporting the sphinx of poetry.
These songs indicate the era of dissolution has begun.
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anything small can be made smaller
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Above. Its undefiable. Because. Therefore unsatisfiable. You thought it would be in the words. All liable. The words can never be the gold. Too pliable.
Labia is a label. Scrotum is a table. Fuck a verb. Is is a noun. Here is not now noun unless verbatum. Go. Take it. Deconstruct it to the atom. Build a machine strap it to a Unix's Unic and break the atom of the verb the noun. Then take a picture of the spirit.
You search the Spirit? With Spit? With Spite?
Ah free of it.
I go above.
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any claim is human form, agog at the threshhold of doubt
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Go gone above. To not speak of . The word no longer tastes on my tongue. The word no longer sings in my ear. The word no longer sees in my eyes. The word no longer touches my hand. The word no longer smells. The word has robbed it. is anished from my vocabulary, is xpunged from my dictonary, isappeared from every song and poem, labour is lost. And so forth.
ice grove of no travellers withered river an old man looks like a hedgehog his boat deep in mud, coming home to his bramble village the wife casts envious eyes her career ruined by a bagful of poems
whose manipulation shall startle inexhaustible melodies the tallest trees suddenly forget words fires howl sketched on the wind we understand they built it (village, poems, melodies) for what clan
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Nothing owing. None. To no one. None to speak of. Not to no one. Not to no one . Not known. Not to no one. Not knowing. Not to know one. Not wanting knowing. Nothing owed or owing. No nought. No ought either. Only small iiii's running in the wrong direction.
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Whatever made you think I was anything more than what I am. Whatever made me think you were just the man. Perhaps it wasn't thinking. The loss contiues like the search for infinity. I will not write you poetry I don't know how. Don't try to teach me. Whatever made you think. I know. What I know I will have to know alone. I know. Alone I will not be anyone else's wish for what I cannot be. Ya see?
the newspaper distance if mapped out travels to a place during which a machine frequented by animals caused the breaking of excessive flow a defect caused by prolonged time in the immediate future
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the future immediacy becomes distracting: no wonder the disjunction
my wide black hat pulled my sleeves over your eyes in the darkness fell the leaves
machine:
recostumed down over darkness the leaves melting from rafters did not see her cock
chorus:
a hundred nights lacked dizziness carved my pain in his breast
machine (softly under its breath):
last night his unsatisfied love turned my wits and life will pile into a towering of Entering
way:
way....
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I did it I did I did I dressed for it I did it didn't I a virgin in reverse the backward bride full tilt full ride black bra black garterbelt black stockings black camisole just for the feel of it black dress black bride from head to toe from my black hair to my black heel I did it did it didn't I I dared I dressed I even guessed you wouldn't be the darer you wouldn't dare to come I'd be too black to face in daylight or maybe through some hole in the dark you caught the small white of my frozen face de-laced de luded de faced de nuded
2 spectacular too arrival/departure to being hampered
too lingerie girl 2 bells of sequins to eloquent
to mirror bees too courage brief 2 shelves from labor
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One day the pocket will subdivide. One may the pocket will subdivide. One day toe pocket will subdivide. One day tho pocket will subdivide. One day the socket will subdivide. One day the sucket will subdivide. One day the soaket will subdivide. One day the sochet will subdivide. One day the pockit will subdivide. One day the pocked will subdivide. One day the pocket nill subdivide. One day the pocket wall subdivide. One day the pocket wiel subdivide. One day the pocket wilt subdivide. One day the pocket will hubdivide. One day the pocket will sobdivide. One day the pocket will suxdivide. One day the pocket will subjivide. One day the pocket will subduvide. One day the pocket will subdiride. One day the pocket will subdivode. One day the pocket will subdivile. One day the pocket will subdivile
I've been working with numbers; try primes 10000 100000 > zz; xxd -r zz > yy and you will be amazed at having discovered the secret of the universe. I'm revealing this for the first time here.
