Dumpster diving for books in Ljubljana.
1.
Graybow frore
sained by ebon
porous owl
of crinoid cold
orchid veldt
2.
toilers of the Halyx
& of the numbskull
wherry · motorized carols
follow with bright slurring
the afterparty...
dying too fast for the rites
More music, less news. Think of music as news.
"...these hazy 70s-era gems, as strange and surreal as they might be, feel like a cozy comfort watches..."
"But secretly I believe that, if I dwell on the worst, it can't happen. It would be too absurdly coincidental for me to be studying the possibility of a safe falling on my head at the same moment that a safe actually falls on my head. So I spend a lot of time conjuring evil. It keeps the tide flowing." --Katherine Dunn, Toad (2023)
"ORPHAN
Like blueprints hung on a clothesline,
anywhere I could have lived
is rinsed into the dirt,
my final and my only home.
I lack a long-ago, a childhood:
I spit its name into my wounds.
I am ringed by a landscape
of complete aversion. The compass
hides its face, the horizon lights
a familytree-fuse that explodes in me—
In the middle of the sea,
sole survivors of a cargo shipwreck,
welcome-mats line the shore
of a desert island."
--Bill Knott
Bad Timing, or, Toby tell Me Tru.
Sexy-horror listicle. (via Mefi)
"Kia en lin mem fine lin ŝanĝas la eterna"
de Stefano MALLARMÉ
Kia en lin mem fine lin ŝanĝas la eterna,
Alarmas la Poeto nudglave al jarcento
Sia, angora de la malkonfesata sento
Ke morto jam triumfis en lia voĉ' konsterna.
Ili audinte -- kvazaŭ vekiĝus hidro sterna --
L' anĝelon senci puraj la vortojn de la gento,
Lautkriis, ke la sorĉojn li trinkis el torento
De ia arde nigra miksaĵ' honor-eksterma.
De l' malamikaj grundo kaj nub' ho lukta veo!
Se jam bareliefon el ĝi nia ideo
Ne skulptos, por la tombo de Poe ornam-sublimo
Severa blok' falinta el sombra aventuro,
Jena granit' almenaŭ por ĉiam montru limon
Al flugoj de l' Blasfemo disaj en la futuro!
--elfrancigis Gaston WARINGHIEN (Parizo, 1876.)
originale aperis en la nica literatura revuo, 1/4 p. 151-157 (via ) ( My version.)
Feuilleton does Quicksilver (the font).
"Our notion of justice dispenses him who possesses from the obligation of giving." --Waiting for God
Turquoise, purple, black & white geometric.
My curating did this to me.
"Some centuries after Yunus lived, a collection of his songs came into the hands of a certain orthodox and narrow-minded cleric by the name of Mullah Kasim. This Mullah Kasim sat himself down on the bank of a stream and began to read Yunus's lyrics. Reading through song after song, the Mullah could be heard to mutter the word 'blasphemy,' crumpling that particular page and throwing it into the stream. Unfortunately, he had gone through about two-thirds of the collection before he read the line in which Yunus reminds himself, 'Speak truly, for one day a Mullah Kasim will judge you.'
At that point the Mullah stopped discarding pages. The lyrics that were not cast upon the waters comprise what we know of Eunus's work today." --introduction to Helminski & Algan's translation of Yunus Emre, The Drop that Became the Sea (1989)
"Interregnum
Butcher the evil millionaire, peasant,
And leave him stinking in the square.
Torture the chancellor. Leave the ambassador
Strung by his thumbs from the pleasant
Embassy wall, where the vines were.
Then drill your hogs and sons for another war.
Fire on the screaming crowd, ambassador,
Sick chancellor, brave millionaire,
And name them by the name that is your name.
Give privilege to the wound, and maim
The last resister. Poison the air
And mew for peace, for order, and for war.
View with alarm, participant, observer,
Buried in medals from the time before.
Whisper, then believe and serve and die
And drape fresh bunting on the hemisphere
From here to India. This is the world you buy
When the wind blows fresh for war.
Hide in the dark alone, objector;
Ask a grenade what you are living for,
Or drink this knowledge from the mud.
To an abyss more terrible than war
Descend and tunnel toward a barrier
Away from anything that moves with blood."
--Weldon Kees
"O human creatures, born to soar aloft,
Why fall ye thus before a little wind?"
--Longfellow's Dante (Purgatorio xii)
Swirl. (I really like what happens at the folds--this is like old B&W television whenever someone wears narrow stripes!)
Sugar is a monster like Godzilla.
