o my synagogues
and o my mosques,
torched, and my bridges
split open, rocks
turned down, shaken
in black and unscorched
body parts. o the devils
are wrestling Esau
as close to the mouth.
my holy mount and
my promises (prophecies).
the light should be falling
now.
wrestlers in firelight
always take down
topography
where the sweat from
their contorting bodies
falls.
eternal. there is no satan
alongside the rivers
and the hills I left out
my eyes. and scan the darkness
for a god to put no faith in.
if i was a ballerina
if a picture told a thousand words and the picture was of bombed out rubble yet you only saw bombed out rubble from one side of the conflict would you think that perhaps that side was outgunned and being bullied as you saw no bombed out rubble from the other or would you think that the photo coverage was biased towards the bombees because the voices were all saying it was the fault of the bombees that bombs continued to fall.
what would you think
what would you become
what would you do
who would you tell
[insert conformity machine]
would you want the voices to stop
would you stop the voices
what would you become
where would you go
[inhale cosmological organ]
moisture drips
future in the city
fusion of the pretty
boistero flip
mad herons call
tiny green men
[impaled by greed]
tiny green men
fill these rooms
fill up my halls
fill me up
fill me
fill up my halls
fill up my halls
die conformity machine die
what would you think
what would you become
what would you do
who would you tell
[insert conformity machine]
would you want the voices to stop
would you stop the voices
what would you become
where would you go
[inhale cosmological organ]
moisture drips
future in the city
fusion of the pretty
boistero flip
mad herons call
tiny green men
[impaled by greed]
tiny green men
fill these rooms
fill up my halls
fill me up
fill me
fill up my halls
fill up my halls
die conformity machine die
The Shot
There are certain shots that develop in your head, day after day, like...like the verses of a new poem. Frame after frame, you peel away different compositions and angles until something clicks and you attain that flawless frame, where everything is balanced and the light is perfect. And then you go out and actually capture that shot as it is in your head.
Like the photo she posed for me the other day. The place was an old abandoned factory. She was in the middle, lying face down, curved around an old oil drum, her ass pointing towards my camera and two of her fingers inside her dry vagina. I chose an aperture small enough to get everything of her in focus, from the tips of her fingernails on her sex to the look of wide-eyed innocence in her eyes. There was no flash or artificial light. The available light came from huge glass windows from either side of her in the distance, diffused and soft. I shot off a few hundred shots as her cunt became progressively wetter.
It was a shot that had been popping up in my dreams and then later seeped into my every conscious thought. I never thought I could actually get the shot in reality. But it happened.
She was doing this only for me. I didn’t ask her. She asked me. Why? I’ve no idea and am not interested in finding out. But that didn’t stop me from speculating. She always had this thing for voyeurs. In fact, that is how I got to know her in the first place. I used to observe her all the time. She lived opposite my house, only a narrow space separating our homes. The line of sight from my bedroom window dropped directly into her bedroom. Each evening, I used to wait for her to come home and go through her characteristic languid yet very erotic process of shedding her clothes one by one. Actually, I found out much later that it was all a show for me. She had realized from the beginning that I was observing her. I still don’t know how. So she would go through the exact same motions, day after day. She derived as much pleasure from it as me, perhaps even more. It helped that her bathroom was attached to the bedroom. Both the observer and the object of observation were influencing each other.
The silence in the vast empty space sounded natural as we did not need to communicate. A short wave of my hand and she would adjust her legs as I wanted them. An eyebrow raised and her eyes would speak the language my heart wanted. Click…click…click…the cameras clacked, capturing her for eternity. A funny thought suddenly flitted through my mind. What if there were a nuclear holocaust and these photos would be all that survived; a last testament for humanity’s existence? I laugh inside myself. How many schools of thought/theories would arise over these pictures in some distant future? I laugh some more.
We took frequent breaks as she couldn’t hold that pose for long. But I think there was another reason. I think she was getting off over the whole setup. So she cooled off a little during the break, sustaining the excitement but not peaking. Later, as if to prove my point, she fingered herself to a violent orgasm, off camera of course.
Like the photo she posed for me the other day. The place was an old abandoned factory. She was in the middle, lying face down, curved around an old oil drum, her ass pointing towards my camera and two of her fingers inside her dry vagina. I chose an aperture small enough to get everything of her in focus, from the tips of her fingernails on her sex to the look of wide-eyed innocence in her eyes. There was no flash or artificial light. The available light came from huge glass windows from either side of her in the distance, diffused and soft. I shot off a few hundred shots as her cunt became progressively wetter.
It was a shot that had been popping up in my dreams and then later seeped into my every conscious thought. I never thought I could actually get the shot in reality. But it happened.
She was doing this only for me. I didn’t ask her. She asked me. Why? I’ve no idea and am not interested in finding out. But that didn’t stop me from speculating. She always had this thing for voyeurs. In fact, that is how I got to know her in the first place. I used to observe her all the time. She lived opposite my house, only a narrow space separating our homes. The line of sight from my bedroom window dropped directly into her bedroom. Each evening, I used to wait for her to come home and go through her characteristic languid yet very erotic process of shedding her clothes one by one. Actually, I found out much later that it was all a show for me. She had realized from the beginning that I was observing her. I still don’t know how. So she would go through the exact same motions, day after day. She derived as much pleasure from it as me, perhaps even more. It helped that her bathroom was attached to the bedroom. Both the observer and the object of observation were influencing each other.
