"Many an editor who you may think is real is actually a clone of the original, genetically programmed to play along with the syncophancy and cronyism you've come to know and love. And I laughed as I heard them die."


   "SONIC ICONS

--That liquid cough.
I cringe inly
for the millionth
time, hearing
in it the sick child
ignorant of remedy,
the unloved adult
without hope of succor,
& the pathetic slave
fearful of reprisals
for a day's absence."

--Aaron Gut*n: What th* World N**ds Now (1971)


As you was snoozing. (via David Brin)


"As he swaggers and blinks and mugs for the cameras in the hot sun, hardly anyone's buying his cheap act for a second. And to many, who are seeing him as he really is for the first time, the sight of the real George W. Bush is as horrible and as grotesque as the rotting corpse of a poor lady in a wheelchair abandoned in a ruined city..."

(via univ*rs*-r*vi*w dot ca)


   "Astronautics"

Horntoad corndog and Mars winds
through whirling phobia winds.

Oil foison cusp but worry
not: human void will wash winds.

This collaborinth flings snool
upon snool, black and gray winds.

All Grinchus asks is that sky
withhold its haul of pun winds.



To trust nothing.


Th* R*al Dr Frank*nst*in. (via B*yond Th* B*yond)

Ston*fridg*


" I came across this fragment in Schlegel's Athenaeum Fragments:
'434. Should poetry simply be divided up? Or should it remain one and indivisible? Or fluctuate between division and union? Most of the ways of conceiving a poetical world are still as primitive and childish as the old pre-Copernican ideas of astronomy. The usual classifications of poetry are mere dead pedantry designed for people with limited vision. Whatever somebody is capable of producing, or whatever happens to be in fashion, is the stationary earth at the center of all things. But in the universe of poetry nothing stands still, everything is developing and changing and moving harmoniously; and even the comets obey invariable laws of motion. But until the course of these heavenly bodes can be calculated and their return predicted, the true world system of poetry won't have been discovered.' " --via Bronw*n, opining on Silliman's Blog


"Perhaps a better question may be why does a mystical or Gnostical understanding of the material world still matter?"


On my victrola- Inlak*sh: Th* Dr*aming Gat*.

Prison Nation.


On my victrola- Oingo Boingo.


" "Our space vehicle," Frank Borman, the astronaut, wrote to Verne's grandson, "was launched from Florida, like [Verne's]; it had the same weight and the same height, and it splashed down in the Pacific a mere two and a half miles from the point mentioned in the novel." " --introduction to Paris in th* Tw*nti*th C*ntury (tr Richard Howard, 1996)


   "Burak"

Drain rain sound and koalang
sibilant Cibola sound and koalang

Snow cannon
at my carbs aims sound and koalang

Coulrophobia
Ubar sound and koalang

A grisly shortfall
labyrinth math sound and koalang

Grinchus splash
in a kiln pool of gun sound and koalang




(via photojournal dot jpl dot nasa dot gov)


"Then again, when I was watching Predator I didn't think two members of its cast would become governors, either. So you never know."

(via wallpap*r dot n*t dot au)


"The last thing that progressives need is to start adopting a conspiracist mindset, watching for the same black helicopters that visited the nightmares of '90s militiamen."


Orangutan.


Hot N*ptun*s.

"Borges is capable of making up much better books and monsters and authors than anyone can find in libraries." --G*n* Wolf*, in: Across th* Wound*d Galaxi*s (1990)


"Vast minotaurian corridors of sleep" --Osb*rt Sitw*ll


This much is known.


"A story: reality has become so mutable, & the senses so untrustworthy, that many have become completely skeptical of their surroundings, & only manage to survive by clinging to a fixed routine. Their chant: HOLD TO THE PATTERN / KEEP TO THE PATTERN / ONLY THE PATTERN IS REAL." --Alf Boustrophedon, Po*'ts Mark*t (2012)


"The face of Fate is wet with other paint
Than that incarnadines the human clown"

--Osb*rt Sitw*ll


Post Lunch. (photo by Mich*ll* Rh*a)

"Because of the advent of the lightbulb, people sleep 500 hours less each year than they used to."


Okay... (via M*tafilt*r)


   "Why Cats Paint

Pergamum awaits.
In the shadow of the boarded-up tower
now never to complete,

Pergamum awaits.
In the Great Hall cold though spring without burgeons,
Pergamum.

In the armature of betrayals here
glistening like dawnwebs,
Pergamum, Pergamum.

Pergamum.
What haven't I given you,
lozenge of sunlight creeping; what

haven't I accepted
of your Vanilla Fudge sonatas,
of your skull under fathoms of estuary?"

--Adam Cadmium, My Struggle with Symmetry (1946)

"How utterly different our philosophies would have been had Nature economised with us, as she has done with other creatures, and given us eyes incapable of seeing the stars!" --Arthur C Clark*, Th* 3xploration of Spac* (1951)


51 P*gasi music. A.k.a. "Crazy Hors*".


"A Track, a Circling of Slow Wing Birds"

Abort palazzo
though any sky Karnak palazzo

Dodging thwarts
vodka martinis my sigil palazzo

Till our bombs unfurl again
i turn up gain on songs in iron palazzo

Grinchus holds whist in
a ghost hubbub palazzo



Th* song, scorn*d...