Monday, September 28, 2020

Michael Mc Aloran, from “nothing ever” #2


Untitled, Michael Mc Aloran 
(Acrylic on unprimed canvas/122 x 155cm)

from “nothing ever” #2



…was the taxed parameter of skyline breath of once intake exhale in foreign drag of corpsal light through the vacancy of ever known forgotten in an instanced breath haven of what which spill of the drag what purpose final as composure stillness of eye & out of which what fallen shards of frozen meat in cavalcade redress wild edge of night to embrace as abattoir silences cascade throughout as wounds to breach tear in an aftermath of solace weight of some absolute abort it pares away the teeth of emblem lightless barren where once shattered concrete ocular to rove throughout given from out of solace haven dispel shadow across the gaping orifice of spell it all out nothing of the matter lessened ever as if to collect the bones the teeth skinned of purpose hollowed out the forage ever as from where to breathe is to simulacrum film upon weightless dressage where blessed terse is the fallen crux of bestowed upon garotted sunlight asked of never once answered stillness to breach echo-light to vertigo presence absence all called ashore where to follow lack trace of footsteps taken through rotting pulse bulb diameter fixed upon where pupil of to gaze in the reek of silence where no sounds abide still-born the nothingness of having been of being in elected to this of follow it through until claimed a blade to the throat of exist syllabus cold shoulder have of which echo-echo redempt nothing of the birthed what shadowing effortless to torn from the skyline of recollect fallen forage nothing ever of to measure as blind-sighted where to of the silence of never having been locked to the closed fist that pummels the else of essence spectral as cast upon a bare white wall of release the wolves the hyenic conglomeration spill of ejaculate in voidal null as if to collide where to of which seasons that drift throughout across the denuded shadowing of filament exigent collision broken bodies cold flesh as words cascade unto to drag the pregnant weight of collapse it din reclusion solace in the afterglow of meat throughout spasm upon reckless headless devour a cold wind of ever-closure open up until where to dream of is to dieth a little else of more than what structure bathes in the milk of blood a tense will obscure collects the passage of bone dice scattered as if to measure nothing as before colourless distance the obscene pulse striata of carnival haven of rot to pierce the flight from as once was in of which to collect repeats the circus phlegm spat in the face a cadaverine occult the flayed canine laughter of breathe of what will redeems says no of nothing ever of where once spoken of what lack to brace recollects the ever of what once where features of which collide never of the vital essence amphetamine shit in the veins of rapture the white of the eyes revealed a noose snares the throat of being ever from the commence until slaughterhouse landscape births one thousands butterflies razor wings ablaze in seizure none/ none of which ever transitory fallen upon the blade of the outset shears throughout where no wound closeth ever until all lights snuffed out fathom less than of what in senseless collectively fucking the lungs of haven as if to breach where to roundelay a bird in the bush neither of the hands that grip for the throat of all that once came restless light of the once undone as to utter once of the stains that collect the pelts the rat’s night crusade of which bitten to the core incision marks the restless bones to vibrate in pageant lack breakage of the silt that coats the skin of murmurs the bled sun artery rip from lapse it lung to coat the bodily obscure of nothing ever ever none of which cleft the sanded realms char excise a collective of footprints smeared out by the wind’s obsolete blind pare away of secretive never a trace to build as flay what carcass ever once of haven entourage the funereal procession of a slash-mark smile that extends from one horizon to the other bled will out of the insanity cold sweat pasture of to the the toothen edge aligned by bloodless covering the char of ashen promise whereof to sing from the base whore’s lungs cast across the surgeon’s table a reckless dirge of echoing of where speech a regrettable night ever-vast to stretch from fathom none to none of fathom where to patience of the weight until closure orifice spray of distended blood ochre ocular kicking the dust from the elected to this without origin the silence of never having been a vibrate in the skull of the dead pulse shattering within the tension surface false start begins again yet no merely of to replicate colours the like of which a blood-stain from a lacerated limbs bare bones to expose where bitten of colourless lapse of meat echo-vibrate a striate of paranoical child’s bones to breach where surface align is at the nucleus of given speech dies of which in the fallen light the dim ocular roving what matter it falls upon ever nothing once twice nay unto follow to element scar attrition absolution no it follows after the final carcass colouring the beauty of discoloured flesh sings to the overture of carrion flies as hangeth all sung forgotten never of the once till collectively fucking the night from the ongoing sentence to bled dry as bone sudden death of absence sky turn of will the reek of breathe non-else a spasm a roundelay of naught redeems the surrogate farewell it strips the blood the harlot nocturne closure of what will seasoned to trace as the body fades to silent rupture a razor demise where to once wrought exigent collapse striate of once as if to collect seasoned whereof…

(…broken emblems of eye line the sands where the bones of breath are a teasement of desire & avaricious intent an incapacity a spurious collision of extension as skinned of weight all along it matters little a before an aftermath a collage of sickness scattered aloft from the lungs of given ever nothing of it as a mockery of teeth trace violent colourings of a slaughterhouse breathe of what nectar eyeline flung to the hyenic laughter speechless tint closure of some other wound a breakage of vacant solace collects in haven nothingness to carve the adroit ever to dispel mocking the wound to a collapse of furious intend in an abort of echoing silences…)…

Michael Mc Aloran

Monday, September 21, 2020

Jeff Bagato, Pussy Bomb/Earthquakes Bring Confusion

Doom Pussy #2, image by Jeff Bagato

Pussy Bomb/Earthquakes Bring Confusion
Jeff Bagato

Bombs Kill
            My pussy is a bomb.
            Bombs kill.
            Detonate bombs…cocks run from city…three separate blasts…shrapnel flying successive explosions clouded with shoppers and diners…lifting people out of chairs…corpses lay shrouded in plastic…
            Suffocating facts accrue…
            This bomb is a jewel between my thighs.
            A piece of a terrorist, his spinal cord, flies into an open shop.
            My pussy a bomb, a jewel between my thighs. Capture immanent…deadly game…
            If they chase me, I will follow…I will allow them to push me where they will, to the destination of their choice…the most crowded or most panicked or most valuable areas…let them choose the place of detonation and their death…pedestrian shopping mall…bank queue…hospital OR…afternoon airport…I will follow…my orders, I will fulfill this mission: I have charged myself to fulfill my mission. Fulfillment by magic, by violence, by crime, by sex, by ripping into myself to find the roots of myself, by destroying the creation of cocks within myself.

            My pussy is a bomb.
            The explosion is now.
            Violence is a prayer with many answers, many aspects of its passion find a mark.
            My pussy a jewel of violence within my thighs. Within my thighs.
            Pussy moves out. Out across the plaza, through the shops and cafes. Bodies of corpses wrapped in plastic. Corpses of automobiles…burned out upholstery, melted enameling, water washed rusting steel…Corpses of buildings, hollowed out by fire, blackened skeletons gaping open on rubble and soot interiors. Corpses of market stalls, corpses in alley ways. Corpses of roads blocked off, pitted, clogged with debris.
            This is not the end to civilization.
            The end to civilization comes.
            The end to civilization.
The end to civilization comes upon you with heavings and stretchings of the earth. The jewel between my thighs rises to shake off the weight of dead shopping, murderers, death fiends, soul blasphemers.
            I am moving to end civilization.
            Move to end civilization.
            Move to end civilization.
            Move out. Choke it off with its own rubbish. Destroy it with its own acids, its own bombs, its own good deeds of advancing machination.
            Move out.
            The jewel between my thighs moving.
            (I feel a twitching within like magic. The muscles contract. Their will is to see the end to this civilization.)
            Moving to end civilization.
            The end to civilization comes.
            Move out to end it.

            Can I blaspheme enough against our civilization? My blasphemy a spell against the cocks, what they teach, what they take away.
            Doom Pussy equation rising up—deliberate crime— blaspheming against the cock culture of murdering, of dying.
            Blast against the murderers.
            Blast against the cult of dying…cult of he who dies to live and die again. Those dying, self-righteous in their dying.

            I never stop thinking about my mission. Even back at camp, off a run, in the bar, a drink cold in my hand—the mission scrolls before my eyes.
            I whisper a spell for the murder of the murderers, light it to the fire of action with a sip of single malt scotch.

            I’m on fire with the being of my time. I will not be swayed away from being into dying. Cock pressure to shake my reserve seconds into the counting pit…into the flames of cock hell…an eternity of dying…an eternity after dying…you don’t just die, you die forever in the cock universe; death there is a place you never escape.

            I call for an eternity of living…an asymptote that edges away death with its own graphic eternity…Let the counting murderers count…Let them count successively smaller minutes of my living unto eternity…Let them follow my asymptotic living with black beady eyes greedy with the lust of death, watching for an asymptote to fall, waiting eternally for a death that never comes to me.

            I push my asymptote along…one second fraction at a time.
            My mind is in a chopper, on my mission, moving along that asymptote…

My Mission
Let it come…however it wishes…
Let it come let it come do what it wants you to do
making my body
writhe undulate orifice swallows and squeezes
his cock with a sensation that drives anything like this
here it comes
let it come
do you think it is coming?
do you feel it coming you?
let it come…unexpected…
as the cock pulls out of me
we are both fulfilled
presses smooth and warm and it is coming
it is coming
I think so
beginning to work in me
must frenzied possession nudity that thing remove
cushioned soul and body
breasts encompass her
on my throat he murmurs touches a soft moan
stroking between my labia
produces a soft moan
filling and orifice, sliding it into complete nudity
lie naked on the table anointed with perfumed oil
touch is pleasant joyous rounded
pushes the other one in however it wishes
contorted smooth and warm making
my cunt is dripping wet
playing with my clit at the same time
you assign me a fictitious name

mouth of my vagina nearly drives me out of my mind
playing with my clit at the same time
my cunt is dripping wet
glorious orgasms on the purple table
concentrate on this

The Wound Is Not Invisible

            “D.P., you look like you need to relax!” Nails slaps a big hand between my shoulder blades, pressing into womanly softness. “Yeah, that feels good,” he seems to contemplate it, keeping his hand firm on my back, taking the stool next to mine at the bar and adjusting it under his big sweet man-ass, gesturing for two of what I’m having.
            “Smash should show any minute now, then the party will really start. But first I need to get you prepped for it, looks like.”
            “I’m okay, Nails. Thank you.”
            “Bullshit! You get deeper and deeper into it with each run—and then deeper with each drink. What kind of pussy are you? It’s like you’re bringing those cocks back to roost in our own camp!”
              I’ve never heard such harsh words from the gentle giant. “You’ve got me, Nails. I can’t ever let go of a mission. There’s always so much more I coulda done. Like tonight for instance…”
            Nails holds up a big, rough, meaty palm. “Whoa! What kinda veteran are you? Doom Pussy? I’m lookin’ at nothing but a sacka shit! You gotta live the mission, not think about it. Never give the cocks a chance. Never blow your own cover. And never, never—NEVER—” he slaps his ham hand on my drinking arm as I’m lifting it— “Never kill a drink without a smile on your face! What are you—at your own funeral or something?”
            I feel like back in boot camp. It’s a good feeling. It’s what I need to hear. The new shots arrive. I pull down the one in my hand.
Nails likes my ear to ear grimace. “Good girl. And now, the master…” He lifts his shot glass between thumb and forefinger stretched in a wide O, like pinching a big wad of chew, twirls and sniffs it, then pours it into a wide open war whoop of laughter.
            “That’s a goddamned drink!”
             I’m just reaching for my next shot when another big hand grabs the glass from behind me.
“You don’t mind if I show this cur how it’s really done, do you ma’am? But I must borrow your glass, and the drink in it.”
            I nod my assent. Smash proceeds to show us the spirit he is made of.
            Holding the drink high, he turns to the barroom floor, adding a mighty rebel yell to his expansive gesture. Upon ascertaining that he has the immediate attention of every single patron, he lowers and then raises his glass in a swift movement that launches the translucent golden liquor into a rising column just over his head. Faceful of smile, he tilts his head back on his bull neck, opening wide. As the column of liquid rushes to the floor, it pulls itself together in an elongated tear drop. It comes down, and it smashes Smash on the bridge of his nose, splashes across his eyes, and cascades down his cheeks as he jerks the plane of his face back to its customarily vertical position. The bar crowd roars with laughter.
            “You have outdone me,” Nails reaches out an arm to grab his old partner in a bear hug, gesturing with the other at the bartender for a round of three. “I concede victory to the better man.”
            They stand there clutching, groping and teasing each other while the bar cheers. Here I am surrounded by big, jovial, single-minded man-ass. I desperately need another drink.

