Hot*l Carcosa, Kuala Lampur (via playguid*tour dot co dot jp)


   "Rocky Balboa"

caitiff brumous anything flubs
jackals kiss in moot about glut;
tinklings nayward only holy pillbug
roast, lulling words' zonda:

quandary distant (so ulnar
xyloid) vast your folds abolish.


Part of my mind holds that school's form. Visiting it again, haunts with old moods. Though i don't now wish to attain such goals, that prior longing stains my spiral still.


shark nativity vaunt chars
lung frost chars

my arrack wind my Turk robin's road
curt nirvana chars

go carolling with wispy Ogpu at dusk
twilight kingdoms Grinch paradox chars

"...the technique of re-appropriation can be used in a way different from the cool and sterile distance of postmodern bracketing as it was done by Andy Warhol." --And i luv this.

(via *sp-books dot com slash shopslash imag*s)


"Why the Creation Cycles do not end December 21, 2012, but October 28, 2011."


   "Harsh Loofah"

will flagging gulf
attain chaos
with blood logic

and giddy night
call it coral
say raucous sign

for a digit
of indigo
scuttling ingot

and djinn music
fraught stark skull pyx
scaffold of glass


Scaffold as if a trial prior, and forms of law. Glass as always in sight, glinting uncommonly, mostly not.

"It is the first time I’ve seen anyone from the U.S. government focus on Iraqis and what they have experienced and what they are suffering."


"While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see." --Doroth*a Lang* (via Utata


"And maybe that ethnicity, while having a good deal to do with the culture revealed in much British and American writing and the legends that went before, also might be involved with particular new-world experiences that are ongoing not only for people who have come lately, but people like me whose ancestors have been here for centuries but who are – right now - coming to terms with a post-modern world and feeling themselves being changed by it."

(via infohazardgall*ry dot com)


Dancing on a sloping hill. Fall. Fall. Don't stop dancing.


   "Factotum"

autogynophilia
fur stairway winding

ogham my indigo god spiral
why diaspora country dilatory

caracul
afghan furbish crawl road stir

cardboard mimics orchid twinkling nor
typical swamp wisp


Cardboard: what vagrants carry, as cars go past.


Road to 1984. (via wood_s lot)

"What "aesthetic experience" requires isn't so much suspension of disbelief as suspension of knowledge."


I should do a book with this tag: Th* Th*ory and Practic* of Oligarchical Coll*ctivism.


"It's very nice to re-read this on a midsummer's night, under the light of Jupiter."

(via fantasticfiction dot co dot uk)


Talk to this lost soul without using your god-word. Show him why you kill, told not to. Show him your I-can-do-it pass, your god-sign fucking blood warrant.


Fat Whit* Vampir* Blu*s.


   "Rat Pack Christmas"

casting through murky Xanadu
murrainwind · final shadows · pyx
wall fix smooth Samhain find chair
down girasol rasorial
wombat atrophy; gold Saturn
trophy bruff Cthulhu coil

wain trim, or cargo ransom
a slag long


I saw a bruff not long ago, moon-rainbow, its chill profound. My cargo cult of singular waiting. Slag into which tors fall. Trim your arbor scaffold, and carol.

Volksigid.

A job that pays a million dollar salary. Is it that you must do so much stuff, & so skillfully? --Past, say, my own stark limits. --No, it pays you for not living in my world, that's all.
   Godzilla nog, Godzilla foot. How far from foot to nog. Is that how our scuzzy pundits limn all human glory? By a span of unfair taking. By a too much that is still taking and taking.


   "Walk Through To-morrow"

mutiny star
      form fill-ins char
spools right as rain
      dry starfish pain
slag romantic
      down want arctic
iron sun insight
      crispy moonlight
blindfold crystal
      random pistol
dark stomp lurch blood
      trustworthy flood
raps clack calcspar
      mutiny star

(via sit*mak*r dot umich dot *du via M*tafilt*r)


A fight against not saying. Which has its oomph & logic. I form small quick tasks, as if to trick my watchful drought. But i don't know that this isn't also a part of its plan: omission by trivial proxy. Sand grains fall, singularly. Not will. Not will at all.


   "Ajtz'ib' "

vacant rituals
customary anguish which
black winds sculpt
through war days carry a sugar pill
saying i am crystal saying i am crow

Ya dig? (via Anggarrgoon)


"I ask you, what would you do
if you had two tongues in your mouth,
and lost the first one, the mother tongue,
and could not really know the other..."

←My pic on soft furry cloth (photo via JR)


Condign. (via Tom Tomorrow)

(via //pharyngula dot org)


"To bedew harebells
On the spoil-heaps of quarries."

--Hugh*s


   "Biology of Amphibian Tumors"

Targum garnish armory
agonist such imp
agnostic varnish ordinary
input silk
as shadowy landfall arabic Umbrist
pools orchid
nyctalops dancing


   Not to want what you can not obtain:
   Most difficult, most important thing.
And, to find out how much and how much only, that you actually should go for.

--This from a wight owning myriads of books (and still buying).

(via p*rsonal dot psu dot *du slash faculty)


Dummi*s.


P*tro-Finlandization.

Pallid dust on my hands and torn skin. Work. Past and to find tomorrow. Dust.