The silence in the vast empty space sounded natural as we did not need to communicate. A short wave of my hand and she would adjust her legs as I wanted them. An eyebrow raised and her eyes would speak the language my heart wanted. Click…click…click…the cameras clacked, capturing her for eternity. A funny thought suddenly flitted through my mind. What if there were a nuclear holocaust and these photos would be all that survived; a last testament for humanity’s existence? I laugh inside myself. How many schools of thought/theories would arise over these pictures in some distant future? I laugh some more.
We took frequent breaks as she couldn’t hold that pose for long. But I think there was another reason. I think she was getting off over the whole setup. So she cooled off a little during the break, sustaining the excitement but not peaking. Later, as if to prove my point, she fingered herself to a violent orgasm, off camera of course.
Mr Morte Pays a Visit
My visitor arrived or wafted about before settling at my near right and as the visitor extended one hand the chain reaction began in earnest.
The silhouette ignites my mind in a whispering second and the merry-go-round begins to take flight as it spins into my core. Memories are all whirring about. Past, present and future all embrace as one as the pulsations in the physiological centers hum along. Jettisoning through rivers that branch out into definitive yet vast tributaries, each image contained within the memory that once breathed speaks of the infinitesimal.
All roads never converge, they may take turns to converge after diverging. What was masked as a crossroads is a pit stop - a mental truck stop. After the inspection or retrospection, the gears are then engaged and the truck moves forth, keeping in mind that it has a wealth of images, sounds and thoughts that are all derived from the origin of the point or the first derivative which was inherited from my progenitor.
Sweeping through what can be the soul are mirrors that are miniscule. Perhaps they are sub atomic and act as mini reflectors that cast shadows along the nerve infused walls which then form convoluted corridors with infinite doors, or passageways, that can never be counted - not with the ‘electron’ eye, never mind the human eye or mind itself. In this passageway, or doorway all senses collide or they may be filtered. The alchemist within begins to work on the secret formula weaving the spell of happiness or content. Invocations are soothingly stated, orated almost. Sometimes these are sung or recited in order to affirm and reaffirm the very reason of existence. It is within this corridor that I find myself entertained in various ways for I know that there is never a guaranteed resultant. The journey may be pitted with tribulations and misdemeanors. Pleasure may collide with pain or ignorance. The coldness may stifle the passions and keep them at bay until the sun rises or an eclipse occurs during a particular wisp of a moment or planetary alignment.
As I walk through the corridors and peek through the doors I do wonder whether some items may be permanently disposed of. What use is there to retain items that are never used or will never be used after their use by date? But that is the essence of the memory my dear, according to my visitor. Do I question or completely ignore the final tug of war and deliver my eternal trust to my self ?
Befuddled and no wiser than before, the eternal slumber awaits as my visitor observes my fading light. To an outside observer the final act is simple, almost sublime. One closes one’s eyes and disappears at a speed that would have perplexed Einstein. For me, as I end life’s journey, one succinct word can describe the climactic end as my life energy dissolves.
Supernova.
The silhouette ignites my mind in a whispering second and the merry-go-round begins to take flight as it spins into my core. Memories are all whirring about. Past, present and future all embrace as one as the pulsations in the physiological centers hum along. Jettisoning through rivers that branch out into definitive yet vast tributaries, each image contained within the memory that once breathed speaks of the infinitesimal.
All roads never converge, they may take turns to converge after diverging. What was masked as a crossroads is a pit stop - a mental truck stop. After the inspection or retrospection, the gears are then engaged and the truck moves forth, keeping in mind that it has a wealth of images, sounds and thoughts that are all derived from the origin of the point or the first derivative which was inherited from my progenitor.
Sweeping through what can be the soul are mirrors that are miniscule. Perhaps they are sub atomic and act as mini reflectors that cast shadows along the nerve infused walls which then form convoluted corridors with infinite doors, or passageways, that can never be counted - not with the ‘electron’ eye, never mind the human eye or mind itself. In this passageway, or doorway all senses collide or they may be filtered. The alchemist within begins to work on the secret formula weaving the spell of happiness or content. Invocations are soothingly stated, orated almost. Sometimes these are sung or recited in order to affirm and reaffirm the very reason of existence. It is within this corridor that I find myself entertained in various ways for I know that there is never a guaranteed resultant. The journey may be pitted with tribulations and misdemeanors. Pleasure may collide with pain or ignorance. The coldness may stifle the passions and keep them at bay until the sun rises or an eclipse occurs during a particular wisp of a moment or planetary alignment.
As I walk through the corridors and peek through the doors I do wonder whether some items may be permanently disposed of. What use is there to retain items that are never used or will never be used after their use by date? But that is the essence of the memory my dear, according to my visitor. Do I question or completely ignore the final tug of war and deliver my eternal trust to my self ?
Befuddled and no wiser than before, the eternal slumber awaits as my visitor observes my fading light. To an outside observer the final act is simple, almost sublime. One closes one’s eyes and disappears at a speed that would have perplexed Einstein. For me, as I end life’s journey, one succinct word can describe the climactic end as my life energy dissolves.
Supernova.
Over the hill ...
B A L T H U S
Over the hill
"None can deny I’ve walked a lot to reach the bottom of that hill. Through deserts. Across oceans. Even through luxurious rainforests.
I dared to climb higher mountains. I’ve been reckless, facing dangers while smiling. So when I’ve seen that lovely little hill, I hit the road once again trustfully.
