Saturday, September 27, 2025

( me / via )

Gumbyworld punk duck.

Lost while writing is the best lost.

Backyard.

      "death in flavor town"

   thin crescent
crawly-mawly
   staring back
down mountain steps
   dust gathers
in each gully
   moon spirals
closer to span
   & i ask
in my eyrie
how far along Crazy Horse

   sat on plains
of sere grasses
   learning time
tempered by calm
   sea bed once
where flukes bandied
   groan epics
& attitudes
   as ours will
theirs wore away
how far along Crazy Horse
how far along

In war-ravaged Portland, detailed oil painting, salvador dali.

( via / via )

Thread that turned out to be way more interesting than i thought it would be!

"a lecture on the warrior ethos"

plant based deep cut · dillydallying
as one does, if · the arch-tinchel
rustles around · reas'nable folk
caught at counting · fast feculence
flicker arcade · comes unravelled
even on this · iridescent
fall street of a · strict composure
& i argue · ultimate things
against people · pared of faces

The secret grimoires don't tell you.

"No one says a novel has to be one thing. It can be anything it wants to be, a vaudeville show, the six o’clock news, the mumblings of wild men saddled by demons."
– Ishmael Reed, Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down via @jacobwren.bsky.social

Robot tumbleweeds for Mars.

( via / financial times )

"When it comes down to it, I always pick the Plutonian over the elf..."

"The Palace of Fine Arts is, and always has been, an experiential venue. Where once it housed art exhibitions, it now hosts concerts, an escape room, and surge-priced multimedia attractions. But as originally built, it was the slop installation of its day, a disposable plaster-and-burlap shantytown intended to stand only for the duration of the 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exposition. By the mid-1960s, it was every bit the ancient ruin it was modeled on, until a group of civic-minded preservationists marshaled public will (and funding) to rebuild it." —Luke O'Neil via via @kyloboomhauer.bsky.social

"Got my performance review."

"With the Face

With the face goes a mirror
As with the mind a world.
Likeness tells the doubting eye
That strangeness is not strange.
At an early hour and knowledge
Identity not yet familiar
Looks back upon itself from later,
And seems itself.

To-day seems now.
With reality-to-be goes time.
With the mind goes a world.
With the heart goes a weather.
With the face goes a mirror
As with the body a fear.
Young self goes staring to the wall
Where dumb futurity speaks calm,
And between then and then
Forebeing grows of age.

The mirror mixes with the eye.
Soon will it be the very eye.
Soon will the eye that was
The very mirror be.
Death, the final image, will shine
Transparently not otherwise
Than as the dark sun described
With such faint brightness."

—Laura (Riding) Jackson

There are two rabbits inside me.

( via / via )

How to disappear completely and never be found.

"Adán a la manada sobornó.
Sí hay DNA.
Sea con amparo o rap, mano: caes.
Andy: ¡ahí son robos!
Adán ama la nada."

—@merlinaacevedo.bsky.social

(Google translate:

Adam bribed the pack.
Yes, there's DNA.
Whether it's through protection or rap, man: you're going down.
Andy: That's robbery!
Adam loves nothing.)

Ghost Dance Card.

"I came here to hunt whales, not my commander’s vengeance." —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social

This Reverberating Life.

( me / zao wouki )

Heather has the skinny on Wounded Knee. (Then there's Little Big Man [1970].)

Hell & forced gaiety are coterminous.

Train Landscape.

"cancelling Banned Book Month"

flicker arcade, fleer-swarm
flags—centipede upshot—
furry memes on murder
means following botox
talking heads on TikTok
turn scrolloping tip jar
in the cold gray kismet

Fox made of flowers.

( me / via )

Mingus and Dolphy in Belgium - 1964.

"thousand-year ratfuck"

handmedown half-bread · a hero scores
where the dark · dangles a glimmer
in ev'rything, otherwise · this beige toast
fiestaware plate · except flatness
conjoined riddle · jest of rising
& myself suited · up like an astronaut

Buddha's Face.

"Frog tied some string around the box. 'There,' he said. 'Now we will not eat any more cookies.'

'But we can cut the string and open the box,' said Toad.

'That is true,' said Frog."

