in this cloister
of words, a metaphor
an infinite regress, a conjecture
the missing vowel in a consonant world, drawn
from tears of mercy, and
inexpiable pain
Paulus Kall's Green Stamp Store on Pineapple Avenue
tacky lingerie wig
i wore to repair diesel's
broken horml
tucked away
inside its past
of the cathedral
same stoddy und culn
the history of boogerfoot
and the witch
she would dangle a wolverine
over its humanoid goat's face
and entice it to scratch
poor boogerfoot's eyes
if you could see the glass
machinery attached to our breasts
millions of boogerfeet long
somewhere in the sun
some such much as action said
'my buddy' or toad this livery
to hog / or brackisk king logs glow
by an oily residue between c and t
to connect them
if it were a very hard cheeze
the witch was sculpted from
and dangling even a blue cheese wolverine
over the yellowish beards now flowing
into mayhem such a quiet neighborhood
old flies younging into backgammon over playboy
the english channel "murther"
we downed and then she power vomitted our personal
story
you are goat gabrito hirohito in private skulls ipod romance po
ROMA = PASTA-POMA
we wrote this absurd novel in dry macaroni glued together
then built a macaroni brain box
put in an old naked witch, some goats
and prayed to the eve of boogerfoot:
Please Holy Boogerfoot of High Zineon Mountain,
Show us the image once again of the fiery tentacle-haired
wolf-people solar 69'ers, the solar porno-sculpture
so that we can illuminate our soap dishes, our
beef tank diramas where
images play in the skins of the witch who takes
a sawzall to the giant ear of the demon
while we play jumprope with our braided chin feces
in the holy name roots of booger foot
Omen
[P]OEM
is the stuff that comes with your machine
and which is usually best
syrup hats of the old west
beef-jerky armor with hickory smoke-knight
riding a saguarocactus whaleshark
in ocean's
Princess Visionary Photography Smell
Booger foot casting counch p-layer
open envelopes for Dried Ganglion Iguanas
in wheelchair pantyhose.
i wore to repair diesel's
broken horml
tucked away
inside its past
of the cathedral
same stoddy und culn
the history of boogerfoot
and the witch
she would dangle a wolverine
over its humanoid goat's face
and entice it to scratch
poor boogerfoot's eyes
if you could see the glass
machinery attached to our breasts
millions of boogerfeet long
somewhere in the sun
some such much as action said
'my buddy' or toad this livery
to hog / or brackisk king logs glow
by an oily residue between c and t
to connect them
if it were a very hard cheeze
the witch was sculpted from
and dangling even a blue cheese wolverine
over the yellowish beards now flowing
into mayhem such a quiet neighborhood
old flies younging into backgammon over playboy
the english channel "murther"
we downed and then she power vomitted our personal
story
you are goat gabrito hirohito in private skulls ipod romance po
ROMA = PASTA-POMA
we wrote this absurd novel in dry macaroni glued together
then built a macaroni brain box
put in an old naked witch, some goats
and prayed to the eve of boogerfoot:
Please Holy Boogerfoot of High Zineon Mountain,
Show us the image once again of the fiery tentacle-haired
wolf-people solar 69'ers, the solar porno-sculpture
so that we can illuminate our soap dishes, our
beef tank diramas where
images play in the skins of the witch who takes
a sawzall to the giant ear of the demon
while we play jumprope with our braided chin feces
in the holy name roots of booger foot
Omen
[P]OEM
is the stuff that comes with your machine
and which is usually best
syrup hats of the old west
beef-jerky armor with hickory smoke-knight
riding a saguarocactus whaleshark
in ocean's
Princess Visionary Photography Smell
Booger foot casting counch p-layer
open envelopes for Dried Ganglion Iguanas
in wheelchair pantyhose.
Ready?
I am Amber Light
stop-start face all kind and good
under my black-headed gull's black hood
not long-lived but steady
not come not go but ready
Best Supporting Actress
sympathetic best friend
of the scene second-from-the-end
one of many meek sleek brown mice
or with a wisecrack offering advice
and hmmms and ahhhs and ohs and tuts
and ifs and buts
while others wallow in their melodramas
my landscapes calm untroubled panoramas
Second-in-Command
standing with knowledgeable smile and folded hands
nodding behind the leader of the land
the tyrant the despot the king
not and never will be the Next Big Thing
Lady-in-Waiting
in the shadows in my dark lace
masked in black my gibbous face
Sirius B
little dark star of heavy matter
born to foil to balance not to flatter
not satellite but one of one
waltzing a furious infinite with some blazing fat sun
I am Amber Light
for the brief time between born and dead
my yellow face showing in between
stern impassive Red
and generous Green
Deep Time, Dark Time
It’s dark at the end of the universe.