   "Jahiliyah"

  dry Wyrd iridium spar
twin kvint monotonous shargar
  on no account a full rout
tor loaf tunic nano doorspout
shargar sugar only of snow
    binary shadow


"Although we are at war with terror, fashion magazines say we are sunny now. We wear bright colors and choose moral clarity. While I was waiting to get a blood test last week, I read in a newsmagazine that terror must not change our sunny disposition." --Mary Gaitskill, V*ronica (2005)


Watching Patti Smith clips on Youtub*.

"That was what, ultimately, war did to you. It was not the physical dangers–the mines at sea, the bombs from the air, the crisp ping of a rifle bullet as you drove over a desert track. No, it was the spiritual danger of learning how much easier life was if you ceased to think." --Agatha Christi*


Th*ological Dictionary (via wood_s lot).


R.I.P. Kari. Plus.

   "Mahi Mahi"

Shard basic
built raucous in whining dark
nor dilatory your curtain of basalt

bark thick wizard trap
rain mask is ritual it grows from myth
migrant grout

grins among thorn wind (blind anagram)
ultion Iliad shining in a vacuum


I find "mahi mahi" on food lists; cannot bring to mind right now if it is dolphins, or only dolphin-ruinous. Or is that boycott past? What if i know wrong?

"For the first time in two decades, I could experience these poems as I had originally written them."


Talk to Luna.


On my victrola- Funkad*lic: Maggot Brain


Ajtz'ib'.

Finally.


   "Wayfar*rs

We heard the dead leaves rustle
As we walked down the path;
And you would go to Endor,
But I was bound for Gath.

We lingered where the roads forked,
Then parted at the last;
For you would know the future,
And I would drown the past."

--Harv*y Wagn*r Flink


"...the Native [Venetian] tongue--i confess I love the sound of it, like Latin gone rosaceous and soft as butter--..." --ibid


Touch wary mimosa still
go though it bring fury still

ilka karst is slivovitz
spiralling from Gray's still

lunar unicorns gambol
avariciously, sough still

not only a bard trots drab
gossipy Norns yarn wrath still


Minions surround, happy laughing, busy with ruin. It is my own snarl that looks awry. Could i run away with what i want to hold from ruin? Ruin follows: in my running, in my scorn of minion companions.


Languag* W**k at th* Kirch*r Soci*ty.

by Ludwig M*idn*r (via graphicwitn*ss dot org)

""Cartoon music," as it is pejoratively dismissed, has rarely been granted the respect it sometimes deserves." Plus.


"Some vileness in us makes us scorn and wound
   The shapes of flame for which our spirits yearn."

--Frank B*lknap Long


Z*ppar*lla.


Probing winds from four airts moan,
dusts snow about shard a moon.
Among old buildings curls main
road as thy small cinnamon.


"Airt" as winds' compass origin. I found my tracks back on a path of old days; what is not as in that lost duration but my knowing? Knowing so, it is that only spot again for a sad mind. What a grim wind carrying black snow.


Shall a chav qabbalah
carry this rash shawabty?

Shark arcana, carbolic,
crunk town coasts to Xibalba.


"...and yet what is hidden is not destroyed, while what is patent may be." --Th* 3v*ning Land

On my victrola- 5,000,000 by Dr*ad Z*pp*lin

"Nero made a regular habit of disguising himself as an ordinary citizen and wandering out into the city at night and engaging in robbery, assault, rape, and murder. Reports of the effectiveness of his disguise vary, but there is agreement among historians that Nero occasionally encountered resistance, whether his subjects recognized him or not."


Strang* Horizons.

it flows · its tag is shadow
top atavist · whining cloud
room of a still spool · pillbug
stilb psalmist · story basalt


"Surely I write not for the hopeful young,
   Or those who deem their happiness of worth,
Or such as pasture and grow fat among
   The shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth,
Or pious spirits with a God above them,
To sanctify and glorify and love them,
   Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.

For none of those I write, and none of these
   Could read the writing if they deigned to try:
So may they flourish, in their due degrees,
   On our sweet earth and in their unplaced sky.
If any cares for the weak words here written,
It must be some one desolate, Fate-smitten,
   Whose faith and hope are dead, and who would die."

--Jam*s Thomson


Always four shops i must visit on my shopping round, why not a singular trip i ask, why in this shopping Valhalla so poor in kind ways?

Altman.

"Any man who has once acclaimed violence as his METHOD must inexorably choose falsehood as his PRINCIPLE." (via wood_s lot)

to dub blank wall Xibalba
ply a yoga Xibalba

this ant spill cup of sugar
slag's aroma Xibalba

await ryotwar bowl now
croon tiki blood Xibalba


"Xibalba" as occurring in a cool but dumb-ish film by Aronofsky just out now.


   "First Snow

The cows are bawling in the mountains;
The snowflakes fall.
They are leaving the pools and pebbled fountains;
Troubled they bawl.
They are winding down the mountains' shoulders
Through the open pines,
The wild rose thickets and the granite boulders,
In broken lines.
Each calf trots close beside its mother;
And so they go,
Bawling and calling to one another
About the snow."

--Charl*s 3rskin* Scott Wood, in Th* Oxford Anthology of Am*rican Lit*ratur* (1938)


All frail humans in a killing city, waiting for sky or door to finish this vigil. Dissolving as snow in a patch of sunlight. Crying out. --This is what i carol if i carol.

(via Robot Wisdom)


N*ptun*'s Trid*nt.


"In Turkey there happened to be 70's Swedish progg like era that we call it: (70's) Anatolian Rock."

"The sheer sameness of it all is debilitating: we all read the same headlines every day, we see the news on television, the exploding bombs, the internecine struggle that even the "mainstream" media is now acknowledging is, indeed, a full-fledged civil war, the hapless-yet-brutal Iraqi "government" installed and supported by Washington, the hopeless mess unfolding before our eyes".


A swart outcast horizon
burns with horrific crimson.
Will our last clockwork ransom
tomorrow bring clang frisson?


"Anti-negativity helmets, rash guards, and power belts designed by Paul Frank generally make up these costumes."


"Only the physical failure of solitude drove the spirit at first into society, as the moral failure of society may drive it later into solitude again." --Santayana

"It's as if, aware that we're endangering so much wildlife, we need to make symbolic reparation for our eco-sins in the cultural world."


In post-production.

poufy crow doing sandcoil
doing autumn doing coal
i from my soft inky cowl
gray scowl margin and tough cool


"The woods are lovely, dark and deep"

--Rob*rt Frost

"Our bed is lovely, dark, and sweet"

--Thomas Lov*ll B*ddo*s, "Th* Phantom Woo*r" (in: Dark of th* Moon)

(via calvin dot *du slash acad*mic slash cas slash gpa slash imag*s via M*tafilt*r)


"Reporter #1: Dr. Shiga! The same galactic waves were caught in England. Uh, last year, accordingly. Are they the same one?
Dr. Shiga: No. That was different. The one before, was from beyond the solar system we think. But this one is very much nearer. According to our calculations.
Reporter #2: Does that mean... people on Solar... are the same system planet?
Dr. Shiga: No. That's hard to say. You have that ready?
[Dr. Shiga points to some slides]
Dr. Shiga: There's no! Air or water on the Moon? So no living thing inhabits it. As you know for sure. And... there are... no rivers on Mars. And on Venus... it has several hundred degrees Centigrade. And... the surface of... Jupiter is covered with... frozen ammonia. Saturn... is also... the same. No advanced vertebrates there, of course.
Reporter #3: So... what do those waves mean?
Dr. Shiga: Assuming. They come from... Proxima Cenauri" (from Attack of th* Monst*rs)

Now swarms dilatory husk
spiral pools of falling mask
raucous solitary brisk
slurry a claypit fly Kursk

My Just D*sir*.


"Apparently, Yergin has parlayed his legitimacy as an historian into running a disinformation service wholly owned by the IHS Corporation... The only cogent analysis of the CERA report took place...on a single site..."

    "Sky Abfraction"

  Barbaric rosy pillbug
  crawls into a paradox
of dawn doorway nirvana with cargo
   rank as fnord is swamp frost


Bait and Switch.


"...the standard of taste between 1663 and 1784 changed less than in any twenty years of the following century." --H*nry Adams, Th* Unit*d Stat*s in 1800

(via M*tafilt*r)


Twins S*v*n S*v*n.

Th*ori*s/Practic*s of Blogging.


Aria dawn drawn soaring
pools Solangia flow swing
to high maroon a frolic
him bucolic shards shoring


On my victrola- L*na Lovitch

Human Accomplishm*nt.


$50 for a Munst*rs LP.

   "Sudoku Kudos"

Anguish wishhook function jazz boog is dord
  an ordinary sky droog
  druid Izdubar burnt darg


Franklin, Frankland.


On my victrola- G*ntl* Giant

Zombi*nt.


   "Duvon Braut"

dour word road
radiant Carcosa road

so burbling gray and paradox plain waxwing
window diamond road

warmth flows this slight dominating lamp
out owl simply swoop and holy road

swamp happy twinkling individuality
aliquot flubs road

that tarry youth of Grinchus
zonda road

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.

(via *thio*mbassy dot org dot uk)


Bad Santa
without his minions

to kill and maim on command · now awaiting
hanging · but how many still

who would follow a killing command
a bunch still

of willing hands · who would not know what to do
without God's bidding


"In Korea all poems were meant to be sung." --P*t*r H L**, C*l*bration and Continuity (1979)


"When did you get the idea to do a Carnival of Souls remake?"

"It did give me an idea for a theme for a class.: A Horrible Death--The Fate of Idealists in the Wild. We would watch Grizzly Man and and read Into the Wild."


Anatomy of a Nightmar*.


N*w Ag* Manhattan. (via cipango)

(via godd*ss dot com dot au)


Rummy.


"In a poem of Theocritus a goat is eating something. Look up what he’s eating in a Greek-English dictionary. The definition is "a plant eaten by a goat in Theocritus." " --Isola di Rfuti

(via dccomics dot com)


"One modern example of that impulse concerns the Seattle Troll. Large enough to hold a VW Beetle in one hand, staring out of a single, glassy eye, the Seattle Troll lives beneath the Aurora Bridge in Seattle's Fremont neighborhood. He was originally a work of art funded by the city, but he has become something more. He has become a "Work of Art" and now receives offerings from passersby and neighborhood residents.
The day I visited-not a special day, just a weekday like any other-the Troll was supplied with an amazing array of offerings. There were fresh flowers, smoked almonds, jewelry, coins, jams, a bag of ripe cherries, a whole watermelon, a bright pink-orange slab of raw salmon, a whole Dungeness crab, a bar of soap, a pack of cigarettes, two coffee mugs, and two t-shirts. These offerings were fresh, too-the flowers and food as yet unwilted. At first, it looked like someone had temporarily left their picnic, but no. The votives were carefully arranged upon the enormous hands of the Troll. They were clearly presented, and no picnickers were to be found. The items were offerings, nothing less."


"we are the vampires of empire

we can eat cherries in winter

we can fly anywhere"

--Judy Grahn


Th* Man Who Would B* King.

"In the span of three years, Iraq has surpassed Vietnam, in the totality of the circumstances, as a perpetual burn whose scab will continue to be pulled off by the shame of what America did to Iraq, by the embarrassment of such apparent failure, by the geopolitical suicide it committed in Mesopotamia and by the severed image of the nation in the eyes of the world." (via wood_s lot)


"Prose is not to be read aloud but to oneself at night, and it is not quick as poetry, but rather a gathering web of insinuations which go further than names however shared can ever go. Prose should be a long intimacy between strangers with no direct appeal to what both may have known. It should slowly appeal to feelings unexpressed, it should in the end draw tears out of stone." --H*nry Gr**n in An*cdotal 3vid*nc*


"Kalusa is not listed on wikipedia. and i might be wrong, but i think it's the first unplanned conlang. the kalusa corpus is created one entry at a time by any user. each entry must have an english translation. then other users can vote on the acceptability of the entry."

(via asiminy*ri dot com dot tr)


"...when there’s an overflow of high-end mimicry, of Pottery Barn avant garde, readers need to see work that risks more than its gloss."


Th* Glass Books of th* Dr*am 3at*rs.


Christian Goth.


"...are you still Christian
when you wrap it in plastic..."

"Incidental

Requisite sources move
Not quite the thought perhaps
Availability loosens to adagio's own
Stowaway too large
Though soft unto
A circumambiance spread
Left-right-left ago with mantra after
Mourning to behest
In fair-game justice furled toward
Laps to fathom"

--Sh*ila 3. Murphy

(via z*alandpublishing dot co dot nz slash Holiday_stori*s)


Azif tzompantli · fishhook
uffish going azury · to Umbrist spoor

harp anchor
stars show wink afar

night is char · why follow · go
skulls you affix · of billowing ash


Burn a Copy of Frog Town.


"or echo endlessly
or numbingly decay"

--Zachary Appomattox


A 13-part diapason.


On my victrola- Boys for P*l*

"At the start of the next century our descendants may very well look on Christianist tribal areas as exotic & primitive places for specialist research & eco-tourism."


Buddhism Without B*li*fs.


"Flipper stared into the abyss only to hock a lugie into it."


A history. (via Long Story Short Pi*r)

Found looking for Titan pix.

Th* Captur*d.


"...most people, Wilson says, live life as if they are in a theater, watching a stage production. The truth, however, is that we are all onstage, and "if we don't act, the Gods will start throwing things." "

    "She Came and Went

As a twig trembles, which a bird
   Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrilled and stirred;--
   I only know she came and went.

As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,
   The blue dome's measureless extent,
So my soul held that moment's heaven;--
   I only know she came and went.

As at one bound, our swift spring heaps
   The orchards full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps;
   I only know she came and went.

An angel stood and met my gaze,
   Through the low doorway of my tent,
The tent is struck, the vision stays;
   I only know she came and went.

Oh, when the room grows slowly dim,
   And life's last oil is nearly spent,
One gush of light these eyes will brim,
   Only to know she came and went."

--Jam*s Russ*ll Low*ll


By Duty Bound.

Australian Philosoph*rs' Song.

Goblin box
absorb glowing nib
insular obtain box oxroim upon abs

is this front about aggry claypit
box twisting basis ingot
I and I abroad am ongoing


"After dwelling so long in the secondary and peripheral, it begins to seem major; then the tertiary beckons. But the tertiary melts into everything you never looked at, and you lose yourself in an infinite world of beguiling, interchangeable things." --Parsifal Mosaic, Cthulhu This V*ry Hour (2006)


No actual paganism can form, without a strong rooting in its local matrix; most of all, it asks that this knowing also contain much unknowing.


"In Britain, the headline over the Guardian newspaper's lead editorial read, "Thank you, America." "


My Big Fat Sup*rnatural W*dding.

"If anything, the poem points toward a post-division poetics, neither SoQ nor post-avant, something more than a few of the younger post-avant poets have called for in recent years."


"You know how sometimes the world is just too dark for even the most depressing music you have to make sense?"

A stirring among fathoms
first class crystal of rhythms

it stark accrual carrion
plush Cthulhu algorithms

yoin as wisp accost raucous
ignorant winds and thirl thumbs


" 'Such nonsense!' declared Dr Greysteel. 'Whoever heard of cats doing anything useful!'
   'Except for staring at one in a supercilious manner,' said Strange. 'That has a sort of moral usefulness, I suppose, in making one feel uncomfortable and encouraging sober reflection upon one's imperfections.' " --Jonathan Strang* and Mr Norr*ll

Ab*l-wack*ts.


Am*rican "truth & r*conciliation commissions".

Narrow road.


"What Ruskin could build was ridiculously trivial next to his dreams. But he built its trivia soundly, and trivially it still stands."

   "Our Bog is Dood

Our Bog is dood, our Bog is dood,
They lisped in accents mild,
But when I asked them to explain
They grew a little wild.
How do you know your Bog is dood
My darling little child?

We know because we wish it so
That is enough, they cried,
And straight within each infant eye
Stood up the flame of pride,
And if you do not think it so
You shall be crucified.

Then tell me, darling little ones,
What's dood, suppose Bog is?
Just what we think, the answer came,
Just what we think it is.
They bowed their heads. Our Bog is ours
And we are wholly his.

But when they raised them up again
They had forgotten me
Each one upon each other glared
In pride and misery
For what was dood, and what their Bog
They never could agree.

Oh sweet it was to leave them then,
And sweeter not to see,
And sweetest of all to walk alone
Beside the encroaching sea,
The sea that soon should drown them all,
That never yet drowned me."

--St*vi* Smith


"Changes in the liturgy are of great significance to the believer, since these are changes in the experience of God." --Rog*r Scruton, Mod*rn Cultur* (1998)


Th* Oracl*.

Am*rican mullah.


"The connection between minimalism and visual poetry is that once you break works and language into small bits, those pieces take on a visual character. At this point, they evolve out of what I call the invisibility of the text."


This again. (via pl*p)

So a small victory is won. But did our ballots simply pick War, as against War-Plus?


"My first idea was to put a mixture of genuine Spanish, French, Chinese, German, Hungarian, and Japanese into Cityspeak. Then I went to the Berlitz School of Languages in Los Angeles, translated all these different bits of Gaff's original dialogue into fragments of foreign tongues, and learned to properly pronounce them." --3dward Olmos, in: Futur* Noir: Th* Making of Blad* Runn*r (1996)


   "Rune

The word in the bread feeds me,
The word in the moon leads me,
The word in the seed breeds me,
The word in the child needs me.

The word in the sand builds me,
The word in the fruit fills me,
The word in the body mills me,
The word in the war kills me.

The word in the man takes me,
The word in the storm shakes me,
The word in the work makes me,
The word in the woman rakes me,
The word in the word wakes me.

--Muri*l Ruk*ys*r



Story without a h*ro.


"The gun created a second reality for me to inhabit." --Don D*Lillo, Whit* Nois* (1985)


On my victrola- T. R*x: Th* Slid*r

"They say that Pal Benko is the last person who will ever have a major opening system named after him."


"The works of the ‘Comte de Permission’ are still commanding high prices..."


"There are a couple along the lines of "catfish man, go fall in the river and talk to the catfish", which you probably have to be drunk and hakama-clad to really appreciate..."

Robot for killing humans. (via M*tafilt*r)


   "Wish Finish"

Mud dumb stunt
gibbon murk adorn · adjourn ruth am
abort osmium

animals · must a stupid agonist fill
child's abstract inability ink
ambush burn · convincingly skald lack

adjoining
morbid crush to martyr idiom ajar
follow function · gray into

gray · furious at
shadowy impart
amphibian martyr · obolus golf grip

story folk
asking important mist music
its rainbow indigo lilt

ambiguous martyrdom
slag is · thoughts music
as stony path · as stark fury up

with adjunct
fallacy to ignorant Rodan input
gibbous issuing us of dismal slid should

accrual whirlwind night · slow oddly
not raucous · oblivious


"Reconstruction is an aspiration from another lifetime: I swear we no longer want buildings and bridges, security and an undivided Iraq are more than enough."


On my victrola- B*ssi* Smith

"Today is a referendum -- not just on Bush and his regime, but on the whole four decades over which that post-Goldwater Republican juggernaut has been rolling. When we look behind us now, we can see, beyond any possibility of denial, where it has taken us -- and where they mean to take us. The landscape they've dragged us through is scarred by broken lives and ruined hopes: the gutting of the middle class; the growing divide between rich and poor; the raging ugliness of the Culture Wars; the collapse of the educational, scientific, and planning infrastructure that fed our industries and empowered us to meet the future on our own terms; the humiliating exposure of the limits of American power; the reckless fouling of our air, land, and water; and -- perhaps most iconically -- the battered and exhausted army now making its last stand in the sands of Iraq."


"The scabs of the mourners grow thick with fear
The truth is hidden in a veil of tears"

Diff*r*nt Color Jumpsuit.


Snap, crackl*, and pop.

   "Guyana Punch

there's a strange one · in the jungle
and think I hear him · calling my name
there's a strange one · in the jungle
and he's offering · death without pain
freshen up freshen up freshen up

there's a strange one · in the jungle
and he says · that death need not hurt
there's a strange one · in the jungle
he's got something · to quench your thirst
freshen up freshen up freshen up
freshen up freshen up freshen up

Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh-oh uh-uh-uh uh-uh-uh-uh

there's a strange one · in the jungle
and he says · that Now is the time
there's a strange one · in the jungle
here come the planes · please form a straight line
freshen up freshen up freshen up

there's a strange one · in the jungle
and he questions · all that one thinks
there's a strange one · in the jungle
with a new and ex- · citing drink
freshen up freshen up freshen up
freshen up freshen up freshen up

Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh-oh uh-uh-uh uh-uh-uh-uh
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh-oh uh-uh-uh uh-uh-uh-uh
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh uh-oh-oh!
Guyana Punch!......uh-oh-oh uh-uh-uh uh-uh-uh-uh

there's a strange one · in the jungle
there's a strange one · in the jungle
there's a strange one · in the jungle
there's a strange one · in the jungle"

--from Washarama (1981)


Damnatio m*moria* (although it was never called that by the Romans).

(via rapha*lk dot co dot uk)


On my victrola- Th* Champs


"For now, they are invisible people."


"It is impossible to estimate what proportion of us, in khaki or out of it, grasped the war and its political antecedents as a whole in the light of any philosophy of history or knowledge of what war was. I doubt whether it was as high as our proportion of higher mathematicians." -- G*org* B*rnard Shaw, pr*fac* to "H*artbr*ak Hous*" (1919)


"Unlike most other signs, silence pretends not to be a sign. This might be the definition of silence: a sign that affects to be the negation of representation, to be the absence of a sign; it is a sign that suggests and evokes without actually representing." --Charl*s W H*drick Jr, History and Sil*nc* (2000)


"Your roising reid to rotting sall retour" --H*nryson

Guyana Punch. Plus.


      "Altarcito"

   a dark dry morning
carrying our trash bags out
   i rapidly lurch

Samhain amidst not so hush
war · and sundry forms of war

   a raucous storm broods
aroma of java · braids
   into my gray thoughts

sick of any opinions
past attaining lasting frith

   pick an airt and go
sound's swift ability
   born of loss · to fly

apricot bowl · its almost
cloying smooth own skin a cairn

   vacant Buddha fact
in halcyon driving · touch not
   Mlotkowski's folly

foggy vistas · songs in which
pain is soft as spun yoghurt

   thrown startlingly off
pallid among rocky paths
   haphazard blood trail

back out without first looking
birds jump in a parkinglot

   caraway snap wing
loathing · smirk at agony
   wait for a crimson

or for complicity shown
monstrous wish · as crows go by

   drill skull living · cry
national an handiwork
   gray sky caraway

city sunk gray occasional
banish music thalassa

   all music but this
slag flowing · implicit cusp
   tsunami wisp scry

abfraction murk atoll child
shard hilch as psychic Algol

   falling against off
clog prodigy swarming filch
   instinctual igloo

gift amok · apply glad silt
scalding with atomic scat

   in our door prying
music away or wall torn through
   school of birds standing

ilka solitary work
station across a vast pool

   rippling crystal and
lurch rapidly i as bags
   with trash carrying

morning dry dark our sojourn
flying acid mutiny

folk of rain our dry sojourn


T*n Lif* Changing Albums. (via Th* Blog of L*wd 3nlight*nm*nt)

(via t*hranmoca dot com slash *xhibition slash n*gargari)


   "Extroversion

I loan satiety to muscle in the pew before me
Miles from now appointing these alternative despondent selves
In charge of loading sins onto forgiveness
Toward sweet lawn curve
Of daisies seeming to be part of Mildred's dress
Sewn in her own words and why"

--Sh*ila 3. Murphy, Gr**n T*a with Ging*r (2003)


Sorrow Mountain.


"No dewfall softens this vast belt of dearth." --McKay


"The world is a ship that will never make port..." --Grant Ov*rton, Am*rican Nights 3nt*rtainm*nt (1923)

   "SPOKE OF JUMBLED GORGES

Lace back of mountains my fretted
vehicle on ice it shows

Blamed, all the stones, their streaks, then sky
opens bowl to the rained and rolling day

Fire, this chart beyond has got of crystal through
icicle wall of fricative semblance

Then PatternDemons whisper
in the PalmLines of my stone

Like taking a breath in vaccum light
the pounds of brain that store me"

--Clark Coolidg* (via)

(via paranormalghost dot com)


   "The Lilacs

Those laden lilacs
         at the lawn's end
Came stark, spindly,
         and in staggered file,
Like walking wounded
         from the dead of winter.
We watched them waken
         in the brusque weather
To rot and rootbreak,
         to ripped branches,
and saw them shiver
         as the memory swept them
Of night and numbness
         and the taste of nothing.
Out of present pain
         and from past terror
Their bullet-shaped buds
         came quick and bursting,
As if they aimed
         to be open with us!
But the sun suddenly
         settled about them,
And green and grateful
         the lilacs grew,
Healed in that hush,
         that hospital quiet.
These lacquered leaves
         where the light paddles
And the big blooms
         buzzing among them
Have kept their counsel,
         conveying nothing
Of their mortal message,
         unless one should measure
The depth and dumbness
         of death's kingdom
By the pure power
         of this perfume."

--Richard Wilbur, Waking to Sl**p: N*w Po*ms and Translations (1969)


Compr*h*nsiv* Aramaic L*xicon.


"So what would it mean to teach writing? You could teach a serviceable style, one that was pretty much like that of the journals the student wanted to publish in. Or you could have the student construct a style, learn about how to put together a unique style. Or you could be a style agnostic, like I am."


Do try this odd music.

Hygg* & lort. (via Cat*rina)

Gore Vidal Interview with Alex Jones Infowars, October 29, 2006 Texas Book Fest

Alex Jones interviews Gore Vidal at the Texas Book Festival October 29, 2006. The Infowars interview includes dicussion of a new 9/11 investigation, the criminal Bush Regime, media complicity (and poor media coverage by the New York Times and other "rags") as well as other topics.