Did I lose myself meanwhile ? Did I cross the wrong path ? Has my courage flown away ?
I guess I came too late in fact. Or just right too soon if we looked the way from the top of that hill.
So I feel damn stupid at the bottom of that hill, staring at the top with no eager.
Though, on the way, I kept shouting in pace and joy that it had to be so swell to be, at last, over the hill. Reaching as well the top and the end of my journey.
There are no flower at the bottom of that hill. And the land seems so dry. I guess I’ve known much welcoming places. For that bottom turns to a boondocks, I can’t figure the way back.
But I do remember all I have to do is sit. And wait once again for that lovely little blond-headed girl. For she promised me the first meeting she’ll surely catch me up on my next stop to grab my hand and take me to play head over heel."
Arthur Gessean, in "Fuck i did not mark on the calendar the Day of the Resurrection !", Vanity Bonfire Publishing, coll. "Opuless Artists", July 2006.
Aquarelliste par Guillaume Apollinaire
Text by Apollinaire, drawing by Little Boronali 8 years and a half :
À Mademoiselle Yvonne M...
Yvonne sérieuse au visage pâlot
A pris du papier blanc et des couleurs à l'eau
Puis rempli ses godets d'eau claire à la cuisine.
Yvonnette aujourd'hui veut peindre. Elle imagine
De quoi serait capable un peintre de sept ans.
Ferait-elle un portrait ? Il faudrait trop de temps
Et puis la ressemblance est un point difficile
À saisir, il vaut mieux peindre de l'immobile
Et parmi l'immobile inclus dans sa raison
Yvonnette a fait choix d'une belle maison
Et la peint toute une heure en enfant douce et sage.
Derrière la maison s'étend un paysage
Paisible comme un front pensif d'enfant heureux,
Un paysage vert avec des monts ocreux.
Or plus haut que le toit d'un rouge de blessure
Monte un ciel de cinabre où nul jour ne s'azure.
Quand j'étais tout petit aux cheveux longs rêvant,
Quand je stellais le ciel de mes ballons d'enfant,
Je peignais comme toi, ma mignonne Yvonnette,
Des paysages verts avec la maisonnette,
Mais au lieu d'un ciel triste et jamais azuré
J'ai peint toujours le ciel très bleu comme le vrai.
À Mademoiselle Yvonne M...
Yvonne sérieuse au visage pâlot
A pris du papier blanc et des couleurs à l'eau
Puis rempli ses godets d'eau claire à la cuisine.
Yvonnette aujourd'hui veut peindre. Elle imagine
De quoi serait capable un peintre de sept ans.
Ferait-elle un portrait ? Il faudrait trop de temps
Et puis la ressemblance est un point difficile
À saisir, il vaut mieux peindre de l'immobile
Et parmi l'immobile inclus dans sa raison
Yvonnette a fait choix d'une belle maison
Et la peint toute une heure en enfant douce et sage.
Derrière la maison s'étend un paysage
Paisible comme un front pensif d'enfant heureux,
Un paysage vert avec des monts ocreux.
Or plus haut que le toit d'un rouge de blessure
Monte un ciel de cinabre où nul jour ne s'azure.
Quand j'étais tout petit aux cheveux longs rêvant,
Quand je stellais le ciel de mes ballons d'enfant,
Je peignais comme toi, ma mignonne Yvonnette,
Des paysages verts avec la maisonnette,
Mais au lieu d'un ciel triste et jamais azuré
J'ai peint toujours le ciel très bleu comme le vrai.
V de Venganza (V for Vendetta)
C'est necessaire dir que ça fasais beaucoup de temps que je voyait pas des filmes, j'ai lu un peu de celle-ci en Imdb.com et tout semble que c'est une adaptation d'un comic écrit par Alan Moore, lequel je n'ai pas lu ni savait de sa existence vers aujourd'hui. Je crois que le filme n'est pas mauvais, si vous connaissez l'Ouverture 1812 de Tchaikovsky surement vous allez aimer l'utilissation de la même dans le filme. L'idéalism au extrem, futurism avec sens de mort et fatalité, et autres "trauma" communs dans notre époque font de ce film une contemporanée (au moins, je l'ai aperçu). J'ai aimé la masque et je crois que le mieux c'est qu'elle reste DANS le filme, pour le bien-être du cinema et de l'humanité.
Qualificatio: 8.
Adjectif: Idealista
Emotion produite: Optimismitas
Est-ce que j'acheterai le DVD?: Oui
Qualificatio: 8.
Adjectif: Idealista
Emotion produite: Optimismitas
Est-ce que j'acheterai le DVD?: Oui
You Are Not My Eater
The room is puckered at the corners, plastic rains down in shreds. The whole room takes a deep breath, we're starting to seep through the floor. My dreams are far from reach and your words of doubt push them further and further away, until they get sucked up in the vaccum of space. My ears bleed from the secrets she cupped with her hands, guiding them gently. You pick away at me until there is nothing left, no hope, no worth, no desire to be anything more than what you keep slipping into your sentences, that you think go undetected. But I watch you out of the corner of my eye, breathe a little softer to hear every beat of your heart. I creep behind you just to study your elongated limbs swing in formulas that I cannot unfold. You complicate the air around you and make it impossible for me to exist in the same vicinity as you. I lay dormant like a virus.