—@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social

"So this is the latest evolution of band kids." (via Mefi)

Friday, September 26, 2025

( via/ via )

I Think We're Alone Now (Japanese Version).

"So much of the work of oppression is policing the imagination."

--Saidiya Hartman via @communitynomad.bsky.social

Untitled.

"autumn evening
the wren chooses
our railing"

—@naumadd.bsky.social

Concierto de Aranjuez.

( via/ via )

Fifty Two Years.

"the cold equations"

ant traps never opened
gathering ash flesh-shed
spiralling cant-chaos
lost because of nostrums

Plimsoll plaint Titanic
red pluvial movethwart
ohaeng hidden witness
ghosts rehearse their cursive

in the pinball Bering
Strait it's a bike saeclum
wan radios warring
convince wasted insects

dark current of cutthroat
mood or call it fallout
to see all this acted
without any input

to know what can never
swerve Nemesis' grimhent
to write as one abject
among ogre shoguns

ant traps thus i try now
against trouble bubbling
with an eye turned timeward
as other torts sport here

one-storey the staunch coign
no witness storm of doormats
to tell future faceplants
this droll fury cured us

Tanka.

"I am in love with whatever is eccentric, devious, strange, singular, unique, out of this world—and with life as an incalculable, a chaotic thing, meaningful above and beyond the necessary and elemental data of my subject." —Marguerite Young via via Mefi

Here we stay.

( via / via )

"Rapture theology & the Tribulation idea were largely made up by Charles Nelson Darby..."

"idolatrous dotings" —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social

"The future was, if anything, murky."

"Aire soy, abre ya.
Lo anulé.
Seda de lo salado,
toda de sol,
o la calle yo sería.
Otra pasó,
nos apartó.
Aire soy.
Ella caló lo sedado;
toda la soledad es él.
Una ola, yerba yo sería."

—@merlinaacevedo.bsky.social

(Google translate:

I am air, open now.
I annulled it.
Silk of the salty,
all of sun,
or I would be the street.
Another passed,
separated us.
I am air.
She penetrated the sedated;
all loneliness is him.
A wave, I would be grass.)

The Existential Despair of Waiting for the End. (via @tribe.bsky.social)

Thursday, September 25, 2025

( via / via )

The Winter of Man.

"autumn dusk
silvering
the crow’s feathers"

—@joypops.bsky.social

Two negative-polarity coronal holes.

"We can no longer dodge climate catastrophe

A Pliocene climate (3C hotter, sea levels 20m higher) is now certain

We are now fighting to stop a return to the Middle Miocene: 7-8C hotter than PI, sea levels up to 50m higher"

(Bill McGuire) via Ian@collapseaphorisms.bsky.social

Zeitgeber.

( via / via )

Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

"...those rebel angels--the prime numbers--" —Francois Le Lionnais, OuLiPo (tr Warren Motte, 1986)

When that Man is Dead and Gone.

immarcescible ponder · pockmarked orb
another day passed · we didn't leave

exhumed nun · Zoilist's rose
in the cark-canyon · of the escalator balk

devouring alienation · vifgage dance
star swells · in the momentary sky

Greens of June.

( via / me )

Then Betelgeuse Reappears.

“On Betelgeuse

On Betelgeuse
the gold leaves hang in golden aisles
for twice a hundred million miles,
and twice a hundred million years
they golden hang and nothing stirs,
on Betelgeuse.

Space is a wind that does
not blow on Betelgeuse,
and time - oh time - is a bird,
whose wings have never stirred
the golden avenues of leaves
on Betelgeuse.

On Betelgeuse
there is nothing that joys or grieves
the unstirred multitude of leaves,
nor ghost of evil or good haunts
the gold multitude
on Betelgeuse.

And birth they do not use
nor death on Betelgeuse,
and the God, of whom we are
infinite dust, is there
a single leaf of those
gold leaves on Betelgeuse.”

—Humbert Wolfe (via Lieder.Net)

alternate 4v1.

"Colonialism was not just theft. It was the invention of a moral language to make theft look like salvation." —@karimwafa.bsky.social

Tamagotchi Shrine.

( via / via )

"Take them, Grisly Posterity! I am not sure that you deserve even this much of the Shelni."

