Friday, May 25, 2018

Volodymyr Bilyk, ROADrage (Remixes)

Volodymyr Bilyk
ROADrage (zimZalla, 2018)

ROADrage (Remixes)

1 Cut-up

gnaw Shrill-
gnaw Shrill;


...: WHUD: wad-wad
- sawtooth - sine...
opaque heart tinkle
bosh swipe - soothing chortle "...".
blink chock.-.-.-.- *

nebulous - shrug.
gag: quall) ...

breath: - zigzag..


2 Ciphers


maemce seasca okuocu
mcomio eoceic agease, khaa...
kek: kiakea

... -- .. .-. -.- ..--.. .-.-..

19-13-9-18-11 7-1-7 17-21-1-11-5
19-11-25 25-1-23-14-19 3-8-5-5-11-19
5-18-21-16-20 19-16-1-3-9-15-21-19
16-19-8-1-23 7-5-23-7-1-23 20-15-12-12

... -- .. .-. -.- ..--.. .-.-..

smosao mismas iomiam
osioai eugeag uweuae, gloo...
oio: omeoie


3 Every letter is replaced with Z

zzzzzzzzz -
Zzz-zzz"-" - zzzzzz zzzz

zzzzz zzzzzz: ...

zzzzzzzz zzzz

zzz: zzzzz")
zzz zzzzz - zzzzzz zzzzz

zzzzzzzz zzzzz
zzzz)" zzzz...-… (zzzzz)"

zzzzzz zzzz
zzzzz ZZZZZZ - zzzz:
- zzzz".

4 Punctuation Only
? :")






5 vowels only
 e u ou - O  -  oa

("  ai   o  e "  ou   a  y   o ),

i  - i    a   ,

o e  ai     e  ou      ou
o     a     a  , -  ee     o  .

...: I -a    i  e   ai ,
oi  -  o  e ,

ee   i  :  i      i    ee ...
 oo i  ,  a  e  -
u    i    e  o  o ...

 a   e -  a  i  ,
e  i yi     a ;
" i  e    i  a " ...
.... u   o e -  o  ey... - ... o
. u     a  . (!!!)

a  e   a ,  i  .
u    o    -  ea .

i e  a  e  u   -   u  y:
" o  ............ e  ",

(  i     a    i  ): e a o a e "...".
(" aa"  e   .)...:  i   o   a  -   ay;
- e  y:
 e    a : "  y" -
 i   -  i

 OU -  ea    ea e,
 u  ;- ' o e. o 

6 Alphabetized (with mistakes)

! " (savage effervescent) - - - - - - - - - - -" ... .twist  
LIP busted 
caution cough 


tawdry floating floored... 
flourished groggy guffaw, 
gurgling lactating: -  pine 

("superfluous pop.- POW quaff.-: 

seething shrug, 
soothing.sappy squiggle: 
tac tartar thrown thrusts tic 


snivel tingle toe torpid;
dirge trill;
mesmeric twirl; 
void, warbling

—Volodymyr Bilyk

Monday, May 21, 2018

J. Karl Bogartte, Caution Is Not For Silence

Sense, image by J. Karl Bogartte 

Caution Is Not For Silence
(Selections from The Red King)

Night in braille, poison and antidote for a hybrid of black and flower slashed by ultraviolet. To breathe clairvoyance through stone, speaking in tongues to the lost fingerprints traveling incognito towards daybreak. A single image replaces your history with layers of silence turned by paws into unrecognizable balconies. Light speaks, night listens. Pearls circling a miasma of gestures seeking an entrance. 


For intoxication, there is fur for the enchanter’s tower, facial-lepidoptera for pelvic charm, dimensional collusion to enrich your brow of forgotten plumage. What is remembered is the irritation of possibility. The sting of dark perception. Primal movement, irresistible language pulled out of water for flame… What is recognizable as something, is unrecognizable as other into another. The mind is like the irritability of a missing limb. Language is the missing body. Breathing is the enchantment of movement. Plumage is formidable...


Flood, intoxication of the wolf-crystal, she is everywhere. A marvelous moisture. Scent understands you, follows your patterns of behavior. Drawn to what enables your defiance, figures of celluloid and slate and womb-like chairs invading your appearance. Long-haired and spindle-bursting for Flood who slumbers in the arms of Ghostly Apparel who burns brightly with Morphology. They are the whispers of default, litter of early rising dew. “Only shadows allowed in this place…”


“I am bound to you by clavicle and discord, a theory of corpse flowers for an aleatory conjuration… You transformed on the pollen table. I hardly know you by sight. I follow your footprints. I dissolve when necessary. I ignite.” You are not only an image… Incendiary.


No defeat, ever, salacious crisis for memory out of shuddering movement, to disregard, but for that delirious conspiring to incandescence. 


Tomorrow arrives ahead of notice, through the open door, a one-eyed Quasimodo telescoping out of childish glee, altered by your gaze. The way to tell it without a story, but a dancing veil combining numbers that outpace each other, unlock entrances with shadow-language for the ones who never arrive, or return.   


A desirable field approaches your body's edges, great walls inscribed by birds ignited for awareness.


