1. e4 e5 2. Nf3 f5 3. Nxe5 Qf6 4.d4 d6 5. Nf3 fxe4 6. Nd2 Qg6 7. Qe2 Nf6 8. Nc4 Be7 9. h3 O-O 10. Nc3 Nc6 11. Be3 a6 12. O-O-O b5 13. Nd2 d5 14. f3 b4 15. Nxe4 Nxe4 16. Nxe4 dxe4 17. Bf4 Rxf4 18. Qc4 Kh8 19. Qd5 Bb7 20. Qd7 Rd8 21. Qxc7 Bg5 22. Kb1 Rf7 23. Qg3 b3 24. Bc4 bxc2 25. Kxc2 exf3 26. Kb3 Na5 27. Kc3 Nxc4 28. Kxc4 Qc229. Kb4 Be7 30. Ka5 Rd5 31. Kb6 Bd8 32. Ka7 Qc8 33. Qb8 Bc6


   "Long Division of Polynomials"

tranquil crimson daunt
onyx squib
bullying williwaw glowworm scrum
from risky implant ustion


Yusuf Islam is back.

Factitious airs, almucantar arctic.

   Cicatrix from afar
and solitary radar,
you alloy this gray guitar.


'Snowflakes flutter--butterflies chase flowers;
Ants float--my wine is muddy.
I pluck the Black Lute,
A crane dances to my tune.
A dog barks at the wicker gate--
Boy, see if my friend has come.'

--Kim Yông, ibid

   "Solangia"

Cold chill scoriac shadow world
Burbling and crossgrain rainbow stuff
Gold clad girls sculpt a song of slag
His Antarctic jiaya cranch vap

Running with schisms dour hobbit
Ouniq grail own crowbar Karnak
Oliphaunt bowl born alibi
Lobo yoga snarl a algid


On my victrola- P*nd*r*cki's S*cond C*llo Conc*rto


'Having caroused far into the night
In the moonlit capital,
I return home and in my bed,
Behold, four legs.

Two have been mine;
Whose are the other two?
Two had been mine;
No, no, they are taken.'

--"Song of Ch'ôyong," in: C*l*bration of Continuity


Scanning: Lord Byron's Nov*l Th* 3v*ning Land by John Crowl*y (2005);
Fir*-Tongu* by Sax Rohm*r (1922)

"For those millions of us who had not been taken in by claims never even really intended to take us in, this wailing and gnashing of teeth was merely risible." (via wood_s lot)


"Much of his work expresses complex cosmic and spiritual forces that he feels strongly surging around him. These spirits, he claims, have a great influence on his daily life and he expresses them by means of charts and diagrams as well as describing their energy with his paint."


In my mind right now, i don't know why: Doctors for Dinosaurs.

"I predicted something bad would happen while others said I was crazy."


   "Royal Cartoon Umlaut"

champion throngs sank
ammo spool

viral Solangia into a showroom
prowl robot anguish Ogpu

man is parking angular skald mask
with ominous pools

aspirant spiral goat boys
glory avatar fight trustworthy

cardboard blog
asking Solangia clack wasp indigo


"By writing about the pilgrimages and the stories that link Our Lady of Perpetual Succour to medieval Italy and contemporary Aotearoa, the members of the Mâramatanga inscribe themselves into a history that already exists." --Kar*n Sinclair, Maori Tim*s, Maori Plac*s (2003)

On my victrola- Thai 3l*phant Orch*stra

High W*irdn*ss Wiki.


'Situation: someone is writing a novel in which one of the characters goes mad. During the composition he himself becomes mad, and finishes it in the first person.' --Ki*rk*gaard


3tymological Dictionary of th* 3sp*ranto Languag*. (via Languag* Hat)


morning turmoil
lungfish isthmus
ringing tarn


"This year's Rose Alley Memorial Award must surely go to Jake Arnott, whose latest crime novel, Johnny Come Home, was published in April 2006 and, alas, pulped in August 2006.
In his narrative, set in London's tin pan alley in the 70s, Arnott introduced a character called Tony Rocco: a one-time big-band singer, now an impresario and a big-time pervert in the Harry Starks mould. Nasty. Alas, out of obscurity, escorted by his learned friends in wigs, emerges the real-life Tony Rocco: former big-band singer and a figure of unimpeachable respectability."


"Today, it is generally conceded by interpreters that the essay [by Kierkegaard] on irony is itself an ironic work." --L** M Cap*l, introduction to Th* Conc*pt of Irony


Big As Night, II.

Gnosis on th* Silk Road.


"...sure as men have died, strong necromancy
Hath set the clock of time and nature back;
And made Earth's rooty, ruinous grave-piled caverns
Throb with the pangs of birth."

--B*ddo*s


"...a menacing gray object in the sky drawing closer and closer is revealed to be a cloud of cockroaches from America."


"Oak Cliff is to Dallas what Brooklyn is to New York." --Al*x Burton


Triangulation udmort tamarind wind
hurl did wodwo wind

poison Sunday was raucous hot flash
twinkling hibakusha wind

find Grinchus
a shark argot's wind


"The Gates impossible, of saddest inscription, geminal, impermeable
    on electric rail moving,
The Gates transparent for their sarcasm..."

"...the Portuguese lyrics say something like “Paraiba women will kick your ass!” while the Japanese version is about a lonely farmer."


"They can all retire to one of their vacation homes and leave the task of journalism to those who are still capable of adding 2 and 2 and at least realizing that the answer is a number rather than a talking point."

"DO NOT PICK UP THE TELEPHONE

That plastic Buddha jars out a Karate screech

Before the soft words with their spores
The cosmetic breath of the gravestone

Death invented the phone it looks like the altar of death
Do not worship the telephone
It drags its worshipers into actual graves
With a variety of devices, through a variety of disguised voices

Sit godless when you hear the religious wail of the telephone

Panties are hotting up their circle for somebody to burn in
Nipples are evangelizing bringing a sword or at least a razor
Cunt is proclaiming heaven on earth i.e. death to the infidel

Do not think your house is a hideout it is a telephone
Do not think you walk your own road, you walk down a telephone
Do not think you sleep in the hand of God you sleep in the mouthpiece of a telephone
Do not think your future is yours it waits upon a telephone
Do not think your thoughts are your own thoughts they are the toys of the telephone
Do not think these days are days they are the sacrificial priests of the telephone
The secret police of the telephone

O phone get out of my house
You are a bad god
Go and whisper on some other pillow
Do not lift your snake head in my house
Do not bite any more beautiful people

You plastic crab
Why is our oracle always the same in the end?
What rake off for you from the cemeteries?

Your silences are as bad
When you are needed, dumb with the malice of the clairvoyant insane
The stars whisper together in your breathing
World's emptiness oceans in your mouthpiece
Stupidly your string dangles into the abysses
Plastic you are then stone a broken box of letters
And you cannot utter
Lies or truth, only the evil one
Makes you tremble with sudden appetite to see somebody undone

Blackening electrical connections
To where death bleaches its crystals
You swell and you writhe
You open your Buddha gape
You screech at the root of the house

Do not pick up the detonator of the telephone
A flame from the last day will come lashing out of the telephone
A dead body will fall out of the telephone

Do not pick up the telephone"

--T*d Hugh*s


'...and music in the world of sense is made by the music prior to this world.' --Plotinus, 3nn*ad V.8 (tr Armstrong)


Val*ntinus and th* Val*ntinians.