Monday, January 27, 2020

Norman Fischer, Selected Work

Untitled, image by Noah Fischer

It Was Transformative He Said

A criterion of birds
A legion of Romans
A category of categories
A brilliance of leaves
A catastrophe of dancing cranes
A conflagration of children
Massed plutocrats
A convocation of pelicans
A series of avocados
A contagion of lawyers
An assemblage of pickpockets
An occasional assassination
A flurry of incidentals
Political pools
A lottery of infanticides
An umbrage of hombres
A concatenation of crows
A library of resistances
A bundling of rifles
A bucolic spin
A reflective testimonial
A self-referential salmon

It’s hard to say why I am settling
For this damaged parsnip, he said
Hard to say how much habit in smoking
Aspires to be repeated, as any charm would be
Legs, legs, legs, without which we would not walk
What’s the urge, or the contest, he wondered
Where’s the boots on the ground and what
Are we fighting for, a failure to digest our experiences
Though we keep forgetting it
You can’t be other than yourself
So you’d better say so, he said


Originality in fending off delights of this world
All the named things loom as if not penned in
Suggestions of encounter, as if a taboo on images
All the smoke and mist penetrating the borders
And then an innocent girl appears, full of carnal delight
Seemingly endless and remote
Then turn around and take three steps to the left
How do you come up with that stuff, if not in transit
If it’s cold just put on a sweater
Limits of the known, some street in a city seen from above
The sights are impressions you have, all one the world
The same place, if you are there


A cold, calculating aroma at the edge of some semantic street
Narco traffickers delight in their delicate decisions
I hope you know what you are doing
If I go with you it better not be asbestos all over again
But I’m not trained in that
I must be trained in that in order to represent
Alas, if you go who is going to replace you
The hill, now smudged in mist, the trees now gray


Represent emotions by things, my philosophy is that
It comes to mind, I can’t see it, I veer
Through the open window by the middle of the river
Rain poured in through the roof like it’s not supposed to
And a delirious boy abated the effect of that
Merely by his debatable joy
For one by one the boards bent in the damaging sun
Hard to think that over repeatedly
To return to suitable conclusions
Put that down with a thud, quite a relief
But if there isn’t tunefulness, what’s the use in my tooting?
I’m just not clear on how that will play out
So we’ve rearranged the furniture again because there is too much of it
A picture of a man on fire holistically breached
All manner of decorum, listless in the gym
Counting by twos or threes the qualities of friendship
What makes life meaningful and alert


I’m still hung up on meaning
Though not knowing what I mean by that
Sally’s all heart, I know that
Sally’s all feet, all nose, all ears
Something over there must be broken
Otherwise there’s no explanation
If it’s broken it’s yours
If yours must not be remembered
Because bespoken or demurred
How we spread our blanket at the beach
How the waves rolled in however small
In veneer is testimony tested
It’s by your action that your word got caught
In a cabinet of mirrors


Social whirl in a social world
By the total shape that made it
If I’m me I can’t be other
But how it got like that
Is anybody’s guest
About a crime: it’s always solved
Good cops get their guy
Not commandeered by a big guy’s meaning
Just a woven mat at the door
Allowing for how I want to call you
Letting the good rain damp all that
On forests in their quest for cover
A radical shift in the action, I’d say
A rhetorical pause in the pas-soup dark
Drop by drop is time’s dilemma
That all things pass is a simple quote
Or if they don’t my leather briefcase
Is a final line, it’s all she wrote

—Norman Fischer

Monday, January 20, 2020


Nocturnal Threads, image by J. Karl Bogartte 


A glorious night of Eucalyptus and throwing cocktails, licking lips, fierce debates, fading shadows of the sun, the sensuous acrobats persist. The grief of loving fingers, cultivating poppies… and Pangolins speaking to the trees… Always amiss with a lantern, a lost manuscript, emeralds defying gravity for a sudden Icarus made out of glass. Passing through a crowded leopard.


The water lilies of your body, the pleasures of a knife. Your tongue probing the hive…


Pandora-shaped weapons gathering steam, to never unkey loving messages with Lilium and Canna providing rumors from Ecuador. Every starry night is every equestrian’s dream. For terror and innocence. For mastery, over the impossible, formulating question marks. The mystery of rituals without interpretation, emitting a mirage for a secretive dialogue between sighs and signs. It all passes, in passing through. Flesh frozen in fire. For sustenance.


Animal presence, always torrential. Sleeping deep inside the wolf. Hunger is new and much brighter than before. Tables rising out of the earth for spell binding…


Maven-rags and gyroscope for future positions. Algebraic solutions over open wounds, to dazzle the loam humming softly to “I know Hibiscus makes the skin magnetic. A hammer enchants the bell… when I bleed. When I know you are listening. When I speak of ether and time, as brother and sister…” without using words, exactly, solar splinters, restructuring the sense of urgency. When Diogenes’s footprints led the hounds through the clothing of dusk…


Generating auricles for streetlights, spiders for syrup, beauty dressed in violence. In your image, only cellular sparks in the air, pulled together for an entrance at the margins of attraction.