Christ of Courage
God implodes in small portions
Unspecified horizons to come
Flailing for the binding ties
Searching for the rope of strength
Daring the quiet to make a move
Despite the arrows of deception,
One foot follows the other
Unspecified horizons to come
Flailing for the binding ties
Searching for the rope of strength
Daring the quiet to make a move
Despite the arrows of deception,
One foot follows the other
the apostrophe engine
the apostrophe engine
fun online software that generates lines which you may or may not call poetry.
fun online software that generates lines which you may or may not call poetry.
Layers
Archaeologists of the heart
could learn much
from these white stoneware mugs
cooling
between our hands
as we lean toward each other
over a small round table
in public intimacy.
Each conversational spurt
each thoughtful pause
each smile
each telling hesitation
each sip of milky coffee
deposits another
creamy brown line
left clinging
to our cups'
respective walls
building a picture
of differing intervals
shot through with
changing textures
irregularities
and darker threads
down to the bottom
that would tell the story
of our time
to one trained
in their interpretation.
Each layer is distinct
a new geological stratum
in a cross section
that marks the progress
of our conversation
and our love
in this cafe window
each layer
another æon
or a blink in time
depending on
whether one takes
a short
or a long
view of relationships.
could learn much
from these white stoneware mugs
cooling
between our hands
as we lean toward each other
over a small round table
in public intimacy.
Each conversational spurt
each thoughtful pause
each smile
each telling hesitation
each sip of milky coffee
deposits another
creamy brown line
left clinging
to our cups'
respective walls
building a picture
of differing intervals
shot through with
changing textures
irregularities
and darker threads
down to the bottom
that would tell the story
of our time
to one trained
in their interpretation.
Each layer is distinct
a new geological stratum
in a cross section
that marks the progress
of our conversation
and our love
in this cafe window
each layer
another æon
or a blink in time
depending on
whether one takes
a short
or a long
view of relationships.
Label soul
- Vortexe me with blow of figures, citizen!
- I have 3 in right of you by my lawyer.
- Thus Let us cancel the fertile wave.
- Here the zeros are voracious….
- There exists, swears the woodland hut. - The complements subject the action.
- And of the products their armies profile.
- The scalpel under the sky Shivers thus.
- The flesh seeks its packing.
A Grail for Carcosa
One day with love, and luck, and will
this Dance of Death that roils the earth
will fin'lly furl,
and stars bloom wild in the aftermath.
Our hearts though torn, may yet attain
some home, with will, and luck, and love
of the softer plan,
our common toil a joy to give.
Oh, you and i must find that place
together, and its days unlock
as all frays cease
but play: with will, and love, and luck.
this Dance of Death that roils the earth
will fin'lly furl,
and stars bloom wild in the aftermath.
Our hearts though torn, may yet attain
some home, with will, and luck, and love
of the softer plan,
our common toil a joy to give.
Oh, you and i must find that place
together, and its days unlock
as all frays cease
but play: with will, and love, and luck.
sWEETMEATS and eARHORNS7*
Auricular Adagio
I am faint of hearing, a hardening of the staples in the innermost trench of the ear canal. Hard tectonic bone, calcified and milky-white, a petrified boneyard in the auricular channel. My new hearing aid is one of those wraparound behind the ear models, pressing increasingly into the tuckbone articulating the soft tissue of my head. A persistent whirring and tremendousness that increases with stress and fatigue. No big deal about the little shit Mozart; never did think much of the spinneret-savant. Much prefer Bach or Ludwig, Gounod’s Faust or Dvorak’s symphony no.7 in D minor, a Liszt’s allegro or quasi adagio, some of Handel’s watermusic or some spicy Gregorian Chant, Gregorianischer Choral, perhaps, Schubert in B minor, andante, allegro ma non troppo, but none of that Wolfgangbang Amadeus trilling bullroar. Perhaps if I could gage my hearing loss to Mozart’s concertos or that cadaverously boring requiem, attenuate it to deafen-out fluffy mordant pipsqueakiness, flatulent savant-prodigy. I suppose deafness can be a benison in disguise. 250 years of sychophantic psychosis
A.D.N.
Autour Du Néant
Autour du Néant nous nous agitons un peu, programmés par la grande chaîne moléculaire. Poussés par notre instinct d'animal colonisateur , nous nous engouffrons un peu plus loin à la recherche du vide entre les étoiles avec l'espoir futile de rencontrer un autre qui nous ressemble, qui nous comprend. L'espoir est vain. Autour du vide, les molécules s'organisent et au sein de nos cellules le programme séquence nos vies matérielles, nos actes inutiles, nos pensées futiles, nos amours superficiels. Nous ne nous aimons pas vraiment, nous répondons aux stimuli des phéromones que nos glandes sécrètent et puis quand vient l'heure du doute, nous crions aux nues notre solitude et le désespoir de mourir seul sous la lumière crue de la raison. Le libre arbitre est une illusion, le déterminisme social en est une autre; car nous sommes gouvernés par une molécule qui trace implacablement le chemin de nos existence sous la course aberrante du soleil qui darde ses rayons cancérigènes. Et pour combler l'ennui, chaque jour plus écrasant encore, nous nous agitons un peu, mollement, pour prouver aux autre notre utilité dans le schéma social. En vain. Car la chaîne d'information qui au sein de nos cellules programme nos vies, ne programme pas notre bonheur mais justifie la pérennité de sa transmission aberrante. Nous trompons notre ennui en nous agitant un peu plus chaque jour, rêvant d'éternité dans un vaste espace publicitaire sécurisé. Mais l'ennui est le vrai vecteur de nos acte, il est l'enfant de la conscience, c'est ainsi; et c'est toujours l'ennui que l'on entend sourdre derrière la colle et le papier de l'affiche publicitaire au sourire salace et aux formes avantageuses. La conscience moléculaire nous guide à travers notre quête d'éternité car nous préférons l'enfer d'un ennui éternel à la peur du néant et de la mort qui ramènent toute chose à sa vérité primordiale. La transcendance n'existe plus, reste le rêve d'une existence éternelle au sein d'un espace publicitaire universel et rassurant, où nous pourrions nous agiter encore et toujours. Dieu est un concept marketing qui sert de détonateur aux enfants des cadres du terrorisme international brandissant le petit livre vert pour recruter sur le marché global des laissés pour compte de la lutte génétique; il justifie la croisade finale contre les impies, so help me god; et la promotion au paradis d'allah ou à la droite de votre seigneur du tas de chair et de viscères sanguinolent de vos enfants victorieux. Pour nous sauver enfin et accélérer la fin inéluctable, il nous reste heureusement l'éclat nucléaire de la raison qui l'espace d'une milliseconde nous libérera par Hiroshima et Nagasaki dans le génocide terminal d'une erreur de l'évolution : cette conscience futile d'exister.