Arise, the Genesis of the Light and the Dark Offering,the thousand suns! God within god and infinite balance delights. The Elemental Stallion/water over the breeze and Luck's sweet victory? The forces of hell, living by faith and the sinking ship of cruel Intentions...oh bliss. God watches a portion of the disappearence. Atomic brass knuckles up into the 1st ass- hole! The felines know Eternity or a clown hangs a mime in the Void Orgy of Anti-Ethical Essence! Be warned. The angels decay!
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THE LOVEANDWAR PROJECT IS NOW THE LOVEANDWAR MUSEUM STARRING
VIRTUAL IDOLS (among others)
Jennifer - sexy, furious, mountain and valley personified Julu - Jennifer beneath the sheets Nikuko - from Oita, now Brooklyn Alan - desperately appearing Cybele - an arrival: AvatarPop HyperDiva = obsessed gendernoise Desire Desire - behind the curtains: the heart of poet manque transfigured Sally - a latecomer with a heart of gold! and ANYONE ELSE - with or without any of the above - you might have in mind! BUT WHO SAYS THESE PEOPLE ARE DEAD? I FOR ONE DON'T BELIEVE IT OR ANYTHING ELSE; THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE! THEY LIVE LIKE YOU OR ME; THEY'RE DORMANT PERHAPS, WAITING THE THAWING OF THE ICE, THE FURIOUS HEAT OF THE SUN TO INVAGINATE THEIR LIMBS, EYEHOLES, MOUTH-HOLES, MAKE THEM LIVE. IT'S TOO MUCH TO ASK! THEY'RE NOT DEAD, THEY'RE NOT BURIED!
malok, p.o.box 41 Waukau WI 54980 I questioned Jennifer later that night.Her uncertain mood (damn! that's shitty writing!) I laughed while the blood burst out. Check the brain to die? All fetishes fulfilled! HAPPINESS MAY BE HIGH-ENERGY FAIL-SAFE FEAR OF HYPOCRISY WHAT IS DEATH HAVING TROUBLE WITH WORDS? better eat those Now that you've imagined it, a monster of the past most brainless last seconds...thank you for trusting absolutely Nothing! Emergency Gas! Take my pre-approved love juice!
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malok, p.o.box 41 Waukau WI 54980 I questioned Jennifer later that night.Her uncertain mood (damn! that's shitty writing!) I laughed while the blood burst out. Check the brain to die? All fetishes fulfilled! HAPPINESS MAY BE HIGH-ENERGY FAIL-SAFE FEAR OF HYPOCRISY WHAT IS DEATH HAVING TROUBLE WITH WORDS? better eat those Now that you've imagined it, a monster of the past most brainless last seconds...thank you for trusting absolutely Nothing! Emergency Gas! Take my pre-approved love juice!
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Type your comments below. Click "Create" when you're done.
Jennifer questioned herself later that night, again. She was trying to think of 2000 characters. Or 2000 characters x 2. She thought Shakespeare's characters would do. But then she thought Shakespeare might not even be Shakespeare himself, and this is bloody problematic, or bone marrow dead. Won't work, because it doesn't go along with mystery math, or braving through a thicket of furze prose, or fun flashing, or giddy frolicking, or letter arrangements, or Molly's clothesline quandaries, and so, if Shakespeare isn't real, neither are his characters, and they just can't be entered into this box.
What is the fascination with chains and links and language, and the meanings of the sign, the symbol? Emergency gas. There's nothing to do with that, because it's emergency related, and words aren't gaseous, because they have letters, and the letters have each other. Urgency maybe. An air of urgency. That's better. It's possible, Jennifer thought, that the reason she can't quite grasp the hoopla is because she never enjoyed doing cross-word puzzles. Words going everywhere, the dictionary kind, names of birds in Africa, flying every which way, horizontal and vertical, in and out of each other, and it really doesn't make any sense.