“Imbosked dysodile vaults of dwale” –de Esque

"It may seem strange for Lafferty, a Catholic conservative, to appear or seek to publish alongside such fare, but he was hardly prudish on these matters, or at least not so prudish that he would pass on a paying market..."

"autumn shakes
the old mischiefs fizzy
daring drink me
he opens my last bottle
with his too many teeth"

—@jennygaitskell.bsky.social

"My quarrel with THE LONG AFTERNOON is that it is an easy story which you have written in a hard way."

( via / via )

Why Some Girls Love Horses.

“Scorn of Rays”

Soft viridian light,
And a voracious call throbbing.
Falling mists.

You will know an arrival by.

If inch.
If furlong gilt with,
So your gain.
Rays from it glow on surf-curlings.
But who has such?

I flow toward not.

(2001--fridge magnet poem [?] )

"I wrote A Hacker Manifesto in an imaginary language I call 'European,' which is equal parts Church Latin, Marxism, and business English—the three transnational languages of the continent."

" 'We can make quite a useful world out of our imagination. I don’t know why falsehood does not do as well as truth.'
'It often does better; that is why it is used instead.' " —@ivycomptonburnett.bsky.social

Giants' Work.

( via / me )

"Their only real weapon is despair." (thread)

All of a sudden my feed is full of trains.

"Those of us who have tracked this movement for years can see the shift: the far right, led by Trump and his administration, has seized on the shooting as a rallying cry."

"The Snarchivist

Caprice,
purest flit-logic,
a swhirled pool
ravelling in spidermilk,
lightly salted, gloam-burnt,
clocksnared at half-pulse.

Itching
an inkblot treaty,
a tongue-spill
in the margins,
a datum-hush
flackering through
a well-thumbed
snarchive."

—@thedevilstuna.bsky.social

Middle-Distance Death.

( me / me )

Mesopotamia.

       "Joe Camel"

   awaytide
on your white steed
   never mind
that 'no one knows'
   mild cool dawn
forged the motive
   ev'ryone
aches the danger
   pretendworld
tug encroaches
   stochastic
the cage creaking
   sleepwalkers
cross a slag field

Palabras.

"...what Wayne Booth called 'unstable irony': '...we know that something is being undermined...we don't really know where to stop in our underminings.' " —@kevinrothrock.me quoting Ruby Hamilton [This may turn out to be the hallmark of our age.]

Tanka.

( me / via )

"Even a seventy-million-trick pony is still a trick pony."

"THE TWO DRAGONS (Consonant Palindrome)

Our red dragon
silences the white.

A scene lies
in a guarded roar."

—@anthonyetherin.bsky.social

Only the Constitution.

   even the slow lane
is a rush · now-cool mornings
   dressing in darkness

between werewolves & vampires
potholes & sheer genocide

To really stump the FBI.

Wednesday, September 24, 2025

( via / via )

See That my Grave is Kept Clean.

"XII.

Their spades grafted through the variably-resistant soil. They clove to the hoard. They ransacked epiphanies, vertebrae of the chimera, armour of wild bees' larvae. They struck the fire-dragon's faceted skin.

The men were paid to caulk water-pipes. They brewed and pissed amid splendour; their latrine seethed its estuary through nettles. They are scattered to your collations, mouldywarp.

It is autumn. Chestnut-boughs clash their inflamed leaves. The garden festers for attention: telluric cultures enriched with shards, corms, nodules, the sunk solids of gravity. I have accrued a golden and stinking blaze."

—Geoffrey Hill, Mercian Hymns (1971)

"The rocky Apennine backbone of Italy sends out curving ribs and throws up harsh vertebrae of stone."

"My friend’s autistic friend said: 'I'd like to let you all know that I now consider autistic a slur, and I want to be known as a Tylenol-American.' " —@ericmgarcia.bsky.social

Giant squid & sperm whale footage.

( via / me )

Double eruption from opposite ends of the Sun.

“Those who believe in a God of punishment & repression, worship the Devil in the name of God.” –William Blake

Tanka.

"Exile

By the sad waters of separation
Where we have wandered by divers ways,
I have but the shadow and imitation
Of the old memorial days.