Autour du Néant nous nous agitons un peu, programmés par la grande chaîne moléculaire. Poussés par notre instinct d'animal colonisateur , nous nous engouffrons un peu plus loin à la recherche du vide entre les étoiles avec l'espoir futile de rencontrer un autre qui nous ressemble, qui nous comprend. L'espoir est vain. Autour du vide, les molécules s'organisent et au sein de nos cellules le programme séquence nos vies matérielles, nos actes inutiles, nos pensées futiles, nos amours superficiels. Nous ne nous aimons pas vraiment, nous répondons aux stimuli des phéromones que nos glandes sécrètent et puis quand vient l'heure du doute, nous crions aux nues notre solitude et le désespoir de mourir seul sous la lumière crue de la raison. Le libre arbitre est une illusion, le déterminisme social en est une autre; car nous sommes gouvernés par une molécule qui trace implacablement le chemin de nos existence sous la course aberrante du soleil qui darde ses rayons cancérigènes. Et pour combler l'ennui, chaque jour plus écrasant encore, nous nous agitons un peu, mollement, pour prouver aux autre notre utilité dans le schéma social. En vain. Car la chaîne d'information qui au sein de nos cellules programme nos vies, ne programme pas notre bonheur mais justifie la pérennité de sa transmission aberrante. Nous trompons notre ennui en nous agitant un peu plus chaque jour, rêvant d'éternité dans un vaste espace publicitaire sécurisé. Mais l'ennui est le vrai vecteur de nos acte, il est l'enfant de la conscience, c'est ainsi; et c'est toujours l'ennui que l'on entend sourdre derrière la colle et le papier de l'affiche publicitaire au sourire salace et aux formes avantageuses. La conscience moléculaire nous guide à travers notre quête d'éternité car nous préférons l'enfer d'un ennui éternel à la peur du néant et de la mort qui ramènent toute chose à sa vérité primordiale. La transcendance n'existe plus, reste le rêve d'une existence éternelle au sein d'un espace publicitaire universel et rassurant, où nous pourrions nous agiter encore et toujours. Dieu est un concept marketing qui sert de détonateur aux enfants des cadres du terrorisme international brandissant le petit livre vert pour recruter sur le marché global des laissés pour compte de la lutte génétique; il justifie la croisade finale contre les impies, so help me god; et la promotion au paradis d'allah ou à la droite de votre seigneur du tas de chair et de viscères sanguinolent de vos enfants victorieux. Pour nous sauver enfin et accélérer la fin inéluctable, il nous reste heureusement l'éclat nucléaire de la raison qui l'espace d'une milliseconde nous libérera par Hiroshima et Nagasaki dans le génocide terminal d'une erreur de l'évolution : cette conscience futile d'exister.
on the question of what is Mexicali
The sand that remains stuck on your feet soles while walking around the house after consciously cleaning.
Is the orange sun, the jump from summer to winter that covers the skin by driving over yellow-almost-red stop lights and watches that our souls won’t colapse with each others.
The clothes attached to the body with that adhesive smell of the sweat.
Is the fact of being the border and connational of all the other ones.
The gusts of wind exciting the tumbleweeds that run to say hi and shout on the avenues. The shockings to remind us that it is there.
Is the moan, lament and consolation of the masive production.The comfortable cradle that rocked my presure to form me different.
Is the orange sun, the jump from summer to winter that covers the skin by driving over yellow-almost-red stop lights and watches that our souls won’t colapse with each others.
The clothes attached to the body with that adhesive smell of the sweat.
Is the fact of being the border and connational of all the other ones.
The gusts of wind exciting the tumbleweeds that run to say hi and shout on the avenues. The shockings to remind us that it is there.
Is the moan, lament and consolation of the masive production.The comfortable cradle that rocked my presure to form me different.
The Song of the Boy Soldier
=============================================
In regard to atomic phrase child suffering equipment multi ashes?
Resident in oni GMO-l'il bankrobb erpods Charlton Heston Kaman
di mattersplice rs madhatter microAI? Germ? People world 从? Stri
ngtheory sky? 淘 气 ogre lementations. 拷? Mark other things? One
self and ability? Releasing it is painful? Large 猩 猩? ? Human morni
ng direction? Mem ory suffering existence releasing resident in lea st
village tupperware teepee it is low the fire 拉? Volkswagons arcimb
oldobot? Po st? 示 NY atomic phrase child hanging down? Residen
t in multi ashes? Resident in nanodigital? Placenta vessel, other skin?