"I back-translated the first sentence of a Russian trans. of Finnegans Wake..."
carmine sunrise · conewave
accosts eyes gone frosty
in the mild clear marplot
murk · carmine & turquoise
bands as i thread rhinestones
Ice wall of the Bogdanovich Glacier.
the roar, rancid, · of the road's flood
drowns out the drivethru · speech driblets
still so sticky · stubborn Octoberheat
pricey prescriptions · approved on EZpay
as i wait, wanes · the wodwo light
& the luminous lapse · of beleagured clowndom
"For a start, many of the photos of its so-called staff and board members were stock photos that had been taken off the internet and Photoshopped onto a consistent background." (via Mark Saltveit on Mastodon)
"He [Gottschalk] is a significant witness to the history of the Latin lyric, for his example proves that whenever the personal conditions were present which were propitious to the expression of intimate feeling there was a possibility of lyrical poetry. In this sense the lyric has no continuous history." --F J E Raby, A History of Secular Latin Poetry in the Middle Ages (1934)
"Occasionally, the characters refer to the exact number of the page on which they are located."
"Few people, for instance, realize that a time may easily come when we shall see the great outburst of science in the nineteenth century as something quite as splendid, brief, unique, and ultimately abandoned, as the outburst of Art at the Renascence." --G K Chesterton, Dickens
Disquieting motion in an abstract gif.
"MIDAS (palindrome)
Sad?
I'm ass —
Amid a silo of gold, I lost all I burnish,
saw ire, viral aroma.
Reviled?
I deliver a moral.
A river —
I wash sin, rub ill at solid log.
Fool is a dim ass,
a Midas."
--@spoonerrhythms
Ithaca
still churning rain
scathe faultless
as stranded kiln
flowers else
Spell Sets Foot on Solid Ground.
" 'Words are all we have. It is no good to find fault with them.'
'And yet I do so. They are used as if they had some power. And how little they have!' "
--@icomptonburnett
This took way too long to render 😂🌊.
"When he went to Palestine, Buber fought for the rights of Arabs, but did not prevail; had he done so, the history of the Middle East would have been different." --Martin Seymour-Smith
angst orb among habits
ice cream's mumchance rumble
already tapped TED-talk
to take a waltz waking
ragweed & rad penguin
I want to paint the city. I want to make it come alive.
Star Wars 1923. (via Mefi)
"Sappho's Hymn to Aprodite in Middle English
Glytering-troned and deethless Afroditte,
Gods dowhter, wunder-wicche, on me haf pitee,
Let passe me, queene, thes agonie and thole,
Grinde not my soule.
Wheneer byfor thou hast mi hearkenéd —
And ploumbed the distans heering that I said,
And heeding, thou hast com, and left behand
Gods golden land,
In chaar moste flete bi wingéd steedes drawn,
Upon the skye al dark afore the dawn,
Throgh hevenes hy and wide espace in glyde
Doun to erthside;
Than soonest com thou blessedest ladie,
With contenance devyne and asketh me
Asmile, what wo anonder me did falle,
That I thee calle?
What in my leesting hertes maddenesse
Who now most feele my ane besechenesse?
Who is it most thir own hertsease ago
For wreyed Sapfo?
For yif she fleeth, fresshly shal she folowe,
Today turn giftes, yet offreth them tomorwe,
She chues nat love, yet loving shal her chues
Thogh she eschewes.
Com then, I preye, gyf me an ende to grief,
Remoeven care o godess if thou leef,
What I moste coveite an it be provyde,
Thou at my syde!"
"It is ceasing to be a matter of how we think about technics, if only because technics is increasingly thinking about itself." --Fanged Noumena
Funeral march of the marionettes, detailed pencil drawing.
"I’ll be doing my best to be your guide as we jump into Liminal Spaces, Dreamcore, and Weirdcore."
"The truth stands between us, stark, staggering, strange." --Ivy Compton-Burnett
"Song
Down the river, down the lily, down and sing.
So still the hum, the tiny tick
Of frogs upon the lily; green tongues running,
Willow lisps a quiet wind.
Away and pebble down and sleep; the dream
Runs bare, and apple-hard and slow
The rich dark hair flows on the moon;
Necks bend to white, the long stems whisper. Sing,
And down; the lily darkly blows."
--Lorita Whitehead
New albums made to play on a Gameboy.