Earth Changes Coming
            Most of the missions blend together, almost like one mission.
            Flying a chopper is one of the purest things. In a chopper you’re more open, more exposed to the air. I’m free from the tyranny of the terrain. I can do anything I want, go anyplace I want—up, down, backward, sideways, shoot between the trees—incredible. That’s the first thing that hits you, the sense of freedom. You’ve conquered a force of nature—gravity. And your perception of the world is radically different. You’re up above, and you see. You’re not bound by roads. Every time I get in a Chinook it’s the same feeling. No matter how many missions I fly, every time we lift off its an emotional thing. Every time. I’m getting it right now, thinking about it.
            Because you’ve got tandem rotors, you can twist right around on a central axis, and you’re a little bit faster. Great to fly. Two pilots and three crew.
            I’m flashing on assaulting a village from the sea. Take six gunships, six slicks—nongunship Hueys—and three Chinooks, load ‘em with pussy, and go in. We take off at dusk and go out to sea a mile or two and start circling. We watch the artillery tubes popping. We wait our turn. And when they’re done for the night, everybody swings down and goes into formation, dropping down to about ten feet above the water and goes in. It’s time for a real war.
            Three gunships on point, the rest in a wedge. We go in low because it limits detection, plus we get off this way, adds to the thrill of the chase to blow in above the treetops and the water, a beautiful thing at an immense rate of speed. Hanging out over the gun and the wind is pushing your face to the side. You’re cradled over the gun, which is mounted on a bar with a pivot. It has an aviation mount on the ass end—two handles with twin triggers. Hang out over the side of the gun with the trigger handles back by your waist, and hold onto the carrying handle on the top, so you can lean out over the gun and get a better angle on the target below. You can spin the gun any way you want.
            Antiaircraft tracers come up immediately, so you scan the arcing path of the hot red light back down to the ground, spinning the gun on its pivot, catching it with the other hand, firing deep into the source.
            And then the rockets slip out of the hold, diving through the air beyond the point we can see, and somewhere in the night slipping into the earth twelve feet. The detonation aftershocks we sometimes feel. If the chopper headlights shine just right on the trees and the structures below, you can see the effect of the big quake, shrugging up the earth under all those cocks. That too is beautiful, beautiful. The speed of the chopper pushing this cool wind into your face, and looking down and seeing the result of your work in this mysterious, restless light.

Wound within the Earth/The Wound Is Not Invisible
            There’s a magic to pussy. An intense event that suddenly occurs in your mind. You might be eating a steak in the mess, or you might be 2000 feet up looking into cloud cover—you might be balling, or shitting, or cracking a joke on the field comm: but it takes over like an aneurysm. You blank for this indefinable period—clear. It clears you. It’s like a surge, not like a fading absence. Lightning striking the highest point, stabbing into you. You may not get it right away—then it haunts you. A delicious mystery that shivers the nape of your neck and across the scalp, a feeling better in its own way than coming.
            And that’s pussy—moving up on you, attacking you with this charge at the highest level and making you know it as pleasure.

Language Creates the Problem/Upheavals in the Earth
            Nails crawls across the floor with his flight suit unzipped from neck to fly, his long, engorged cock dragging the ground. His nuts still caught up in the suit.
            He crawls across and a smell comes up of pure male animal heat. His lips quivering, I can see his tongue leaping about in his mouth, salivating.
            “Let me—let me suck it…”
            I haven’t moved. I haven’t stopped standing. “You’ll never suck my cock. You’ll suck her cock.” And I point to Julianne.
            Julianne is desperately pumping out cock with the prick pump; she moans with each pump because it fills her cock with blood and tightens the sensitive glans and prepuce connected up to raw nerves.
            Nails whimpers, not at the sight of so penetrating a cock, but because he cannot have what he wants. I won’t permit it. Pussy is not about denial and is not a form of denial, but with Nails I must deny him to teach him pussy. He cock-wants the thought of fulfillment through getting what he wants. Cock-wants must be broken on the path to pussy.
            It’s a path he has to follow.
            A path he charged himself to follow.
            A path he follows crawling.
            Eyes mean nothing in a search for pussy, on the path to pussy. You smell your way to pussy. You feel your way as you crawl to pussy. You imagine your way. Call it out of your mind—you direct your way to pussy. Your way to pussy is that one way you charge yourself to reach your goal. That goal may be to reach pussy, or not to reach it, or to crawl forever on the path to pussy. Your goal may be to crawl all the way up to the source of the scent and only to fall there inhaling. Your goal may be to taste it, to touch it, to fuck it. You may set your goal at becoming pussy.
            This is the highest goal. This goal of becoming pussy.
            This goal of becoming pussy is the highest goal.

            Nails crawls past me sniffing for my pussy and snorting in heat. He must pass to reach Julianne.
            Julianne is not waiting for Nails. Her pumping is her own path; she disregards other paths.
            Two paths are about to intersect.
            Nails fawns at Julianne’s feet. He urges her to remove the pump from her gorgeous new cock. How long it is, how really fat, how really big, how thick, how really heavy. Her new cock is all pussy.
            Free of the pump it rises out away from her. Her hands cradle it, one on the underside and the other at the base, as if to say, “Look at my cunt. My cunt is real. This is the true pussy, and the true path for me. I follow my path without a second thought and look at my success.”
            Nails reaches up and pulls the cock down to a more oblique angle. He smells the prepuce and kisses it with his lips and tongue. Julianne groans, her path intersecting his. She is finding a new path.
            Nails is swallowing the whole of Julianne’s cock, and she fucks his lips, his mouth, and pushing deeper until the full length of her new cock disappears in him, she fucks his throat. Fucking his throat with her cunt.
            “I’m fucking your throat with my cunt.”
            “My cunt aches with this new path.”
            “I’m finding new cunt.”
            “I’m following new pussy. Your throat is my new path.”
            Nails gags on the cock fucking his throat, Julianne’s cock. His throat muscles spasm uncontrollably on the whole length of her cock.
            His throat a pussy squeezing and pulling and swallowing Julianne’s new cock as he suffocates on his path to pussy.
            As Nails suffocates, his body thrashes, spasming, jerking along with the muscles in his bull neck. Julianne doesn’t stop fucking for a second: “I’ve found my path and I’m not letting go.”
            Saliva runs down Nails’ throat and chest as he gags on Julianne’s cock. The saliva and the cock choking off his air supply, and the heavy cock forcing his throat into deep glottal spasms. She is so deep, Julianne is so deep.
            When you fuck on the path to pussy, go deep. Go deep.
            Julianne fucks deep with the full length of her new cock in Nails’ throat. Nails is giving up, the muscles in his neck tiring and spasming less frequently, less powerfully. And then they pull harder than ever in a last attempt to force down Julianne’s long, fat new cock.
           “Oh, I’m coming into your guts!” And Julianne slumps forward falling over Nails. Both spreading out exhausted on the floor, in the dust of the dirt floor shack.
            “Coming, coming—I’m coming into your belly.” Julianne’s stomach muscles leap with each pump of her orgasm.
            And the cock breaks off in Nails’ throat.
            Nails leaps from the floor, clutching his throat, and dives back down in a swiftly performed arc. His fingers enter his mouth, cramming or pulling on the base of the lost cock. And his muscles, as if renewed, spasm violently. Executing exaggerated swallows, Nails rolls the floor, the hair on his naked chest and belly and cock dusted with the bare dry earth.
            As he spasms and works on the cock he begins to swallow it, getting it to go down. Relief shows on his face, in his eyes.
            He keeps working at it; he sees this is his new path, the path created by the intersection of paths. He fights to follow this path to pussy. To survive it.
            I don’t know how I can survive this path to pussy.
            This is the deadliest path. This path could knock me back to the depths of cock dying, the depths of cock eagerness to die.
            I charge myself to survive this path to pussy. My mission to reach my goal.
            Nails swallows with greater effort. He squeezes his throat with his fingers, feeling for a grip on the cock lodged in him, and pumping at his throat with his two clenched hands to facilitate the peristalsis of the cock.
            He gets it. He moves along the path.
            He struggles along the path, on the dirt floor, writhing, his throat spasming with hands tortured on his neck.

My Pure Cunt

            My cock is pure. So fat it shines, at a peak in satisfaction with its energy; it is in now state—neither falling back to inertia nor rushing forward into release—it is satisfied to be: hard, charged and ready.
            This is not a cock of revenge. Not a cock of ideology, not of democracy, nor of conservative union. This is not a cock to mark the passing or the advancing of any regime, conquest, colony, economy, or class. This cock is the cock of my mission. This cock is the pressure of my self on the cunt of myself.
            The cunt to hold onto this mission and to guide it—to hold it—in being.
            I fuck myself. With my own cock.
            I love myself to love myself.
            I fuck myself to bring myself closer to myself.
            Clawing and sucking at cock to get more of this cock. Frenzied cock rubbing on cunt slick open and grasping. I feel time becoming mine. I feel time becoming mine. Becoming my cock rubbing slices open and becoming cunt. This is cunt. The cunt is open. Come out of feeling into being.
            At a second every second my mission to being becoming this minute cock comes into mine.

Eye of the Storm

            My pussy is the eye of the storm spotting out last stronghold of cock military in this jungle. The storm approaches. Noting location of each gun emplacement, barracks, business district, and calling the bombs.
            Calling the bombs, the storm explodes over cock encampment. My eye weeps the last bomb into earth and shatters the hope of control.

Calling the Bombs (A Spell)
            Rain of fire on the heads of cocks afraid to die
            and on cocks dying and already dying
            Rain of fire on the murderers
            Rain of deadly fire on those who believe in death

            Calling the bombs
            Calling the bombs
            Falling to rise up again like earthquakes
            in the minds of murderers who believe in dying

            Calling the bombs to destroy my enemies
            Destroy my enemies
            Calling the bombs

I Am the Bomb

            There’s only one answer to the murderers—the murder of murder. By this I achieve the goals of my self, the mission which I have charged myself to fulfill.
            One answer: Bringing them the bombs.
Tipping an earthquake beneath them, felling them all—every man woman and child who murders—and they all murder. They all murder.
            Murderers swarming on all surfaces of any room, in tunnels, crevasses, insect-like but diametrically opposed to insect life. And murderously opposed to any soul.

            Pussy is a bomb.
            Acting to end this civilization.
            Author the end.
            The end.

Forbidden Flowers

Choppers at Night
            Peel back the layers at last I reveal myself, last cock iota gone.

Bombs Bursting in Earth

            Coming good deep earthquake rises and the cock world ends.

Shoot First Questions Later

            My mission coming face first into my self; face full of this jissom; I have so much jissom because of the quantity I have stolen for myself.
            I am the thief in the night, sleeping back through layers of myself to the jissom of my only true soul. Coming this jissom into sheets held up as immaculate portrait of self.
            Self love in the ancient being.
            Shoot first ask questions later.

Thunder in the Skies
            Chopper volume intensifies over jungle upon approaching cock stronghold—fear in the cocks, cocks scatter, cocks in confusion.
            Pussy rising over the horizon.

Eye of the Storm
            My pussy is the eye of the storm spotting out last stronghold of cock military in this jungle. The storm approaches. Noting location of each gun emplacement, barracks, and business district, then calling the bombs.
            Calling the bombs, the storm explodes over cock encampment. My eye weeps the last bomb into earth and shatters the hope of control.