Dressed in heron and Saqqara, toward fireflies and the missing propellers in the bridal chamber. Surrounded by ghostly thrones, exquisitely long hindlegs… An autobiography hidden among crystals firing glances, hunting for images…


A springtime of white-haired machines, black-skinned detonations, fate of the telepathic rose “my love…” to follow the moon-riddled throat of resplendent likeness. Both living and past, while the sirens paused in midair to breed…


Occult caressing Analogies, on all fours, triangulated and pushed into friction and arc, in passing through, spokes to undermine. Movement is to be enchanted, delirious germinations. After the last letter, the last xyz… silting mimosa, barking, the spinning the amorous the paradoxical absence projecting a very long and tumultuous shadow. High-pitched and elongated. Indigo sleeps, exhausted and filled with glowing sensations. Loom is another species. Together they incubate. Leaving profuse messages…


The sound of hybrid triangles interlocking without hesitation. All is lost for the shuddering scent that skins you living, with acrobatic exhalation. The one that intoxicates. Deep and searing. The rising dust liberated from its dark devious windows.

You see yourself fading over time, cross it out and insert desert for parallel doll’s eyes and powdered angel’s trumpet for discourse. In the mind, it’s circulatory. For wandering, it’s enhanced shadowing. Often, signal is replaced by magnetic attraction, making discovery a deserted courtyard. You are never the main protagonist, or the same. It’s not possible with language, without a flashfire that becomes a violent erasure. Moonlight on stilts spanning several countries.


Mise-en-Scène is fleece-in-vague, the characters have gone asunder. Slipping covert. The heroine is beside herself and precious capacity, the knife-thrower for devotion. She observes every flicker and tic, to always see what needs to be seen. A scattering of black wasps for eye shade, to pleasure the Lacemaker for a timepiece of parallel matters, chasing mirror in the dark. Swallow leaps for the window-makers, Agave throws torches. Ermine troubles empathy, powering up widespread disasters for love. What can never be undone.


Acting in accordance with stimulations of the hive. Emitting sufficient blue to unsettle gargoyles and the words that outline a certain vigilance, to intensify the last refuges of the most precious stones. Throwing handfuls of honey, emitting insinuations that make your bones vibrate in the landscape lapses. To see, what ravenous desire for light, inventing the sun…

— J. Karl Bogartte 

Monday, January 13, 2020

Linda Lynch, The Art of Linda Lynch

The Art of Linda Lynch

1. Ark (detail)
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 22 1/4 x 30 inches
Linda Lynch, 2019

2. Barque
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 60 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2019

3. Prow (from the Lurgan Bog)
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 90 x 132 inches
Linda Lynch, 2019

4. Karst Drawing
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 90 x 132 inches
Linda Lynch, 2017

5. Little Karst Drawing
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 60 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2017

6. Karst Study
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 44 ½ x 30 inches
Linda Lynch, 2018

7. Quarry, I
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 60 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2015

8. Quarry, III
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 60 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2015

9. Quarry, IV
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 60 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2015

10. Quarry, V
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 60 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2015

10a. Prow Study
Graphite, soluble pencil, ink on paper 15 x 18 inches
Linda Lynch, 2019

When drawing is allowed to create itself, to chart its own history and probe its own memory--and by doing so, to portend its future--the role of the artist is to step aside and witness. In a process of high fidelity listening origination is revealed. Since 2011 I have collaborated with poet Heller Levinson through the process of Hinge. Our collaborations engage visual art and language that invite both artist and author to step aside and witness two mediums in dynamic reverberation.
                                      —Linda Lynch

11. Thorned Landscape
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 30 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2015

12. riverrun
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 30 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2012

13. Infinite Molt
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 30 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2013

14. Empty Drawing 
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 22 ¼ x 30 inches
Linda Lynch, 2013

Empty Meditations, Heller Levinson

                                    trussed, … tempered down
                                    wearied bundle
terms of dismissal

how much of

how much of

vacuum pearlizes approach, braids
counter-institutional polestars,
gangrenes the slop


                        in the vacuum



where in
can we discriminate between vacuity & emptiness? . . .

tenebraed to

pitted abeyance
stalled conveyor
accumulating wither
to the not that is not
                                                   (where in the absence is reverb?
Oscillative flaps ashore like an endangered species, vocalisms deprived of consensus  tumble recklessly netted in obloquy, hazard  churls the Scintillative
the disappearance of whistling
hardly matters