5 theses on Liminalcore
1. Liminalcore is the urban-industrial aspect of wabisabi.
2. The more story, the less Liminalcore.
3. Liminalcore is contained within other things that are not liminal.
4. Liminalcore is not about death, it is not about life, it is its own third thing.
5. Liminalcore is the certainty that we will never know.
“And to our sacrifice the Furies came.”
--Rowe’s Lucan, I.1079
"Apparently people need categories. I choose to ignore them."
"The gushing Veins no chearful Crimson pour,
But stain with pois'nous Black the sacred Floor."
--Rowe's Lucan, I.
"today I'll be
raptor or river rock
either will do
to soar on an updraft
or tumble underwater"
--an'ya
"The Heart
The wild heart grew white in the forest;
Dark anxiety
Of death, as when the gold
Died in the grey cloud.
An evening in November.
A crowd of needy women stood at the bare gate
Of the slaughterhouse;
Rotten meat and guts fell
Into every basket;
Horrible food.
The blue dove of the evening
Brought no forgiveness.
The dark cry of trumpets
Travelled in the golden branches
Of the soaked elms,
A frayed flag
Smoking with blood,
To which a man listens
In wild despair.
All your days of nobility, buried
In that red evening!
Out of the dark entrance hall
The golden shape
Of the young girl steps
Surrounded by the pale moon,
The prince’s court of autumn,
Black fir trees broken
In the night’s storm,
The steep fortress.
O heart
Glittering above in the snowy cold."
--Wright & Bly's Trakl
"Brian Eno album called Music for Walgreens" --@brksstrrtt
"We are the squanderers of pain and sorrow,
Espying them, in the tragic lapse of time,
Before they come, in case their end be near.
For they are our winter's leaves, a dark green shade
Which colours all our sences,--they are one
Of the seasons of the secretive year--, and more:
They are place and dwelling, camp and ground and home."
--Sackvilles' Duino, X.
"Being hypocritical is my comfort zone..."
"glish"
1.
Fillmore dire
sluice almond amp
rolm craw bell
educe wiry frieze
peal askew
2.
scrivenerly fathoms
futility baked in
carbonized aperçu
no name for ease of breath
the slosh that increases
hour at the Fillmore
wall of flame gathering
3.
crawl along Mechanic Street
underfong Mechanic Street
stay fair-aware after the
shot gone wrong, Mechanic Street
i camped on the dry bed of
billabong, Mechanic Street
golden sunrise ferrying
thousands strong Mechanic Street
Graywyvern fadges driving
parlous song, Mechanic Street
4.
orange iron · i avert
the bruised palm · of a perfect brine
forklift font · furious angelance
in the dead deep · where the diphthongs plummet
Something about raw & dirty point clouds 🤌🤌.
"CHALK-CROCUS, at
the coming of light: your
indivisible
mellowed in the warrant,
From-here-and-there-too,
high explosives
are smiling at you,
existence the nick
helps a snowflake
come out of itself,
at the source-points
the Moldau is rising."
--Washburn & Guillemin's Celan
"The gates of prayer are sometimes closed, but the gates of repentance are forever open." --Midrash: Deuteronomy Rabbah, 2:7 qtd in Leo Rosten- A Treasury of Jewish Quotations
Driving out to the edge of town to get a replacement door for our car. Junkyard stretching for miles. Narrow path between. Silence. Then i start to notice all the burnt out hulks. All alike. All the same model as our Pinto. It's like some demon had been dispatched to blow them all up.
fx⚫️.
"Eatable as a cheek
Ending
To seem immense
Public and simplicity
Only as a cheek
At an eatable pilot-house
Like a bush
An impromptu connecting-rod
Only and polished
Polished as a mile
Remaining
Hearing
More whole than a stone
Whiter than a desire
Bent
More anxious than science
More generous than darkness
To end"
--Robot X, 1775
🌃The city is gradually falling asleep.
"Year's End
The state cracked where they left your breath
No longer instrument. Along the shore
The sand ripped up, and the newer blood
Streaked like a vein to every monument
.
The empty smoke that drifted near the guns
Where the stiff motor pounded in the mud
Had the smell of a hundred burned-out suns.
The ceiling of your sky went dark.
A year ago today they cracked your bones.
So rot in a closet in the ground
For the bad trumpets and the capitol's
Long seasonable grief. Rot for its guests,
Alive, that step away from death. Yet you,
A year cold, come more living to this room
Than these intruders, vertical and warm."
--Weldon Kees
Blasphemies of the dwarf jester, detailed oil painting, edward hopper.
"Every war...is represented not as a war, but as an act of self-defense against a homcidal maniac." -George Orwell (via @SaladinAhmed)
Creation and destruction - dissolving.
