( via / via )

More untranslatables.

"I must admit I have read many books. When I disappear, all those volumes will change imperceptibly; the margins will become wider, the thought more cowardly." --Blanchot

Shadow Hider.

"Spring and Fall

         to a young child

Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for."

--By Gerard Manley Hopkins

Stranded(ness).

( lanny quarles / via )

Substance.Deformation.05.

"A Diamond

   A Translation for Robert Jones

A diamond
Is there
At the heart of the moon or the branches or my nakedness
And there is nothing in the universe like diamond
Nothing in the whole mind.

The poem is a seagull resting on a pier at the end of the ocean.

A dog howls at the moon
A dog howls at the branches
A dog howls at the nakedness
A dog howling with pure mind.

I ask for the poem to be as pure as a seagull’s belly.

The universe falls apart and discloses a diamond
Two words called seagull are peacefully floating out where the waves are.
The dog is dead there with the moon, with the branches, with my nakedness
And there is nothing in the universe like diamond
Nothing in the whole mind."

--Jack Spicer

Salvador Dalí, illustrations for Alice in Wonderland.

"There isn't just one hidden, occulted England. There are hundreds. I am from the England of the wires. The England of the electric ley, The Hum. A criss-crossing above your head England where there's no such thing as silence in the fields." – Signal-catcher Rose, ex-Pylon Person (via @HooklandGuide)

The Red Crystal.

( via / via )

Haunting Space Banjo | Ambient Space Western Chillwave .

"the only game I play is the millennium
the only game I play is the Great Fear"

--Notebook of a Return to the Native Land (tr Eshleman & Smith)

Twist & Shout.

"XXXVI

West and away the wheels of darkness roll,
   Day's beamy banner up the east is borne,
Spectres and fears, the nightmare and her foal,
   Drown in the golden deluge of the morn.

But over sea and continent from sight
   Safe to the Indies has the earth conveyed
The vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night,
   Her towering foolscap of eternal shade.

See, in mid heaven the sun is mounted; hark,
   The belfries tingle to the noonday chime.
'Tis silent, and the subterranean dark
   Has crossed the nadir, and begins to climb."

--AE Housman, Last Poems

Haunted.

( via / via )

Toccata and Fugue.

"I honour you in dread

Since your voice like a soft vapour laps me
and my eyes, offered to the eternal scythe,
dare for you to contemplate the coffin;
since to me your red sanctuary affords
a joy half chill, half cardinalate, before
the posthumous avalanche weeps upon the vane;
since the bold cervix of the ardent skeleton,
predestined to the brand of the funeral
walnut, has hurled for you defiance to Death;
I honour you in dread of a lost alcove,
necromantic, with your rigid face
ecstatic, on a shin, as on a pillow;
and since you are my blood's harmonious chosen,
Amada, and life's convulsions seem a bridge
above an abyss, on which we tread together,
my kisses scour you devoutly serried
over a sacrilegious cloak of skulls
as over an erotic domino."

--Ramón López Velarde (1888-1921), in: Octavio Paz's anthology Mexican Poetry

"Besides Crystal Castles and Purity Ring, similar recs?"

"Martyrdom was the dream of my youth and this dream has grown with me within Carmel's cloisters. But here again, I feel that my dream is a folly, for I cannot confine myself to desiring one kind of martyrdom. To satisfy me I need all." --Theresa Hak Kyung Cha

Pixel train night.

( me / "what grows inside us" by geof huth on fb )

Snake Pit.

Caravaggio was the Weegee of the Renaissance.

Congratulations.

"Wracked by frosts,
The skies, where drenched
The geese, calling,
Homeward bound, wingbeats
Stirring Spring rains’ fall."

--Fujiwara no Teika

Lumina #32.

( via / via )

Geometric Animations / 231208.

"I walked to the edge of early morning,
found no ease there but empty faces,
found no friend there but fear and longing,
found no love there and left again.
The clock in the watchtower called out the hours,
the empty gutters gave no answer back.
Before me stretched streets without footsteps,
cities without names, and nothing beyond;
behind me my past like a pale queen shining,
waving farewell with her flaming hands.
How long must it last, this lesson in waiting,
this watching and wanting and walking on?
I walked to the edge of early morning,
found no love there and left again."

--John D Niles

I Try.

I want to see as many Vallejos as there are Englishings of Horace.

Non applicable status of the unrelenting divinator.

( via / via )

There's No Distance.