Rout* 66 A. D.


   "Tanka

Black-and-white Holsteins
Crowd downfield at feeding-time,
Mingling their blotches.
It is like ice breaking up
In a dark, swollen river."

--Richard Wilbur


   "How Poetry Comes To Me

It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light"

--Gary Snyd*r


Broth*rs Quay.


"Write in each room of the place you will die."


Cognizant oliphaunt mirror proof. (via M*tafilt*r)

by L** Mullican (via artn*t dot d*)


"In the past few decades alone noted scholars have characterized Jesus as a political revolutionary, a magician, a charismatic, a rabbi, a Hillelite or proto-Pharisee, an Essene, a wisdom prophet, a Cynic philosopher, and an eschatological prophet." --Fior*nza & Crossan, in: Th* 3lusiv* M*ssiah (ed Raymond Martin, 2000)


   "Cloak of Invisibility"

Orkhon running constantly stark Carcosa
a fraught optic throbbing word

crystal do
off ink and stomp pulsating holy

cold crystal Orkhon
pour it glut


Harv*st of Rag*.


"Fundamentalism [seeks] to offer a world of simplicity, lack of personal responsibility, immortality, purity and simplicity. These are notions of children. This is how two-year-old and three-year-old children think."

   "Hairy Polynomial"

Orkhon crisp akimbo shadowy tonic
until accruals that sink

ossify spiral
raucous skirl fill umgang obolus

softly ash
chalky class adjourn


On my victrola- Corn*lius: Phantasma


H*avy Plan*t.


"Canada could have enjoyed: English government, French culture, and American know-how. Instead it ended up with: English know-how, French government, and American culture." --John Rob8rt Colombo, in: Th* Big Book of National Insults

(via lavanchy-corn*r dot com)


Xiombarg filth · forlorn imbrication
obtain · gang

brisk · agonist of limbo
global stirious chunk · affords morbid crisp

all wodwo · crowbar
and rid imagining · abort brick

filk accrual · nadsat stomp
limits · mourn

snarky robot abusion · it rains pink snot
Ogpu rank · angling


Loot.


On my victrola- Sydn*y B*ch*t: R*cord*d in Conc*rt at th* Bruss*ls Fair, 1958

J*nné-j*no.

"With extinction my ancestor"

--M*rwin


   "Prodigal

Some day, when the stern seeker in my brain
Has ceased to drive me stumbling through the dark,
Dropping dead cinders for each faint new spark,
Only to see the new ones wax and wane;
When all my dreams are numbered with the slain;
And wisdom, that egregious patriarch,
Has told his last half truth, and left me stark;
I shall go home, I shall go home again.

Laughter will greet me, waiting in the hall;
And friendships will come trooping down the stairs,
Sweet as old rose leaves wrinkled in a jar.
Battles and loves will move me not at all.
There will be juleps, billiards, family prayers,
And a clean passport for another star."

--DuBos* H*yward


G*nghis Khan and th* Making of th* Mod*rn World.


Instrum*ntarium.

(via ict-*du dot nl)


   "It's Probably About the Bike

Once scheming, to our vast dismay,
Turned ricochet:
And tumbled down emblems of our pride;
And, by the way, three thousand died
In Nineveh.

Is this contrition we display,
To give away
Whatever made our country strong:
Its freedoms, peace, and righting wrong,
O Nineveh?

But empires all at last decay
And yield the clay.
Meanwhile we peasants still need scratch--
Why do we trim our dreams to match
Dead Nineveh?"

--H. P. Pufncraft, S is for Sitzfl*isch (2005)


"...a [Pitjantjatjara] translation of one of David Bowie's songs." (via Languag* Hat)


On my victrola- Col*man Hawkins: Th* Gold*n Hawk


Suav*cito.

Six word story follow-up. (via M*tafilt*r)


"The quickness of his mind--it had never seemed to him so nimble, so exquisite of mechanism of syllogism and deduction--was contraposed against his blind instinct of the would-be self-deceiver, in a conflict to which the latter brought something of desperation, the fierce, agonised desperation of a hunted animal at bay."

--3rn*st Dowson, Studi*s in S*ntim*nt


Hazmat Modin*. (via NPR)

   "Odyssey of the Wind Materials (first line by Claude McKay)

'Stray melodies of dim remembered runes'
Return when I am anything but ready.
What is a poet stricken thus, but giddy
With future thwarts, and present lost balloons?
I fail, and I am wise with a plangent mist
That tells me all I need to know of beginnings.
Riddle me more, or let the next swift innings
Contain their inmost cure as much as thirst!

Ah, well. I dwell among such eerie forms,
I learn and lose my way as at the first;
Someday when a chance wind sends me reeling
I"ll know what sort of monster writes these norms,
And what black seas I carry for my visit's ceiling."

--Yoko Mand*lbrot


Big As Night, 2.


' "Were all these poets from Karabagh too?" I interrupted.
"No, noble sir, but our poets are better, even if they refuse to imprison their words in dead letters. They are too proud to write down their poems--they just recite them." '

--Kurban Said, Ali and Nino (tr Graman, 1970)

Cthulhu Chick Tract again.

human mutiny · umgang
warm ink · amalgamating dusk
atavist brain · indigo
by lush ambush · ignorant rain
in igniting own · is hronir
imago · gibbons


List of Ac* Doubl*s.