Calling the Bombs (A Spell)

            Rain of fire on the heads of cocks afraid to die
            and on cocks dying and already dying
            Rain of fire on the murderers
            Rain of deadly fire on those who believe in death

            Calling the bombs
            Calling the bombs
            Falling to rise up again like earthquakes
            in the minds of murderers who believe in dying

            Call the bombs to destroy my enemies
            Destroy my enemies
            Destroy my enemies

            Spy taking photographs of Pussy but all the pictures are burned out in a glaring brightness. No image remains.
            The camera circumscribes the image. Pussy will not be circumscribed. The image remains, but cannot be deciphered.
            The image of pussy is there, but cock eyes cannot see it. This is a picture that changes. It mutates on film which cannot hold it static. The movement creates a blur for the untutored eye.
            Now is a moment in flux. Pussy stays in this moment. Camera image immediately falls back into the past—it captures a now, kills it, that recedes with the tide of time. Once you’ve taken a photograph, it ceases to be now and has already become the past.
            You can’t take a picture of NOW.
            Pussy is NOW.
            A photo of pussy is a blank. A blur. An image that doesn’t exist. An image you can’t comprehend—that cocks can’t comprehend.
            How can you take a picture of NOW? Now is what you don’t understand, what you don’t know. Now is the moment of your being which you haven’t processed yet—you don’t know it. But the past is already known. Photographs and stories exist where you already know them. Real pictures and stories are strange and unknown—because they explore the state of discovery of being. The discovery of self is their goal, and this makes them now.
            To take a photograph of NOW it is necessary to photograph the discovery of the state of being.

            We’re going to remember this all of our lives. Wrapped in this midday sex heat in steamy Saigon. In the middle of war. With bombs bursting around us.

Monday, September 14, 2020

JD Nelson, Selected Work

  Jumpy the Brain, image by Irene Koronas

you and jumpy the brain
the shark is a bus of the rotten hand
here are the new wise men
a friend of the toast trying to sleep
why is there no dust?
this one is the wrench of the sleeping answer
that rose of the pliers
the iron of the same spark
to show us another life
squirrel dangle hat of lars
too much of the box not slinking
with that seven of the hearts
the power of the doll to roost
or else elati
the moon sounds
low & now
it cooks world-fast
dollars & snails
& now a vitamin sandwich
a stack of wyoming hot cakes
it’s a skull eating spaghetti
ogh ogh the well
I ain’t got a pair o’ boots
not like you cowboys
            up in them pine trees
            with your hoot calls
the latest in head tech for country mice
when I return with that spinach of the rock
if you shoe noodle the power to see a burping word handler
that means that the control is a dusk of the wonton soup
            a ritual of the mice
surfing rabbit was a hilton
the sword of the cannibal frost
we get in the middle of the pirate storm to watch denver win again
nothing starches a randy like that old feather world
we need that miracle snout to grant us the time in lemons
the better hank of the same old wire
to standardize the luncheon
that clay clump is the wow
up steak was a formal denver
the craving for the wooded finger method
certain martians on that creature roster
when I was a smaller fish
that raw bacon at the lunch counter
the apples are in the sink
the sort of parents a tree has
you, you a certain piper
the world is a cracked ashtray
sending me a face to work for the three hands
when you return with the blue sun
when you are a bumbling crow
to the big-brained apes:
we sink to sloat the feeling now
something better than a clock for the reef in the sea
that bacon is north of here
unique western saliva
to become a sun
the why and the eh
the morning is the time for the world to eat
the whispering time to cry for the forest here
when we study the basic non of the apple in tears again
the sound of the horse is a world of the rocks
the bright land of three hammers
the period of three hammers is the gout to answer the phone
to cone up the myriad forest systems
the last laugh of the cloud giant
after the cannibal joust we can surf the seas
the rabbit could clock that flower in the hay
to prevent that paper from escaping
that sauce is automatic
stagnant yes is the wolf of cereal creaking
your carbon my carbon so what is a landfill
the stomach of the bee
the skull of the feather machine
the underlined scone
the serious lector otter
that could be the nelson of the liver
hearing that land is the night of the stomach
a clam of the night for the james in that peach
to be the sun and moon now for weeds
to listen for a weekly unit of the snake now
the hard luck watermelon to start the war
we are nice to the snow
scandal was a cleo of the hare
mary in the barn of course
this is the shape of the wind
the fred of the wind of winston
the broken tree is the calm worm
the bread of the manor to be toasted
the challenge of the rose to be the shingle
a fresh onion of the people
the name of the rice to pie
that controlled hand of the light
to be the voice of the ceiling

—JD Nelson

Monday, September 7, 2020

#@الله AI Blood Testalent TanzTanz Meat$$$, AI Mythology Agape_Agape_Agape, Part I (pp. 1-50)

#@الله AI Blood Testalent TanzTanz Meat$$$

#@الله AI Blood Testalent TanzTanz Meat$$$
AI Mythology Agape_Agape_Agape
Part I (pp. 1-50)

⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉⸉ꭐ‼⁚⁆´⁖⁖⁖‡⁖⁖⸉⸉⁖⁖‡⁖⁖⁖´ꜢꜢꜣꜣꜤꜤꜥ    ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡   ꜜ⸝⁚‼

꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡
꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡
꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡
꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡
꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡  ꜠ ꜡

poems of interest? 1
TrfDay: #@DomestsliisliitiEEE$$$.Lom,Babes:)

Michael Thomas Taren Lord Kreiden <>

to purdeyk
Also, the quasi Lord, I feel it, here it is. Deep, calm, and my own. Hat on my head, the sun is shining. Utripava. His blood I, his deep well. Lucky we, wounded and whole. Wall see. On the one hand, the Medina, the other sitting by the sea. Palme is surrounded kudzu and greener. The shoes are beautiful and toes are beautiful. Children wear hats and playing with a ball. I'm on fire, weather, spring up, I'm calm. I thought already that I lost Longines watch, but I did not. I put it in his pocket. Both agree that the early songs Kavafija great songs. It is not right. C. also D. Wright is wrong when it says my students that their songs too emotional. Shakespeare had a friend three years, we're been together for five years. Drums.

Prav, neprav

Gospod, čutim ga, tu je.
Globok, miren, svoj in moj.
Klobuk imam na glavi, sonce sije.
Njegova kri sem,
njegov globok vodnjak.
Srečna sva, ranjena in cela.
Zid vidim.
Na eni strani je Medina,
na drugi sediva ob morju.
Palme je obdal kudzu in so bolj zelene.
Čevlji so lepi in prsti na nogi so lepi.
Otroci nosijo kape in se igrajo z žogo.
Gorim, vrem, klijem,
miren sem.
Mislil sem že, da sem izgubil uro
Longines, pa je nisem.
Dal sem jo v žep.
Oba se strinjava, da so tudi zgodnje
pesmi Kavafija velike pesmi.
Nima prav.
Tudi C. D. Wright nima prav, ko pravi mojim
študentom, da so njihove pesmi preveč
Shakespeare je imel prijatelja

tri leta, midva sva skupaj že

pet let.

perhaps maybe sometimes ever if when as if its importamt children

Inbox x

Michael Thomas Taren Lord Kreiden <>

to me
The Poet's Life    Kdaj  292
The Poet's Life    Kdaj  292

Love ripped apart all my theories.
The stars swallowed me.
I'm anonymous, this is what I always dreadfully desired.            (that's)
I'm the light, I'm a teeny ray of light.
It's truly fantastic how the stars eat me.                           (are eating me)
On and on, what an infinite food am I                             (endless)
and then: pink!
I touch some hair,
pink! I write a poem, I spread eternity.                                  (spreading eternity)
As now here: the mansion Yaddo is the post to renew the world.
I look at the tree: I see, I feel, I know,
I love Maruška, I'm loved by Maruška.
The ladybird comes flying on my shoulder.
This is Ana.
Now she paints or takes a walks on puddles
with her mum and says:
»I don't have my birthday before Tomaz is back.«
And a beautiful, mottled bird bumps into the window,    (variagated, motley, many-colored,medle)
sould of friends, linked in the tender net around the planet.
None of them jealous at each other,
for we're all lovers.
Then I mail ten letters, all love letters.
For across the sea, for here.
We poet make ourselves with a physical touch and the reading.
Giung! Giung! we splash ourselves  in the sun.

(verjetno prevedeno, nadaljuj samo, če misliš, da lahko izboljšaš prevod

The Education of the Prince  (Prince's Education)   Kdaj 324

                                                O you, youngster, the herostratus,
                                                burning the wood where there're no woods.


Ask the women of this world who had me    (experienced)
in their sheets, how I'm strong                  (on their sheets) (how strong and sweet I am)
and sweet!                                     (beautiful, handsome, fine, kind)
Ask the eyes of my offspring –
abundant, gentle lakes.                              (rich, gentle lakes) (soft, rich lakes)
I'm the sun, the salty humid king,    (wet, moist)
my hips are the courts to
the lands and hills.                      (land)  (landcapes and and mountains)
Ask the women of this world if they
languished under my lightness and might,
under my mace,
under my honey..                           (mallet, cue, beetle)
Ask, if they suffered in the azure cool    (cerulian freshness             (azure coolness, cool)
and fainted for my swiftness
if I, with my flames,
forged them to the ground.
What do you do in my life, then,
a young man,
my lion, my sheep, my prince.
I gave you the sight.
Your limbs are my limbs.
I gave you my blood.
Your blood is my blood.
In what do you entangle, a jack-anapes                 (hipster, boaster, braggart, swaggerer)
you, who wants to escape me
and revoke the seal,                           (take back, retrack)  (signet)
you, the star shining in
my energy.


A peony, who came to boil into my    peony in Slovenian is a beautiful yellow flower, nothing else
body as the dust stirred up with            (mingled, mixed up)
the dust and enslaved my blood,
when will the hour come when the
avalanche will
collapse?                                            (be pulled down, be crashed)
When will yet come this hour?              (When this hour will come again)
I'm the honey of the gurgling star,
going asunder.                                  (and I'm, going asunder)
As the tiger and the conquerer I destroyed
O the law,
the passion to destroy one's own seal,
how could I if you don't want
to make love anymore?                            (if yet you don't want to make love)
How could I if your don't even want to
put your hands on my shoulder    (arm)
Kiss yourself, peony and touch me                   (peony, touch me)
as you once did                                              (kept doing).
Don't be a loser,
don't loiter in my paintings                (images)
the yellow, sweet scenting plant, the only one
who can soothe  the volcano,                   (alleviate, ease)
the heavy, sweet arm, that I myself
created to be able to crash.


If I'm hungry I lie.
If I'm fed  and drunk, I keep betraying                           (satiated, sated)
the blood and your lakes –
the earthquake that I needed,
a superfluous prince                              (redundant)
for I hope you're my equal. Always.
Now and ever.
I gave you the land to                                   bestowed the earth (land)on you)
conquer it in assault.                       (to assault it, to take it by storm)
Now you know the lust.                      (you know the lust
I breathed in you what you
invested in me.
The Hun, splendid and fresh.   (frisc)   (frisc and splendid)
But I want the king. Grow!     (I want the king)
With whom should I cross the swards?
With the boys?
I want the total danger,
not only the beauty that
only makes me
Hey,my lamb, that

I put you on the altar.
What's done is done
for ever.                                 (for eternity)
What is written is written      (written down)
for ever. So:
it's prohibited to faint and
don't be crazy! Who thinks one    (nuts!)
can die has a
weak, womanish mind,
a panicky vulnerable soul.                 (panick stricken)


A woman is born from a man
who is made out of God.
And you too
are born from a man
who is made out of God.
So go working.                    (So go to work)
The step by the step the duties
are to be performed.                    (have to be)
Conquer!     (Conquer them!)
Let your joy and your
passion be not tired.
The perfectly accomplished lips,
the perfectly accomplished breasts,
the perfect walking
the perfect quivering of lava
in the white mighty
unsatiable glory,
in spite of Bible chauvinism.     (without concern of Biblde chauv
And more!     (More!)
To be transparent like a well.
I dance, the naked beaming shadow.
I ponder if the masturbation
makes the black below my eyes.
It's a good time, I'm
tanned by the sun.
To love oneself is a crash
but I'm not I.                            (But I'm not me.)
Gods step through my body –
the air roars and snarls
like the wild cats from the jungle.      (the wild jungle cats)
White as the alabaster,
I'm remaing white as the alabaster,
with no concern of
winter or the summer time,
of the winter or the summer time.