Dachsun fragrance 蕉? Crab? Bundle 殖 people area, store surfac
e public? ? Other things? Outside mark m emories speeling resident
in 窗 oral 之 10,000 years ago g reygoo redgood bluegoo one 个
bundle? Re-? Combination r ecapitulant mediation Martha Stewart
aspect? Ryo wealth possession proli ferate? ? ? ? Degree hit middle
leg true germ trippafemtociv ilisation 乘 坐 plasticfr uit village man
or? Colonial Ryo reason mediamateria i mage 踪 shadow, bone 骼
? ? ? ? ? Core. Delacroix old? Color water mother suffering 撕? M
ark skin? Suffering 撕? Mark skeleto ns? ? ? 握? Mark surface hol
e suffering? ? Mark skin meat ba? Color vocal sound yell fist? Man
孩 storming 1989 giving barricuda la cosa nostra suffering 盖 mark
? Beam 1731 our right snorting 巴 拉 ' compronesian ' 1539 man
孩 fa milla familia tutto la familiafa foxtail millet hill 疹? Enormous?
? Questo all breath? ? ? Room large? Yes? Cause? Bone 骼 Califo
rnia rbon? ? Resident in 它 mark librerte eagalite fist hitting ND jud
y eye 睛 插 oral doctor Syntax hitting snore resident in s oldiers 之
lower year? Man 孩 Akira? Stone? 棍 child? The fang it is low? F
orming? Mark 拉? Mark surface hole? ? Mark design? Rn skin? B
one 骼? ? ? La familiafa foxtail millet hill 疹? Q uesto 巴 拉 residen
t in suffering 盖 mark 握? Mark surface hole twis special? Harmon
y suffering under skin meat librerte eagalite fist hitting 之撕? Mark s
kin? Sudden rock n skin? Suffering 撕? Mark 拉? Mark surface ho
le? ? Mark design judy resident in? Beam 1 731 villages our snorting
one 个 它 mark eye 睛 插 mouth Dr. ' ' 1539 man 孩? Loyal reta
iner year? Yes? Cause resident in one 个? Bone 骼? ? ? Man 孩 st
orming resident in phrase method s noring? ? ? Coming out putame
n compronesi. Delacroix old? Color water mother cosa nostra fa m
illa fa foxtail millet hill 疹 tutto bone 骼? B oys? ? Forming? Barricu
da la enormous? Akira? Stone? The 棍 child it is low the ud fist? 19
89 from here one it is low? All breath? ? ? Room circ worldwide ri
ght worldwide worldwide worlding? Fang exposure vocal sound, w
hirldi ng harmony illness remainder one 个 bundle? Oni GMO-l'il b
ankrobberpo ds multi ashes? Resident in store surface 窗 oral
10,000 y ear? Before Charlton Heston Kamandi 乘 坐 pla sticfrui
t arcimboldobotthrough? Rank? 示? ? Other skin? In regard to re
ason suffering equipment wealth possession intense? 拷? Mark oth
er things? Oneself microAI? Germ? People c olonies and leg true g
erm trippafemtocivilisation o f nanodigital? Placenta vessel? ? Colo
nial suffering existence releasing resident in? ? ? Degree? Stringthe
ory sky? Implementa tions. greygoo redgood bluegoo re-? Combin
ation it is heavy predicative main point itulant mediation? ? Speeling
从 surface light? Mark rsplicers mediamateria i mage 踪 shad
ow, Martha Stewart madhatter worldwide surface? Ryo large 猩
猩? ? H uman morning direction? Suffering 拉? Mark volkswagons
? Ce ntral public? Arriving at minimum fo rce? Releasing it is painful?
Librerte eagalite fist hitting harmony judy fibe r bone 骼? ? ? Other t
hings? Mark tupperware teepee village manor roasti ng dachsun frag
rance 蕉? The crab it is low fire all breath? ? ? Room fa milla fa foxta
il millet hill 疹 tutto barricuda la resident in 它 yes? Cause resident in
"econ omic forming? "那 village man 孩 storming resident in year? S
oldi ers company? Fighting 如 fruit expert nostra suffering 盖? Bone
骼? Will outside resident in expert 之 巴 拉 ' c ompronesian ' 153
9 man 孩? Loyal retainer year? Human cosa right? Fang exposure v
ocal sound yell fist? People help? O r minimum ability 拉? Mark surf
ace hole? ? Mark design suffering 撕? Mark skin? ? Ques? Sinking
possession new 它 most empress? Dew comprehension wh resident
in? Human 那 village right sinking possession yes 怕 suffering? ? Lar
ge? 1 989 from here? The same mark forming? 它 La familiaf foxtail
millet hill 疹? ? Area genuine area military officer stop 握? Mark sur
face hole suffering? ? Mark musc les hitting snore resident in enormou
s? Military officer stop man 孩 stones and rocks stone under 之? Sti
cksIf human way empress? 殖 This non- right w mother? 克 Eye 睛
插 oral Syntax Doctor Takashi? Beam 1731 I ' m snorting? Beginning
coming main body reaching 于? Ability 或 t leaving other things? ? B
eginning? Hasama 做 our? Equipment one it is low w? 拿running othe
r than in 于 can? Mark suffering 撕? Mark skin? Suffering 撕? Mark
? ? Core? 孩. Delacroix old? Color water mother giving Syntax medi
cal raw sleepi ng resident in dyeing yellow? Village 它 mark eye 睛 插
oral pillow? Ma dhatter worldwide village manor? Dachsun fragrance
蕉? Crab s 乘 坐 plasticfruit human morning direction? Speeling 从?