"If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it."
--Zora Neale Hurston
"Appreciation
The lively gestures have cried, turning alpaca
without appreciation
To endure a satisfactory deck, an
unsatisfactory chant, a punctual
ivory-country glow, a warlike aspiration, an expectant typist
Like quick imbeciles
We have sent him a string"
--Robot X, 277.
Hell's Mountain of Needles. This makes me happy--Ningen Isu covers Budgie!
"Robinson
The dog stops barking after Robinson has gone.
His act is over. The world is a gray world,
Not without violence, and he kicks under the grand piano,
The nightmare chase well under way.
The mirror from Mexico, stuck to the wall,
Reflects nothing at all. The glass is black.
Robinson alone provides the image Robinsonian.
Which is all of the room--walls, curtains,
Shelves, bed, the tinted photograph of Robinson's first wife,
Rugs, vases panatelas in a humidor.
They would fill the room if Robinson came in.
The pages in the books are blank,
The books that Robinson has read. That is his favorite chair,
Or where the chair would be if Robinson were here.
All day the phone rings. It could be Robinson
Calling. It never rings when he is here.
Outside, white buildings yellow in the sun.
Outside, the birds circle continuously
Where trees are actual and take no holiday."
--Weldon Kees
"There is nothing you can show on your face that can match the horror of this time. Do not even try. You will only hold yourself up to the scorn of those who have felt things deeply." --Leonard Cohen, Death of a Lady's Man (1978)
"So much of this website is just people bringing a mentally ill person to your attention like a cat bringing you a dying lizard in its mouth. what do you want me to do with this homie. it’s going in the garbage and I feel a little bad for it. you did get him though, that’s true" --@anomicca (via @mckenziewark)
"the Desperado (de Nerval)"
I am the bereaved, the widower, the shadowy,
the Cathar prince of the devastated citadel:
My guiding star is snuffed, my galactic lute
carries Melancholy's sable pentacle.
You who consoled me in the dark of the sepulcher,
give me back Posilipo & the Mediterranean,
the fragrance that enchanted my sere despair,
& that arbor where the rose & grape are intimate.
am I Cupid or Apollo?....Poe or Byron?
the kiss of some dread queen still becrimsons my brow;
I have dreamed in the grotto where the siren plashes...
& twice have I crossed Acheron victorious:
practicing in turn on the lyre of Orpheus
moans of a mystic, sobs of a dying elf.
4 26 87
"Balthasar
Hid near a lily-spangled stream,
The wild duck smooths his satin breast;
A league back, shattered hauberks gleam;
The wall no longer guards the West.
The crystal willow boughs of spring
Shimmer above on pearl-shell skies,
And Balthasar sets signet-ring
To war-dispatches full of lies."
--Charles Spear
"I was ashamed of my trade [the military] when I saw those horrors perpetrated which came under every man's eyes. You hew out of your polished verses a stately image of smiling victory: I tell you 'tis an uncouth, distorted, savage idol; hideous, bloody, and barabarous. The rites performed before it are shocking to think of. You great poets should show it as it is--ugly and horrible, not beautiful and serene. O sir, had you made the campaign, believe me, you never would have sung it so." --Henry Esmond (1852)
"Now I do not even know
How to live or how survive,
In these dreadful days of evil,
In this last and fleeting age.
Must I make my home in wind,
Build my walls upon the water?"
--Runo 7, Kalevala (tr Eino Friberg, 1988)
" 'What better time to go wedding-ring shopping,' Dever wryly asks, 'than while awaiting discovery of one’s father’s perhaps-murdered corpse in a country far from home?' " (via aldaily)
Zinngeschrei
big angström
angel's ogham
Weststruck psalmist
iceberg whist
"Hot Air
So soft my pleasure came
Upon a dream,
Iced fire and frosted flame
It was, too brief for blame.
Yet sharp to seem
So soft. My pleasure came
And went--that was its shame,
Not that, supreme,
Iced fire and frosted flame,
It bore the ancient name
Harsh hearts blaspheme.
So soft my pleasure, came
A wind and woke me tame
To that regime
Iced fire and frosted flame
Had burnt to a black frame
Before their steam.
So soft, my pleasure, came
Iced fire and frosted flame."
--Vassar Miller, 1963
" 'Matter' is nothing in itself except an anomaly in space. People are just angles in that anomaly." --Harry Stephen Keeler
"V.C. Andrews had been dead for years and no one seemed to notice."