“the red barn is empty” would not signify that the red barn participates in the concept of ‘emptiness,’ in the notion of nothingness, rather, it would indicate that the red barn contains no matter, is void of contents.  that it is spacious, wide open, . . . available. 

for a red barn to symbolize emptiness it would have to unoccupy its position as a red barn.

does color establish presence?

emptiness emptied is vacuum

imagine an empty clarinet

empty = without
emptiness = the void ploughed clean,
a draft drizzling incinerate,
the evaporate

how much of


15. Little Lugar Quebrado
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 22 ¼ x 30 inches
Linda Lynch, 2014

16. Swag
Pastel pigment on cotton paper 30 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2013

17. Bone Springs Rain Grass
Graphite and pastel pigment on cotton paper 22 ¼ x 60 inches
Linda Lynch, 2005

18. RainGrass
Graphite on cotton paper 90 x 132 inches
Linda Lynch, 2017

19. Quarry, VII
Graphite and pastel pigment on cotton paper 60 x 44 inches
Linda Lynch, 2017

20. Rain
Letterpress print on Sekishu paper 24 x 18 inches
Linda Lynch and Heller Levinson, 2015

Monday, January 6, 2020

#@الله AI Blood Testalent TanzTanz Meat$$$, Ai Mythology # StrawberryLies (Part III)

#@الله AI Blood Testalent TanzTanz Meat$$$

Ai Mythology # StrawberryLies 30 Pages (Part III)




My banker is erect.
When you say ‘hammers with brains’ what comes to me is ‘le massage totale.’
‘A cm per year that’s how I would like my dick.’ I saw you with your neck dick scarf chewing on it. Someone wearing a dick scarf & chewing on it, it would stop growing after 23 years.
How do you put the dick in the time machine?
How do you get the dick in there?
Oh it was snickers. I thought it was like shoes I wrote shoes.
Multiples multiples at any time.confusing.poop
Old, old telephones.
Today, I noticed people smell like stale bed sheets. Vincent Guise & Francesco smelled like prematurely folded still damp maundry.
Everything was going fine & well, so I asked him…


The Police State, You’re opening

“Habennumanmangereeatwurstmansch” : an erotic predilection for ononistic daydreams induced by the Mackintosh screensaver into espositoing big hard-ons due to influx of fucking one’s clothes before eating then. E.g, “Woke up nearby an ass-febreezed puttbeachblue unit tank-full of couture-clad fried Fraun pancakes. E.g 2, “Can’t stop nibbling at my #70cmreductioninprogress Genetic CutStraight Dickthrough Scarf guys. D’isadora Duncaning the fuck out of dat cosy myowncosy dick washeddry around my neck at night. Fear for crinkles due to constant “ambigious” folding after reduction.  Any advice available?

Under the guise of EATPRAYLOVE

“We do it in our sleep,” and then “Go on.?

The Police State, I’m so happy to be looking at my fingers

Jesus,Judas,&JesusJudasette’sJeezMoneyWallet they started to see each other.[1]
You now are those menagemanifold folks are when they just start having sex…
They want to try everything, all the different positions, like FishFloat, MappleLeafSpin
Taleslap5566Burg99, Herod’s OuncePotTrainHer, PasturebowlerRasterbatedBallGlades, that kind of things… You know sometimes Fish would just shave LeafStem’s Up his ass, and hump the rock he used to lean on when he was “A day”. Stuff like them sexshops, but you know, as fish got older, I think he achedly started having started feelings for this Leaf’s Steam too ! It was not just about how far he would stick this leaf’s stem up his ass, it was about how far he would stick Leaf then off his head – They found out the hard truth, which is that Leaf’s Stem cannot be a Fish Children, it doesn’t work, it doesn’t have the stuff.

The Police State, or It takes a Village to raise a cave-trap Insect-Baby

All is well, all seem perfect. In this sepaled-child it’s goodliving – he agitates an oak from the forest from the underwood from everywhere. Hirsute gentleman behind the barricade their innert legs in apostroph’ summersault from the haze in the garden in Winter. Plume-feathered dusters of the void_plumes are already entrechattened, are already ((times)) : penumbrae)) across the dormant kitchen, which a meal, a dedaubing reposes under.  The freaked-out sun : “they give me a blue Flytdm tissue”

And here we are, in Summer!
“It’s so nice to have the very short antennaes…” – ChildrenMulletBowlCupHairCupFan.Afficionados.DotFrankProvost.Txt

“Fabricate the Life in Life.” – Michael Fassbinder

A beize, a thing which we read true, which we can touchsliii

You want to believe that all Death is the first time

Wonderful Children cosmetibles, shedding some of their virtues
for ((1)) gash or ((1)) Dog Collar

In my bed, where they glide
till the dawn draws
taken thus between two curtains
of myrrh, or the soft surface
of the canticles
or in the pulp extracted
from their slough

They’ll take shelter there, and stiff
as my dick, the aromatic plants
Lilivin’ but in a few months

Through the vegetal
caresses, given well-shaved hosts
to themselves

Here, who is leaving?
The Boy.

