Sunday, August 20, 2017


censured the wayward, children &
women all growing shaded in suns
whose revolutions are sparkling,
so serenity bloom backwards this
anthology of time that recapitu-

lates itself for the perpetual &
mutual benefit of all present: i
feel like swinging--and ever go-
ing for the two--have convoluted
singing with james the bell, aum

the mathematics and philosophies
of impossible sculpture and poem
and i am seated, prone, laid out
like the corpse of myself, to be
viewed, and perhaps appreciated;

slightly incipient tendentiously
talking moved by the vibration i
could sense with my root, absorb
the moisture and draw it in like
a sight, it was the way eternity

appeared before it had been pop-
ular, so that makes me a hipster
in the ginsberg fold, and whence
the wolves? you cannot take away
my literature, and you can't in-

vent letters long enough to sway
us from the holy situations that
originate in the crown, and only
ever evolve strangeways.. music-
ally making novel the absolvers.


given the impetus to perform up-
on command, demanded inscription
reversing duplicate intuition, a
widescreen type of view of alter
egos and the concomitant futures

thereof: it has all amounted the
same, so much of a challenge, or
gauntlet thrown, and i was kiss-
es blown and glimmering.. become
the vacancy of ethereally lived-

in space, which is for rent, but
not for sale, which means i will
charge you your ideas and you'll
collapse unfolding like the nude
descending a staircase, i think;

commerce can be ugly, woebegone,
and insidious, like a profession
of poor faith, that's not to say
"bad faith," but the invention's
got to roll of the tongue, as if

you believed & had seen an aleph
which is not to say "the aleph:"
all prologue is inherent in sim-
ilar parallels, and that wrought
by feeble hands bespeaks a feeb-

ler spirit, sometimes-- although
that's occasionally true, howbe-
it that there exists redemptions
for the woebegotten overerased &
the traces thereof so satisfied.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017


free pressure! from its manifold
beholdennesses and then to infix
the liberatory spirit of materi-
al truth, oh the excess exists..
inconspicuous empire that's con-

spicuous by its imperspicuity, i
direct you to the foothills, the
races displaced however honoura-
ble, myself being without cause,
yet thereby on behalf of all, at

least as opposed to nihil-- what
makes sense to me right now is a
repetitive process of discovery,
though it may be cyclist and in-
corporated it's not all piteous;

humane sunskipped neologism that
gives away freely what it gained
in introspection: you pronounced
her name electrique and i've al-
ways confessed i was born asleep

and so the discourse is extended
but already concluded, and maybe
you'll discover something to the
affect, summer will decline with
the waxing winter that chills me

in both body and mind, but never
spirit: listen to me now because
the dark train should be rhythm-
ically intense and fleet as long
as the track is settled wrongly.


softened arches, made out of milk
and music, the most obstinate art
there is, concerning the imposit-
ion of utopia into the poetic re-
main utilitarian to the extent we

allow ourselves to be softened or
softeners: and souls are the lib-
raries of lucent manual technolo-
gies, as i realised when i perma-
nently left off from the highways

and found myself amidst althusser
and between beauty and splendour:
that you forgive me when i depart
from the subject long enough that
i remember that i was remembered;

the longshot is integral to these
obscene arsenals, juvenilia stet-
ted to put us in mind of the ever
present contact of future over a-
temporal antiquity-- all the time

i was instructed to forget or ig-
nore but i became norse, basque &
gdansk--not drunk, if that's what
you think i mean--in service to a
radicality that inheres, implicit

in the structure and post-struct-
ure of convivial gentility & jud-
aism, harmonised.. it looks some-
thing like a guatemalan pelorubio
who stretches leaning into frame.

Saturday, August 12, 2017


nevermind the bibliography, and i
dub us with echo: the enchantment
is neverending, as in it spilling
molten dollarbills into openmouth
children, who've done nothing but

grow-- hypnogogia, lift my arms &
stand me up against no wall, for-
getting to give me a cigarette or
a television call, and however my
rubbings rebound, play it the way

it lays: giving grief over sunset
that allays the stars and the big
star is always the sun, basically
you're got the starring role that
insinuates itself into the black;

symbol, so precious and sweet the
alarmclocked percussion, becoming
something like a perpetual-motion
machine made out of fire, whereas
the visions and illuminations are

all cooled, settled gentle shower
of inactivity that alerts us none
the less to the vibrato reverber-
ation made radium and discoverer,
just a mess of logic that pinning

down between boards doesn't mask,
recover, improve, inspire, or re-
dound with any colour or sensuous
inessentialities-- everything was
already there when we were small.

Saturday, August 5, 2017


apprise, prismatic amplifications
regarded come the hegelians & all
of the normaliens, the tongues've
been reversed in on themselves as
if winter came over their surfac-

es like surf, listlessly influen-
tial americans harbored in books,
but beatifying the real and other
for the edification and embossing
of ambassadorial edition, flower-

ing us now with showers of bless-
ing and the onslaught of privacy,
nevermind the pride, and diameter
is not always a limit: discovered
petrichor flowed in the parlance;

after the turn, pages are binded,
i walked forever having forgotten
nothing and regretted nothing and
constructing myths for myself you
could drink coffee to-- sometimes

we're chamomile, lily-begotten an
emphasis on all the israeli monu-
ments: just a task which we we're
holpen to endure, given the maths
and scientific temper the plosive

and harmonious masterpiece of the
agonist ecstasies of ecclesiastes
and understood all this with hope
that was shaken and clasped, know
this: that harmonics scintillate.

Saturday, July 29, 2017


i am asking you that i don't feel
this guilt: humdrum, well-met age
quod agis and stammerer of script
and caricatures, beholden unto my
insidious professorship and moved

timed excelling scholarship.. but
pollen and shimmers jemmy herself
with the accord of angels' and in
future there'll've been books-- a
bluish blush that reveals the war

of breathtaking beauty, wait that
isn't a war, it's a cry of life &
conquering, with magnetic patois,
and as always the long goodnight;

but all of that remains unmeaning
given the lacunæ that phonetical-
ly prosify the parodic chapelling
that the grown-into-boys are mut-
tering under their words, as if i

had made a mask, and couldn't en-
joy the dream pop anymore-- taken
its toll, and kneeling recollect-
ion with alternative tracklisting
and film, if i may '68, and i do:

the baby was born on the nineteen
like a skull surrounded by flesh-
es that were free radicals almost
qualia in the perceptionist withs
green and never dried, how droll.