You appear to be only a rumor in the dark, only your shadow remains, half visible, outward cascade, roots toward cartilage, harp of the mouth, tracing whose face it was, whose absence that belonged to hearsay. Strange letters, mixed messages, diurnal, maternal language… A fog shadow behind your eyes seething with vanishing points, thrown behind you, the flapping machine of Santos-Dumont, strapped-on wings to resemble the rose of untouched lips, parted... A vagrant sewing machine stopped suddenly in mid thread…


The antlered guardian is a tiptoed dwarf veiled in royal chemise, espionage, dipped in mercury and wolf-shaped. To be torched into transparency.


Bright loves dark, befitting plumage, tempest of rain that ignites the skin, inside the wedding… outside, master of the rain, hard flowering. Stone is breath, is waterfall. You can only stay for a moment, to sputter and die in mirage… The air is bright with fingerprints of paradoxical locksmiths and keystrokes of cobalt and landmines of bone-lives against the realm. Tresses for the witch-chairs and which ones… Which ones…


She is chaste to defile the rules of the game, psychology toppled in another, another move, other displacement, moon revealed. Toppled by the Queen, pivoted by pawns, to hook and crook, the castle keeping… The Red King on his tripod, in the photograph despised, by sea shored in luminescence. All that you see is obscure and excitable, to exist in a sudden glance, blood is theory until smeared with sunlight. She let you into the haze, the semblance, into the counterfeit. 


Awkward bodies flowering in the shadows, defeat their reflections. But always too bright to see. Caution is not for silence, but for light. Delirious is open, naked for Deception, who aviates in tune with tell-tale sights, zeroing in on anything simultaneous, here and there. To force a glow and a disappearance, polished by the storm. Hollowed out by a sudden shiver.


Her mouth of opium, above the looking glass disturbance, and so below, dripping in moonlight. Obsidian flakes in her breath. She is aleatory and hacker, untouchable trust and synopsis hammered precisely out of smoke…


Lamp is perilous when sleep-wandering, blue with vaulting. Like fruit that dies into splendor, like a slab of crystal, decoded, like the very last kiss between characters that never meet. “Because you’re not speaking the right words…”


When trees are buzzing, the skin crawls…


            By animal warmth and eyelight, shaking the heron rattle in the lightning bed, cutting night into ladders and depth of field. The entrances grow further apart, the others growing more ambiguous, raising a deeper turbulence of instinct… To mingle with fury, elasticity for the body’s aboriginal web.


            The jewelry-keepers are the magnetic poles of asymmetrical dialogue. The dark sub-rosa tourniquet arrives when poppies disrobe the alchemists for the red and blue shifts. The Mare speaks night when cornered in the Alcove of Rapture… riddled with systemic dialects… the way you ache for only that curious intimacy of ambiguous arcs. The bright ones, the whispering, those disjointed ones and the ones that hallucinate for wandering.

— J. Karl Bogartte

Tuesday, May 15, 2018

David Alpaugh, Twilight Time

Man of La Muncha, oil on troubled waters, by Don Kee Otee

Twilight Time, found poem inspired by those brilliant talk show guests on network and cable tv

at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of the day at the end of this day at the end of all the butt-ends of my days and ways head spinning like The Fool on the Hill mouth screaming like that Man of La Muncha over troubled waters as the angry sun goes down behind us at the end of the day at the end of every bloody day . . .

—David Alpaugh

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

J. Mulcahy-King, News Feed 7:33 – 7:46 AM (08/05/2018)

)8102/50/80( MA 64:7 – ƸƸ:7 bɘɘ ƨwɘИ, image by Chris Nesti  

News Feed 7:33 – 7:46 AM (08/05/2018)

waiting for your ease
trough stacks
on the new dually

jja, serdos,

Sunny days
at the scoop
and grind

vest protects dogs
from coyotes
and other predators

But we all knew
she was talking
about herself.

—J. Mulcahy-King

Monday, May 7, 2018

Chris Nesti, ʍIᴤI⊥Ǝᖉ⊂ИO⊂

ʍIᴤIƎИO, image by Chris Nesti


Auɘɿbɒɔʜ, Ƨɔɘnɘƨ ʇɿom
ƚʜɘ ᗡɿɒmɒ oʇ Ǝuɿopɘɒn

iƚɘɿɒƚuɿɘ. Иɘw Yoɿʞ,
Mɒzzoƚƚɒ, Ꭾiuƨɘppɘ.

ᗡɒnƚɘ oɘƚ oʇ ƚʜɘ ᗡɘƨɘɿƚ.
ɿinɔɘƚon Univɘɿƨiƚy ɿɘƨƨ.