The old stars’ last crimson glimmers
have faded away to nothing
in slow heat-death. It’s cold.
The last few left alive
hoard sparks of energy. Adrift in deep space.
Adrift in deep time. They murmur
into a universe whose birth-cries
have long since faded—into
deep silence—“Are you there?
Are you still there?
We are still seeking you
through deep time, dark time
still seeking light. Is this
the end? Is this the beginning?”
The
end
begins
with
light.
The old stars’ last crimson glimmers
have faded away to nothing
in slow heat-death. It’s cold.
The last few left alive
hoard sparks of energy. Adrift in deep space.
Adrift in deep time. They murmur
into a universe whose birth-cries
have long since faded—into
deep silence—“Are you there?
Are you still there?
We are still seeking you
through deep time, dark time
still seeking light. Is this
the end? Is this the beginning?”
The
end
begins
with
light.
Sandur Wound Pound Ear Maa Doon Partee Tipp-Ex
dirge dregs dream lithely into carnelian hesperus, the
shattering chalets of necessity, vespasian termerol(e)
to a tirl of vivers backed up in vivianite, that apartment,
$350 a month with the wind tunnel and the baby roaches,
chuff stall for a point in a pattern, diasundering dhoona logs,
the pecksniff recordion's futblast mimble's mimamsa, rilawas
on Kandy like a fragrant, amorous cangue, slung with phines of
gorbal and yeldring, the jelutong apsis of the lown debording
kishke, the renge-a-rannygazoo of feuillemorte sangmonadrale.
shattering chalets of necessity, vespasian termerol(e)
to a tirl of vivers backed up in vivianite, that apartment,
$350 a month with the wind tunnel and the baby roaches,
chuff stall for a point in a pattern, diasundering dhoona logs,
the pecksniff recordion's futblast mimble's mimamsa, rilawas
on Kandy like a fragrant, amorous cangue, slung with phines of
gorbal and yeldring, the jelutong apsis of the lown debording
kishke, the renge-a-rannygazoo of feuillemorte sangmonadrale.
Woke Up on Saturday the 22nd
the certainty the process of water
it is a sound it is a perspective --
green
the typewriter seeks its own limits
the apple tree on the river side
leap at the new fruit
bird wings to sudden glass
absent causation
the stake, too forgotten for
each person, the uncertain impulse --
where do the characters all go
testifying their identity
leap into every process
these words can
these actions tear
into causation
that was skin, once stone
there the trembling now the
silence, shake leaf
and gone to the side of the rivers
sharpened like each certainty
going in stillness, and
the shower of new fruit
and birds on glass
endwords of shakespeare c.
Etheric deployment, rose for which i long
despairingly, a thousand highways might
bring one another to, at least in song;
and this song now does not disdain to light,
though nothing in its makeup can redeem.
Scrupulous Jesuit, my days are spent
keeping track of the shadows i esteem
by service station lamps, by argument
of elves: great ages perish in the survey.
A rogue database is buried there
won't be digging of. Peruse decay
as gingerly. Your minions everywhere
come to me with oft the hot shapes of life;
and i who sponsored them, give them the knife.
despairingly, a thousand highways might
bring one another to, at least in song;
and this song now does not disdain to light,
though nothing in its makeup can redeem.
Scrupulous Jesuit, my days are spent
keeping track of the shadows i esteem
by service station lamps, by argument
of elves: great ages perish in the survey.
A rogue database is buried there
won't be digging of. Peruse decay
as gingerly. Your minions everywhere
come to me with oft the hot shapes of life;
and i who sponsored them, give them the knife.
speaking of word finds
speaking of word finds, here's a heroic sestet with the added bonus of being a word find, too.
Heroic Sestet #7
halftanjhourblastsaforlongerlthanntheyfcared
throughothewtreesetheysawonooforestiforlrest
beneathytheeleavesdthecomesscomewunprepaired
intrudeoinwtruthetriestoosetustraighteaonest
drawnooutoofaveinstthebloodtredostainadidait
rudeogesturesdcomeeandgorspatadownplikeispit
tightehoteslicknessaoftheasicknessethathgrew
thicktandethinfandtallthefwhileaweswereiweak
offrcenteredoselfnsamegamepplayedeinsideryou
nothingaofmcourseegaveaaflushttonyourncheeks
whichsofiusewouldsknowthatttheosimplesthings
shelfeelslwouldobecomemyrmostrcomplexestings
Dan
Heroic Sestet #7
halftanjhourblastsaforlongerlthanntheyfcared
throughothewtreesetheysawonooforestiforlrest
beneathytheeleavesdthecomesscomewunprepaired
intrudeoinwtruthetriestoosetustraighteaonest
drawnooutoofaveinstthebloodtredostainadidait
rudeogesturesdcomeeandgorspatadownplikeispit
tightehoteslicknessaoftheasicknessethathgrew
thicktandethinfandtallthefwhileaweswereiweak
offrcenteredoselfnsamegamepplayedeinsideryou
nothingaofmcourseegaveaaflushttonyourncheeks
whichsofiusewouldsknowthatttheosimplesthings
shelfeelslwouldobecomemyrmostrcomplexestings
Dan
présent simple
ZidoliS brosSa langue, làva son visage bien loin. s'habillà Burburry. SidoliZ arrachà son herbe la mauvaise weed et dépiquà son homme des brins de thé. avec les différents brins, Z~~~~S entre,la,ça, tisSà son homme une veston tweed. S~~~~~Z racontà sa chatte à son chien de mari, une histoire de cul-de-poule de tweed en pied-de-poule. ZidoliS répétà tout le monde transformà son habitude se transformà son habitude en tout et n'importe quoi.
Quoi? dit ZidoliS et puis ils déguerpirà leur habitude.
Quoi? dit ZidoliS et puis ils déguerpirà leur habitude.
Subdued
Subdued am I
like a sleepy river
receeding from the summer scorch
Subdued like a bride*
doomed by fate,
freefalling into the mire
Subdued am I,
lost my steam have I;
no pressure to blow my whistle
Subdued deep within
these them layers of skin,
a fount devoid of desire
* In India, young ladies often have no say in choosing their husbands
like a sleepy river
receeding from the summer scorch
Subdued like a bride*
doomed by fate,
freefalling into the mire
Subdued am I,
lost my steam have I;
no pressure to blow my whistle
Subdued deep within
these them layers of skin,
a fount devoid of desire
* In India, young ladies often have no say in choosing their husbands
My Romeo and My Juliet
Cling. Words separate the meaning and the definition. Cling she screamed at me. Babble further, mark this mishap as our rite of passage. Could it be? Have I somehow stripped myself of instinct. Softened holes. I would have given it my all. She pulled me close and pushed her breath down my throat. These are the last flowers. Lick the salt from my thumb, I rubbed him in both wrong and right ways. Breath sucked in. Shocked and pleasured, but I felt the hesitation in his eyes. I washed the truth from my skin, thinking of her tongue.
still shaking
sublimating
(lim is Swedish
for glue)
sublimating
(lim is Swedish
for glue)
once around the wood
once around the house
that one’s square, that one’s
bent, that one’s temporary.
square design isn’t
his biggest problem . . . !
butterfly effect?
you still believe in
subway voice says: since when have you thought that? since when? twenty zabba-doos. zabba-doos end. since when? since when?
speaking out
"He wondered if she was right to reproach him his lack of..." p.1(&2)
library book musk fermentation. He and she
parasites, book-leeches feeding on the wet
mould of wait.
He kept slipping on the rock-moss,
falling out of waiting but not into forgetting.
In truth, his silence was a shameful oNe;
he had been gathering strength to speak against
the conductor, Maurice. The longer they stayed
in the room, the less logical the straight line
of time appeared to him. Walking along
the breakwater at sundown, he wanted much
more to slip on the moss than ever. He felt it
an anachronistic deliverance, a way of proving
Maurice wrong. He had over-simplified of course,
from staring too long at the straight-lined horizon...
library book musk fermentation. He and she
parasites, book-leeches feeding on the wet
mould of wait.
He kept slipping on the rock-moss,
falling out of waiting but not into forgetting.
In truth, his silence was a shameful oNe;
he had been gathering strength to speak against
the conductor, Maurice. The longer they stayed
in the room, the less logical the straight line
of time appeared to him. Walking along
the breakwater at sundown, he wanted much
more to slip on the moss than ever. He felt it
an anachronistic deliverance, a way of proving
Maurice wrong. He had over-simplified of course,
from staring too long at the straight-lined horizon...
More Fantastic Matter
Atop every difference, a label.
reading of this label enfolds news.
Lives of plankton adjust to
temperature. The whale shark
meanders with mouth
ope. 'Ope' means language
can look funny. Fu Manchu
will someday, he swears,
harness the power of. Now,
the whale shark weaves. Hunger
is the sense of
a poem inside. So what do we call
teachers? They rave on
the polemics instituted
upon parcels of land, rich
segment of society, a hill
of beans. The shark is not
trouble, it carries
30 tons. And those tons
are profound poems. Or sardines,
the likes of which are
so shiny. Taste your poem
in distress. The year needs a life
like yours. You meet the impasse
with dutiful respect. Things
could change
overnight. Warm water pulls
plankton to the sun. all are in
agreement. A poems as
sloppy as words
exists. Its shark
exists too.
reading of this label enfolds news.
Lives of plankton adjust to
temperature. The whale shark
meanders with mouth
ope. 'Ope' means language
can look funny. Fu Manchu
will someday, he swears,
harness the power of. Now,
the whale shark weaves. Hunger
is the sense of
a poem inside. So what do we call
teachers? They rave on
the polemics instituted
upon parcels of land, rich
segment of society, a hill
of beans. The shark is not
trouble, it carries
30 tons. And those tons
are profound poems. Or sardines,
the likes of which are
so shiny. Taste your poem
in distress. The year needs a life
like yours. You meet the impasse
with dutiful respect. Things
could change
overnight. Warm water pulls
plankton to the sun. all are in
agreement. A poems as
sloppy as words
exists. Its shark
exists too.
The Further Saga of a Naive Phenomenologist
I presented my presentation on Husserl this afternoon and by all appearances it went well. Being the scattered rhizome(d) thinker that I am, sort of like Joseph K on PCP, I needed lots of prompting to stay the line, and no little direction to remain directed. On the bus, not the British comedy, but in real-time life, I came across the following idea: we, as the transcendental-subjective-ego, reveal ourselves to the world, not the world to us; in saying this I was as precariously close to phenomenological blasphemy as one can come without turning, transmogrifying, into a rhetorical blabbering idiot, a Sartrean savant. Now having said this, this at all this, I find myself dangerously close to the phenomenological horizon, that no-mans-land where philosophers who have out-lived their usefulness live, a bedlam Foucault wouldn’t have dared step foot in; not, of course, unless it had a bath, warm steamy towels, too. So to recapitulate, we have the psychological-ego, that by which we perceive and sense the world, and on the other side of the Husserl coin we have the transcendental-subjective-ego, or, as Husserl put it, pure experience. As I am a relatively new convert to phenomenology, I will stick with the scattered or split-off ego, my ego-less-ego. Phenomenology is like riding a bicycle with no hands, feet, eyes, ears or sense of smell, and as such, and by all appearances, naive, but fun nonetheless.
Instead
What's wrong with science being
practical? I've lived suffering,
an angel on the train reading
a map that goes from nowhere
to Point B; there is terror
in the faces of passengers
as if we're headed to Hell.
Do they serve sandwiches
and tea before evening
prayer or do we have to travel
hungry? These wings are simply
killing me! I think I'll have a beer
instead.
practical? I've lived suffering,
an angel on the train reading
a map that goes from nowhere
to Point B; there is terror
in the faces of passengers
as if we're headed to Hell.
Do they serve sandwiches
and tea before evening
prayer or do we have to travel
hungry? These wings are simply
killing me! I think I'll have a beer
instead.
Flashing Down
Down black edge,
peeling grey, crash
neurons of tree;
a flock falling,
dark feathering,
webbed-caged
gravity, spiral
tunnel-ing-
a beautiful way
to pass through.
peeling grey, crash
neurons of tree;
a flock falling,
dark feathering,
webbed-caged
gravity, spiral
tunnel-ing-
a beautiful way
to pass through.
muscular wrist
Muscular Wrist
condensation
on our small windows
sudden sugared syrup
these breasts weird as witches
reek of singing insects
nipples sting like bedbugs
like the dark eyes of drowned does
silver skin, feathered with the hair
of pale cows,
coated with sweat
like weasel piss and milk
your toes architectural
little firm boxes, all in a row,
each a perfect snail shell
each
the size
of a coin
in my mouth
I could die from you
Speed of Saying
a crippled number fell
to the last colour. People
talk in prose over
fields worth seven daisies or
as the river tumbles into
plain talk while we lay on
the bank with dreams.
Too much inclusion
of information stresses
the practice of reading
along. Our heroes form
cartoons in nations.
Then rains the size of
forests wash our hearts. Finally
a reason to clam up in wool
suits or perfect storms
arises. These poems, you may
think, have wretched
perimeters in which action
takes place. Those words
were only used once.
to the last colour. People
talk in prose over
fields worth seven daisies or
as the river tumbles into
plain talk while we lay on
the bank with dreams.
Too much inclusion
of information stresses
the practice of reading
along. Our heroes form
cartoons in nations.
Then rains the size of
forests wash our hearts. Finally
a reason to clam up in wool
suits or perfect storms
arises. These poems, you may
think, have wretched
perimeters in which action
takes place. Those words
were only used once.
Noisetext(is)]
investigating an (anti)poetics of noise, the pseudo-lyric,
literary phasmids (pha(nta)smids), email-art, textual
messiness, mussiness, neatness, neonateness, uncreative
writing, hodkoah surrealism, psychedelia, cyber-shamanic
trance writing, visual stimulus,
radical democritization
of stimulus organization, anti-categorism,
faux-philosophy,
philsophy of pho, gung-pho, pho-gung, literary gargoylism,
MONSTERS, monsterpo, the absurd,
productive nihilism,
anti-nihilistic productivism, parodism, negative capability,
good bad writing-as-art, bad good painting-as-writing, good bad
photography-as-foolosophy,
and anything else, and nothing else, or
whatever, computer writing at the edge
of whatever boundary you aren't at the edge at,
or are, or want to
be, or can't be,
or don't believe exists.
Neologismuslms
jpg trading
html email po
Outsider Insiderism
Barthesian Sadomasochism
Rousselian mumbo-jumbo
Burroughsian Viricirq du type
Flarf for Non-flarfists (Flarfish Post-Flarf)
Dada Classicus
Eco-dada
Undead Dada
Semiotic Primordianism
Textual Jesterism
Tricksterpo
"Noemism"
+
Obscure History, Facts, Knoweldge
literary phasmids (pha(nta)smids), email-art, textual
messiness, mussiness, neatness, neonateness, uncreative
writing, hodkoah surrealism, psychedelia, cyber-shamanic
trance writing, visual stimulus,
radical democritization
of stimulus organization, anti-categorism,
faux-philosophy,
philsophy of pho, gung-pho, pho-gung, literary gargoylism,
MONSTERS, monsterpo, the absurd,
productive nihilism,
anti-nihilistic productivism, parodism, negative capability,
good bad writing-as-art, bad good painting-as-writing, good bad
photography-as-foolosophy,
and anything else, and nothing else, or
whatever, computer writing at the edge
of whatever boundary you aren't at the edge at,
or are, or want to
be, or can't be,
or don't believe exists.
Neologismuslms
jpg trading
html email po
Outsider Insiderism
Barthesian Sadomasochism
Rousselian mumbo-jumbo
Burroughsian Viricirq du type
Flarf for Non-flarfists (Flarfish Post-Flarf)
Dada Classicus
Eco-dada
Undead Dada
Semiotic Primordianism
Textual Jesterism
Tricksterpo
"Noemism"
+
Obscure History, Facts, Knoweldge
Lid II
Long had she been writing the letter concerning this whole affair to and ran like a banshee to the nearest here I noticed she was troubled, she ourselves copper -less thus unable to her energy. she sped off quickly as number to activate its internal 2.25 the difference granting me the proceeding that I stopped protesting violation and she said two minutes. car I pointed out to her that I was in doubt realize a segment of time has spot. she rebuked my remonstration, letter revolves around was that the care to my safety to see what exactly called to my attention the direction abated. I would like to add in her confines of the state owned vehicle annoyed at her response I posed a change. I was pleasantly surprised to of st- mathieu and de- maisonneuve to partake of coffee and conversation. we lights of a small red vehicle parked only having a five dollar bill asked was going on. upon arrival I noticed across the street in search of coin. the word of the regulations I have acquire the exact coinage? her reply if I was to purchase a commodity, the find that I was the sole patron and found to our liking a parking spot building to the street side terrace to written and it was out with her crossing the busy street with little jurisdiction to amend. I asked her how was a mere shrug of the shoulders. as distance. I began to yell frantically number designated to the space I point of payment. what hadn’t occurred functionary of the state off in the violated a city by-law.has cup of tea cup of tea cup of tea
Change if I recall. a growth of fine paused for a moment, except for my kind, the late summer wind blew in ball which hurled through the air at outcome was nerve racking, with the flying ball, I noticed its course then it kissed the standing flag high fived.has cup of tea cup of tea cup of tea
from the south west.I could feel the target, in awe, the world around me breeze on my back as I stood on the dare, to hole her, I stood erect the ball alit, its rolling momentum afforded the luxury to watch my a 4. I made a practice swing and to stop short but miraculously just swing the sweetness of the contact side of the hole. the green was with club in hand,
has cup of tea cup of tea cup of teahas cup of tea cup of tea cup of teahas cup of tea cup of tea cup of teahas cup of tea cup of tea cup of tea
I placed a to the waiting hole. the ball seemed visualized my shot, I was ready for virgin green spread out before it the real thing and stepped up to address the ball. I erupted into a placed the ball on top, the iron was eager and the anticipation for the in early september the weather was great knots on a perfect line. I was wooden tee into the hard soil and tee block, looking down at the 17th. permitting it to travel up the slope stick wiped its feet and fell into was felt throughout my loins. I was pine trees framed either side of the fairway a bunker protected the right golf gods watched on we laughed and the hole and out of sight and as the green was inviting any who wished to the 17th was a long way off, two and vacant but for the flag pole,the never deviated an inch from its
I machine required a four character comfortably tucked inside so as she simple question: there must be a grace and three coffees later the idea came now lapsed and bearing this in mind by favor that she advised me to write a this was essentially futile....
little red light flashing aloft the the process of paying for the parking facing the blasted object that this period for a citizen to venture and feed the parking meter. we stepped register would open, then I would have one might expect once the tumult had might not be exerted of an ounce of parallel to own.
sprang into requisite amount. I exited the purchased a cup of tea at the cost was doing she replied that she was my friend sat at the terrace while I unable to comply due to restrictions my required monies. the reader will no that any recourse to the law may be to hang. to both our dismay we found numbskull I thought to myself, her above her control but she proffered, continuing the matter with the paper currency to silver. the adjacent to the establishment we were an agent sitting in a car scribbling point and it was only realized when action and bolted to the scene writing a ticket. I can see that you traveler and I stopped in the vicinity
on the evening in question a fellow shouting above the din demanding the declaring that the ticket had been at a piece of paper I ask her what she the city heads. after a few moments to me while speeding to the infernal and in disbelief saw the flashing functions, meanwhile my friend was arguing. it was at this point in the slowly fading as a result of my entered the coffee house in pursuit of who I might add, never left the presently occupied. the functionary, deliver the tea to the waiting friend. of the waiting server to convert the of where my car is parked. I turned to me that fighting a infraction like custodian of the cash register was further time ebbed it dawned on me
Change if I recall. a growth of fine paused for a moment, except for my kind, the late summer wind blew in ball which hurled through the air at outcome was nerve racking, with the flying ball, I noticed its course then it kissed the standing flag high fived.has cup of tea cup of tea cup of tea
from the south west.I could feel the target, in awe, the world around me breeze on my back as I stood on the dare, to hole her, I stood erect the ball alit, its rolling momentum afforded the luxury to watch my a 4. I made a practice swing and to stop short but miraculously just swing the sweetness of the contact side of the hole. the green was with club in hand,
has cup of tea cup of tea cup of teahas cup of tea cup of tea cup of teahas cup of tea cup of tea cup of teahas cup of tea cup of tea cup of tea
I placed a to the waiting hole. the ball seemed visualized my shot, I was ready for virgin green spread out before it the real thing and stepped up to address the ball. I erupted into a placed the ball on top, the iron was eager and the anticipation for the in early september the weather was great knots on a perfect line. I was wooden tee into the hard soil and tee block, looking down at the 17th. permitting it to travel up the slope stick wiped its feet and fell into was felt throughout my loins. I was pine trees framed either side of the fairway a bunker protected the right golf gods watched on we laughed and the hole and out of sight and as the green was inviting any who wished to the 17th was a long way off, two and vacant but for the flag pole,the never deviated an inch from its
I machine required a four character comfortably tucked inside so as she simple question: there must be a grace and three coffees later the idea came now lapsed and bearing this in mind by favor that she advised me to write a this was essentially futile....
little red light flashing aloft the the process of paying for the parking facing the blasted object that this period for a citizen to venture and feed the parking meter. we stepped register would open, then I would have one might expect once the tumult had might not be exerted of an ounce of parallel to own.
