Saturday, February 26, 2005

Hungry for fantasy in which our killing might is good for any difficulty that a world contains; hungry for plain truth without grays; hungry for a story to show us as good and our world as rational; hungry for distraction from knowing too much; hungry for our lost lights; hungry for a way out.

Friday, February 25, 2005

Dragon on Saturn. (via Robot Wisdom)
Aquatic Ap* Th*ory.


Famous Dallas acid rock band Bloodrock will play again, March 12!

Car tribulation again. Got aid going to work. I want it a minor thing, not costly or long as my luck on occasion has it. Alll that cash i must pay back from old tribulations now sits on my days as if a crystal hippopotamus; and thinking of tomorrow's additions is to watch slow drowning.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Our shops got in books by *. P. Ro*...

Wednesday, February 23, 2005


When I came down from the mountain, I didn't know
where I had been, what I was coming back to
but I soon found out. Billboards by the roadside
threw colors in my eyes used to none
and I inhaled a waft of broken molecules
that taught me, even wondering at this
to cough and speak the cough that was my name.
   Fire, but having lost or left that view,
another fire was promised me though I
be blind until its shining...

And namer of everything since, I named them one."

--Ryan Orion, D*bt is a Forc* that Giv*s Us M*aning (1980)

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

"Songs, I think, have to be anatomically correct." --Tom Waits (via Mumpsimus)

So much for a song's capitalistic quality.
Good Silliman today. Viva Trobar Clus!

(--But Ron, isn't fascism "polarizing"?)
    "A Lay of the Sad Last Days of Johnny Cochran"

Polypward growing
of pistachio light. Rush
slowly boring orchid indigo

dawn cold hit.
And it's hard
prying at a florid scab

with stony light and stars of civic Lilith
whirling firm
night sound of downpour. Stubborn thing,

in adorn
through an orchard of abort
occupation say good night

or door to carol
a story without skuas
at Acornfall star

of pistachio light. Rolm
throws morning into focus.
A day will find us.

And a mist boils up
disastrous lungfish
watch a bug across it crawl

this bright sand:
cryptic labyrinth
brings down, aroma

dark continuum transplant burning
gambols in astir arroyo,
Ophir chill

but most by pillbug
gasoline ballast...
Frost strung crows

hiss of black vinyl,
much smoking mirror. Gibbous
in shadowy magnolia.

Monday, February 21, 2005

CD rot.
Und*rstanding Global Cultur*s.
"Though quaint allusions, vague and undefin'd,
Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind;--"

--Anon, in: A Collection of English Poems 1660-1800, ed R S Crane (1932)

'choosing a path
overgrown with wind-grasses
and weeds,
today I walk
for as long as the sun shines'

--Yuko Kawano, Vital Forces (tr A Fielden & A Yuhki, 2003)

Sunday, February 20, 2005

A cosmic war is in a way our crisis now. This indistinct thing, Moron quality, or say all minds of Plain Folk who as a majority hold such sway in human affairs: to control it is to control much of our world. Only, nobody actually can. It is various bad magics at work, all unknowingly.
    "Arab and Mozarab"

sinuosity, to hold
along with dynasty coupons an oddball
thirst, flint calm altar
sparking nightmarish marathon
of pistachio light. Rush
flunky to flunky
and indistinct on your dashboard diwn
no rotund
guardian will follow you with haggard glow.