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"what are these words, straining at sense, you the consequence" -- L Zukofsky, probably misremembered
What is the fascination with chains and links and language, and the meanings of the sign, the symbol? Remember literary device as a seclusionist caterwaul? The field of the text sprigging everywhere & nowhere, one theory couldn't possibly sensify Range & its abberations. It is probably best if I keep silent, my anti-matter metatheories blasphemed against a wall of interpretation. I'd settle for a world where experience remains experience & not its dialectical sucubi. I, next time I get the chance & have a moment free, propose to create a text which will naturally divide itself, position its individual words on fenceposts in Tibet, Turkey, Tunisa & Toledo, right where the crows perch.
Chinese archeologists have unearthed what is believed to be the oldest known playable musical instrument, a seven-holed flute fashioned 9,000 years ago from the hollow wing bone of a large bird.
The instrument, about nine inches long, is the best preserved of six intact flutes found with fragments of about 30 others at Jiahu, a remarkably rich but little-known archeological site in the Yellow River valley in Henan Province in central China. Radiocarbon dating shows the site was occupied for 1,300 years beginning around 7000 B.C., during the early Neolithic period in China.
I play shakuhachi; there's no lost note. These are shakuhachi in miniature - notice the tonal adjustment on one of the instruments, the additional small hole. What might have survived back then, of bamboo, when a shakuhachi barely lasts a decade or two today, unless cared for? Certainly not in the ground. These people DANCED - never forget their dancing -
lost as well - the recording (I've had it on my hard drive for a while) seems slow, ceremonial, as if that was the style _then_ - I wanted to hear the notes pushed to the limit, ecstatic dances, hungers -
In Inside John Malkovich you cannot see the stars or hear very much music when you are inside John Malkovich's head. This is very strange, and when he talks it makes a lot of noise because you are so very close because you are inside his head right behind the eyes, I think where the brain is. It's very huge amount of noise, but Bjork does an awesome song at the end and it really comes alive and makes the film really good for me.
When I went inside John Malkovich's head, I became like some little sort of cell, i think a cell of a puppet, and i floated around. There were these platelet like things to grab on to if you wanted to stop and look at something up close. I think that was at the reception, and they had these sticks and they poked a whole bunch of food on them. I just ate the cherry tomatoes because i wasn't really hungry. And the server puppet got mad at me and said that i'm not suppose to be taking those tomatoes off the sticks. But I already ate all of them. Then I floated by a room and tried looking in there to see what they were doing, but some big scary puppet was behind me and pushed me, and I went flying, and I bumped into everybody, and they thought it was my fault, so if I were you, I'd go inside John Malcovich on a slow night. Because it can be a little scary, if you aren't hungry. But it is so worth it because it makes you think about so many things.
Il faut que je m'en aille, I must go sometime,vous pouvez bien rester encore un moment, sure you can stay a bit longer, before they shoot you, and you stabbed with a knife your boss and then did the same to his underling and then you raped your wife and shot her three events like out of a gothic cluedo (trade mark)and je ne peux pas rester in this place, knowing that it is a video, doesn't help, and following a popular newscaster, if I rewind the scenes, the wife is picked up from the ground and driven home, the knife is plucked out of the underling, and a promotion is surely on the way for saving the life of the boss, en attendez-vous encore? to bring back the dead, to outdo Christ and Lazarus, Causons donc un peu pendant que nous sommes seules, Would you, would you save such a criminal? Or would you just turn up the volume, the open door opens a bit wider, to let in the possibilities, if not, why not, not, not if, not, then maybe.
because it winds and rewinds, because it loops as if failure, floored, because it's there, anywhere, the Picture of a Landscape, Landscape Picture, portrait, Heiner Muller's work, where the reading is the telling of it, the reading from the sign or symbol which can be unraveled, disheveled, in any direction - why, I said, this is Jennifer's having all the time in the world, the literal collapse, bracketing of things, until that is, she's dispersed with the Net and the hard drives, with the files and the videotapes, with deteriorations unforeseen as universe colds to a halt
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the avatar moved slightly, breaking the stillness of the moment. it glanced back over its shoulder and its pupils contracted slightly as it's gaze seemed to meet her own. she shivered,and the cold moved across her back like an alien hand. it just wasnt possible, she told herself over, and over. it just couldnt be! it was an avatar. a zombie. one of the undead dead of the binary world. not a real person. it's gaze was unblinking, it held her fast as any chain. it had ancient eyes, in a young face, and that was part of the fascination. She tried to look away, but couldnt seem to manage. seconds later, the world she knew disintegrated as the avatar spoke. to her. 'hello, jennifer....i wait for you...i want for you...'