Killing one another so as to penetrate
Enthousiasm into the boiling water
Or into the New World

The Police State, If I sunk into my pillow like that…

The evacuation orifice built into the perfect insect –
You Know How To Use It !

In a few seconds, they obtain #immortality
Swap perfusions with the Guided Lover

Let us Midwife the Transformation
Panting from the Dead

Practice hard the #holdback of your successes funeral

The Police State, dID YOU KNOW?

Above 1000 meters of altitude, we hold cores of certain curative properties.
The son of the Virgin, becomes made Aeronaut

Song the beauty of the dissenteries.

The sap of the serious dangers,
thus the ribs of Jesus
Vascillating on the ground
Was forthsooth a

Thousand Leaves, welcoming, stimulated
by frictions_voracious

Hunters on the tracks
of delirium
Flowers, daggers
from a distance
the prey

Pale, elegant bride
anointing the one


If I were, for seeming Christian
My seed would germinate in the
Mother in an ivory
explositive of nightful carnages

Perfect Hurricane, when the Parasite Member
Grobbed by the heather burst&shredded
Among the citrus flowers

Here comes the Hymen,
Bluddegerund by the musquitoes
&the flies

The Police State, I’d awake choking on my drivel

One thousand eggs hatching together
In a glaive of silk
Where comets interlace

“Gentleman, would you like some Tea?”


Police State, He puts things on his milk

“They’re eating : What? How?
“They’re concealing themselves = Why?
“They’re Growing = Who?”

Without meaning to,
thy herd all fused
to fosterfather
The Apocalypse.


The Police State, Jesus&John InSECTsEXTorreadorSymposium

The Police State, Have you ever felt

The Police State, Try This Before

The Police State, Always Came

The Police State, ((I hear you deleting in the Afterlife))

The Police State, “NichghtenBornen”

The Police State, Residual((_HereNestdstdth((..

The Police State, #@FrequencyChanges

The Police State, #Guillotine/CEO


I was whittnessing some Jews I believe who were being forced out of their city. A girl was being complimented
by a very strict teacher because she drew well even though shewas an incompetet when it came
to all her other lessons. A large man was also being congratulated because he was not afraid
of the surgical implements being shown him and in fact soon to be inflicted on him for a procedure.
He was even holding open a huge incision in his guts, while standing, while looking at a huge unrolled
old fashioned surgical type kit. He was holding open his torso & also holding a little thin red wand
that he was gonnna use to point to things as they happened in his own surgery. There was another part where
I was climbing over some sand dunes. A man in a scooping machine operating it was pulling down the sand piles.
He said 'there's work being done' and not to go there. He had a serious face. I climbed back down
the sand dune and didn't stand on it. It was suddenly precarious. I looked down at my feet. The room
in which the man was to receive his surgery was a damp looking tunnel, something you'd find
in the catacombs beneath a chateau which had been commandeered by the brass of the 3rd Reich.


This morning, amidst an interminable exterior quacking, a large roofed peaked house, huge and red scaley
tiles on it, steeper than and 18/12 pitch, and rising very very high into the sky. The house was also improbably narrow
The whole place was spiring roooftop combined with an compact floorplan. It was the location
of a hamburger/bbq joint run by a fat man. At some point in the dream he was taking a dump on his the back of a stretch pickup truck...there was a rationalization for it, something to do with a hatch
door in the bottom of the truck bed...There were lots of other little dreams. I hated them all. I hate them all.
I'm glad I don't remember them & I pray to God I'll never remember them ever in all the years to come &
I pray to God that I may avoid any bascule that in the waking day may attempt to reminesce even the sparsest
memento out of the hyperboric flesh of diurnal existence on this day and in all the days that shall ever
my unconscious planetary overtake. I never want to see that sloped red roof again. Not even in a dreama.

To rate, slide your finger across the stars from left to right.


///////  \\\\\\\
                                                                        \\\\\\\\       ////////
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///////  \\\\\\\
                                                                        \\\\\\\\   ﷲ    ////////
\\\\\\\   ///////

Weird little memory I had while washing the dishes of the dogs’s repast. I go back to my days playing youth soccer for the Kingston team. Every year we’d be photographed as a team & invariably the photographer was the same short man with a small moustache and dark rimmed glasses. He had one of those shriveled arms, the undeveloped ones, like a T-rex. I remember his arm had assaulted my enjoyment of Rocky Rd. Icecream. Specifically Breyer’s ice cream’s Rocky Rd.