Elephant 踪 shadow, intense? Before Charl? Heston Kamandi 拷? O
ne bundle? Oni GMO-l'il recombi nant recapitulant multi ashes? Resi
dent in Martha Stewart aspect? Mark fi imperial house? ? Academic
society minimum suffering 拉? Mark volkswagons stringtheory sky? I
m plementations. greygoo redgood bluegoo large 猩 猩 driv ing resid
ent in? ? ? Central force? Releasing it is painful? ? Line robberpods
arcimboldobot? ? Rank apoca lyptic NY? Degree? Other things? One
self and the English shaku fung our? Other skin? In regard to suffering c
olonization mediamateria trippafem tocivilisation nanodigital suffering eq
uipment wealth possession organe lles? ? Existence releasing Ryo madh
atter world? Germ refu gee 殖 people area mattersplicers other things?
Mark tupperw right teepee mediation? ? Reason 10,000 year stopping r
eleasing stopping releasing stopping releasing? The Delacroix good revo
lution left? Light? In regard to suffering equipment riche? 餐 residence r
esident in nanodnacomp utersofiroth village surface? Earth 气 clothes?
Grassfed NY small provision microAI it is low the sto refront 窗 mouth
===
In regard to atomic phrase child suffering equipment multi ashes?
Resident in oni GMO-l'il bankrobb erpods Charlton Heston Kaman
di mattersplice rs madhatter microAI? Germ? People world 从? Stri
ngtheory sky? 淘 气 ogre lementations. 拷? Mark other things? One
self and ability? Releasing it is painful? Large 猩 猩? ? Human morni
ng direction? Mem ory suffering existence releasing resident in lea st
village tupperware teepee it is low the fire 拉? Volkswagons arcimb
oldobot? Po st? 示 NY atomic phrase child hanging down? Residen
t in multi ashes? Resident in nanodigital? Placenta vessel, other skin?
Dachsun fragrance 蕉? Crab? Bundle 殖 people area, store surfac
e public? ? Other things? Outside mark m emories speeling resident
in 窗 oral 之 10,000 years ago g reygoo redgood bluegoo one 个
bundle? Re-? Combination r ecapitulant mediation Martha Stewart
aspect? Ryo wealth possession proli ferate? ? ? ? Degree hit middle
leg true germ trippafemtociv ilisation 乘 坐 plasticfr uit village man
or? Colonial Ryo reason mediamateria i mage 踪 shadow, bone 骼
? ? ? ? ? Core. Delacroix old? Color water mother suffering 撕? M
ark skin? Suffering 撕? Mark skeleto ns? ? ? 握? Mark surface hol
e suffering? ? Mark skin meat ba? Color vocal sound yell fist? Man
孩 storming 1989 giving barricuda la cosa nostra suffering 盖 mark
? Beam 1731 our right snorting 巴 拉 ' compronesian ' 1539 man
孩 fa milla familia tutto la familiafa foxtail millet hill 疹? Enormous?
? Questo all breath? ? ? Room large? Yes? Cause? Bone 骼 Califo
rnia rbon? ? Resident in 它 mark librerte eagalite fist hitting ND jud
y eye 睛 插 oral doctor Syntax hitting snore resident in s oldiers 之
lower year? Man 孩 Akira? Stone? 棍 child? The fang it is low? F
orming? Mark 拉? Mark surface hole? ? Mark design? Rn skin? B
one 骼? ? ? La familiafa foxtail millet hill 疹? Q uesto 巴 拉 residen
t in suffering 盖 mark 握? Mark surface hole twis special? Harmon
y suffering under skin meat librerte eagalite fist hitting 之撕? Mark s
kin? Sudden rock n skin? Suffering 撕? Mark 拉? Mark surface ho
le? ? Mark design judy resident in? Beam 1 731 villages our snorting
one 个 它 mark eye 睛 插 mouth Dr. ' ' 1539 man 孩? Loyal reta
iner year? Yes? Cause resident in one 个? Bone 骼? ? ? Man 孩 st
orming resident in phrase method s noring? ? ? Coming out putame
n compronesi. Delacroix old? Color water mother cosa nostra fa m
illa fa foxtail millet hill 疹 tutto bone 骼? B oys? ? Forming? Barricu
da la enormous? Akira? Stone? The 棍 child it is low the ud fist? 19
89 from here one it is low? All breath? ? ? Room circ worldwide ri
ght worldwide worldwide worlding? Fang exposure vocal sound, w
hirldi ng harmony illness remainder one 个 bundle? Oni GMO-l'il b
ankrobberpo ds multi ashes? Resident in store surface 窗 oral
10,000 y ear? Before Charlton Heston Kamandi 乘 坐 pla sticfrui
t arcimboldobotthrough? Rank? 示? ? Other skin? In regard to re
ason suffering equipment wealth possession intense? 拷? Mark oth
er things? Oneself microAI? Germ? People c olonies and leg true g
erm trippafemtocivilisation o f nanodigital? Placenta vessel? ? Colo
nial suffering existence releasing resident in? ? ? Degree? Stringthe
ory sky? Implementa tions. greygoo redgood bluegoo re-? Combin
ation it is heavy predicative main point itulant mediation? ? Speeling
从 surface light? Mark rsplicers mediamateria i mage 踪 shad
ow, Martha Stewart madhatter worldwide surface? Ryo large 猩
猩? ? H uman morning direction? Suffering 拉? Mark volkswagons
? Ce ntral public? Arriving at minimum fo rce? Releasing it is painful?
