Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Fusiform Gyrus, Excerpts from Posthuman Spam Psycle

Jimmy the Chatbot is Hungry for Gossip, image by Daniel Y. Harris 

Excerpts from Posthuman Spam Psycle

Gloomy Poem Movie: After Kerouac’s Sax


Doctor Sax hostage to the neoplasm lambasts the strange homunculi he sees writhing black tendrils from cark’s neck tethering him like a supranational power plug burnt and bit-rotten any excuse to fight reason fuck this I’m going for smokes.


Acid blue palm fronds wave ripple tease the space between dust particles floating by in humid night high lick splash symbol Sax exits the bodega with a brown paper bag tight in fist plagued by a high-pitched ringing in his ears crumbling to genuflection before a violent sky.


Sax wakes to a Promethean chorus of seething polyps and arthritic fingers crooked sphincteric cramp alone in a storm-drain with leaves and other forms of stilted life hypnogogic residue whirring to a stop oxen ocean gathering dispersing buckets of waste buckets of food edging temerity of a burning bush Sax’s growing propensity for new sincerities.

White Animal Saviors

Patchwork                   of
taxidermy                    sick
sustainable                  cute
seal                             death
native                          fear
in (uk)                         human
bio                               diverse            
emotive                       pruning
normcore                     atmophobes
man                             capricious
stop-tap                       protectionist
diatribe                        gleaming
cyan                             teeth
transmitting                 hemispheric
migraine                      duodenum
duo-dee                       numb-do
wad-numb                   duo-demon
Soviet                          instrument
Morrissey                    fuelling
Post                             colonial                       

Oresteia: After Bataille

Oresteia’s severed cock throated from either end by clytaemnestra and the dried maw of agamemnon’s corpse a gagging last supper of blush pink vomit and seed a strained kiss as the blood begins to drain and the member deflates impotent in his revenge oresteia kisses his mother goodnight his cock still lodged deep in her throat ad speculum he tongues his father’s unstitched mouth and sits back to leak black life out his cloying numb hole molding his masque-mortuaire clawing hallucinating a life of arcadian laughter rattling discordances a bag pipe of death sounding gaseous surrender and as oresteia’s work-worn soul shuffles away head bowed in shame clytaemnestra regurgitates the slimy morsel and priggishly chews before taking it back with a triumphant gulp.


Zoffany’s closed fist blooms glint of
evil signals the beginning of the end              there

nestled in the clammy creases four tiny                      seeds
two on the line of my tongue an alien

vessel landing in an aqueduct on
a pink planet swallow high concentration

chemicals swarming instantly through my mind
a tinny distant voice says I got them from

a local chemawawin boy on the river of
forgetting where becoming and ending flow

reciprocally like kissing tongues everything
slows bows shifts down to a single hum.

Rimus Remedium Or How sick Poets Console Themselves: After Nietzsche

Glory to a prostitute a different kind of adonis grappling dismaying and overcoming with vitality to the endstrom wrought and fecund with decay glory to a prolapsed anus a different kind of honesty perspectival in its hanging reluctance to platitudes and growing with each unclean fist glory to a politician flayed a different kind of austerity glory to a depraved moralist a different kind of justice convinced of higher legitimation a truthfully selfish saint glory to a leper apocather a different kind of apotheosis glory to a mythopoet so sick with syphilis autochthon to sisyphus a different kind of genus.


O’ tiny circuit what is your destiny will you become
part of a particle reactor helping create

an ecological energy source giving free clean power to
the world or will you sit in a lab

mass-producing dichloroacetate stabilizing the molecules
needed to rid the world of cancer or

will you float gallantsly free as a satellite circumspect
poised among the stars so scientists

can monitor solar eruptions and radiation to stave off apocalypse
no replies another component on the board

we are to be used in one of those little security key calculators
for internet banking that make people

feel secure with technology with our kind progress then
no matter how long it takes utopia will come.


Trapeze rapist stuck on
the same wrong password

prosciutto parachute
solar cunt cake proto-human
spam limbic dirt jar

c-section for the 21st century
genome reflex
big head

mute vicious dog music
less saxophonist blowing snapping
new rhythm.

Fusiform Gyrus