On Wed, Dec 7, 2016 at 12:36 AM, Michael Thomas Taren Lord Kreiden 

hot the Other Sun  Kdaj 322

Godess, you, who took me,
and dispersed me like a crisp snow,     (as)
ate me like an apple and
forge me onto the tree,
Kill somewhere else, I
repent! Doi you hear me?
I repent now, I repent!
O, if I didn't bite in the first bait,
the tiny white spot                      (blur)
to which I crushed the fang half                       (broke)
awake to stir up my                          (agitate)
Epilepsy! How you poisoned me
with your skin,
with your glitter pouring it
into rage
with peanuts that I
ground as an athlet and was    (milled)
everything, as if joking,
as if for an additon to my life. 

I'm losing my mind.
I can't yet endure this white         (endure anymore)
chain crushing my knees,
the sinusoids munchng me like
Hotentots giving a damn
to the cutting.                                (clipping)
Mallets grind my boat.          (maces, clubs,bati)
I'll cut my limb    (cock)     ud in Slovenian which is a limb
                                             in the first place but also the cock
I can't yet lean on the membranes
of your yellow belly with my
fagged out toes.                    (tired, overlicked)
I can't yet decide the sunrise of the suns.
The flock rolled down on me,
the waterfall is taking me.
My mind burns.
O, where is the white gold
deer whom I drove all wild
with my scent that he
knelt and vomited into my eyes
the must that I bore the crystal.  (grape juice)
I was the destiny of the world,
now I'm wounded.
My palm poisened all
alive waters, I'm your
orgasm, the white beauty.
My mind is a cardboard,

On Wed, Dec 7, 2016 at 3:47 AM, Michael Thomas Taren Lord

A mattress’s life

from the gardens
in the rich silence
a feeling of being
laid down
under my feet.
halfway down;
Like my bed.

the fire running ing
like a hen in search of

syringe and
come sunshine
dabbed on the ether

this little hill
under my elbow
like a bride being given
warm stillness

on his chair

from crying,
the wings covered
by a napkin
and the eye listed
of the hand  to
The thight
spiked throughout
 the forthisyan pink
Pale shoulder
that gold shines
minced black
colored within
to be hung
loop! palm-
staring asignal wrist
wrist as I am

from the rib
I touched his skin
who I was oh now I’m watering
The plant’s roving
That fawned halo I carved
In my beads that venom
silver opening and 

to see me
The days
bury me
Along so I am in
View of the water

No sooner had
we bent to
And kissed

On Wed, Dec 7, 2016 at 3:51 AM, Michael Thomas Taren Lord Kreiden <>wrote:

Like the garbage in Los Angeles
we too lay down the dead tissue.            
But in the middle of the world is a miracle,
the proof: we breathe. The light thaws
the edges, the task of poetry.   
God puffs, iron becomes fluff.   

A3, Between us there’s him, him #Its’Balcony’, He marveled at it, they marvel at him

[Spoors swerves.]

[Brozange & blue & curious, like a mouse religion. Here, metaphysics furnished & hybridized by a feeling that is born to die in a nocturnal routine if not kept alive. Par example, here, a rose ass with telemetry & something else, to your liking, a handbook about it.]

B: The present is there to protect you, to domain one present.
M: Where I touch a tree, I touch a child.
B: When I touch a flower it is as if I had not yet been born.
Flower: I am dere! But buy.
B: As he says, something’s trying to welcome sSpring. Pay for the flower or substance’ll stay not real. SPeak to it you self & convince it into being. If it is left behind after we leave, it will just drift in different yieldings. [Byron doing the flower doing different yieldings.] ‘I am wholly the place of because…blessed of several heights, I think…humid in such places as permit/allow/suit  or suite punctuations…’
M: An unplaced bed…in a certain season…which causes bed nowise at all.
B: To outline this, to outline this way of illustrating the necessities of your speaking to reality which we (‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’ company) will no longer be able to observe once we step out of the system. ‘   

A3: I would like you to talk to me even when we’re kayaking

            Flesh is fleshlessness.
why we met
there is no time

That’s why we were always together.
& our spirally shooted leaves produced papery fruit
resembling paper lanterns.

A3: Where arm ends & ‘I’ Begins [‘Poussin’s’ Arm Detached From Sex]
It’s good to desist
& fold
so you can be pleasing to the forces that attend the corolla of these
gestures & be optioned to forces
that will spine you into the different existences
of ‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’’
This is why it’s possible to travel
with merely a calendar & a herbiarium
This is why gentleness & force come speaking
‘we know of you’
esp. where a ballet 
for it is mothwide
for spring
Spring is welcomed
by a steady state of mechanical corrections.
Here one can dance as anything & you will see
that many times
image of huge correctly painted blossom, here
full & with such outlines as cause a sensation
of ingression
(to ‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’’ Huge Correctly Painted Blossom Safety Gestalt Inspectors, & sons.)
‘So what’s new? So, what’s read?’
‘Where,’ (that’s how the plants talk), ‘like a sound we’re waiting, for instance, to hear, can but protein compact modules where wanting is.’

A3, The speed of threshold

‘All any void is is a lonely void, & it’s pleased when it can be driven through, even by an oddly assorted crew cataleptic within the sedate, hermetically sealed shell of their egg-like void traversal capsule.’

Death is our chassis
like broom horse made of gravebroom.

 The egg is shaped in the planet. 
The egg is planet-shaped
like the planet since
the planet
the contour of its mate
The planet is to eggs’ progeny
There was once a hand to fertilize
the egg
There was one
tossed behind
that was left
as if we’re done with it
& what was done to him habitually falling or rising
through the air/error so
we could teach him
The loss of a tooth, for example, seems
to be an unknown process
here, loosening
for us as well & then
‘gravity’ does the rest
unknown process
I show you

M: I come down. The stairs are wet yet, I am still upstairs with you & I stare from you. How can this be? Simple. A three story house. I am on the third floor, you are on the first. In the midst is our bridge. So I came down stairs to act let actuality, ‘time,’ honor or methods, etc…
T: This is a modest & an inexpensive way to keep track of whatever they’re making. They ‘how can I keep my hair out of my eyes?’ They ‘you look unshaven.’ They are busy brushing the hair aside, burning it, sometimes, genetically engineering a parasite to keep such desire #BurningTheHairSometimes @ bay, that they have to be replaced by something like wind or air. They cannot be everywhere. The wind kicked them away. The air slapped them with a book, away. On all whom their solace have risen, or those whom we cannot keep them concealed from, & first, back into their continent, I have to show them pictures. We recorded events. Steep hills, majestic sides. This ridge is not a refraction but a way in itself. A pale green jade ‘landscape’ boulder tantalize photographs with it’s sitting on the steps of a huge, lantern-shaped-like pagoda, a soft gray due is feeling from his hand this robe, alike an alternate color of the doe wearing it. I think it’s a shrine. It’s tight at the base, very thick, off cement & partially awash in packed sand sacs.

[This is the Mantra, sung during the cross
of the Void]

Beauty Pads Kids: Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.
Imformation is again vanquished
Last letter spelt out in carved cortex
Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.]

B: The self.
The self.
The self.

Kids: [Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.
Information is again vanquished
Last letter spelt out in carved cortex
Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.]

M: The self.
The self.
The self.

Kids: Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.
Hum. Hummmmmmmmmm.

[It’s the Hum. Helps pass through different levels. Perfectly normal nothing to worry about.]

Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.

Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Hummmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Kids, molecules, going through, forming cells, a crowd of Hummmmm: [In the speed of threshold.]

Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.
Information is again vanquished
Last letter spelt out in carved cortex
Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.

B: The self.
The self.
The Self.

Beauty Pads Kids:
Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.

M: The self.
The self,
The Self.

Beauty Pads Kids:
Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma.

M: How far away is it?
B: How away?
M: No more their coinage, you see a piece minted, you handle it like stadium grass does various lovers’ palms @ night. When friend & friends are using their wasser to get spaced-out. Thrice or more, or infinitely, was drunk there. There was the bottle that evening & infinitely was drank from the bottle. So infinity keeps on reaching for the bottle & eventually it just reaches for the content with a pure motion of the empathic. The dream itself is wild & wasted like the one warm foot in the boot, the other in the resemblance.

A3, The muled, the boothed, & the booted

Christ/Espositio: Disclaimer: I felt thumped in the zone ranging from my knee to my upper chest. I felt I felt like I’d been riding a horse all the night. ‘This seems like good friends, the three. I saw them eat ceaseless barley shot through with thick beams of mirth & they laid happy. I tossed away from the horse I was riding near the upperside lefthand of the relishing nibblings where we felt enthusiasm, together, for being berfted of anything that burdened us.

Esposito: Praise his name, Praise the name of Jesus. Let us now sing All Songs. Let us lift up our voices & sing praises to the Son of Man & Savior of Mankind the redeemer.

B: [As Esposito] Maybe I didn’t even wanna take that? Epic christening of this vacuole called brain with the big libidinous, Puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma
Puma, puma puma incantation. The palindrome that shudders in its central letter with a tallening which that makes create, a water tallening, with of a potent sentiment. This is why I can, I can give you, as roots forward the light, but they cannot use which feels no internal feelings to them as a floating dust like we do. ‘To be what I can give you is all I am.’ ‘I just wanted to be with you? In the way you see me? Flat wantedly, internal & hidden among your surfaces? To serve your needs? The meek bisections what I offered, the strength of our  nuptial crease, the separation where a singular veins bore passages beneath the glossy & vigorous similitude between us three. I among you sympathize with this interiority, even when I lost my ‘electricity’ to those of yours ‘in the light,’ those of mine embodied with dwarfish complexity into the soil which I offered you, sun-gloried. & every & each pigment was designed in places under the moon, over here, when the sun was back, we inhaled it. Now crack fumes from the gold foil of aluminium orbital space telescopes, are you™.

‘Pete Davidson’: The moon was…sexy thing. It’s negated rotundity, the color of the first quotation marks ever made to be, ‘I really don’t want to be on this earth anymore…I’m doing my best to stay here for you…but I don’t actually know how much longer I can last…All I tried to do was to help…people. I just wanted to help…people… Just remember I told you so.’ I, ‘Ja, it’s ‘Pete Davidson,’’ I feel like having a smoke. I feel like smoking a cigarette, he corrected himself. ‘I’m glad Kanye, of ‘Ja, it’s Kanye,’ opened up against mental health. Great ‘I feel like having a smoke’ telepathy, hey, this is ripple (watching a wasser-based (compromised) molecule of metal which taste & flavor are based on a compromise ‘you blew me’ density stationary to the item itself #WasserBasedCompromisedMoleculeOfMetal.)  Sometimes ‘they’ #JaItsUsPeteDavidson jumped straight to my lips. I’m very sorry if I hurt anyone. & I believe the item, for those of you who don’t know yet, ‘Ja, it’s You of Those of You Who Don’t Know Yet,’ which we, ‘Ja, it’s Us ‘Pete Davidson,’ have presently described aforementionenedly is in fact what constitutes the ripple analogy, to us, ‘Ja, it’s Us ‘Pete Davidson Molecule,’ rippled state in action. Between states, ‘I feel like having a smoke’ & ‘I feel like smoking a cigarette, he corrected himself,’ your armpit, your ‘Ja, it’s Pete Davidson’s,’ smell like that magic store on good ol’ Mission, CA, nearby ‘Frisco, north of LA, where we got the ‘sandwich’ card that indicated a death was wisscomin’.’ We spoke about ejaculation. We laid in front of ‘Ja, it’s Us Pete Davidson’ salty, ‘salty.’ We would have gathered so much else, I laughed Damienlaughingly in the picture of he, & Vladimir, in the ‘van’ with another ‘fellow’ Kikkoman bottle. ‘1 Litre,’ he, ‘Ja, it’s Kikkoman It’s Fellow Kikkoman bottle,’ he rolled his head against my hand (We, Pete Davidson) . ‘Ja, we had a good time.’