Librerte eagalite fist hitting harmony judy fibe r bone 骼? ? ? Other t
hings? Mark tupperware teepee village manor roasti ng dachsun frag
rance 蕉? The crab it is low fire all breath? ? ? Room fa milla fa foxta
il millet hill 疹 tutto barricuda la resident in 它 yes? Cause resident in
"econ omic forming? "那 village man 孩 storming resident in year? S
oldi ers company? Fighting 如 fruit expert nostra suffering 盖? Bone
骼? Will outside resident in expert 之 巴 拉 ' c ompronesian ' 153
9 man 孩? Loyal retainer year? Human cosa right? Fang exposure v
ocal sound yell fist? People help? O r minimum ability 拉? Mark surf
ace hole? ? Mark design suffering 撕? Mark skin? ? Ques? Sinking
possession new 它 most empress? Dew comprehension wh resident
in? Human 那 village right sinking possession yes 怕 suffering? ? Lar
ge? 1 989 from here? The same mark forming? 它 La familiaf foxtail
millet hill 疹? ? Area genuine area military officer stop 握? Mark sur
face hole suffering? ? Mark musc les hitting snore resident in enormou
s? Military officer stop man 孩 stones and rocks stone under 之? Sti
cksIf human way empress? 殖 This non- right w mother? 克 Eye 睛
插 oral Syntax Doctor Takashi? Beam 1731 I ' m snorting? Beginning
coming main body reaching 于? Ability 或 t leaving other things? ? B
eginning? Hasama 做 our? Equipment one it is low w? 拿running othe
r than in 于 can? Mark suffering 撕? Mark skin? Suffering 撕? Mark
? ? Core? 孩. Delacroix old? Color water mother giving Syntax medi
cal raw sleepi ng resident in dyeing yellow? Village 它 mark eye 睛 插
oral pillow? Ma dhatter worldwide village manor? Dachsun fragrance
蕉? Crab s 乘 坐 plasticfruit human morning direction? Speeling 从?
Elephant 踪 shadow, intense? Before Charl? Heston Kamandi 拷? O
ne bundle? Oni GMO-l'il recombi nant recapitulant multi ashes? Resi
dent in Martha Stewart aspect? Mark fi imperial house? ? Academic
society minimum suffering 拉? Mark volkswagons stringtheory sky? I
m plementations. greygoo redgood bluegoo large 猩 猩 driv ing resid
ent in? ? ? Central force? Releasing it is painful? ? Line robberpods
arcimboldobot? ? Rank apoca lyptic NY? Degree? Other things? One
self and the English shaku fung our? Other skin? In regard to suffering c
olonization mediamateria trippafem tocivilisation nanodigital suffering eq
uipment wealth possession organe lles? ? Existence releasing Ryo madh
atter world? Germ refu gee 殖 people area mattersplicers other things?
Mark tupperw right teepee mediation? ? Reason 10,000 year stopping r
eleasing stopping releasing stopping releasing? The Delacroix good revo
lution left? Light? In regard to suffering equipment riche? 餐 residence r
esident in nanodnacomp utersofiroth village surface? Earth 气 clothes?
Grassfed NY small provision microAI it is low the sto refront 窗 mouth
===
I Am Not At War With Anyone
I Am Not At War With Anyone
by Luka Bloom
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
Go away war planes
You bring fear and shame
I am not at War with anyone
I give my love to Iraq, and to America
I give my love to Israel, and to Palestine
We could live as one
Between the sea and sun
I am not at War with anyone
I don't need to be friends with everyone
But I'd like to live in peace with everyone
This rush to war is wrong
And so I sing this song
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
Go away war planes
You bring fear and shame
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
Listen to Luka Bloom
Download the song
by Luka Bloom
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
Go away war planes
You bring fear and shame
I am not at War with anyone
I give my love to Iraq, and to America
I give my love to Israel, and to Palestine
We could live as one
Between the sea and sun
I am not at War with anyone
I don't need to be friends with everyone
But I'd like to live in peace with everyone
This rush to war is wrong
And so I sing this song
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
Go away war planes
You bring fear and shame
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
I am not at War with anyone
Listen to Luka Bloom
Download the song
Seasong..
Seawetsoil seawater seaair,
all become
seafront.
Seagulls
fly low cooing..
See…
kids, colours; joyous
families promenade;
seagreen, seagrey, seablue
sea strums sea music
at sea distance
see...life
Sea.
~ West Sussex.
all become
seafront.
Seagulls
fly low cooing..
See…
kids, colours; joyous
families promenade;
seagreen, seagrey, seablue
sea strums sea music
at sea distance
see...life
Sea.
~ West Sussex.
the whole shebang consists of smaller shebangs that learn to collect and go together. this is as it should be. poetry creates things produced from scratch. that scratch can take many forms but the point is: the itch needs attention. a lot of people are dour, nowadays, and the whole poetry thing is shady, flimsy, wanton retrograde at best. we might want to discuss other possibilities, although the same words will have to be used. perhaps shebang doesn’t say it all.
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