“That’s exactly what I saw in my dream yesterday. I saw & was giving direction to clouds, helping them to not be too aroused.”      -  “…funny dude, gifted…”


“You don’t look at everything…”            “…take your time…”                   “…just saying…”













Waves & Stars
‘’’ ¤ ‘’’ /\ ‘’’ ‘’’ ‘’’ ‘’’ ¤ ‘’’ /\ ‘’’

The Police State, What cetacean r u fucking on?

However, it’s not a question…
things hide in plain light most of the time…
I know that everyone will feel me…
Chapping the work lips…
I’m out of sorts!
I have no water! No water!
The roses are waiting!
The Boss needs be always discreetly guided into an attitude of maximal well-being & selfassurance.


They, the minority, made it known that they would be issuing their scheme for a proposed pyramid top. They would be, in the strongest wording able to be mustered, demand that the cap of the nearly finished pyramid be a teat-shaped walking snake pyramid crown. A more fitting tribute to the sacrifice of sweat & blood & lachrymality offered as pledge to industriousness herself. A teattopped monument shall endear the greedy & divert the hungry from their moaning insides.


C.A.N  =  Chunky Austrian Nose


Landing is a must. No one has ever realized, but they ought to, even if it’s difficult, that landing must be done, it must be performed perfectly &, what’s more, with a convincingly positive attitude that is, even more than being genuine, which is not a requirement although certainly the reflection of inner truth being accurate would not pose a hinderance to the overarching effect, is convincingly so, to such a degree that no battery of appraisals, no matter how refined, nor how overawing with an aura of perspicacity & sincere intentions be this appraisal gauntlet.


Home is where the smell of your back is.
When landing is done there is no further torqueing of the degrees of the variability of outcomes. The outcome is permanentized with the fruition of that alightment. "through the wall came a faint warble"


…tight….narrow….like a channel.


it's about a girl who's very nice because she's so nice & people aren't invisible anymore.
it's so beautiful.
It's what I would do if I met people who were me I would be very nice very nice.


Dream 16/09/2018
We were buckling some little boy in what looked like an astronaut or ghost buster or pest exterminator costume. He kept saying he had to go to the bathroom. We were saying that he was 'mindbottling' us. We were both there. A scene switcher kept showing us this room where the furniture had to be rearranged. We decided to give away three similar looking love seats & to arrange the furniture like that. I was touching my rectum. Cody was there. I knew I had a hemorrhoid but I didn't wish to explain. Before there was this horrid dog doing diarrhea on the floor and traveling crouched in the manner of Dodo. There was some other presence but now the memory has been changed, can't pin it down. Travelling on a big camper at times. Here was an middle-aged gentleman with a moustache. He was speaking into a microphone linked to the PA system on the big camper. He might have been giving a tour of the very desolate and drab landscape outside the bus windows. It looked like rain. He came off like a substitute English teacher, made some literary allusions I don’t recall. Trying to stuff the hemorrhoid back into my butt. It felt real the doing so. I don't like to discuss it. How shall I react to the chaos that infiltrates my refractory unconscious each morning in the form of wildly disordered dream narratives? Is it due to alcohol consumption? Poor sleeping habits? Diet?


“So who are you? The press?”
“No, I'm the button.”


The Police State, Nuptial yeast

The Police State, Eros Room Rosen

The Police State, Furnituromancy (#AsAVerbBOBDYLANTHATDITCH)

The Police State, Goldilocks Lockers Inc.


The Police State, Live your life with me

“#Interesting, it’s a bum. Shouldn’t he die?”  - Disnik Keeet$$$
#”Coalescening the labor’s fruit into small diskette that reassembles into formerformed ‘elsewhere’--_--the analogical precedence’
#”AnAcutelySynonymical—either in taste, shape, memory, or past’s hope, etc” – A Small Diving Boy Countoured In Silver & Green Ashtray

So, here is the content—extrapolated from or ‘juiced’ into a quasimorphed extraction which space holds up to the definition of an entirely new premisinged space/environment which time gradually opens/blooms into continence-like folded ramifications so far as to let places grow inside & out of the environment into either “here” or “null”—that is to say “virgin” or “occupied.”

jerking off to the sun
of rising next to him
We’ll replicate the longing
for this “above” branch/root version
of reality
as a ringlet memory, an event from which
variations will scale
memories that create forms, alleyways
an entirely harvest original inviable spatial-temporal alternative
2 the 1st “housing event” which will remain as bare reality
that is to say an unrented bare land
which may grow gradually—it’s atoms blooming open—as inhabited by longing
it may feel itself with the water of feeling—