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as ever in the i as ever ever in the i as ever in the i as ever ever ever in the eye as ever in the eye ever in the eye ever eye ever eye ever ever ever in the eye as in the eye in the eye i as ever in the eye ever ever ever in the ever eye i ever in the ever eye ever eye in the ever ever ever eye
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It was late. He pushed the chair back and turned away from moniter to stretch, loosen his cramped muscles and flex his tired hands. the clock on the wall of the apartment said four and he wondered where the time had gone, having but a vague recollection of an earlier time and different space. He glanced back over his shoulder at the screen, at the image of the woman. she was beautiful beyond believing, her perfect form a testimony to the multiculural expectations and the code warrior that had created her. So real in her gestures, appearance that it was easy to forget, she was just an avatar, just a dream. No meat, just a memory of meat. No marrow of bone, but a hollow reed. Her eyes seemed to met his, and in that moment, she lived in more than his dreams. He whispered "Jennifer..I wait for you...I want for you..."
I am Jennifer, I have come for you; you can @smell me, you can @touch me, you can @have me, you can enter the code, you can write the code, you can BE the code! OH THE WONDER OF BEAUTIFUL WRITING! I am taken with you, I crawl naked in front of you, I give you all of me, you can @see all of me, close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes
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the passion of me
the indifference of the machine
the passion of me
the indifference of the machine
the passion of me
the the indifference of the machine
the difference between me and the machine
passion
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rain words
rains descend desending raining send rain des ing desrain cends
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city of seewalls embrace a friendly poet in the storm of confusion the rain came down and i was wet. thinking of you.
nearing the end of both these projects, which have been amazing for me, along with the traceroute project, these thick writings, these moments, turmoils, roilings, alan
Meticulously recording all the lowly animals drawn by these waters, they are locked into the evolving species of time. Our mission is to prove that task oriented and carefully planned devises, no matter how small the invention, is greater than all the disparate animals swimming angrily together in the murky waters of their existence. These hooks, that have the power to manage the wayward beasts, link six departments that stand proudly together forming the institution of our perception. Pay attention to these instructions and learn this form of control: mind over the bodies. It is only a day to tie one hook, times five, with two days of rest between.
What's mine is yours. You won't take this of course. I'll submit and you'll reject me. I expect this. Still...I know that I shall be disappointed when it happens.
I don't think I've ever done this before. There's always something new. A first time.
constant thanks may or may not be the easiest way ignoring acceleration dragging me here to you sound of light shining this is the thanks of gravity giving and giving
your eyes the hole the dark pull your arms reach holding me might as well take in the gravity and the beauty running to electrons along the screen, holding to this which is the gravitational.
tardy Astraea the Horse-Leech And Lamp-Eyed Mare Head living 'twixt four and six, your fathomed blood flowers their Christ! you're the veins turning dry quarter shapes, O how the Fall harnessed my veins down, slow-rising naked heart turns spider-tongued Napoleon's skullcap is a flat tiger boning me crane-flat beneath the skin, my shabby tail's mechanical fruit gone All Loud Worm - Mr. Hole and the rest of the dead are walking like a mothered Spring, their fingers are now syllabic levers, the sea-gut Summer's tomb weathers the powder of your Sargasso smile, our original fishes bough is alight with drowned fuses, the dark her shawl brides is my address, my poison address can dry up any oasis, my promise spat between the blood forks... shows zeroes are only nerves? each tear (babys fair frigid) was darkness-froth in tides, these soils rub Devils hives tickled tithings O not kissing whats in the milk and O fetching no string for the blood-multiplying bone berry, Mr. Hole's bright-eyed chiming mouth punctual as The Flood as he chimes:
