everything is symbolic
when my teeth are run over
and all currently living owls
have turned to leaves
and back to owls again
24 thousand times
I write only by moonlight
where glass is no longer made from sand
everything is glass
it is breaking backwards and forwards
jar flashed full of snails
November 3, 2009
August 22, 2009
Dead Things
everything smelled marvelous
in storm's twilight
she knelt to guide the monarch
from her finger to the emotionally excited blossom
"is this butterfly ill or just very tame?"
I asked and she replied
"maybe a bit under the weather"
she slid a squashed snake off of her shoulder
to rest among similarly bladed plant leaves
in storm's twilight
she knelt to guide the monarch
from her finger to the emotionally excited blossom
"is this butterfly ill or just very tame?"
I asked and she replied
"maybe a bit under the weather"
she slid a squashed snake off of her shoulder
to rest among similarly bladed plant leaves
the seasons are only flavors
when the sky was stacked with pouring clouds
I noticed early
that it would be truly dark
and was slapped with the dread
of chilling loneliness
when the starless night had fully bloomed
the rain had stopped but danced among the leaves
glowworms blinked along the pitch
and I was enchanted
I noticed early
that it would be truly dark
and was slapped with the dread
of chilling loneliness
when the starless night had fully bloomed
the rain had stopped but danced among the leaves
glowworms blinked along the pitch
and I was enchanted
August 21, 2009
no one remembers
is the tap water safe?
no one remembers
the celery squares
hot off the tails
of committing suicide
it fell into my lap
spores drop from the decapitation
coloring the irises
of a paper owl
overnight
the clouds are three dimensional
doctor small
everyone is nervous about you
except you
no one remembers
the celery squares
hot off the tails
of committing suicide
it fell into my lap
spores drop from the decapitation
coloring the irises
of a paper owl
overnight
the clouds are three dimensional
doctor small
everyone is nervous about you
except you
August 12, 2009
more blueberries
blueberry gun
slow circles
blueberry charcoal
clueberry
a skewered line of blueberries
lightning rising from the center of the globe
blueberry ball point
slow circles
blueberry charcoal
clueberry
a skewered line of blueberries
lightning rising from the center of the globe
blueberry ball point
August 11, 2009
nature poem
happy greyday
white mystery
and other muted shades
of blueberry
that's where
I brought you chocolate cake
to cheer myself up
you were picking the blueberries
in your blueberry-blue dress
you fell asleep
and dreamt of falling snow
white mystery
and other muted shades
of blueberry
that's where
I brought you chocolate cake
to cheer myself up
you were picking the blueberries
in your blueberry-blue dress
you fell asleep
and dreamt of falling snow
wear crowns or your myth
rice cakes are the new kind of wheel or any kind of diaphragm or dissonance for a projectiongraph
don't try too hard on where to place the hole should go because it may become homely with rickets
likewise knowith
eat them as thusly sparged
the ants nestle in crumbles
and when harvesting wide scallions
bath the sheath
and talk to them about the most dissipating aspects of your beliefs
scrambles with oceanic carrot morphs
melted
I washed my face on a burning salt pile
don't try too hard on where to place the hole should go because it may become homely with rickets
likewise knowith
eat them as thusly sparged
the ants nestle in crumbles
and when harvesting wide scallions
bath the sheath
and talk to them about the most dissipating aspects of your beliefs
scrambles with oceanic carrot morphs
melted
I washed my face on a burning salt pile
your neighborhood
the new world will replace the old
tune your armor
don't be afraid
about the metal poles
crosshatched with ladder rungs
that go to the nothing
you are on the ground crew
assisting in the potted plants
with the round bellied man
this is the city of steam and lightning
tune your armor
don't be afraid
about the metal poles
crosshatched with ladder rungs
that go to the nothing
you are on the ground crew
assisting in the potted plants
with the round bellied man
this is the city of steam and lightning
July 9, 2009
when it is raining
bright orange
you are the chaos-wrinkled mushroom
with the world of slugs homing in
like the mud fight
only later in the shower
when you snorted the leech out of your nose
the gentle Spanish shower
with the extra spinkler
like an antique telephone receiver
Hola!
when it's raining just like that
on your yellow yellow hair
I see clashing shards of rainbow
whistling about your changing life
and how filthy with dirt we are
streaming as we wobble through the eternal family of crystal balls
passively futtering
as they meet our eyes
and become tears
that is the rain
as we clip-clop onto the wooden floor
too lazy to light a lamp
climbing onto the bed in all of our wet clothes
because humans are made of clay
and can be squished together
listening to the metal roof
you are the chaos-wrinkled mushroom
with the world of slugs homing in
like the mud fight
only later in the shower
when you snorted the leech out of your nose
the gentle Spanish shower
with the extra spinkler
like an antique telephone receiver
Hola!
when it's raining just like that
on your yellow yellow hair
I see clashing shards of rainbow
whistling about your changing life
and how filthy with dirt we are
streaming as we wobble through the eternal family of crystal balls
passively futtering
as they meet our eyes
and become tears
that is the rain
as we clip-clop onto the wooden floor
too lazy to light a lamp
climbing onto the bed in all of our wet clothes
because humans are made of clay
and can be squished together
listening to the metal roof
big piano
the piano is hardwired for waking dreams
with all the presence of the summer canopy
awash in optimism and cataclysmic opiates
geo-melodic traveller
communicating with other pianos everywhere
even when I'm out
a lightning flash
and everything but the piano disappears
breathing light
raspberry, blackberry, black raspberry piano
provides sustenance
for scaling rusty churches
thundering over myself
with the enormous spirit magnet
with all the presence of the summer canopy
awash in optimism and cataclysmic opiates
geo-melodic traveller
communicating with other pianos everywhere
even when I'm out
a lightning flash
and everything but the piano disappears
breathing light
raspberry, blackberry, black raspberry piano
provides sustenance
for scaling rusty churches
thundering over myself
with the enormous spirit magnet
July 8, 2009
Brave Sailor
If we need a roof
we flip the boat over
where we love we live
our bodies as bridges
an explosion revived my ears
frames and sad boxes
melt away in the rain
we swim over the dam
soaking in the acid of plums
there is safety in fear
playing with each other's hands
the water is boiling
when the worms of the earth
fill the hollow in my skull
I will have a brain again
to remember all this
we flip the boat over
where we love we live
our bodies as bridges
an explosion revived my ears
frames and sad boxes
melt away in the rain
we swim over the dam
soaking in the acid of plums
there is safety in fear
playing with each other's hands
the water is boiling
when the worms of the earth
fill the hollow in my skull
I will have a brain again
to remember all this
July 1, 2009
Honey Moon
whatever arrow
God's farm gave me
daisies on a string again, again
a futuristic piano sound
my bare back, back
on pavement
beneath the merry-go-round
the catalog of album covers, covers
revealed by airplanes, angels
buzzing over lemon bees, devising
devising an onion set
Have you ever thought, thought
I am a robot, the van
the van is a spy
if we are lucky
this will turn into a bass solo
do you play chess?, Hercules
Hercules lifted my dead body, body
but I was sleeping, sleeping
splintering and cascading
heavy with sick
almost unnoticeably haying
the marshmallow field, the gauzy sheath
the gauzy sheath cannot conceal
Jimi Hendrix flowers, where
destiny always cheats for me
for me
always
always
for me
a troupe of monks, measures
measuring me all funny
a family of dirt
walking backwards to not plant weeds, again
something relocates Hell, Hell
spitting slick waterman seeds, polish
polish on a demon tooth
whatever arrow
God's farm gave me
daisies on a string again, again
a futuristic piano sound
my bare back, back
on pavement
beneath the merry-go-round
the catalog of album covers, covers
revealed by airplanes, angels
buzzing over lemon bees, devising
devising an onion set
Have you ever thought, thought
I am a robot, the van
the van is a spy
if we are lucky
this will turn into a bass solo
do you play chess?, Hercules
Hercules lifted my dead body, body
but I was sleeping, sleeping
splintering and cascading
heavy with sick
almost unnoticeably haying
the marshmallow field, the gauzy sheath
the gauzy sheath cannot conceal
Jimi Hendrix flowers, where
destiny always cheats for me
for me
always
always
for me
a troupe of monks, measures
measuring me all funny
a family of dirt
walking backwards to not plant weeds, again
something relocates Hell, Hell
spitting slick waterman seeds, polish
polish on a demon tooth
whatever arrow
Couples
I was thinking of the two of you
thinking:
keep in mind:
It's been raining for two weeks
the plants are rotting in the ground
the troubles with so and so are still lurking
your shoes also are rotten
the cat moans and pees on the floor
Someone forgot to rotate the geranium
the two bright red blossoms
on horizontal stems
are smooched up against the window panes
oozing
p.s
love transcends
thinking:
keep in mind:
It's been raining for two weeks
the plants are rotting in the ground
the troubles with so and so are still lurking
your shoes also are rotten
the cat moans and pees on the floor
Someone forgot to rotate the geranium
the two bright red blossoms
on horizontal stems
are smooched up against the window panes
oozing
p.s
love transcends
May 4, 2009
wild ram tops
and snip your fingers into the holler's well
weave a heron into the Easter grass
where I will see you again
chanting with your eyes
in dreaming dawn
weave a heron into the Easter grass
where I will see you again
chanting with your eyes
in dreaming dawn
April 23, 2009
Why Yellow Tires
Many people have asked me recently why I have yellow tires on my bicycle and they are surprised to hear that the answer is scientific in nature. It is important to note that the tires' yellow is nearly identical to that of the double paint line in the center of most roads and shares the same combination of metallic elements in its pigmentation. Since the early nineteen-seventies scientists have observed a phenomenon of magnetization in these familiar lines. Unbeknown to their designers, the lines are positively charged when cars, hugely magnetic powers, repeatedly move along their edges. This polar situation is further amplified by the close proximity of the opposing line, that which has been charged by the other lane.
By using yellow tires, with the right composition, which are in turn magnetized by the steel of the bicycle frame, one can harness this incredible power,
and be pulled along the road by the yellow lines.
By using yellow tires, with the right composition, which are in turn magnetized by the steel of the bicycle frame, one can harness this incredible power,
and be pulled along the road by the yellow lines.
boiling water
ha-cha-cha-cha
I dare you
I dare you to watch
you "look"
it's not the fluttering dots
the spring frogs
white DNA lines
motioning microscopes
microbial begetting
you, my love, that of flurry eyes
two times three steam eggs
and in a heavenly wash
I dare you
I dare you to watch
you "look"
it's not the fluttering dots
the spring frogs
white DNA lines
motioning microscopes
microbial begetting
you, my love, that of flurry eyes
two times three steam eggs
and in a heavenly wash
March 25, 2009
slideshow
erosion before a jewel light
from behind the ogling lace
the sinking Atlantis of showering sand
insecting a fragment to a filtered refraction
a clarified vision in the picture
in humid connexion on the high voltage lines
in humid connexion in just the right conditions
before slipping away the stone in the waterfall
you may want to pick it but the gold will evaporate
better to let it fall and lose its luster
from behind the ogling lace
the sinking Atlantis of showering sand
insecting a fragment to a filtered refraction
a clarified vision in the picture
in humid connexion on the high voltage lines
in humid connexion in just the right conditions
before slipping away the stone in the waterfall
you may want to pick it but the gold will evaporate
better to let it fall and lose its luster
March 20, 2009
I'm just here to eat strawberries
to be tickled by sound
by the humming of souls
when caressed into trance
when the speech is a blur
in a puritan church
dazzled into space
where the voice is prepared
by reverberant hall
and the daydreaming mass
and the thousands of ghosts
in the spell of the organ
stuck in the spider's web
and lying on your back
when your mom reads a story
and you now know the past
when a teacher bent over
to pencil on paper
and all senses were buzzing
in deep concentration
and maybe they whisper
but I am not looking
I love the confusion
on the back of a horse
who is grazing on grass
and the sun is on fire
and a girl tells her story
while the flowers are listening
or the brushing of blades
and an ant on my arm
and the tricks of the creek
and the breeze in the maple
ever living and dying
to be loved without question
by the humming of souls
when caressed into trance
when the speech is a blur
in a puritan church
dazzled into space
where the voice is prepared
by reverberant hall
and the daydreaming mass
and the thousands of ghosts
in the spell of the organ
stuck in the spider's web
and lying on your back
when your mom reads a story
and you now know the past
when a teacher bent over
to pencil on paper
and all senses were buzzing
in deep concentration
and maybe they whisper
but I am not looking
I love the confusion
on the back of a horse
who is grazing on grass
and the sun is on fire
and a girl tells her story
while the flowers are listening
or the brushing of blades
and an ant on my arm
and the tricks of the creek
and the breeze in the maple
ever living and dying
to be loved without question
March 18, 2009
For Prokofiev
will there be any joy
in the last sip of bottle drunk wine
that may contain strange crystals
ice skating over the overthrown
of harmony's passionate end
so not serial
the diabolical suggestions
to lie in a crypt
great chess minds converse upon a mountain cairn
good table and bad table
the flowers are paper
on the big eraser page
only before a storm (and during and after)
there is no quiet in the banshee's heart
mummified dictators
or frozen-dead peasants
in the last sip of bottle drunk wine
that may contain strange crystals
ice skating over the overthrown
of harmony's passionate end
so not serial
the diabolical suggestions
to lie in a crypt
great chess minds converse upon a mountain cairn
good table and bad table
the flowers are paper
on the big eraser page
only before a storm (and during and after)
there is no quiet in the banshee's heart
mummified dictators
or frozen-dead peasants
Winter Camping DOs and DON'Ts
if some crusty bread gets stuck in your chest
and gives you that feeling
CHEW
your mouth is empty
but when the mouth chews
the chest chews
and gives you that feeling
CHEW
your mouth is empty
but when the mouth chews
the chest chews
March 17, 2009
Actual Problem
Missing:
black and white puppy
last seen on chessboard
seemed to just "disappear"
answers to:
"potato brand"
black and white puppy
last seen on chessboard
seemed to just "disappear"
answers to:
"potato brand"
World Records
78, 45, 33 and a third
these are the current ages of their respective users
the older you are the higher resolution your childhood was in
The French call what the Americans call a grape:
a raisin
what the Americans call a raisin:
a dry raisin
what the Americans call a bunch of grapes:
a grape
An European mummy is called a bog body
they were tossed into the bog after they were killed
now they're fucking mummies
The Bog Bodies submitted but didn't make the cut
that means that they will not be featured on the gold record
affixed to the side of a huge record-player-slash-space-probe
that means that they will not be representing humanity
nope, no Grammy for mummy
After the show the Bodies slouched on the couches in the studio
they half-played their guitars
something seemed odd
the show had been a dud
they were playing for a bunch of stiffs
the band was dead
these are the current ages of their respective users
the older you are the higher resolution your childhood was in
The French call what the Americans call a grape:
a raisin
what the Americans call a raisin:
a dry raisin
what the Americans call a bunch of grapes:
a grape
An European mummy is called a bog body
they were tossed into the bog after they were killed
now they're fucking mummies
The Bog Bodies submitted but didn't make the cut
that means that they will not be featured on the gold record
affixed to the side of a huge record-player-slash-space-probe
that means that they will not be representing humanity
nope, no Grammy for mummy
After the show the Bodies slouched on the couches in the studio
they half-played their guitars
something seemed odd
the show had been a dud
they were playing for a bunch of stiffs
the band was dead
United Nations Galactica
this pile of wood is a computer
if spring cleaning the papal plane
then tonight is leftover night
the very tired woman's sigh is sweet like modeling glue
like unripe pear
riding in the circle on the patio
or painting the painting with the grandfather
father teaches tools with simple battleship forms
we decorate the boards with hardware
how unlike my idea-dad
but I remember his amusement
letting us swing the tethered ships around our heads
in the real ocean
tripping on the nails and screws and wavy crimple shims
if spring cleaning the papal plane
then tonight is leftover night
the very tired woman's sigh is sweet like modeling glue
like unripe pear
riding in the circle on the patio
or painting the painting with the grandfather
father teaches tools with simple battleship forms
we decorate the boards with hardware
how unlike my idea-dad
but I remember his amusement
letting us swing the tethered ships around our heads
in the real ocean
tripping on the nails and screws and wavy crimple shims
Dialectical Unity
Dear friend who moves through the drapes,
Yesterday I broke the vase by placing it too near to you.
Today attempting repair
once again it was too close;
it tipped but I caught it;
the vase in one hand and you in the other
I synthesize like the letter 'T'.
Yesterday I broke the vase by placing it too near to you.
Today attempting repair
once again it was too close;
it tipped but I caught it;
the vase in one hand and you in the other
I synthesize like the letter 'T'.
March 11, 2009
River Road
the most mysterious pathway
the river
a kind of road itself
only superficially visible from the town
is bordered by a netherworld strip
a regular road called river road
actually uniquely irregular
town nor river
a ghost road
fluttering between
town ghosts and river ghosts spilling out from either side
blowing the gray sky around
onto the only flat road I know
like an ocean pebble
stripped barren by the swarms of spirit life
abandoned sanctuary
with occasional mostly dead buildings
but you can tell a building to be lived in
if it has ten or twenty bird feeders hanging off of it
because people who live along river road know
that it's also where the birds live
because they can hide in the open
the most beautiful invisible place
there are also nature plants
small trees maybe
each one-of-a-kind and never seen before
distinguished by their various seed-pods and such
some fuzzy and bright or clear like insect wings
but all different and all shaking
clinging to the otherwise bare branches
I once saw a yellow horseshoe caught up there like a parachutist
river road meets a highway perpendicularly
a kind of road itself
now playing a purely aesthetic role
a huge museum piece
showing us that all of river road is a museum
the highway is the kind of large, well-funded piece
that makes a low and soothing noise sound
it can be heard throughout the show
while your looking at the other pieces
mostly made of little streams
you can still feel its presence
and if you run into someone you know
also wandering through and holding a child's hand
super relaxed smile
they library whisper
'have you seen the highway yet?'
'I'm headed that way'
and they slowly bob the smile up and down
blissfully squinted eyes locked on your own
so when you finally approach the cross
you've been with it already
and standing before it you are transformed
the sound actually comes from an infinitely long platform
suspended 100 feet above your head
you are alone under its shadow
pondering the sentimental messages
left in graffiti on three pair of enormous cement pillars
you are still
in the center of a necropolis
peeking into a tomb
the hype was not just hype
this is the closest you can get to the spirit of river road
the river
a kind of road itself
only superficially visible from the town
is bordered by a netherworld strip
a regular road called river road
actually uniquely irregular
town nor river
a ghost road
fluttering between
town ghosts and river ghosts spilling out from either side
blowing the gray sky around
onto the only flat road I know
like an ocean pebble
stripped barren by the swarms of spirit life
abandoned sanctuary
with occasional mostly dead buildings
but you can tell a building to be lived in
if it has ten or twenty bird feeders hanging off of it
because people who live along river road know
that it's also where the birds live
because they can hide in the open
the most beautiful invisible place
there are also nature plants
small trees maybe
each one-of-a-kind and never seen before
distinguished by their various seed-pods and such
some fuzzy and bright or clear like insect wings
but all different and all shaking
clinging to the otherwise bare branches
I once saw a yellow horseshoe caught up there like a parachutist
river road meets a highway perpendicularly
a kind of road itself
now playing a purely aesthetic role
a huge museum piece
showing us that all of river road is a museum
the highway is the kind of large, well-funded piece
that makes a low and soothing noise sound
it can be heard throughout the show
while your looking at the other pieces
mostly made of little streams
you can still feel its presence
and if you run into someone you know
also wandering through and holding a child's hand
super relaxed smile
they library whisper
'have you seen the highway yet?'
'I'm headed that way'
and they slowly bob the smile up and down
blissfully squinted eyes locked on your own
so when you finally approach the cross
you've been with it already
and standing before it you are transformed
the sound actually comes from an infinitely long platform
suspended 100 feet above your head
you are alone under its shadow
pondering the sentimental messages
left in graffiti on three pair of enormous cement pillars
you are still
in the center of a necropolis
peeking into a tomb
the hype was not just hype
this is the closest you can get to the spirit of river road
March 10, 2009
Telephone
Do you want me to give you a fire
and make you some catnip?
I used my light for something
something I didn't need to use it for
I must remember what it was
so I can find it in the dark
and make you some catnip?
I used my light for something
something I didn't need to use it for
I must remember what it was
so I can find it in the dark
March 5, 2009
Revolution #2009
Beatles Love; Spider-man's web browser
take 20; Foxfire
Old Brown Shrew; internet pollution
jail visit; Sexist Sadist
skunk cabbage; Magic Mantra
Celestial Seasons; pre-Monkees chivalry
George Martian and the Deaf-aids; harsh mellow
server farm; My Dinner with Sir Paul
closed circuit; Polythene Spam
Fellini; a Phish called Wonder Wall
if you become virtually naked; The Vagina Dialogues
Diamond Eyebrary; the smell of a new baja
death trap; spam blog
take 20; Foxfire
Old Brown Shrew; internet pollution
jail visit; Sexist Sadist
skunk cabbage; Magic Mantra
Celestial Seasons; pre-Monkees chivalry
George Martian and the Deaf-aids; harsh mellow
server farm; My Dinner with Sir Paul
closed circuit; Polythene Spam
Fellini; a Phish called Wonder Wall
if you become virtually naked; The Vagina Dialogues
Diamond Eyebrary; the smell of a new baja
death trap; spam blog
February 28, 2009
The Uncanny Valley
Happy Valentine's Day
Yesterday was Friday the 13th
did I where a mask?
did I where a Valentine's mask?
Hobbyhorse
in the dark
I stepped on a cymbal and made it inside out
Kermit shroud
It's a massive birdy
tangraming on a wire
whistleable vault
whispers stand on chairs
they were listening
stuck in a glowing cave
the beautiful little man plays and sings
Yesterday was Friday the 13th
did I where a mask?
did I where a Valentine's mask?
Hobbyhorse
in the dark
I stepped on a cymbal and made it inside out
Kermit shroud
It's a massive birdy
tangraming on a wire
whistleable vault
whispers stand on chairs
they were listening
stuck in a glowing cave
the beautiful little man plays and sings
February 27, 2009
Famous Love Letter
I would not touch your face with my hand
I would touch it with the cool white flat of a turnip half
encased in a tennis ball half
so it looks from the outside
like a tennis ball has gone half of the way through your cheek
that's a new way to kiss
and I place a tinfoil hat atop your head
and you are posing for a very short movie
of you staying still
looking at the inside of your eyelids
and feeling the cross section in your mind
I would not stand on the wall
you can and do not
we are lying on the grass
all the king's horses and all the king's men are looking for us
but they are standing on us
they are weightless
I would not break the ice
along the edge of the diver's mask
frozen lung pairs cooled into submission
and a party of loons in the floating caboose
glowing along the distance
a staring crab necklace
locked in time shortly to drown
in library display
I love the ice
I would touch it with the cool white flat of a turnip half
encased in a tennis ball half
so it looks from the outside
like a tennis ball has gone half of the way through your cheek
that's a new way to kiss
and I place a tinfoil hat atop your head
and you are posing for a very short movie
of you staying still
looking at the inside of your eyelids
and feeling the cross section in your mind
I would not stand on the wall
you can and do not
we are lying on the grass
all the king's horses and all the king's men are looking for us
but they are standing on us
they are weightless
I would not break the ice
along the edge of the diver's mask
frozen lung pairs cooled into submission
and a party of loons in the floating caboose
glowing along the distance
a staring crab necklace
locked in time shortly to drown
in library display
I love the ice
February 19, 2009
Reindeer
She may feel shunned, looked at sideways, thinks she deserves it
yet at the end of her D day
if it's a very good D day and many of them are
(every day is D day)
(all glass candlestick holders eventually explode)
She is an arch reflection off the water
bug-like Pisces/furniture incarnate/rain on snow on a tin roof
minnow-mimicking uncharted depths
bellybutton nipple-high-ward
spider dotting on hands and feet
four didactic pivot points along the numb ceramic labium
yet too hot to herself into drop
the four pots of boiled water
the four winds of Chaos
the artifacts of the present
the diluted spoils of everything
(window glass melts a wavy figure)
she loves
lavender oil steam
she loves
yet at the end of her D day
if it's a very good D day and many of them are
(every day is D day)
(all glass candlestick holders eventually explode)
She is an arch reflection off the water
bug-like Pisces/furniture incarnate/rain on snow on a tin roof
minnow-mimicking uncharted depths
bellybutton nipple-high-ward
spider dotting on hands and feet
four didactic pivot points along the numb ceramic labium
yet too hot to herself into drop
the four pots of boiled water
the four winds of Chaos
the artifacts of the present
the diluted spoils of everything
(window glass melts a wavy figure)
she loves
lavender oil steam
she loves
Electricity
she flossed and brushed too much again
her gums are gum
she it E.T.
her body is wet cement stuck to a sweaty bed
this is a hissy toxin sweat
I think of a high school visit to a weird Boston friend
where a glazz guitar broke (its headstock)
her forehead is also primate
she is thick red
she puts a ruler in her mouth
from her back tooth to her front tooth
21 inches
she is almost 30 years old
she has lived in the small cabin house for over a year
but blown candles still smell happy birthday
her legs are 6 sweaty feet long
stretched on the off-white comforter
she thought she'd hurt her toenails
but they had black candle wax stuck to them
her teeth are swords
clean tooth swords, a clenched sword set
that likes to visit the sword collection
at an Edinburgh castle museum
they sent her a postcard
ELECTRICITY TOOTHBRUSH
she thinks of one of her first times on pot
with close friends
she thought the weird little cabin house
(not at all her current one)
was a vessel
floating through the sky
so did everyone
the kind of teeth you want to sink into a stale roll
now she sleeps in the roof
it is really like that
when she weighs 5000 pounds
those 5000 pounds are floating
she is old
long in the tooth
one tooth can be 7 feet long
they hollowed out one of her teeth and made it into a canoe
they floated it down the connecticut river
before the settlers arrived
they used their imaginations
it's fun for her to think about the people
concentrating... floating
in the canoe made from her tooth
because it was still in her mouth
and she was somewhere else
SCRIBBLE YOUR TEETH
she saw her shadow in the future
floating over an altitude sickness meter
it was off the scales
she felt fine
they had built a city on some of her teeth
it was a good city
sustainable
when the city got tired of being on her teeth
it went away
THEY FIZZ AND BLISS
there's a carbon statue of her teeth
it is made of dust
she brushes it into the stove
it floats out the chimney
it settles on the snow
horses eat it
horse don't brush their teeth
her gums are gum
she it E.T.
her body is wet cement stuck to a sweaty bed
this is a hissy toxin sweat
I think of a high school visit to a weird Boston friend
where a glazz guitar broke (its headstock)
her forehead is also primate
she is thick red
she puts a ruler in her mouth
from her back tooth to her front tooth
21 inches
she is almost 30 years old
she has lived in the small cabin house for over a year
but blown candles still smell happy birthday
her legs are 6 sweaty feet long
stretched on the off-white comforter
she thought she'd hurt her toenails
but they had black candle wax stuck to them
her teeth are swords
clean tooth swords, a clenched sword set
that likes to visit the sword collection
at an Edinburgh castle museum
they sent her a postcard
ELECTRICITY TOOTHBRUSH
she thinks of one of her first times on pot
with close friends
she thought the weird little cabin house
(not at all her current one)
was a vessel
floating through the sky
so did everyone
the kind of teeth you want to sink into a stale roll
now she sleeps in the roof
it is really like that
when she weighs 5000 pounds
those 5000 pounds are floating
she is old
long in the tooth
one tooth can be 7 feet long
they hollowed out one of her teeth and made it into a canoe
they floated it down the connecticut river
before the settlers arrived
they used their imaginations
it's fun for her to think about the people
concentrating... floating
in the canoe made from her tooth
because it was still in her mouth
and she was somewhere else
SCRIBBLE YOUR TEETH
she saw her shadow in the future
floating over an altitude sickness meter
it was off the scales
she felt fine
they had built a city on some of her teeth
it was a good city
sustainable
when the city got tired of being on her teeth
it went away
THEY FIZZ AND BLISS
there's a carbon statue of her teeth
it is made of dust
she brushes it into the stove
it floats out the chimney
it settles on the snow
horses eat it
horse don't brush their teeth
February 15, 2009
How I Work
I'm having a dream. I've dreamt it once before. I'm editing sound files. I can not see graphical representations of the waveforms. All that I can see is the darkness on the insides of my eyelids. I'm focusing on the part of my brain that is between and just behind my eyes. Because I know precisely where in my brain I've placed each sound file, I can manipulate them without actually seeing them.
The primary sound file is eight measures of six beats long and it is grouped into four two measure phrases. There are four secondary sound files, each two measures long and corresponding to one of the four two measure phrases. The primary file is a dense stereo mix which I must have prepared earlier. It features acoustic guitar arpeggios and sped up double-tracked singing. The file is churning with some combination of stereo time/pitch effects, like a thick flangey chorus whose depth and speed are partially controlled by the sound's own envelope. There are also shimmering delay/plate effects on an extreme high-pass of the vocals mostly showing itself on the letters s and t.
The secondary files are comprised of the same basic elements as the primary but in counterpoint. The voices are a harmony part with some words left out and some rhythms changed. The guitars are softer and brittle, maybe unamplified electric guitars, and they are picking out upper extensions, adding red, orange, and yellow to the chords. The secondaries' effects clouds are more summer cicada and vaguely scary on their own.
I have placed each secondary in its proper starting place along the primary. I am highlighting and deleting various amounts of the beginnings of the secondaries. This shifts them back in time a little, changing their relationship with the primary. The real excitement in all this, the reason I'm trying out these simple edits over and over for hours, lies in the fact that the relationship between prime and second files is mysteriously complex and always changing. The tiniest phase adjustment can create completely new modulation effects which are not limited to or bound by any area or idea of sound. It is as if the files are the bits of coloured glass in a kaleidoscope, with the slightest turn of the sound-optic barrel a completely new array of morphing crystals grows.
I know that I can play this euphoric game for as long as I'd like to. It won't go away. Really, it’s just practice. Tomorrow I will quickly and easily recreate this situation with real sound files that I can see on my computer.
February 7, 2009
slowmo lifting of the prismatic veil
surrealistic dysmorphia
saga deaf trip planning past apocalypse
echo snap whip snap redshift shift
rotating house of mirrors
living the living spectrum redreaming dream
how was I to know
the half unshoveled roof snow spied from my bed's window
would make a perfect moonbow tree shadow only once
but worth my whole life's sorrows
again
saga deaf trip planning past apocalypse
echo snap whip snap redshift shift
rotating house of mirrors
living the living spectrum redreaming dream
how was I to know
the half unshoveled roof snow spied from my bed's window
would make a perfect moonbow tree shadow only once
but worth my whole life's sorrows
again
February 3, 2009
February 1, 2009
The Stage
composite silent movies
layer color forms
arranged figure combinations
Harpo Muybridge Marx
we are not play actors
seasonal spirit workers
disappearing reappearing ink
horse camera string synthesizer
prepared prepared player piano players play prepared player pianos perfectly
you can say it to yourself when you need to remember
PPPPPPPPPPPPP
Conlon's Equation of Metallic Reiteration
casting no shadow on the keyboard
outdoor stage lighting
provides the kaleidoscope breakfast cereal
delicious at all hours
we are not the chandelier food company
in the sickeningly melty plastic reality
the brightest orange you ever tasted in the back of your throat
tinsel haired
strutting on the matte black plywood
I don't play a cat version of myself
swinging my plush inanimate tail in circles
smirking over my shoulder at you and at the half empty cluster of lawn chairs
layer color forms
arranged figure combinations
Harpo Muybridge Marx
we are not play actors
seasonal spirit workers
disappearing reappearing ink
horse camera string synthesizer
prepared prepared player piano players play prepared player pianos perfectly
you can say it to yourself when you need to remember
PPPPPPPPPPPPP
Conlon's Equation of Metallic Reiteration
casting no shadow on the keyboard
outdoor stage lighting
provides the kaleidoscope breakfast cereal
delicious at all hours
we are not the chandelier food company
in the sickeningly melty plastic reality
the brightest orange you ever tasted in the back of your throat
tinsel haired
strutting on the matte black plywood
I don't play a cat version of myself
swinging my plush inanimate tail in circles
smirking over my shoulder at you and at the half empty cluster of lawn chairs
Blurbird
the page is a plate
a glossy painting
depicting the same bird in variously insane positions
clinging to an orientationally ambiguous ocean of shrubbery
globe composition
bird landmasses
chaotically ripped from a dinosaur supercontinent
wings any which way
magnetic migratory scramble
M. C. Escher, we warblered you
the bird at the bottom is positively upside down
entirely
best viewed taped to the potter's wheel
very realistic
the bird blur
a glossy painting
depicting the same bird in variously insane positions
clinging to an orientationally ambiguous ocean of shrubbery
globe composition
bird landmasses
chaotically ripped from a dinosaur supercontinent
wings any which way
magnetic migratory scramble
M. C. Escher, we warblered you
the bird at the bottom is positively upside down
entirely
best viewed taped to the potter's wheel
very realistic
the bird blur
January 31, 2009
HIVER SPA
Some days off are an unintentional spa spent entirely in the little cabin-shaped Hermitage house that makes you wonder about the definition of the word cabin
cabbage
ma petite chou
first in the boiling tub your flagpole arm elbow locked dangling paperbacked tome between your eyes and the driftless ceiling cloud and then still naked swaying your hissing lobster shell before the hissing iron stove the novel book perfectly resting on its spine because you are half of the way through on the table that skims the windowsill soft glow snow masses transferring to the paper while everything else has gone blue gray because it is five o'clock
The Cyclist
her unround wheel
her flash red light
her helmetless head
enshrined in a Mongolian farmer's hat
made of a regular snow hat
plus a scarf
wound horizontally
a thick tubular brim
The Boy and the Girl and no Blubber
"this feels like an Inuit folk tale minus the blubber"
He almost said it out loud but stopped, not wanting to seem to be esoterically alluding to the second-to-second stealthily fortified self-torture he endured due to the ambiguity of their now almost nonexistent and maybe always imaginary friendship.
He refrained from that type of possibly interpretable or misinterpretable deadpan nonsensically humorous charm;
too bad and too bad too because that was how he liked to talk and that was how she always talked.
January 26, 2009
Real Nightmare
Last summer
a tick bit my nipple
not on the the big knob part
but amongst the the little knob parts that I had scarcely noticed
before
I laid myself on the wicker couch on the screened-in porch
while my friend pulled out the bits with various match-treated
spikes
I looked away and listened to the birds like a child
now, in its place
there is a new knob
a scar knob, I guess
that itches from time to time in a vaguely pleasing way
Last night
I dreamt that it was very itchy
close examination revealed a black dot beneath the skin
I scratched off the covering
out popped half of a wiggling worm
the other half was still inside
it occurred to me that the worm may have embedded itself in my
heart
I felt guilty
the worm was pencil lead thickness and similarly black and shiny
there was some blood
I could not stop looking but was afraid someone else might see
I peeked under my cupped hand
my other hand pinched it
I could not hold it still
the animated nail
it was stronger than my fingers
a tick bit my nipple
not on the the big knob part
but amongst the the little knob parts that I had scarcely noticed
before
I laid myself on the wicker couch on the screened-in porch
while my friend pulled out the bits with various match-treated
spikes
I looked away and listened to the birds like a child
now, in its place
there is a new knob
a scar knob, I guess
that itches from time to time in a vaguely pleasing way
Last night
I dreamt that it was very itchy
close examination revealed a black dot beneath the skin
I scratched off the covering
out popped half of a wiggling worm
the other half was still inside
it occurred to me that the worm may have embedded itself in my
heart
I felt guilty
the worm was pencil lead thickness and similarly black and shiny
there was some blood
I could not stop looking but was afraid someone else might see
I peeked under my cupped hand
my other hand pinched it
I could not hold it still
the animated nail
it was stronger than my fingers
The Appointment
she had an appointment
to sit for her self-portrait
for two weeks
in a Buddhist temple
it was a company bowling party
to sit for her self-portrait
for two weeks
in a Buddhist temple
it was a company bowling party
January 25, 2009
Creating the Total Dome
Creating the total dome has become a way of life
and still I work
no room or need for revision
black ring on pinky finger
psoriasis-thick scalp under Norwegian felt cap
plaster guitar-hand
green polish flaked on bitten nails
psoriasis-body
back like sunburn
legs + arms like poison ivy
poisoned ivy poison
but the organ that stares stares at itself
time is gone
my face
puffy black circles
I adjust the tilt of my head, my head
30 degrees forward, my face
an upside-down avocado pit
the corners of the stern but relaxed mouth almost meet its edges
my enormous beak
flattened into a Lennon long
it smells fish
(there are always fish-dirty dishes in the sink)
the lamp is above the mirror
shadowed areas are completely black
my head-hair is a dead octopus
deceased
rigor mortis
sparkling with salt
sick houseplant
hanging over the dark eyes
the dark eyes rest on the dark circles
staring
it is the eyes
time is gone
Rasputin Tom Baker
irises partially eclipsed
by the wise and wrinkled brow
darkly penetrating
the eyes are a mirror
hollow and glazed
a mirror in a mirror
the Droste effect
vibrating against the mirrors
the mirror in the mirror
the pain of my diseased head has created the total dome
It slopes down over my shoulders and touches the floor
a bullet shell
I sneer at my fangs
and still I work
no room or need for revision
black ring on pinky finger
psoriasis-thick scalp under Norwegian felt cap
plaster guitar-hand
green polish flaked on bitten nails
psoriasis-body
back like sunburn
legs + arms like poison ivy
poisoned ivy poison
but the organ that stares stares at itself
time is gone
my face
puffy black circles
I adjust the tilt of my head, my head
30 degrees forward, my face
an upside-down avocado pit
the corners of the stern but relaxed mouth almost meet its edges
my enormous beak
flattened into a Lennon long
it smells fish
(there are always fish-dirty dishes in the sink)
the lamp is above the mirror
shadowed areas are completely black
my head-hair is a dead octopus
deceased
rigor mortis
sparkling with salt
sick houseplant
hanging over the dark eyes
the dark eyes rest on the dark circles
staring
it is the eyes
time is gone
Rasputin Tom Baker
irises partially eclipsed
by the wise and wrinkled brow
darkly penetrating
the eyes are a mirror
hollow and glazed
a mirror in a mirror
the Droste effect
vibrating against the mirrors
the mirror in the mirror
the pain of my diseased head has created the total dome
It slopes down over my shoulders and touches the floor
a bullet shell
I sneer at my fangs
January 23, 2009
Tree Death
I can still stand
I can stand still
on earth as it is in heaven
eyes open but disconnected
alone but disinterested
in a crowd of minglers
Through my skull, my skeleton
the souls of my shoes
through the wooden floor
I listen
as deaf Beethoven listens
as I have heard damaged scissors
through my elbows
The wooden floor is a felled tree
I will not say dead
the time of death is incalculable
potential's end?
potential has been transformed
tree is wood
now a medium
now, in a sense, better at human communication
conducting differently
If we'd put it in a very large vase
with plenty of water
on an enormous table
we'd have said it was alive
"what a beautiful tree we have"
now it keeps us from falling out of my house
through this soundboard
guests ring for me
sine nor saw
waves complex and changing
physical forms
I dance slowly with them
Through the window the other trees
100 feet tall
my eyes now on
across a field
just behind them on the blue sky a grid
the grid interfaces with the multi-paned window
the actual scale of window grid has been imposed on sky grid
the trees are one foot tall
I pluck the trees like garden weeds
gently shaking dirt from their roots
or snap them with a hollow pop
invasive reeds
or earthquake crack and fractal splinter them
like real 100 foot trees
only now one foot tall
a weed acting like a tree
I dance with my guests
I can stand still
on earth as it is in heaven
eyes open but disconnected
alone but disinterested
in a crowd of minglers
Through my skull, my skeleton
the souls of my shoes
through the wooden floor
I listen
as deaf Beethoven listens
as I have heard damaged scissors
through my elbows
The wooden floor is a felled tree
I will not say dead
the time of death is incalculable
potential's end?
potential has been transformed
tree is wood
now a medium
now, in a sense, better at human communication
conducting differently
If we'd put it in a very large vase
with plenty of water
on an enormous table
we'd have said it was alive
"what a beautiful tree we have"
now it keeps us from falling out of my house
through this soundboard
guests ring for me
sine nor saw
waves complex and changing
physical forms
I dance slowly with them
Through the window the other trees
100 feet tall
my eyes now on
across a field
just behind them on the blue sky a grid
the grid interfaces with the multi-paned window
the actual scale of window grid has been imposed on sky grid
the trees are one foot tall
I pluck the trees like garden weeds
gently shaking dirt from their roots
or snap them with a hollow pop
invasive reeds
or earthquake crack and fractal splinter them
like real 100 foot trees
only now one foot tall
a weed acting like a tree
I dance with my guests
January 22, 2009
Me:
"You! You!"
waving my outstretched finger before your stunned face,
a straight, straight finger, like a hollow plastic toy, squared at the edges, gray or blue, with a foggy effect where the plastic has flexed but was spared snap!
"You!"
my finger is a plug-in tape head demagnetizer, you've no idea, your head is completely erasable and I'm kick-flipping little skateboard-shaped particles, scrambling your brain,
"Y-"
I'm thinking about the scale of my finger in front of your face. My finger is the muzzle of a toy musket, certainly not life-sized but not miniature. It is not a miniature.
It is the blade of a fan in slow-motion but its circle is not flat, it is flattened, driven by an 18th century machine that imitates random motion, by springs, pendulums, pulleys, etc., etc., the motion of a fly, my earliest instinct of patternless jealousy.
You are standing before the kinetic sculpture in an airport lobby, surrounded by sizzling fuses, measuring their deaths, fireworks celebrating decisiveness, you are motionless, aware that you may stay as long as you'd like, or rather as long as you'd not like to do anything else, coffee-sick and heartbroken, fuzzing your eyes in and out, the monotonous bustling sending you into a state of infinite tickling.
You may stand and ponder but only as a cat ponders. The monument self-winds. Its feet are bolted to the floor. So are yours.
On the tip of my plastic finger is a point which your black eyes can follow along a plain, the Etch-A-Sketch screen becoming more and more clear so that my face is starting to appear behind it.
The point on the tip of the plastic wand is made of the smallest kind of Lego piece, a single bit, so beautifully gem-like, it is translucent yellow, red or blue, often adorning the tip of a spaceship's wing but most becoming as a gas-filled prism, embedded in the wall of some Brutalist structure, perfecting aspects of window, ignoring others, letting in the spirit of light, not its story.
The tip of my finger is a 1-bit Lego window and I am Picasso waving it before an open lens.
waving my outstretched finger before your stunned face,
a straight, straight finger, like a hollow plastic toy, squared at the edges, gray or blue, with a foggy effect where the plastic has flexed but was spared snap!
"You!"
my finger is a plug-in tape head demagnetizer, you've no idea, your head is completely erasable and I'm kick-flipping little skateboard-shaped particles, scrambling your brain,
"Y-"
I'm thinking about the scale of my finger in front of your face. My finger is the muzzle of a toy musket, certainly not life-sized but not miniature. It is not a miniature.
It is the blade of a fan in slow-motion but its circle is not flat, it is flattened, driven by an 18th century machine that imitates random motion, by springs, pendulums, pulleys, etc., etc., the motion of a fly, my earliest instinct of patternless jealousy.
You are standing before the kinetic sculpture in an airport lobby, surrounded by sizzling fuses, measuring their deaths, fireworks celebrating decisiveness, you are motionless, aware that you may stay as long as you'd like, or rather as long as you'd not like to do anything else, coffee-sick and heartbroken, fuzzing your eyes in and out, the monotonous bustling sending you into a state of infinite tickling.
You may stand and ponder but only as a cat ponders. The monument self-winds. Its feet are bolted to the floor. So are yours.
On the tip of my plastic finger is a point which your black eyes can follow along a plain, the Etch-A-Sketch screen becoming more and more clear so that my face is starting to appear behind it.
The point on the tip of the plastic wand is made of the smallest kind of Lego piece, a single bit, so beautifully gem-like, it is translucent yellow, red or blue, often adorning the tip of a spaceship's wing but most becoming as a gas-filled prism, embedded in the wall of some Brutalist structure, perfecting aspects of window, ignoring others, letting in the spirit of light, not its story.
The tip of my finger is a 1-bit Lego window and I am Picasso waving it before an open lens.
January 5, 2009
The Barefoot Bandit
Barefoot walker, foot foot foot foot
Barefoot bicyclist, skateboarder
Barefoot fire walker, dancer, jazz musician, stamp collection in an attic
Barefoot trance seeker, card player, panic attacker, cigarette stamp outer, house organizer/ cleaner, daydreamer
Barefoot skipping along a paint line over the cement
Barefoot ice skater (no, thank you, not even if the feet are the metal blades)
flash:
Any kind of hurt or heat or nasal-numb roughness is okay but no cold foot allowance!
Barefoot claw-foot bather, yes, while watching a movie on a computer and even if I don't see a single barefoot in the film, there there my love, three feet behind the screen and slightly to the left I watch my steaming red puffy warm foot pressing into the cold whiteness echo wall (cold is good if the feet are very hot), and if I close my eyes I can see the millions of bones that make the thing work and make the bone covering so very punishable.
flash:
True ninja, infinite ninja:
Everyone I've ever been close to tells the same story of summer barefoot conditioning, and that prepared us for love but love is also a continuation of the barefoot bashing delirium.
Barefoot bicyclist, skateboarder
Barefoot fire walker, dancer, jazz musician, stamp collection in an attic
Barefoot trance seeker, card player, panic attacker, cigarette stamp outer, house organizer/ cleaner, daydreamer
Barefoot skipping along a paint line over the cement
Barefoot ice skater (no, thank you, not even if the feet are the metal blades)
flash:
Any kind of hurt or heat or nasal-numb roughness is okay but no cold foot allowance!
Barefoot claw-foot bather, yes, while watching a movie on a computer and even if I don't see a single barefoot in the film, there there my love, three feet behind the screen and slightly to the left I watch my steaming red puffy warm foot pressing into the cold whiteness echo wall (cold is good if the feet are very hot), and if I close my eyes I can see the millions of bones that make the thing work and make the bone covering so very punishable.
flash:
True ninja, infinite ninja:
Everyone I've ever been close to tells the same story of summer barefoot conditioning, and that prepared us for love but love is also a continuation of the barefoot bashing delirium.
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