"The Angel of History is named Erosion." --sayings of Asmodeus

· Blink ·.

   the million shadows
that on you tend · story wage
   against light's story

crushed by a fallen building
Star Wars holiday special

To be an Aztec calendar wheel.

( via / via )

Underground China.

the wedge-working · poured awareness
pattern-unpacking · repair cup
in this dark dungeon · of a dull hour
gurgle i give · gossamer ears to

Ultimately, we grew to love the Tezos Art Pillar and accept it into our ecosystem..

"shall all wights in the world · wander from home--"

--Hollander's Eddas

Asclepian robin.

( me / via )

Celestial Cadence.

Since the obvious remedies are utterly unavailable, philosophy wrings its hands in vain to find a new way of framing the impasse. One that doesn’t involve time travel. All solutions involve time travel.

Shot Gun.

"droit de seigneur in a managerial age"

thin-shadowing sky time
& leaf-scrape · on the concrete
trash in the trash can
the unreal stories stretch
& time, which will not be healed,
holds in its ruin the one answer

House of Bamboo.

( me / me )

Ghosts of DFW music.

i'm sorry said the earth
i didn't mean to die

by what else swear an oath
i'm sorry said the earth

with inadvertent wrath
clowns-and-razorwire day

i'm sorry said the earth
i didn't mean to die

Bar of Soap documentary. (No, that's not my mural. Mine was in the back, on the wall that got torn down for the expansion.)

Bards cavil, juggle reputation-like snowglobes; occasionally a roof falls in. The solace of pen on paper, less & less convincing.

Gravitational Structure.

( via / me )

🖼️ RGB Elementary Cellular Automaton #13.

David Jones had the finest ear for verse since Dowson, & that means nothing for his reputation, because the auditory aspect has ceased to count.

Convirtiendo un telar en computadora.

"this latest gun massacre"

1.
green ink lost to me
snow playing tricks with my eyes
cries of unseen birds

in the cool half-light blotted
suddenly by an airplane

2.
orc Navidad Ivan
empty the form pimped
blazing leaves & lies teem

along the kraal tower
overcast looth cavern

3.
Voss maybe a vibe shift
averts the fell curtain
saucer gods of guesswork

gossamers wreak Preakness
& i bide these odd jobs

4.
wine-dark wolf of Alpha
reward-the-trees season

Notes from the Black Hole at the Center of the Galaxy.

( via / lanny quarles )

White Comedy.

"gift of a dead language"

whatever i say
is about
the melting of the letters

yesterday i did ten things
today i want to do nothing

whatever i say
is about
the melting of the letters

leaves across the concrete scraping
vomit up inlet clenches

A passel of portals.

"The witch always stands at omen threshold. She has the telling of auspicy in the flight of birds, she has the telling of clouds in nephomancy. She can read lichen as a map of tomorrow or tell the next hour from the whispering of waves. Linearity does not jail her." – #EmilyBanting va @HooklandGuide

👀🙌🏽💐💀.

( me / via )

Attractors and Collisions.

"There is no justice; there are only limits." --Notebooks of Camus

Stairway. (via Mefi)

"The Southern Road

There the black river, boundary to hell.
And here the iron bridge, the ancient car,
And grim conductor, who with surly yell
Forbids white soldiers where the black ones are.
And I re-live the enforced avatar
Of desperate journey to a dark abode
Made by my sires before another war;
And I set forth upon the southern road.

To a land where shadowed songs like followers swell
And where the earth is scarlet as a scar
Friezed by the bleeding lash that fell (O fell)
Upon my fathers' flesh. O far, far, far
And deep my blood has drenched it. None can bar
My birthright to the loveliness bestowed
Upon this country haughty as a star.
And I set forth upon the southern road.

This darkness and these mountains loom a spell
Of peak-roofed town where yearning steeples soar
And the holy holy chanting of a bell
Shakes human incense on the throbbing air
Where bonfires blaze and quivering bodies char.
Whose is the hair that crisped, and fiercely glowed?
I know it; and my entrails melt like tar
And I set forth upon the southern road.

O fertile hillsides where my fathers are,
From which my griefs like trouble streams have flowed,
I have to love you, though they sweep me far.
And I set forth upon the southern road."

--Dudley Randall

DPSY21 EDIT08.

( via / via )

"I respect the professions of my characters, whether they’re heisters or zombie hunters."

"On Fatalism

Not always wealth, not always force
A splendid destiny commands;
The lordly vulture gnaws the corpse
That rots upon yon barren sands.

Nor want, nor weakness still conspires
To bind us to a sordid state;
The fly that with a touch expires
Sips honey from the royal plate."