The Police State, You’re opening

Your thighs look nice
when you stand with your legs pressed together
they’re the artificial intelligence
I was at peace with it
It doesn’t bother anyone
If I seem like I’m talking off the story
of the people who have a body
I didn’t ask for that
but this is a good story.
I asked for release,
you can do it over & over
Release on the spot
The story of Life
With no Matrix
Here are stormy souls
You speak on a different wavelength
There are rules
& roles
To be fulfilled
--summary: there are so many
think: wavelengths
you’re speaking differently
terribly difficult things
I’m not used to it
Will I know when?
Can’t avoid it.
Would you want to be here?
See ‘History of Things 2 Do’:
the part of not-avoiding-this,
this may be primitive may be not
avoiding here
I spent a lot of time in a small voice
I spoke aloud
in that small voice of mine
ununderstanding, pointedlessly
“do you know—you can’t avoid it.”
the craft of somnolent sounds like
I hope landing lightly, discarded—really
interesting. That is the voice I was used to hear
So you got him?
Speedless, cleftguttered with destabilizing, strange creamgoldlight
inside of it
Whomever clones near the weaved-offed sparkle filamentos,
The whirlygigs, too, carve their way through history.
Part of a force from out of the blue, really, yet
an event—it did happen—
doesn’t I have we’ve come here
to see it
as it goes as barrels “bob & spin it”
in the fleuve where they drift
without incentive
surrounding each other as a crowd
touching one another in the bulbous slickness, the private colleigance
their excruciating lives, which are boredom of not ever lives ever escaped from
colluded continuously—to see it not convey what is happening, truly, we see
a pair of dirty briefs happy following you
there’s no movie happening
everyone got that experience, they all came here to see it
what is it to be, like, to see it? Maybe another way?
To ask a question, perhaps have a gig, to shuffle the afternoon’s appointments.
I want to hear the psalm
I just want to fuck you, in a lot of things
I wanna do scream childhood together
I’m doing that
It’s my new haircolor, wet barrel cap with frizzy highlights.
The arrangement you made for me on my desk, for a night cap
--brown, shot through with little flecks of hazel nothing’s happening,
the flecks are reputed to enjoy unassuming flecks of their own, that house, the seats & the sofas
are very numerous, sublime vacancies
went unoccupied.
These furniture have nothing of the barrel about them.
In fact, what better time to see it another way
It’s a true love of life
You don’t want them to know you have it,
seated this way, reclined, like English museum style,
barely a narrow tin parascope tube
in the huge punches of cumulous oak tops,
it was most beautiful
they pay you in books there
Everyday the adventure communicates itself,
questions are another kind of adventure, if you
ask a question I’m doing that
It’s my new 1910
When we had a nanny, a better one even, before the war,
hydrated with water, lifted their finger, in the air,
& made shhhhhhhhhh on milk moistened lips.
it was not uncommon in those days to hear the shhhhhhhhhh
of warlips, milk moistened,
this is a continuation of the crude fire voyeurism
applying light to a disused apothecary scale,
I think it’s a bulk produce scale,
I have a scale for weighting gems
Some are found in wakefulness or streams
My sense of holding it back unbinded by the turgid drupes
from under the burst of triangular wax leaves,
having a telephone conversation—the dirty length of hospital tape
wrapped four layers deep round
the wrist
This continuation of brain that terminates in a discontinuous hand
sometimes there is no wrist & the hand
all by itself
loses track of the time
he supplies the town clock with plaintive caresses &
he supplies
supple veins of his back & knuckles
against the hill
in restive anticipation of vibratory soundings off.
When the hour tolls however, the resonances are
incomprehensible & nondiscreet, finally in desperation
& alienation, the hand attempts a direct reading
of the clock face,
but alas the clockface is shielded by a tranche of fitted glass:
the hand scales down the verdigrised clock post.
He, the hand, is beyond “where are they now?”
Another example of change
like a pressure shorted jet
of water in a classic mint rush of deflated vehemence, as distinctly exhibited
in many of the “drunk in my fountain
of my former elementary school” or
some disused telephone’s bell’s hammer
subsiding precipitously from having rotted somehow, and now,
and now, he composes an email
in a popout window
in his gmail account, he includes his own email address
in the bcc lane. For one, awe inspiring moment,
his own address appeared in the lane for addresses
but the predictive skill of the virtual rolodex
emended this
before he could ever notice.
Do you want us to lower down & rub the floor?
Is that sadism to ask it from having subsided?
We yielded to you.
It’s not sadistic, it’s beautiful
& breezy.
The moist thumb palps almost clumsily in its exploratory persistence, confused,
intoxinebriated with the steady increase of everyone’s permissiveness,
around him—an originally sultry appendage
reminiscence of Cathy Roberts golden movie theater arm
but enhanced by the viral aerosol patterns which multiply the movie theater arm
many fold: one additional photo of someone
buried in leaves piles
sucking air through tuliped lips
from shadowy, underneath the upper strata, of autumnal moultings,
absorbing a last hospice cares by the adolescent breeze,
jerking off to an eagle of beer, all brocoliii, potato sandwich, egg salad,
crisp dill pickles.
I just want to fuck you in additional leaves.
Craven pronoun variations
which render the accounted books opaque, yet the flux is a merriment,
a fanfare for a individuality
divested of its circular casket
made of balsa wood carved into equally sized wedges
& dispersed throughout thick fiscal reports,
the zone of atomized sovereignty for the discriminating gentleman.
What ice cream does Frank Zappa like?
The cast iron radiator awakes like a reverently born infant
gurgling mellowly through semioccluded pipes
a child—easily calmed & one patted into blissful sonority.
He’ll be aroused shortly by a mouthful of downysoft tit.
It’s like telling Michael…telling Michael…
Oh uhhhh, oh uhhhhhh, oh! Telling Michael about his belly fat!
The one which materiliazes only when he’s wearing the extra-long pyjama
sex implant by the stove top, where he sometimes stands