 ɔiƚ.“ᗡɒnƚɘ ɒƨʞƨ uƨ ƚo
viɘw Ɔɒƚo’ƨƨuiɔidɘ ɒƨ

ƚʜɘ ɘnɒɔƚmɘnƚ oʇ ɒ vɘɿ
iƚɒblɘ volunƚɒɿy dɘɒƚʜ

oʇ ƚʜɘ ƨɘlʇ by wʜiɔʜ ʜɘ
iƨ ɿɘboɿn ɒƨ ɒ nɘw mɒn”

ɿoƚo Иuovɘ ɿiɔɘɿɔʜɘ ƨul
Ɔɒƚonɘ dɒnƚɘƨɔo“Ǝd ɘɔ

ɔo quɘƨƚ’uomo, ɔʜɘ mu
oɿɘ lɘǫǫɘndo lɒƚonɘ (il

ʇiloƨoʇo ɔʜɘ più ƨi ɒvvi
ɔinò ɒllɒ doƚƚɿinɒ ɔɿiƨƚiɒ

nɒ, ɔʜɘ ʇoɿƨɘ ɒppɿɘƨɘ in
Ǝǫiƚƚo, ƨɘɔondo Ƨ. Aǫoƨ

ƚino),ƨiǫniʇiɔɒɿɘ lɒ libɘ
ɿɒzionɘ dɒl ɔoɿpo dɘl

pɘɔɔɒƚo, lɒ moɿƚɘ ɒl p
ɘɔɔɒƚo dɘl vɘɔɔʜio uo

mo, pɘɿ non ƨɘɿviɿɘ ɒl
pɘɔɔɒƚo, ɘ quindi il ɿi

ƨoɿǫɘɿɘ ɘ vivɘɿɘ in Ɔɿi”
ƨoɿǫɘɿɘ ɘ vivɘɿɘ in Ɔɿi”

—Chris Nesti

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Heath Brougher, Construct of Nonexistence & Limpid Alienmilk

The Revolt of Automation, image by Daniel Y. Harris 

Construct of Nonexistence (Conscious Hinge Ether)


is actually

prevailing prisonheaded prevalence 

Natalie’s not a nucleus 

brick bracken bitten bloody backwards burning bulldozers

inertia = UNDONE—  

beginning from the beginning again—

finite—finalized when the falter phase fell fast

as nothing slow

reciprocal reconstructions reconvene 

to revel in ambulatory prescript 


with pith pocketed ideas purloined pounding outward

Proximity blossoms perennial Spiral 

porously pulsed outward over previous penitentiaries of pathetic pondering 

pulverized by powerful portions of                ping!

of pig's eye      dead-on                                   damn straight

patterns perished proving purest 



Escape from simultaneous existence and nonexistence.

Limpid Alienmilk (inspired by Jonathan Mulcahy-King’s Euryphion)

library coup
blanch toothless                      airless resistance
                                                hock mole

ringworm sink
bathes lampoons                     automatic animals
                                                muttering maniacal
ego silken
surgical angles                        supermarket blood
                                                eyeless moon

derided bedrock
arabesque vintage                   interregnum display
                                                dolphin follicles
airline excerpt
conglomerate carapace           prehensile flack
                                                grassy holes
celestial rhubarb
gossamer documentary           counterfeit embryo
                                                virtual extract
aquarium yore
knettled peachblow
                                                quintessential swivel
                                                neurology hurl
cucumbered butchershop       
bloodletting cantankerous     

elephant vinyl
koi opium                               alien champagne
                                                purebred overmorrow

oxygenation gash
floorless nose                          simultaneous pineal
                                                beholden dither
fractured venom
vociferous chartreuse              burningly bearded
                                                flagpole phonage
backhanded chrysanthemum 
stone hive                                black comatose
                                                netherworld twist
beer amplifier
autonomous subsequent         fossil luminous
                                                rotgut animation
interior resins
ideological omega                  Polly ghost
                                                vertigo stab
pathway acidic
arachnoid cyst                         vague mutton
                                                domed insomnia
plastic veins
ammonia disco                       chiseled misanthropy
                                                acorn womb

weightless opium 
fluttering purl             

bombastic minimalism
garrote lemon

aluminum epiphanies
corporeal vexing 

taciturn cough
whittle sanguine   

systemic lupus
insinuating edit

hiccup quail 
equip existential 

humbuggering wrist
erstwhile guppy 

polka indicated 
outnumbered cumbersome 

sallow pistons
deinstalled bullosa 

immune credo 
hyperbolic epoch 

faceless diesels 
slink opossums 

ruby fossil
arbitrary heedlessness

basky gloor
assiduous Visigoth

frenetic clot
agate cyme

empty pregnancy
stomach pebbled

room world
empty haze

cerebral nonexistence
parasitic drops

non-terrestrial milk
invincible fed

effaced baby
swirln gone

breathless cage
eternal womblife

blacktooth spineless
brisk flash

aerial embedded
chartreuse bomb

firmament vestige
marbled urn.

—Heath Brougher

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Volodymyr Bilyk, Orchestrating null and void by thought (with Austin’ “What?” in breaks)

Untitled, image by Volodymyr Bilyk

Orchestrating null and void by thought (with Austin’ “What?” in breaks)

quick quick slow slow
slow quick
slow, slower, quick, quick


quick slow slow
slow, slower, quick, quick quick-quick-slow


quick quick slow slow
quick quick slow slow


slow-quick-quick-slow-slow, slower,


—Volodymyr Bilyk