In music I have no consolation,
No roses are pale enough for me;
The sound of the waters of separation
Surpasseth roses and melody.

By the sad waters of separation
Dimly I hear from an hidden place
The sigh of mine ancient adoration:
Hardly can I remember your face.

If you be dead, no proclamation
Sprang to me over the waste, gray sea:
Living, the waters of separation
Sever for ever your soul from me.

No man knoweth our desolation;
Memory pales of the old delight;
While the sad waters of separation
Bear us on to the ultimate night.”

—Ernest Dowson

Some 16-bit music.

( me / via )

"You’ve likely benefited from horseshoe crabs if you received a Covid vaccine, for which they were harvested in astronomical numbers."

"Anschluss"

in the mist net gnarly
i know utter woodness
subfusc scintillation
aside from thin gunshots
still there's the stern grue jay
staring out of firebreaks

Crypsis.

"Who will be the first to carve a bit.ly link into a shell casing?" —@taylordotbiz.bsky.social

"Even the small army of intellectuals usually cloistered in the 'birdcage of the Muses,' as the Antigonid poet Timon of Phlius mockingly termed the library, has joined the crowd in Ptolemy’s pavilion."

( via / via )

Esperanto version of Pere Català Pic's famous and powerful 1936 poster "Let's crush fascism".

The real epidemic is lack of critical thinking & we are going to die of it.

Harrying hatchet foreplay.

      "tangled up in bleen"

   slosh this lane
with slag washing
   derne foundry
fumarole churn
   the lie sags
magnet lidless

   we who moil
wasting our glee
   gray rubble
stubborn grailquest
   the lie sags
magnet lidless

"You know, this has always been the Polish way: cavalry against tanks!" (via @rhunedhel.bsky.social)

Tuesday, September 23, 2025

( via/ via )

If you think Tylenol...

"bugstruggle"

gray rubble heartshape the Grinch made
grue philosophy's soft switchblade
bleen for the win—tracking waniand—
weststruck overcast, name-canyon'd

Age of Reckless Disruption.

" 'Not ever?' asked Frog.

'No, never,' said Toad."

—@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social

"The LA punk scene in the late 70s/early 80s seems so cool!! Is there a definitive book on the history of the scene??" (thread)

( via / me )

Party in the USA.

"Ahh damn, took a Tylenol this morning and I'm suddenly very interested in prime numbers" —@thehyyyype.bsky.social

Lamb Has Harnessed a Wolf.

"sun-warmed granite-
I place my hand
and become weather"

—@wolftwinthomas.bsky.social

Why they wear the gloves.

( via / via )

The worldkiller asteroid decides it needn't bother.

"For Harvest

The year turns to its rest.
Up from the earth, the fields, the early-fallen dew,
Moves the large star at evening, Arcturus low with autumn,
And summer calls in her many voices upon the frost.

I who have not seen for weeping
The plum ripen and fall, or the yellowing sheaf,
Am not unmindful now of the season that came and went,
The hours that told of freshness,
The bud and the rich leaf.

Though I turned aside before the summer
And weathered but a season of the mind,
Let me sit among you when the husk is stripped,
Let me tell by the bright grain,
Those labours in an acre of cloud and the reap of the wind."

—Léonie Adams

Grue jay.

"Naught’s an obstacle, naught’s an angle to the iron way!" —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social

I Wish We'd All Been Ready.

( via / me )

Immortal mic drop.

The Rapture took all the real Xtians & that was like 1 in 100 million so nobody has noticed.

Dunwich Horror.

"Never Enough of Living

Never, my heart, is there enough of living,
Since only in thee is loveliness so sweet pain;
Only for thee the willows will be giving
Their quiet fringes to the dreaming river;
Only for thee so the light grasses ever
Are hollowed by the print of windy feet,
And breathe hill weather on the misty plain;
And were no rapture of them in thy beat,
For every hour of sky
Stillborn in gladness would the waters wear
Colors of air translucently,
And the stars sleep there.

Gently, my heart, nor let one moment ever
Be spilled from the brief fullness of thy urn.
Plunge in its exultation star and star,
Sea and plumed sea in turn.
O still, my heart, nor spill this moment ever."

—Léonie Adams

Švankmajer's ALICE.