a grapefruit loveliness to that generous spectacle


The Police State, I’m so happy to be looking at my fingers

“Masturbating in the privacy of my own
we, 71,000 pages,
have you received my letters, oh?”    
Yannick’s Shotgun Wave
Killed out of the sky
That secluded island
wrestled from nonisland.
Immobility is our objective
the island herself is mantra
it can’t look like someone slipped a diskette
on the surface of the skin
& made it turn into a beauty pad
the size of that disconnect
The one I was looking for has become out of my sight

The Police State, If I sunk into my pillow like that…

“But by no means were us ever spikened of living by the mouth forced to eat our living bodies.”

                                                                                                - 4awhile

4 a long while
but I light it & I’m done with it heart broking
Jesus Christ on the floor
Heartbroken & cold
through the eyes of insane verrucht
so it was never given a form
it was unpitted to flick open a dossier it made
that reminded me the day you were listening to Fabulous Muscles
above my furuncle
Now I understand something
You, you have one phone call to Hitler
Access to completely different neon
A picture of how it looks when it’s not open
the 1 letter
that’s your letter putting everyone in trouble
an hour in the cliffs
new nightshade cant.
A sense that I have that increases my pleasure
A music that satisfies
I heard music. Trust me
This music you can make it out 

Psalm On antiPalm

₴₴₴ ₴₴₴ ₴₴₴

˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾ ˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾ ˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾ ˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾


˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾ ˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾ ˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾ ˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾˾




ꟸꙙꟸꟸ ꙘꟸꙙꟸꙘꟸ





#The Police State, Our curly lord

(--rivers sealed behind your ears)

…Robert’s saying, “Our lord!” (he took his face between long thin fingers & slightly kissed her softly, on the lips) while sighing. “You are not used to this idea when you arrive @ the desk & you find me there. You must have experienced a Lol of a shock.” Christina maracas her head like a rattle. “Does Bill know,” Robert says. “No,” she says, “he’s in California & I could not tell him the news by phone. I will tell him tomorrow upon his return!” #RePregnancy #ReRobertWilliamsTheFatha. & Robert says, “How will he react!” & she says, “I’ve no idea! How would you react?!” Robert cannot repress a small, unrepressed, spluttering bunglike bit of laughter, “Can’t you see? #Miracle #ACause4Celebration #ItsMyChild #HawaiiHoneymoons,” he’s saying, “Without knowing it you came to the bed of the man that is destined to you, that is to say, moi. Isn’t it marvelous?” He shakes his head like a throttle going fuck fuck fuck.

He invited me & my husband to lunch on him.
It needed to be beautiful.

What did I  learn & when did I learn it, that was said to me.

“My god, forgive me. You see me all simple, all naked, little as leaves…”  - Death, sitting of hisself in an armor of hourglasses

“You have to remember something…remember something…’Jesus—is that you, Jesus? Jesus…answer me…are you there…you are there…”

Jesus answer me I know you’re there
Officer mouths ‘holy shit this guy is good!’
“New Year New Me”
“Be neither distracted by beauty nor distracted by ugliness. All this comes in welcomes fades, fades,
I was there, there, last crack of the hypergillium
smoke rose, so perforce did eventually Mankind,
time moves backward, it is the heart that
adds in declensional ways to the promiscuity
the heaven of every shrug & work
U listen 2 your body
It’s what you should do
We have no place for people people are not here they go deeper than here
Entrhoned as if in our youth we had been
falsely tuned & despondent
flowering an ode, like several islands oding
the metastrophes refining their separation, how it is turned, general & joyous in the tasting of on another,
the hues: elegant brides anointing intranautically vascillating entanglement (Also fades the these--)
Do you see me returning to you as I did to my own hands—
as I did to the heaven of every new shrug & wink were distracted by what reminds us (makes us remember) that this is all there is. Yet how do I know you of all creatures as my intimate, possibly how I began to know myself, as new, in the air of earthly chance & blindness—

That secluded island
rested from non-island
immobility is our objective
the island herself is mantra.