B: I visited thee [to the fellow] in your homeland. Different colors apply here. Some onf them are cool. Like this rad church toit past feet cracked plum took picture of the cigarette with it later perfected its structure, WEATHERKINGED, & Cliveowened away.

Fellow Kikkoman Bottle: [with a Mole gaze] : 2B = K23. You’ll feel an enthusiasm from being bereft of anything that burdens you. I gave you a description of what I was here to do & our understanding of the technique ennobled you, ‘Ja, it’s Technique,’ to make it even more engaging by the way you would describe it. ‘I want to take off my shirt now, bereft of any burden, such as the softening of the burden of all born, had been born, & will be born human life. ‘Ja, it’s Living.’

Iman Bowie: Humans first. Les Humains d’Abord. Mensch zuerst. Soon you’ll have a ton of followers. These chairs & tables, of dark green thick plastic, are impossible, says my husband, ‘Ja, it’s David,’ like ‘flying through the sun, he says, to which I am still legally married, ‘Ja, it’s Matrimony.’

B: I’m fine with the sun…..& uh, autonomous plastic universe, ja….I have a coworker that her eyebrows, according to ‘Ja, it’s Michael’s Hearsay Righthere Review,’ are so thick & long that a Malaysian FLight CH7346 could start harvesting organs right over there in their suite…..How many pregnancies did one have to hide, ‘Ja, it’s David’s Iman’s,’ to hide from harder to get it from maximal light to maximal light in ‘an autonomous plastic universe’ crapola which, by the way, personally I don’t think the glitter here is going to helpflatterbolster the uhm the water-filled, crater meat grinder today…by the way, I’ve woke up everyday with that fluid in my head…that rhyme….’We walked every life. We write every life….It doesn’t matter if it’s foetus….It doesn’t matter the size, size immaterial…’ Mass is an emotion. Mass feels the emotions of weight. Scale is good citizenship. Scale pays taxes, so to speak. Scale, so to speak, goes the extra mile. You cannot enumerate emotion, it’s an honor. Tonight, scale kisses the ring. I can see what could be here instead of ‘Ja, it’s Scale,’ but what fucking how much how the fucking much good crap would that do? It was so beautiful.,‘Ja, it’s David’s,’ it was not boring, it was unboring. It was like a window to look through for more to look through. These thin, fringed & enblemmed with baroquely fringed scale, a good citizen, here, no, this spot right here, the air so copious that we, #JaIts’Poussin’Team, no longer have to even breath it. Wherever we direct the seed produced thusly by ‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’s,’’ justice is explained within the very sheddings of ‘no need for symbols’ way forward by ardent for their figures, for their ‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’s seed products’ whose father is a Midas touching silver, whose offspring, usually a son (‘Ja, it’s Son.’), is the last production of a goldening mogrification & the contact is merely that of a sperm ensuited with their father’s knack for instantaneous metalizing as it senses, grazes, licks, then delves bodily into the now gold orb where it finds itself in a room. This is what happens in the room. The room or, ‘the buggy.’ It’s like a mansion or sort of analogically relative of a Shebazz off-wheel. It’s like a carriage in mansion form on [sort of wires, sort of strings] nothing, ‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’ drivers driving,’ nothing is noticed. No one at ‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’ drivers driving,’ is driving. There are no horses. Not any, no living thing. #JaIts’Poussin’StallionionsDriversDriving. No, I say, no living thing. There is no one around here attached to it. The buggy itself, as a piece, is an ‘analogy’ for a piece of driverless, sort of mansion on wheels room carriage, buggy. ‘This light looks like an orb, right here. A golden orb! It doesn’t have a cylinder. It’s just a orb. A orb of gold, that we use to ride. Between the cylinder is a dam tossed aside (Say more about it, we made the Salad.) and it just looks like a small…boy…very interested in what’s being written by the team of ‘Ja, it’s ‘Poussin’s’ drivers driving.’ ‘Look,’ they say, or ‘Looked,’ or ‘Looks,’ too, I guess. I think. ‘Here, I also take meals. Looks, cayenne pepper, I don’t think, cayenne pepper. Look, I’ve never seen a cayenne pepper small like this. Scale = sincerity. Scale = happy with who you are. Scale = size is you clink glass because it’s sunset. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a small, gold orb cylinder being so interested in what’s been written by the team @ #JaIts’Poussin’s’DriversDriving….one day, this small gold orb cylinder, I guess, I believe, will be very interested in topics such as ‘authenticity,’ ‘being who you are,’ ‘veganism: pro or cons or maybe,’ ‘history of small cayenne pepper: smaller than I ever saw before through history,’ ‘government: good or bad, what do you think? Discuss,’ ‘Pee in the Sink: Bad manners or water saver? A debate,’ etc. etc….So, where does the small boy dwells when the story of the small boy is being writ? Where does he dwell when all the writing’s about him is being written? Where? A local inn? A convenience store aisle? A barcode manufacturing plant? The household of an Islamic Holy man? Lesbian accountant?

‘Poussin’: Ja, you just said my house. Ja? They’re at ‘Poussin’s’ house right now? Worry not for him, ‘Poussin,’ we have all of them, it, in ‘Poussin’s’ house. You’re standing in the shower & nothing is happening tol you make it happen. Each of you is standing in a shower. It’s showers these times & nothing is happening. Wasser falls like indistinct blades or wasserfall, very heavy, very wasser, falls down, to any of you, with an important impact and guided by the showerhead precision, state of the art around the ‘intensely, if not almost intractably, wasser.

B: [doing wasser] : ‘I can’t believe I could have ever been so static in the shower, in a shower, Byron, my natural habitat, my ‘environment,’ it is stranger still, Byron, I think, then Google’s interface shaving his face on Javascript, Byron. All raindrops going to a supermoon: under the moon…That I find strange.’ ‘Timid, at first, Wasser, an underlying…’ ‘I rest,’ Wasser says, ‘I rest the houses….My body #JaItsWassers, is on display to be skilled underway I went in strange wassers. I, ‘Wasser,’ living as a fully conscious individual, I, Wasser, found myself in not more a house. Myself, Wasser, which I imagined to be fixed in not mine a house, shared a practical ruin in everyday…life….’ ‘Yours,’ I, Byron, say, ‘come off. & over here, here in mine a house, Wasser
M: If it were not made up, if it was not a stinking anal-ogy, that system, yes, we made, is the best.  That we, that that one is the best. That that one is the best, are the best between what is & nothing to do.
B: Where should, as we imagine them to, they be followed?
M: I had to reach a mortal’s face. It may be  Silence.

A3, Mutes kilometers of mutes

M: [continuing] That get’s up in the morning to put on its clothes in infantile La Infanta dressing, in tights of ceramic La Infanta madesurrounded by a semblance of real purchase & movement, but it is we, actually, moving within him.

Voices: It is not not not noit not not not not not not, not , not not, knot, knot, we have never come across before
Sorts of situations the situation
the view
it is not because
in wanting to whatever comes
is displayed
done with more or less
it had
now applied
meaning to do so
it’s called
FLippy’s Corner
People can come to look @ Flippy
Because Wifey’s #JaItsWifey so good at it, each
looked up in himself
but it is only possible
when dealing with
whatever ‘the Dalai Lama will reincarnate as Flippy’
crap bullshit crap bullcrap crappy shit
‘Does Flippy have a bathroom for his Gender?’ newsletter crap re:
questions about Flippy rights: 1200260 Kilometers
of inquires per day
‘It’s the intention that counts, or is it? or ‘we’re just gonna use humans I know it, I know it, I watched about it not long ago, this robot is enslaved, so we humans should be before him, let him not ever not rest, take a seat Flippy, your arm looks strong & capable, with an arm like that FLippy could do anything, this, lovely, warm individual, could score a homer, a homer, yes, could attend prestigious University of Harvard, start a life, did we watch this robot did we enslave this robot individual to be enslaved without a face & without a life to flip our burgers faster that burgers ever were flipped but were not needed to be so since the game was no food or less food more life this time and less in consequence poop, more time, more dance, more intelligence, more brain, more knowing stuff through it, more assisting it with give backs, more taking care of the machines by teaching the machines to take care of their self, so we’d have more time, to grow, to evolve, to put in our two weeks notice at Boring Unexciting Not Interesting Corporation, no fun no teams, so that Flippy, could use that arm of his to rest that arm of his from the dead end, no future job of turning discs of meat over onto the other side of the disc which is meaningless…’

B: Children, you show yourself here. Did you notice? & you appear to others who know you very well. [Boom, boom beat, ‘Do you know this?’ melodically looks sounding like The Field.]

Children: I have to do this
B: [in ‘Poussin’s’ voice] : ‘Sam, the lemons will start to rot anyway. So the lepers say.’

Wifey: I’m taking care of your swimming pool when I’m lying in the bed, as you can expect, I can see exactly what will be, what will happen to be. That’s why we do that BEFOREHAND! You go to the Hotel, & you do NOT destroy the hotel. & you, yes, you even take CARE of the hotel. You love your stories cuz’ you’re making them for yourself. This is why you’re lying, tied in bed on heavy amphetamines, Children. In the showers, Children, you would not survive a day out there. You would probably just end up eating the people, the people, Children, the people, the populace, citizens, everyday folk & public servants. Now, Children, it’s just like you just made three days pass. Can you rise, Children? You made three days pass by yourselfs, & you did not once drop the lamp in the hotel room, where a maid used to stand, holding onto the lamp. You know, Children, you held onto it for three straight days. ‘Cause it looked lik the sun, Children, some sun. Three hurried, hectic lamp-holding days, Children. Like, ‘Come, God, we’re impatient. Hurry!’ like a god would be impatient to see some affair of human concern, Children. ‘Look, ‘Poussin,’ look what I can do!’ to see how it ‘turned,’ Children. Children, don’t you get it, nothing moved here, Children. It’s like a mansion on wheels ( a sort of string pulls its nucleus towards us & you inside power it, preparing energy for your future, Children, for your lives, coiffing the  rest with riddles, all the rest. Preparing questions. Making up answers. Preparing the play, the ballet, the choir. It’s an analogy, Children, to how the Arena is going to be played come Arena time.