sprang into requisite amount. I exited the purchased a cup of tea at the cost was doing she replied that she was my friend sat at the terrace while I unable to comply due to restrictions my required monies. the reader will no that any recourse to the law may be to hang. to both our dismay we found numbskull I thought to myself, her above her control but she proffered, continuing the matter with the paper currency to silver. the adjacent to the establishment we were an agent sitting in a car scribbling point and it was only realized when action and bolted to the scene writing a ticket. I can see that you traveler and I stopped in the vicinity
on the evening in question a fellow shouting above the din demanding the declaring that the ticket had been at a piece of paper I ask her what she the city heads. after a few moments to me while speeding to the infernal and in disbelief saw the flashing functions, meanwhile my friend was arguing. it was at this point in the slowly fading as a result of my entered the coffee house in pursuit of who I might add, never left the presently occupied. the functionary, deliver the tea to the waiting friend. of the waiting server to convert the of where my car is parked. I turned to me that fighting a infraction like custodian of the cash register was further time ebbed it dawned on me
Orbignya Cohune
I should be working on a presentation on Husserl but decided to write this instead, or in lieu of Husserl, which makes no sense as he is dead, Husserl, yes he, the transcendent-ego that was Husserl, that ‘thing’ is dead, perhaps not he, the psychological-ego that was Husserl, but the other ego, the reflective one, the other ego, that ego that splits off from the other, other ego, the psychological ego. They say, the other phenomenologist’s, that the ego is a fluid thing, a malleable thing, a thing with malleable fluidity, and as such, as with most things fluid, it retains very little other than what appears immediately in front of it, the mediate world of things, sensate stuff, things and stuff that we take for granted, the intuitive things and stuff that we never really give much thought to, but do just the same. All the other, other stuff, the fluid malleable stuff, we do through self-reflection, and as such (why do we philosopher’s insist on repetitively using and as such, as if and as such is a philosophical term, which it clearly is not, and furthermore, quite annoying to the everyman, or woman, as would have it, as such). Okay here goes again; I should be working on a presentation on Edmund Husserl, the father of phenomenology, the big cohune, which makes no sense, as a cohune is a Central American palm with feathery leaves that produces a nut yielding an oil similar to coconut oil, often used in soaps and cosmetics. Latin name: Orbignya cohune. Some phenomenologist I turned out to be. Oh well there you have it, it’s all in the appearance, and as such, banal-retentive.
"Sogdian Cravat"
1.
to oolong joust
so flowing hospital Golgotha
and ignorant tjotjog dull
as ataraxic tsunami coral
offs its borg avidity
wintry antics igloo chip wodwo
us spool wintry stars
as glory
2.
to Doric adorn
podcast crystal birdtalk scry rabbit
oddly rolm
hold onto it zodiac
adamant scurry back as starry scaffolds
brandishing hybrid back storm
fall glass abort gift
in idiom as raucous clay
1.
to oolong joust
so flowing hospital Golgotha
and ignorant tjotjog dull
as ataraxic tsunami coral
offs its borg avidity
wintry antics igloo chip wodwo
us spool wintry stars
as glory
2.
to Doric adorn
podcast crystal birdtalk scry rabbit
oddly rolm
hold onto it zodiac
adamant scurry back as starry scaffolds
brandishing hybrid back storm
fall glass abort gift
in idiom as raucous clay
Darkness When The First Light Was Born
Homage to the world. Homage to the raging fires that eat it alive. Homage to tomorrow. Homage to the day when none of us will wake up. Homage to ships and planes. Homage to speeding clouds. Homage to the stripe on the zebra's back. Homage to all fallen prey. Homage to the predatory. Homage to light. Homage to the baby's skull. Homage to machinery. Homage to apparatus. Homage to buildings and to streetlights. Homage to my sisters. Homage to bad friends. Homage to mistakes. Homage to silent birds. Homage to snow.
Homage to stereos. Homage to the yellow stain on my mother's nightdress. Homage to kissing. Homage to fingers. Homage to harrowed eyes. Homage to brilliance. Homage to stupidity. Homage to sex. Homage to abstinence. Homage to a blue sky. Homage to apples, unripened fruit. Homage to leprosy of the soul. Homage to worshippers. Homage to the uncontrollably vain. Homage to T.V.. Homage to the hermitage on a hill. Homage to the ringtones of teenage children. Homage to their fathers.
Homage to the dying. Homage to every tear wept at their bedside. Homage to my mother. Homage to my father and his ebbing mind. Homage to animals and to beasties. Homage to the night. Homage to the frail, the ugly. Homage to superstars. Homage to the brave. Homage to power stations. Homage to sadists. Homage to euthanasia. Homage to the suicidal. Homage to insects. Homage to bats, eaten alive by beetles. Homage to caverns. Homage to church steeples.
Homage to the beatific. Homage to the horrific. Homage to the damaged and needy. Homage to air. Homage to sunlight. Homage to wrinkles. Homage to breath. Homage to limbs. Homage to eyesight. Homage to decay. Homage to the Atlantic Ocean. Homage to gravestones. Homage to small Northern towns. Homage to nonsense. Homage to the written word. Homage to mystics. Homage to tenderness. Homage to the cry of the wind. Homage to bad smells. Homage to the face in the mirror. Homage to you. Homage to me. Homage to waving goodbye. Homage to the end. Homage.
Homage to stereos. Homage to the yellow stain on my mother's nightdress. Homage to kissing. Homage to fingers. Homage to harrowed eyes. Homage to brilliance. Homage to stupidity. Homage to sex. Homage to abstinence. Homage to a blue sky. Homage to apples, unripened fruit. Homage to leprosy of the soul. Homage to worshippers. Homage to the uncontrollably vain. Homage to T.V.. Homage to the hermitage on a hill. Homage to the ringtones of teenage children. Homage to their fathers.
Homage to the dying. Homage to every tear wept at their bedside. Homage to my mother. Homage to my father and his ebbing mind. Homage to animals and to beasties. Homage to the night. Homage to the frail, the ugly. Homage to superstars. Homage to the brave. Homage to power stations. Homage to sadists. Homage to euthanasia. Homage to the suicidal. Homage to insects. Homage to bats, eaten alive by beetles. Homage to caverns. Homage to church steeples.
Homage to the beatific. Homage to the horrific. Homage to the damaged and needy. Homage to air. Homage to sunlight. Homage to wrinkles. Homage to breath. Homage to limbs. Homage to eyesight. Homage to decay. Homage to the Atlantic Ocean. Homage to gravestones. Homage to small Northern towns. Homage to nonsense. Homage to the written word. Homage to mystics. Homage to tenderness. Homage to the cry of the wind. Homage to bad smells. Homage to the face in the mirror. Homage to you. Homage to me. Homage to waving goodbye. Homage to the end. Homage.
Keeping Silent
“… and the signs he made to her.” p.1(&2)
like his questions, continued in silence, but he had said:
“I will go on…”
in the beginning, however brutishlyand yet she never raised his voice
above verse, locking the river
inside his running, where stagnant
questions bank up. He knew ‘how’ in the sonic sense
just as the room was a barrier to him being in it,
because its length continued, as when he
had unendingly danced or paced, how the room’s
emptiness recurred as she ceaselessly
stared at a slanting instant full of dew-point consonants
and library book must: the fermented pages
numbering less than oNe even if counted backwards.
like his questions, continued in silence, but he had said:
“I will go on…”
in the beginning, however brutishlyand yet she never raised his voice
above verse, locking the river
inside his running, where stagnant
questions bank up. He knew ‘how’ in the sonic sense
just as the room was a barrier to him being in it,
because its length continued, as when he
had unendingly danced or paced, how the room’s
emptiness recurred as she ceaselessly
stared at a slanting instant full of dew-point consonants
and library book must: the fermented pages
numbering less than oNe even if counted backwards.
SHOOTING HOOPS
for a better world shoot hoops
Paul Conneally works with British basketball legend Karl Brown in the latest of his 'for a better world' series of works.
The piece includes a performance from Conneally with former England baskeball star and coach Karl Brown where they explore with children the philosophical question as to wether or not objects including knives, guns and drugs can in themselves be good or bad or if only humans can be good or bad.... later Karl returns with Paul to run basketball training drills with the children, revisit the ideas explored and share moments from his life with them during the process...
strap lines coming out of the work:
shoot hoops not drugs
shoot hoops not guns
don't carry knives shoot hoops
'for a better world shoot hoops'
Ace
In early September the weather was kind, the late summer wind blew in from the South West.I could feel the breeze on my back as I stood on the tee block, looking down at the 17th. The 17th was a long way off, two and change if I recall. A growth of fine pine trees framed either side of the fairway a bunker protected the right side of the hole. The green was vacant but for the flag pole,the green was inviting any who wished to dare, to hole her, I stood erect with club in hand,
I placed a wooden tee into the hard soil and placed the ball on top, the iron was a 4. I made a practice swing and visualized my shot, I was ready for the real thing and stepped up to address the ball. I erupted into a swing the sweetness of the contact was felt throughout my loins. I was afforded the luxury to watch my flying ball, I noticed its course never deviated an inch from its target, in awe, the world around me paused for a moment, except for my ball which hurled through the air at great knots on a perfect line. I was eager and the anticipation for the outcome was nerve racking, with the virgin green spread out before it the ball alit, its rolling momentum permitting it to travel up the slope to the waiting hole. The ball seemed to stop short but miraculously just then it kissed the standing flag stick wiped its feet and fell into the hole and out of sight and as the golf gods watched on we laughed and high fived.
I placed a wooden tee into the hard soil and placed the ball on top, the iron was a 4. I made a practice swing and visualized my shot, I was ready for the real thing and stepped up to address the ball. I erupted into a swing the sweetness of the contact was felt throughout my loins. I was afforded the luxury to watch my flying ball, I noticed its course never deviated an inch from its target, in awe, the world around me paused for a moment, except for my ball which hurled through the air at great knots on a perfect line. I was eager and the anticipation for the outcome was nerve racking, with the virgin green spread out before it the ball alit, its rolling momentum permitting it to travel up the slope to the waiting hole. The ball seemed to stop short but miraculously just then it kissed the standing flag stick wiped its feet and fell into the hole and out of sight and as the golf gods watched on we laughed and high fived.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)