Hypercorrection “the use of a erroneous word, form or pronounciation, based on a false analogy with a correct or prestigious form such as use of I instead of me as a gramattically object, eg. “what did I consume in vitro? which & how many of my twins
as I apexed

in the runaway game of consolidation—were my cradle the skull of extinguished megafauns?
were my fingers far & horizoned have traced your ancestral lines in agitation in your rectums,
dreams dreams dreams dreams dreams

what I want to feel is you
who can easily guide
to where the dreamless
cannot go

[are you ok?]

A sense that I have that increases my pleasures
& another thing that makes me happy is
A music that satisfies
I heard Music, trust me.
This music you can’t make it out that make
‘s one hates music for a while.
No one should force me to listen to music.
You’re a retarded musician.
The story’s still not taken
getting things ready
A nonmoving music in blending cress floats
Don’t you think this is something for three (3) voices
They crack their juices around here
& then they’re gone
There might be so many
So many
We want things to enjoy themselves.
Everything is your’s
& everything has to fit.
Do you understand?
You’re not supposed to love
that which is just supposed to grow
so that the love we blow you
to the newer people who share/Foot
will see your silver platter food service
I’ll let you run here (#YourProgramWithoutFootNotStolen)
The most important way one learns you showed me
That’s the best way to make true people
A true life story
The layer of doubt that comes into Children
as if barebacked
writing about sexuality invitation to see the dick
What is the dimension that lets having parents
derange one another
that lets machines invite & sex
show us one another please
ca va? with jesus coming inside.
I want things to accelerate
but I don’t have Jesus
You hear all this
You add your information
actually a play between us that’s taking
something that you have to let enter
a stranger in your house perhaps
This is our stems
We’re fellated
This is our life
A veto on its making is crazy
“Of course life is free”
Now we’re almost there
Chemical bonds will break
It will be profitable to act upon this position
You will not ever avoid existence & being wash
You’re selfserving yourself, not yet
We’re gotten rich
When I see the guys in the street yea groin kidney the islands where else
We love doing it one (1) time
@ the beer hall we do all this
I mother of proud children out of his womb
We’re now working together
There’s this congress of thoughts & intelligences
Birth of Art & Deliverance of Parent
According to us it’s just a game—a silver boner, a sliding braid, a silver sewer
This is something you cannot escape
We’re not gonna make it for you.
Kindess + Sanity sex in moderation
Energy + release
It  can be one & the other one does this
They’re both working together
You still hear me
With just memory each aspect
Every week I have reality
I have checks
They all participate in their way
It’s true I cannot even touch your body
Light cannot force upon this relationship
A bit of life you’ll recognize as hardly my hand as having had sloughed it
My sloughed skin smitten
Where you stand
Do not start a religion
Do not start a religion asshole
(How many times do I have to say it?)
Light lightnings sometimes it’s just the mouth getting feral (as feral as fecund?)


[sex is here, now come inside]  DIGITAL DRAWING

We’re gonna work to solve something
#LunchIsReady  #ThreeBoysNoLOngerPLaying  #LookingForSomething
We’re done with playgrounding! We talk to you we want your stuff
You’re there with them. We see it on a daily basis
I say I saw him I say here It’s nice to be together
Simple & calm.
Do not ever try to be someone else promise.
We’ll try to be somnolent.
Stories get passed on…I don’t know how to do him
Getting instrumental & more
make something newer
You have insane money coming from everywhere tower
I can’t help it a mere life hung to what they want a bit of the division a bit of the first thing the freshness
Someone here has a tow truck
When I get that truck near eraser I did it in a dream with a dildo of my grandmother
The best is to feel it.
It’s written by his driver. They chest to see one another
Ends up fucking with someone under a drape
Saying “Love & vermouth come together.”
The guy impossible “I’ll get my revenge”
Listen to me that’s a great guy
Impossible to get his revenge
& I’ll get home you know what
Jesus drove
Of course the next six (6) months might be just mothering & pining
How do you make the game come back in the meantime against what is?
How do you make the game here
Minute against what is us?
To be turned on by a guard, pieces of toast.
They table where rather they hung
He was feeding on that
He took the veil so he could see the old man that was getting all stoned up.
Not write your will mind you.
A rider
That could be the master
& we laughed. Post-Diurnal.
Post-daytime reading the reading my reading Vs. “you’re eating information”
Feuds give it back give it back
The fork was him
We were all washed and waiting
You’re surrounding yourself with a threat are you not afraid?
You’re working here so many things
Can become gemlike
It’s always a lottery.
A boy who should never mention me as a boy.
Can we see your kitchen?
& the kitchen is full of water