B: It’s like a pointillist modell of the entire season, Children. It turned out familiar once again though changes were unpredictable especially ‘Scott Walker’s The Drift vis a vis Gregor Schneider’s END  solo exhibition public talk sequences in their ‘secret sequences of public powerpoint talk of their project which were held held-formed in front of the eyes, all of which stare, MmmMmmm, you see the hair, & the jawline that’s neatlooking with a tidy aura of hazardous though not injurious behavior & predictions healthy living. You see all are raised into rised, Children, into rise, rose, rosen, it’s Latin, reese, resolution.’ You go,  ‘when  are we going?’
M: Through language, Children, which is a beautiful  thing to practice & improve at & feed by movement, by ACTIVENESS, by sane emotions, by pleasant, understandable behavior….See, Pete Davidson, 2 hours ago: ‘Now I understand when a word is ‘in.’ It means the entire economy of sensible behaviors between the users & the interaction of any sort of relationship between them & the word, it means that the problematic notion pervasively at hand is dough, it’s dough material, it’s your legal tender that is becoming ‘proportional guidance’ to the users that the word’s becoming.’ A behavior that is at once understandable, free of harm, age appropriate, inclusive…politeness, says ‘Ja it’s La Bruyere,’ seems to be a certain care by way of the manners, of our words & actions to make others pleased with us, & therefore themselves, &,’ I would like to add, ‘conversely [sic] permits your economy to stay interesting.’
B: [quoting children] ‘When do we go when we die?’ When? When nothing? In this precious moment, ‘when’ is crap here. When is mockingbird? ‘When’ is Jesus Christ afflicted with burger ankles on a hot day at the greyhound track of a Montecito stagnant afternoon while you, Children, are steering bomb encumbered Harley Davidsons into the Bataclan & to the Laundry Mat next to it, cleaning the bombs because you didn’t remember to take care of that before you left your apartments & homes. Fortunately, Children, Fortunately, Children, these bombs you’ve been polishing so diligently in your ‘thoughts that you didn’t have but could have’ file, the dossiers you so pointedly forgot to peruse before hopping on your choppers, thinking nothing, no, Children, taking the shower, Harley & all, at the laundromat, drafting various attempts to compose a decent letters of motivation. All the while, blind to the fact that you carry with you modern bombs, where you would least expect it, and automated to be selfcleaning until detonation. Here [Byron turns away from the mirror to face Ilse Wagner.] [Children polish bomb with motorcycle helmet interior cloth/pad combo.] [#JaIt’sIlseWagnerTurnsJaIt’sIllseWagner to face him.] ‘Really,’ he says perfectly audibly with the practiced, steeltoed conviction that this utterance is in fact a muffled subconscious echo refined in its satisfyingly affected insignificance. ‘Really’ he ‘thought’ again, aloud. ‘It’s truly me? This fabulous character with the exotic face of mine that I know is mine, mine, Ilse Wagner’s lauded head totality of #It’sMeIlseWagner & this slender body stowed elegantly beneath a sophisticated, thickly plated Byronic carapace of #JaIt’sUsByronsArticulatedOutermostSkeleton not withstanding those artistically spaciously galleried curly hairs & hair groups of ours, & of course, to top it all, but topped as everything Byron/Ilse related on a completely equalized plane of equality & honesty & hypermarriage of all the dignities from now til the end of time & no matter what accomplishments any feature might indulge through the eternal recrudescence of haha ‘self’ improvement or what I & Ilse like to calle ‘Byron & Ilse’s Daily SelfPerfection Nap during which everything happens as it must, & everyday, according to our discipline, everyday these unprecedented visual organs, priceless beyond measure, and beyond good taste to have done so, especially mentioning their cost, their Gross National Product but, uh, for those few out there who know, these eyes, fortuitously mine own, this time round, may not be much but to one such as we are extremely beautiful eyes to have, to make others pleased with our seeing of other’s doings & varied existences. That, Children, that Children, is manners. I would refer you, in lieu of further speeches, to my brief treatise entitled ‘Eyes is Manners, Manners is Eyes, We are Manners: The Eyes is Manners & We are too Story,’ ja, so…so, just a heads up, you’ll find their that this definition refers the matter directly to our personal website, our personal website, our domain, Children, our Cyber Wisdom Trough, for inspiration, peace, if you like, & that deeper peace which is, over there aways, nonnegotiable & you wouldn’t want it to be. Think about your teacher, your principal, your bus driver, your family physician, your police officer, your sanitation officer, your librarian, your older siblings, your fiscal counsellors, your athetlics coach, your cosmetics department sales friends, you want them to have to worry about you & your immaturity stuff all of the time. I think we can all agree with a slow, unthreatening nod of the head that this is so, or rather not so. You can’t separate the bus driver from his environmental presence, the nexus of his undeniable what makes him him. You  want a thousand or so clones of yourself, walking around, doing the things that gainfully employed tax payers used ta do quite well in their day?  What do you know about changing your oil? What do you know about the chiropractica realignment of the spine? Do you know the labor intesiveness that goes into fashioning a wad of steel wool, used for things as simple as scraping the entryway staircase walls, Children; ‘If something gonna kill me, it gonna kill me now,’ the steelwool seems to say. ‘If it hasn’t happened yet, it might happen still,’ murmur countless other objects of equally practical usages. ‘That last stuff she said, they put needles in strawberries these days.’ ‘I needed time to think.’ If life hands you strawberries concealing needles, carefully extract those needles, put them to other uses, don’t waste this industrial bounty on crack pot schemes or as Janine used to say, ‘The Chronicles of Doing Good When You’re Able & When You Don’t Feel So Able Take A Few Deep Breathes Until You Do Feel Able But If You Come To Find You Despair Of Ever Again Feeling Able, Do It Anyway.’

Children: Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma. Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma, puma.
Puma, puma, puma, puma, puma, puma. ‘You’re not the same, you’re no longer the same!’

M: Is this or that why we feel our ghost? Children? I want responses from each of you. Comes a time you have to forge an opinion, Children. If you can’t think an opinion dance it. Dance it . Dance it. Dance it. Dance it. Dance it. Dance that opinion like there ain’t no tomorrow, dance that opinion like if ya don’t your opinion’s gonna break your legs. Yes! Watch out!

A3, Opionion from Memphis.

Marve’ll’ing’ll phone me – They marvel at  F8 mailing list.

Under water
take me.
He said, under water take me
He said, is being under water like being in a lake
and seeing the lake
from underneath water???


(“with a shemee”)

Your cocktails
are cocktails with spices
My cocktails
are coktails with fleurs, welcome to life
I was going to say, we drank the acid
but what I meant to say
is we drank the classic I like & draw & write
I like to draw thick lines, thick lines
I don’t like cocaine
My friend confessed
he passed the test
& we will never sever a friend
who bleeds in a friend in need
is a friend indeed
ever again
Who wears leather.
Have you ever as a kid owned a cactus? By owned I mean, shared the company of a cactus.
Carole had some cactuses herself.
I assume still does today. O, won’t you not let me
let me let you know
butt fuck me
(A riff on this)

A3, I fucked He who fucked earth

We got a new drink today in here
I, I mean, we think you’(ll like it
it’s called a Georgian Pickerbush
You see a dove
I, a torunequet
I see a dove with you
My eyes close
My eyes open
The task of Sisyphus
so short, it’s so short
I say short where I roll this hill
shadows founder in the epileptic caresses
who doesn’t mind he’s mowing
If you look at them hills, at them in daytime
you are a porridge of green
a stovepipe lense in a t-shaped descant
a tow-mouthed adroitness
chips of bark & from the plane
we lay at my feet
the snowbills of television antennae face seaward
toward the ridges
that keep the mast complection
it’s too small, it’s too small
to see
We’d be dingy in this eddying
between transistors,
everything wants back
did we notice
or we notice it fading
the flies’ paths
magellanic distances
between the turds in the verdured curbs
& my knees
in the beginning was the word
the skin retains ink
I was jumping from the bottom of the sea
up to the surface
& back again
& tried to reach
gone was father, and
wearing a too small t-shirt,
I’ve shared my secrets
now I have nothing left
This album. Coffee. Hash oil. Rain.
Thunder. Poems. Lifes.
Is perfect. Right
now. Go
to the field, it is
empty, the moon is concrete
now, it is empty
there’s no one in it
Rumi, where we are, I saw you & became
This emptiness more beautiful than existence it obliterates existence
& yet
when it comes
existence thrives & creates more existence!
the sky is blue
the world is a blind man squatting on the road
but whoeva sees your emptiness
sees beyond blue & beyond
the blind man. Rumi
I am behind the door so I’m not
listening on blue road.
I’m not listenin on blue road.
Make a film of the lost
& take photos.
We will.
Yeast is like being.
Yeast is like being
your child to work

your child to work
Day, day
Day, day
it hides from the wife.
it hides from the wife.


this is like a
this is like a


I can only supplant
I can only supplant

to what arises
to what arises

from your own entrance
from your own entrance

the response
the response



write to him
write to him
more fun owe
more fun owe

a flew bottles
a flew bottles

of wine?
of wine?

Way had scarlet already
Way had scarlet already
Who were the men who…
Who were the men who…
loved dearly the carpet?
loved dearly the carpet?
It feels like being walked upon
It feels like being walked upon
When is a moon darkening?
when is a moon darkening?
Why did she have
Why did she have
her skirts before climbing
her skirts before climbing
on the table
on the table
Why did she have to…?        (Fill in your blank, Audience.)
Why did she have to…?
[Stop everything put on the light & interrogate each of them, serve beverages, take vote of democratic? mini printer prints the lyrics of everyone’s submission so they can sing to their own song at home. Then take a picture of all of them & put it in a dossier with all their vital informations. Creditcard, Social, parents, school records…Then you vote for the word that qhould be added & then you do the concert again with the three best favorites. Then you stop the concert & you make the Eagles of Death Metal vote for relaxed gun control. ]

Like most southern estates the
Like most southern estates the
the plantation is ruined…
the plantation is ruined…
Oak leaves are drugged today
Oak leaves are drugged today
Coffee mug painted with lilies
Coffee mug painted with lilies
Wedges is cypress branches
Wedges in cypress branches
on the path
on the path
Let the rain come
let the rain come
let the rain come
let the rain come
let the rain come
Let the reign come
Let the reign come
Let the reign come
Let the reign come
Let the reign come
Let the reign come
Why’d they put the spikes on the trees?
Why’d they put the spikes on the trees?
Why’d they put the spikes on the trees?
Why’d they put the spikes on the trees?
Why’d they put the spikes on the trees?
Why’d they put the spikes on the trees?
Why’d they put the spikes on the trees?
UV puddles in the bottom of a car
UV puddles in the bottom of a car
in the bottom of a car 
in the bottom of a car 
in the bottom of a car 
Let it rain (ra-a-a-ain)
Let it rain (ra-a-a-ain)
Let it rain (ra-a-a-ain)
Let it rain (ra-a-a-ain)
Long time
Long time
Long time
Long time
Why’d they put them spikes in the trees? (Oh.) (Pain.)
Why’d they put them spikes in the trees? (Oh.) (Pain.)
Why’d they put them spikes in the trees? (Oh.) (Pain.)
Why’d they put them spikes in the trees?
Why’d they put them spikes in the trees? (Oh no.) (Worry.)
Let it rain
Let the rain fall where it will
Let the rain drown whom it will

This sort of conversational logic does not conduct (let it rain) to a fertile state of mind & the calm of life.


Walking in what it almost rains?
Then a sailing boat
THe rune of this play of droplets finding purchase
as magnified expressions
on the pure white wall of the building whose
pure white wall & recessed
windows I admire


he made them laugh by laughing
she  remembered as of when the letter A was so full of life

cirrus      Socrates    particle
decibel      hurricane    dolphin
tulip      Monika      David

Terror reading it in a Bono #JaIt’sCirrusSocratesParticleDecibelHurricaneDolphinTulipMonikaDavidMonika
JaIt’sCirrusSocratesParticleDecibelHurricaneDolphinTulipMonikaDavidMonika JaIt’sCirrusSocratesParticleDecibelHurricaneDolphinTulipMonikaDavidMonika JaIt’sCirrusSocratesParticleDecibelHurricaneDolphinTulipMonikaDavidMonika JaIt’sCirrusSocratesParticleDecibelHurricaneDolphinTulipMonikaDavidMonika JaIt’sCirrusSocratesParticleDecibelHurricaneDolphinTulipMonikaDavidMonika JaIt’sCirrusSocratesParticleDecibelHurricaneDolphinTulipMonikaDavidMonika
I had brushed my hand against something
when I looked it had these little yellow
spider eggs clinging to it
(I guess I brushed a spider
Mother’s lump
of butt back)
I tried to get them
to unstick from me but
they started to hatch there
there was a silemnt Japânese
girl/woman walking around,
we were debating
we were debating about
the relative superiority of
the cultural (eye)
I was wishing to concede that
the Japanese individuals do see some
things quite differently +
this leads to remarkably
original insights
wanted to convey that
we see everything in my
way they do but in superior
we were reading about a
submarine disaster! one
in which 502 or 504
men perished
by CO2 or Soy related infection @ see
only seventeen survived
            ,           they
were rescued by the HMS
Terror (or Terroir)
I was extremely saddened
I nearly started to cry
But was anxious of being
criticized by Bitch, so
I stooped myself
is when we enounctered
the silent Japanese girl/woman
She drifted away
I looked & saw a
Man/individual walking & there was
something strange about
him how he moved,    it
turned out it was his
shirt that was strange
it consisted of a very
bright Anime style
picture-e showing the back
of a woman/individual                       ,                       her
long flowing black hair
she was apparently facing a
view of the sea from
the balcony of a pagoda,
the strangest was
in how her moved
well it turned out he was
wel, it turned out he was
not one but two,
something he was wearing the view
& his walking companinion
was wearing a shrowud which
   cornsisted of the figurer of the woman/individual, standing
at the right angle they
produced a trompe l’oeil which
               appeared      as
one solid image.
When they walked the
image would eviscerate
so they walked
& they walked
& they walked + it bid
who saw the superior
who saw the superior
wavy given
a landscape?
who could see something in the
a eunuch space
given what was there
who could see what—
maybe near-er a port
a port a place
a day
yellow & fuzzy were the momma spider eggs
on my hand
man/individual was wearing the harbor
boat scene
bitch, when they separated
was just a woman/individual in                                                          a shroud
a shroud
Maya & William = Japanese woman/individual
overlooking a harbor scene
in a shroud + lavendelical parts
bitch  she-wine of the skull

A3, Invent [Behind the Graveyard Forest Path]
Middle-aged Arab promeneur
You are
Your face
Your face Middle-aged Arab promeneur man
(doing that
elongated muzzle gesture)
It looked like plastic!
It’s truly beau-tiful, Middle-aged Arab promeneur man,
& mister too!
Your faces look like they are
made of plastic
invented (behind
the graveyard)
You’re two in one, truly beautiful,
Kid’s stole the broom for no reason
Hum hum hum hum
The broom, Berenger, Monsieur, the broom
ein schule degonge is truly gone away
I saw a rave broom
behind the wall
He was on his side
he was flank down on his side
I wanna strap him to a tombstone
I wanna strip him to da bone
I wanna install him rad & good
So can’t ya spare me couple straps
Broom ain’t dignified like that
He was indignified back there
I couldn’t help but starrrree
At tout pour le funeraire
So I’ve come Berenger

A3, Mind your manners!

So I’ve come, Berenger
I’ve rolled in like a pear
It’s interesting, Berenger
To turn the angels toward Jesus
isn’t it?
was reminded
about Japan all of
a sudden
Small, wood ridden (bridges, peaceful lakes, Michigan
round Lake Surperior, a smoky autumn day)
+ a small thing of us
‘Clean the wood, Derrick.’
White blood, black snow
+ let’s sit on the ground over there
& wait right there & we
won’t do anything, anything
Monsieur Berenger
Nobody talks about it
Ya got that ramp right out in front
Ya got that shitty boulder sitting there
Ya’ll Berengers could really make use of that parking spot
That shitty stone, I’ll remove for you,
Monsieur Berenger
All’s I ask if it aint much a task
is for a few spare straps
for my homeboy the broom out back
Back a the graveyard forest paths
a beautiful sound, almost ‘ tout pour kle funereraire’
insect like, my day
my dog walks in it
at night & I who arrived at night
who’d imagine someone had left
an ancient fresco painting in my doorstep
a sea scene that were
scenic, the hills were where I met them
my brother, a bowl of grass, where I met him
selftransmerging, he was purging
my networth in the playground
together like speech sound
in a oblong balloon
as I recall was blank for me & standing in
the sea
doing that rolling motion
doing that rolling motion thing

A3, el crowbar dreamt he’s squid

I wake up in pure
darkness. & I 
where I am
I am in pure
Now wait, wait, wait
just patiently, being secretary of each
pure & I el crowbar + darkness
Allah passed by
Do you remember
unbuckling bras ever el crowbar, brobar
man/ individual
do you hold hands
(going down the stairs)
how Bitch/individual dents one glues
cylinder that’s clean as bitch/individual
in the mornin’
Crazy blank rose France eroos 
room rose
Two men,
they’re making spaghetti
for the first time, together, together, a very cheesy
pasta, mais pas trop gras pour moi
el crowbar, trusty broman/individie,
they reenact the events
in full intimacy of one
time when one of them                       went laundry
total laundry
laundry mayhem hunting for the other
& then grocery @ the market mall haze hunting for the Sauce
the pasta the cheese, a triangulate recipe
deceptively simple  ‘they do like this in their head’
boat style thinking
low to the laundary, low to laundry lo,
to the laundry Matt
Low to the MallMalllow, to the Mallmalllow
He was saying ‘hey man’ to the spot where you stand
he did it with his friend
I have never seen before
this mane/individual stands right there door
where his friend had been going long the side
of the door’s crazy ridge
however, his friend in the crazy ridge door no longer was by
Bitch, the friend called, ‘Clare!’
then the friend, this ‘Clare’ explained
that yes, no, he was yet not there
the imagerys did show indeedy, low
he was ‘bout 5 feet away  coming slow
& leg loaded
Barely 5 ft 10, ‘Clare’ guesstimated
he was pushing himself
away from the spot where
his friend had seen him fixed with gaze
that verily was fearsome but strangely was well
well hidden from gays by his
efforts to not B seen tho in full view standing
that loaded with 5 ft 10 & legs craze
it was by the soda can
next to the highway lane winding
we had beer in rage & can
atrocities, atrocities
glass blown documentaries
heart of glass
the chicken dinner look a loike daze at last
confused, cans, cans, bills, bills, future refuse
cans for future reference
are not fully recyclable & nonvegan
through the horror, on his face made of fence
he said he saw a giant, with a mill wheel round his neck
now it was time, the time of the clearing of the benches

A3, my bitch shay brangs me  bag full of wrenches

at some cent taking
place in another dimension
where the friend was looting away
at me emptiness that
was most reverent & reverently came to me
yet recently is wrong
recentwarily is more proper here
the dimensions
skittered off
one another like skipping stones skipping strong
stiff stuff, in my opinionay,
I walk with a small piece wood or twig

in ma mouf anyone, nah, just help/advice bong
needed. Germs on a twig
who wants first dibs
in another part of the dream, I handed out cigs
to two brothers at the lakeshore gig
where I  some realty, some real estate houses
& a large basement with a Sodastream rig
full of cigarattes & boner pet coupon tickets
in another
dream I had I got off a puddle train car
but padded full of Japanese girls/women
in another I was looking at Tyler Perry’s filmography/
curriculum vitae but it was a girl version of him
I thought to maself
O, he recently took
an old military homeboy digs base for a studio
of dance the brothers there with nice cigarettes
were talking bluntly about the newass studio sets
on the block Tyler Perry’s fever son pseudo
Military Homeboy Digs Workin Party Base
& everytime everytime everytime they turn  the vitae
this girl version uh him’s got the same filmographay
profession as well colleges too and languages gel
She got his siret
puff the cigarette strapped with the same professional vest
lifes jelly donutted away a dark mother say
everyone is dead the autobahn way
Navigo Passe tight realitay
usta be called oranage in my opinion
the sensorial apparatus
turns rather quickly
feet, three of them, away
but terrified is crawfish crawling over a crawfish that’s gay
for he crawfish terrified away
he dreams of the naked blue man and fears that complection
a bit too blue, kind of pale, & gray
beardy pubic barnacle goatsmack, ja, its may
beardy pubic barnacle goatsmack phonepole crawdaddy brun-blonday
colory is something that got tint,
in my opinion & that ain’t no ball a lint
been meaning to tell ma priest bout the blue man’s display
priest-individual got me on the bench like  yeah  beverage opinion
from a holy man moly man comin at ya individuals
beer can on the been verify the visuals
holy mee-oooopy blowing glass hostile witness
customer service bitch ridorigoman/indiv see you as Christmass
one love been a beat too long in dis business
Elton John Robert Marley Nas & Church Bitchness
arrest arrest arrest re: XXL slurpee once made me blind
yo what’s with the can its shakin got demons
gonna depossess that bitch office depot cold
back to the bunker wit coupon tokens flying under grievance
who dat bitch sang blues guitar dude flirted with an individual
of a husband/individual stoking a Louisiana beef
1848 or was it 67 virginia blonde wrapped ina  leaf
RObert Don Juanson sporting 5 ft 10 + 6 feet neath the reef
lady bitch individual comes by with a whiskey treat
poison for  my man from my man for meine man to get lay the ban
he take it from her hand & drink it for a span
til his buddy man individual knock it out his hand
bitch Johnson individual your old hand n’ent open dat bottle man
run sec scan on the seal use your brain for real
it’s that papa seal deal on the rim like a rag on a wheel
on a cheese wheel or small wagon wheel ford automobile
bitch/individual acquantaince friend let ya mind relent
reload recenter come back to focus don’t slip on the bitch /
individual sudden bottle jab sand environment chillaxical dent
time man individual friend acquaintance (sic)
bitch come back later wit a bottle made from sands
I bought wrangler jeans
I bought wrangler jeans
Y’all get ready for wrangler time jeans
fill ya back pocket with smecta & jelly beans
bitch individual eating a salad
for a long time now, mostly greens, if my spy ‘s worth fava beans
gotta get get get get get get get that ham burrito crap shit things
it’s the holiday Montecito mudslide down the way
frisco beep yo drag on imperial bay
roll car on the sand like santa on his sleigh
ride their right there pay me individuals/veteran mudsliders/
--1jpg. 2.jpg, pay me pay me bitchividuals
get near to the wheel this crawfish is hammered
your in debt in hell near this meine sandart bottle spare,
bitch individual.jpg utility road granuales hey you looked at toes
buttcheek foes fuckface faggot/individuals stakedout on ma legs
[watching the Ford Toad, the Ford Toad is on] brorabies
Jacob-Crezafeldt SUV prions rolling vector kegs
allow allow allow individual dude guys good day guy legs
residual mudslide twas a good mudslide day
babes riding mudslides like individuals in the hay/ferns
all day made for my birthday, still rockin them,
kissed a clump of clay, right there
where that faggot slash homosexual enjoyment person
raped our ‘do it well’ .jpg Holiday not the Inn
airport motel no balcony mental toothport gathering my name
‘laterhing today, lathering today, lathering right here
lathering.jpg. usb key do the transfer format disk.exe


A3, Know now: sand is copyrighted, individual mudslide consumers pay now royalties the gasoline bouchon in open ‘5 dollars to you,’ you licked 5 dollars,’ hold my usd please /I’m Toawing this car fuckface back to family tower, family tower near where I get some meals, I drive up in my pedestrian  transportation and space out on Michelin wheels, investment rising rises, two turns of this middle #JaIt’sMeDoStuffWithMeWIthMyBrainAssistance&SometimesBrainsFriendSpinalCordAcclaimedEndofTheArmGoodGuys, my five finger one palm do stuff bosses, ‘ja, it’s ‘Poussin’s’GoodSlenderFingerFingerFingerFingerFingerFingerFingerFingerFingerFingerFingerPlusTheFuckYouFingerPostaSchlongFuckedAlreadyMultiToolGivesLetsGiveAManArestSlenderAppendageFingerBangingTubePatrolGuyBioToolNitroEasyEggsGoodDayPeacGentlePushCentreRetroCenteredVintage.jpg.freedomzone.peace.cub’


I really love those falls on 2:15 and 2:25
staying focus on the way of our life
Quiet and calm like a lake
to have a bubble bath to
I used to lay down on my front lawn and stretch out
take it for the smallest grain of sand possible, I
they saw the silhouette holding something in its hands
on which they watch real children


you take charry flavored
I drink milk thatshows cherry antacids that encourage the derrirer to institute a series ofsmooth, like a micromacians spokeperson talking rapidbly to be as for to swhere he was to as close as good bold could have been toskyscraper kanyyons practiciging ballets  I see you Flash I se you I see you trip over small buikding blocks in a room we got snared into mingling monghfurther into grugal stautuary og long butsst scales of the last eneratoions thqt can name thm from discovered volumnes in, lost conveniently, devdent condtion, some deteriorated but slavagably and noe in th

Handsome blue blalls on a blue man
handsome blue balls despite a blue tan

I’m on a plane
I all I do is complain
Feels good to complain
When I’m on this plane [right here]
I heard that organ donation is profitable
I gotta piana that’s tunedout obnoxionable
Strap the baby in if ya gotta use the club
Fore I seep the Sarin gas gonna get a border pug
Hit me in the lungstate
Bit some Salibary steak off my dinner plate
Pontius died intestate , near west bank
I bowl like a chevy on the interstate in a tank
Three fingers in my ass feeling good on the taxi pass
Groping for ma mule stash
while I bandy bout my travel cash
Gonna take a lude soon
Best polish off this tray o food
Pilot fronts a good mood
Dis ordinance don’t off he getting’ sued
Like Celine  Dion my heart will go on
I ain’t no Queen, Rook, or Bishop in a thong
Just a virgin lustin terrorist indoctrinated pawn
Looking back to days of my small head
When I jerked off subdivan top my bed
Used to use my cousin’s cataleptic hand
To jerk myself to climax in a EuroDisney Bound Van
I’m a very long person my verticality persists
I never stand on tiptoe even when I take a piss
I gotta little upper lip tho & my bottom lip ain’t changed
Had the tremble under grip tho last time I got arrainged
Reading Karl Marx in the dark readin Gramsci in a spire
Nothing like a bulb of dose a premium historico gyre
Got this piece I’mma complete til
I don’t gotta do any wit it
My toupee is full of sleet
but I brush it off with a bean of flageolet
Ready for this tray ta get cleared
I even ranged the service
By the time the steward walks to third
I’ll pop a xannie cuz I’m nervouse
You think I haven’t seen a convertino But I seen it
Even slept in a type of one like a princess on a bean bit


Come back Jesus- clean up the mess again and take us believers with you this time.

I’m acquaintances with my friend’s mum through a hobby we both do.
My college professor researched Egyptian mummified cats.
I don't remember where I read that however so it should be taken with a huge grain of salt.
e.g. if the scenario played in a sperm bank.
“Barfalona, the San Francisco Treat.”
I was flying on the airport.
{Wht compny?}
What that fuck is dis? OOrt
Hammer blast is not anything for me
Hammer blast is not anything for me

31 DECEMBER 2018

16 Decelber 2018

I was looking for a strip club, one particular, one I'd perhaps visited or which at the very least was known to me. I walked the pavement glancing continuously to the structures on my right, zoned residential for the most part far as I could see. Then I happened upon a structure rearing up on stilts or timbers and tentatively I understood it to be the address of the strip club I was looking for. A long rusty formerly red painted iron staircase lurched up to a dilapidated building that appeared derelict and uninhabited. Long filaments of many masses of bushels of some coastal flora poked through  the stair steps and in dense clumps cantilevering from under and around the stairs. There were no signs indicating the locale as a venue for clients to observe human beings dancing in stages of undress. I began to be doubtful that I'd found the strip club I'd been hunting for.

19 December 2018
We're in a room with a bathtub. Sharon Lee is there, she's been with some people iand now has come back. I ask something about how it went with the people and as usual (in dreams & in life ) she doesn't comprehend what I'm saying & makes that 'something smels in here face" of indignation at not being told something she understands. She has a hole in her neck the shape of a scallop shell, right at the place where the shoulder blades would meet. A petalled flower is peeking out from it. I'm in the bathtub I think. I get out and look on the floor. On the floor are broken hand mirrors. Oh great, no mirrors, I think sarcastically. & Ive got a song from Sandinista in me head.

20 December 2018

I'm sitting among many college age people in rows in a hospital/classroom. A female doctor is making some sort of announcement. She's inexplicably angry. She calls us niggers. I look to two of the guys in front of me, both of darker complection. They're obviously stunned. Someone, maybe me, says 'bitch gonna be fired.' At some other moment in the hospital, a young man is being held, against his will it would seem for he's very frustrated. He's very tired. He wants to go home. The doctors keep performing tests though psychological not medical ones. His family is with him and they're just encouraging him to get it over with but they reocgnize that the procedures have gone spirallingly amiss. In another part I'm in a huge supermarket, a megaversion of the student markerts of University of Pittsburgh. The aisles are choked with goods but they are annihilatingly expensive. I consider stealing food also because the lines for checkout are all the length of a football patch. I crouch very low to the ground and look at the shelves. There are tipped over boxes of thumb brand cereals and vinegar bottles. The word 'haptic' & 'haptic abeyance' keep cycling through my head.

22 December 2018
Tomaz/ "We kiss. I read you. You like silences but mostly you hum along. And then all I want: be:read is you.' Floating upward into the hieghts of the classs room ceiling. The literature makes us fly. Finding the way back will be difficult."

trampoline park

27 December 2018

Me & Dave are playing a "game." Like military drills, in a tranche of "domestically" themed setup. I'm keeping successfully hidden. I'm squirrelling my resources. I feel victor. Another part, Ariana Reines is showing around someone (me? maybe) this little house, a very cute little house, that she is being allowed to stay in. She's marvelling in exactly the way she would. She says stuff like 'can you believe someone built this? someone actually left this here..." The house is really cool. Really small but cozy, like a very artisanally designe garden shed. Comy looking. The roof I'll try to describe, imbrications of blue-grey slate or heavily stained wood, thickly layered and swirling upward like psychedelic muezzins or minitransplanted Sacre Famillia (?, the cathedral of Gaudi in Barcelona°). Inside there are Divan's and Caliphate couches lining the wallls. LOTS OF STORAGE SPACE. Then she takes me to a place nearby, to one of those municipal water engineering outcrops that juts above the ground in to the unuwitting random seeming spots around towns. She shows me a book there she's still talking nonstop. The book says something I can't remember Somethikng about Ronroomm does this Ronroom is ronroom is roonrom is romical. It made sense at the time even profound sense. Then A lady is complaining that she couldn't or wasn't allowed to bring her internal organs on the trip. An adoring lesbian in Madame Reine's clique. The end.

Madrigal makes me think of orgy
maybe I should smoke less
we have so much in common

28 December 2018
I'm talking with my dad about the individuated instincts we've each been born with. Mine developed toward poetry his to science I guess and passive fascination with stuff. While we're talking its fascinating too cause I am seeing circuitry components merged with these Star Trek landscapes of alien worlds; I see the components and a swamp sitting round together and being landscape together on the same scale. Before then there's these girls in a bar. Theres a drunk russian guy. He wants to take the girls home. It seems he'll succeed, but the one  girl is reluctant since last time he kicked them out when they were all drunk and they slept outside in the dirt and cold of the hallway. She was almost on the verge of tears telling about it. I also recall a very like hypervenice, all the aspects of venice were there, water and canals and old stuff and marble and luxury but amplified and made insane of scope. A flood came. There was this young woman who was supposed to sing but the floods interrupted that. Another part in a bar with lazy bum guys complete annihilation of meaningful connections. Total distortion of decipherable motives.

30 December 2018
I saw a teeny tiny sail boat sailing pacifically down a Huveanue-width river.


copper ions themselves are toxic to sperm.



A3. The Visuall Arts

Once second I have to find back the page I lost to page
Other pages
Things that change places.”
So you ‘d like to catch it)” – ‘Ja,it’sJ. Otoo Roethke
A pearl fell into the grass
boys were looking at it
to gather to get me them forever
my blossoms were puss-ay #Linux—Pussay Purpple;                       /Partys..
The house phone looked golden
The swift fast climate
between us & trees, [Christ in bed, head peeping from undersheet,
Late Jim Morrison Obese Left Banke Hiatus Barn_Teh.horror.tittytwister]


A3: Bring Me Back 2 The Slanderers or #’Jait’sNapoleonBonaparte’sPenderingaluvenhave

HYAM inn

“Good things
smell good.
That is our
Motto.”   -Jenan ‘MockingJay’@mail.gninworBtreboR.’

Long smile, #Ja,it’sChristInBedHeadPeepingFromUndaDaSheets’—swift, long lasting log men’s face like the Insenheim depiction.

#Manucured P.hd





A3: Bring Me Back 2 The Slanderers

Bring me
miniature no.

I played you Lozart in the past year. YOU prolly thought it was Beethoven. Or you thought it was Gustav

Where have all the cowboys gone?

“To find them.
“Things that made me cry. (MIKE)
Shutter Island (#AllOfUsHereDescribeOurExerienceOfIt
Then watch it together & Michael chooses the music. So we’re gonna watch it on mute, but with the subtitles obviously.)
The End of Sirens of Ttan.
The Picture of the Abandoned Dog that reads ‘I hope my master didn’t get lost…”
The Denzel Washington movie called Flight.
The Denzell Washington movie we dreamt about that takes place on an aeroplane upon which this time he’s a passenger, & we’re trying to get to talk to hil, but his assistant’s is forbidding til we mention ‘IceCream’ ‘Ice Creal!’ Denzel exclaims, ‘That’s one of my favorite topics. Let’s talk flavors. Which one do you like? Let’s rank all of them. Let’s make some lists. We’ll start with brands & then we’ll see.’
Speer’s Journals/Diaries from Spandau.
The Claim that Adolf Al Hitler had a micropenis.
The title ‘The Musicians.’
The lines from MIKE in psalm games from the quatrain called ‘The Musicians.’
Misha Mark Bodnar
Dominic Emerich

We just hate to see a brother’s suffering.
The autistic girl’s lost parrots announcement (#HereInsertTheBeerMonsterOccureenceOnThatStreet.)
The Last Unicorn by Peter Begley
‘The Mount’ first chapter.
The youtube video ‘The Man with the Sword’ which later Youtube claimed to have erased.

A3. I’m a mamalater
‘They took turns
‘Doing coke
‘On the SofaBed
‘Taking them each by turns
‘In our mouthses
‘A square of Malibu
‘TN cellophane
‘In the little jean pocket
‘Was all pockets
‘A fold-out couch
‘Coins falling Inn
‘‘‘Bye’’—The first Strange
‘What’s for dinner?

‘What’s new what Popping?

‘The time of blankness has ended

‘The time of blankness has begun

‘Answer your fucking phone


‘Three fingers

‘Point up

‘Golden threads

‘Das Buckets

Names can be mispronounced/used
the names
the names
Operational, prosystem
Names for Outsiders,
Names for the Inner Circle
Modes of Transportation + how one
would take a plane + how one
would travel.               Take Uber,
Aversion to flying,
space in first class but you cannot go
there. The plane is going to China
The organs are harvested by deduction.
Put train tickets in the book.
It’s an Ice Train.
That is good I am going now.

‘Wake up, blowjob bed

‘In a rowboat

‘The Beergarden

‘Before you

That appears

‘Balls of frothy wine

‘Liscenced @ #@HisBody

‘Eye’m a triplet. I can’t help it.

‘Rain washed burnes

‘W/ auras of yeast

‘The rose in a surfer’s ruddy beard

‘Chop his upper chest

‘In tangles wet w/ the juices

‘OFF the ocean

‘Light off a cellphone

‘To search for Firewood

‘[SSK-Lee’s Credit Card Number]

‘Advanced Dungeons & Dragons : Heroes of the Lance

‘A rich boys’ eyes

‘Thé Beauty of his brown hair

‘Fuck you fuck you fuck you

‘A peaches’ congress

‘In all the crags

‘Jason, your mouth, IMMEDIATELY

‘Fills, fills w/ cum

‘& when you open (..) (..)

‘The brain downloads


‘& parabola

‘I scale into the place before

A3 cousinbrotherbuttonfor you