The Holy Imam Shafay

Oval train.

"Babe this is my emotional support pile of unread books" --@DoththeDoth

Systemisch.

( via / via )

"Even within Gaza, there’s a hierarchy of suffering."

"Soon does one learn the bitter lesson that humanity is never content just to differ from you and let it go at that. Never." --@MsJeanRhys

Phenomenal lightning occurring in the volcanic plume.

"Moon Song (palindrome)

Moon
I blare vile drone.

Moon
A cloven order
I fetal ululate.

Pan in my hag,
no sane vocal anger,

I — regnal,
a coven,
a song,
a hymn in a petal —
ululate fire,
drone volcano omen,
or deliver albino ‘Om’."

--@SpoonerRhythms

"I respond to atmosphere much more than plot, say, and it seems it gathers much more effectively around a lone voice, just like it does around a single candle flame perhaps." (via c@mjohnharrison)

( via / via )

"How do you write about a writer whose entire project revolves around the refusal of meaning and the systematic destruction of ordinary language?"

"her hair

slipping slowly

through my fingers,

without saying goodbye

this summer solstice"

--RG Rader at Ahapoetry

Departure.

"My heart is pylon-caged. My ears belong to The Hum. I can only walk the electric ley, turn when the lines above compel me. If this is madness, it is a madness that has fully consumed me." - Signal Catcher Rose, Pylon Person, 1974 via @HooklandGuide (via @PylonPeople)

Anten.

( via / via )

"In 2030 it will begin to be de-orbited and crash-landed piece by piece into the Pacific."

"Training your inner monologue to swear constantly so the mind-reading surveillance drones can't sell your data to AI trainers" --@ctrlcreep

"On average, your CV will be rejected by a resume scanning software, or ATS - Applicant Tracking System - before getting under the eyes of a human being ."

"Half Light

I have dreamed of escape, and dreamed
of your silken things all over the floor.
Along a pier sits a new mother,
all of fifteen, who nurses on the hour.

I have dreamed of escape, of ever-afters
Sighed from the ladder below a prow.
I have dreamed of a mother,
A few fresh sprigs of green,
And dawn like a hope chest lined with stars.

   All along a pier. . .
All along a drowning throat."

--César Vallejo tr Yvette Siegert (via @JoyelleMcS)

Molnár thread.

( via / via )

Sliding Down Void Mountain.

"Herbarium

Truly no flower yet withers in your hand'
—Hart Crane, “To Emily Dickinson”

Quite the reverse — not Delphic, vatic;
palindromes' dreams onehow merge in statics.
Rivulets dream up their aqueducts; domes
ricochet (re-)currencies of soporifics
         a dram of henbane, a drachma’s mandrake

off words not Delphic, though wombed, vatic
that whisper impregnable yells to rhizomes.
         chimaeras on sweven draughts here
Pressed into something nyctinastic,

statics immerge how one dreams palindromes
of pained dates; details slip off the bedside comb.
Aqua vitae – aqua ardens wick

up through a mise en abyme vatic
enough to dream the dream that sleeps off Lethe —
skiagraphy that chalks its dark to trick:
         Still Life with a Coaly Pasithea on a Passing Immortel, 2002

A palindromic dream to merge in statics —
this — mounts up itself on sulcal catacombs
latent of sound how the nyctipelagic,
         credo quia absurdum est

long-lost, breathe (no, there is no Prophecy,
just verses). Fascicled into a poem,
         ACT VI., B. SCENE: REDIVIVUS
a dream slips death back, like a mad palindromist."

--Athena Melliar via @poochigian

· Elude ·.

"It is of grave import that we limn and grasp our vision of genuine collectivity and plenitude:acquit ourselves from promulgation of incessant fear and aimless reactivity, walk away from the noose of hierocracy, voyeurism and distanced complicity; that we let each other, art, poetry and architecture prevail upon us, our innards be grabbed by mother earth to cultivate the breadth of our embodied awareness to discover and consummate reverberant limits of maturity, rather than consent to the proliferating jejune and amniotic, utilizing the full spectrum of affordances in the structure of our light, our sensualia and circumambience; people… expanding limits of their personal genius and governance." --Lissa Wolsak

"The new Oxfam report, Climate Equality, shows that in 2019, the super-rich 1% were responsible for the same carbon pollution as the poorest two thirds of humanity - 5 billion people." (via @gretathunberg)

( via / via )

"...more interesting art is being done in tattoo studios than art galleries."

"Listening to Björk on the subway honestly makes me feel like I’m in an art film where mycelial growths will spring up from the track and embrace me as I don a rat mask and sway to the underearth tunnel noise with orchestration. In a gown made of Vaseline." --@saintsoftness

Frost at Midnight.

saffron glow above
Daliborka Tower
silent ravens hover
harg of the vow

orange dyes the leaf
train withholds its rumble
tapestry so feeble
fandango bumf

vinyl from fresh years
whirrs the image poacher
make us a patchwork creature
crowing in the high floors

jubilee comes but once
heartache the blacktop blisters
fardels my yearning musters
not emoluments

Throbbing 'B'.

( via / via )

Screensaver.

dark hothouse · indict me
a door into winter
unkempt kitchen stamped with

occult phases hazy
in mind for moot thunder

𝗧⃛𝗮⃛𝗽⃛𝗶⃛𝗼⃛𝗰⃛𝗮⃛ 🧋🐛.

"Now y’all can see why I never got many nickels on the street corners; it’s because, to the hoyee-poloyee, I’m always thought to be talking Chocktaw. Yep, all is now, for me, up the flue." --@HarrySKeeler

Other angles, other angels.

( v. p. crowe on fb / via )

Amelia.

"Evil:
All its mist
is time gone.

No gem,
it sits...

'I'm still alive.' "

--@Anthony_Etherin

Az_dreugi.

comfort purchase · pamphlet
repair shop · lanes narrow
& the Halyx hacksaw

handles any bandwidth

Sator Skull.

( via / via )

Spacelike taradiddle.

timeline-cleanse claimant
declassified nidor
do i over-avid

alter my thwart faultlines
just to thole the jewel-crush

Sea-Fever.

One can never have too much baboon jewelry.

New Age Cult.

( via / via )

Frostbite.

"Soño tonos ocre como cerco.
Son otoños."

I dream ocher tones like a fence.
They are autumns.

--@MerlinaAcevedo

Fluid Wind.

"winter talion"

Kevardhu shines in this concrete burg
where a smartphone-clutched axwaddler
scrolls through scenes of mayhem bright
in the huffle-buffs of distance

i stand with starry gomble
only to comprehend
as Kevardhu into mothsinge dwindles
& the concrete grows great cracks

The skull of Mary Magdalene.

( via / via )

Winter Evening Colours. -2°C. Buzzards.

"If my Enemy is a Clown, a Natural Born Clown

i tore down my thoughts
roped in my nightmares
remembered a thousand curses
made blasphemous vows to demons
choked on the blood of hosts
   ate my hat
threw fits in the street
got up bitchy each day
told off the mailman
lost many friends
left parties in a huff
dry fucked a dozen juke boxes
made anarchist speeches in brad
the falcon’s 55 (but was never
thrown out)
drank 10 martinis a minute
until 1 day the book was finished

my unspeakable terror between the
covers, on you i said to the
enemies of the souls

well lorca, pushkin i tried
but in this place they assassinate
you with pussy or pats on
the back, lemon chiffon between
the cheeks or 2 weeks on a mile
long beach.

i have been the only negro
on the plane 10 times this year
and its only the 2nd month

i am removing my blindfold and
leaving the dock. the judge
giggles constantly and the prosecutor
invited me to dinner

no forwarding address please

i called it pin the tail on the devil
they called it avant garde
they just can't be serious
these big turkeys"

--Ishmael Reed

Powerhats Fitting Room ⚡️🧢.

"Californians invented the concept of life-style. This alone warrants their doom."

—Don DeLillo (via @bernardtjoy)

Circles & stripes omelette.

( via / via )

The shape of time.-Energy Void.

"greebled kiki accelerationism (grkk/acc), of which there are two schools, ordinary grkk/acc, and lilliputian grkk/acc (lilligrrkk/acc)" --@ctrlcreep

Hello Krampus.

"the skull of Mary Magdalene"

1.
so many vapor trails crossing
on this brisk clear morning
sign of a dogfight surely
or some great event

the old wound throbbing
that is only ever right

vapor coalesced
on the lank breath of rockets
clouds as from cities fired
i see in this crystal dawn

the old wound throbbing
that is only ever right

2.
stone gateway · breezed by
never tried
these days words won't uncrinkle
long enough to say

reverb bistro · where the newly slain
unburied lie
these days i hate the sound
of crazed humans barking

dark green · i would glide
beneath shadetrees
here there is rollfire & the dry
cough of rare braking

leaves made gold · orange red
mock the seeker
contrails that spell nothing
tell us what we cannot know

Pure shuffle in space.