'When a drop falls in the river, it becomes the river.
When a deed is done well, it becomes the future.'

--Bly's Ghalib

"...I’ve worked a little on my long terza rima comic murder mystery..."


   "Lunch Codes

I.

"She were keen on
the wetlands, and so were I."

Cap-sized bobs and chafing dishes

bobolink tenders.

Leguminous butt-ends deliquescing in the nurses' breezeway,
a quintessence of small-A ambrosia.

He peeked at your ballot box and something about aversion,
a nimbus of donut sugar, your lead-white aureole. Displaced
from the doghouse, a hardon-shaped piece of air.

The entire fountain was made of water and you, my muffin-hatted
Swede, educed a dozen thought molecules.

Mangroves are puppets, you said.

I haunted your ghost.

Remember?

I threw peonies at the shark (distracted)
and at the regional dishes of your forebears.

We've started thinking again.


II.

We were the taffy guild—
Time was our confection.

We shared in common—
Dread of the moment.

Our figures embraced—
Dense cloud of impurity.


III.

“Scores will perish.” "

--G. M. Quint*, in M*lancholia's Tr*mulous Dr*adlocks 3.


"...I think of it basically as comic..."


Intriguing words from Kunstl*r.

(via //*ricorb*aux dot romandi* dot com)


   "The Leaden-Eyed

Let not young souls be smothered out before
They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride.
It is the world's one crime its babes grow dull,
Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.
Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly;
Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap;
Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve;
Not that they die, but that they die like sheep."

--Vach*l Lindsay


"Egwene's stomach sank into her feet."


"And I go darkly-rebel to my work" --McKay

THE CRIMES ARE THERE
GROW A PAIR
IMPEACHMENT 2007

(via ddd dot r2 dot ru slash 3d)


   "Waiting

They swear the dead come back at night,
Who once were women and men,
And sob and cry in the strange weather,
To be let in again.

Out by the straggling thorn I wait,
But you are not come yet;
So it must be that I remember,
And that you forget."

--Liz*tt* Woodworth R**s*, South*rn Po*ts


Bactrian gold.


History on Trial.


Curry.

landfill hills of today consign thy pumpkin
Samhain consign thy pumpkin

raining dark
abyss music consign thy pumpkin

maroon miasma
Xanadu plain consign thy pumpkin

but lift a glass for Grinchus
to basalt aurora consign thy pumpkin


Th* War B*tw**n th* Vow*ls and th* Consonants.


Th* Journ*y of Privat* Galion*. (cf Gravity's Rainbow)

(via noaan*ws dot noaa dot gov)


   "Dick Tracy on Mars"

squalid or marsupial porn dawns
obstruct habitat
wisp nomad scaffold karma

obtain rank
from burning pallors adjourn obsidian
nor books of calcspar

raucous with Uz aroma
my chill blood
on windy roads scuttling across Uz charcoal


Drift (scroll down for animation).


Saudad*.


"...when all is said and done, Venice is only a labyrinth--a vast and beautiful labyrinth to be sure, but a labyrinth nonetheless and none but its oldest inhabitants can be sure of finding their way about..." --Susanna Clark*, Jonathan Strang* & Mr Norr*ll (2004)

"We literally do not know a single Iraqi family that has not seen the violent death of a first or second-degree relative these last three years." --Riv*rb*nd


"300,000 over 24 years was 12,500 a year. Just awful.

600,000 over 3 1/2 years is 171,500 a year. Completely horrifying. Or can't people see that?" (--Cathy B)


"Did you ever meet a kind of person to whom you tell a story, or complain about some sort of problem, then look at him, only to find him absent minded in another world, then, he would turn to you to give you remarks and deductions which have nothing to do whatsoever with what you were talking about?
This is how it is to talk with most of the American administration's members, and most of the American Congress members. They are people who live only in their closed, limited world, who have no wish, or mental ability, to listen to the Other."


"...Bush, more closely resembles an abusive pimp – tragically, Lady Liberty’s. Habitually slapping her around, accusing her of holding out on him, and paranoid of betrayal, Bush, a preening caricature of Macho Narcissism, like any run-of-the-dark-alley pimp claims to be her protector, as, all the while, he abuses, exploits, and degrades her. Apropos, Bush’s vast collection of outfits for every occasion should include a plum purple pimp suit; accordingly, the presidential limo should be tricked out to sport 1970s-style Cadillac El Dorado opera windows, a two tone paint job, and be accessorized with plush, white fur-lined upholstery."

(via jpl dot nasa dot gov)


   "Icarus in November

There is a moment blind with light, split by the hum
  Of something struck and shaken otherwhere,
And if breath's pausing stills the heartbeat and the dumb
  Wet trees clutch every leaf, then on the air
Will blow slow, small, and keen, and faster, greater, higher,
  The hissing whoop of wind through timeless wings
A thuttering drum-beat round a cold immortal fire
  Half-muffling such a mortal cry as brings
  Fear to the lonely soul's imaginings,
A crescent wailing, and the little heart inclined
Hears Icarus, and how the chill gale moans behind.

Who said, O Sun, to Icarus that he must fly
  Or fall who dropped on this green wave at last?
Who fed him bitter aether from the tenuous sky
  Whirled in his winged mind all that is past
And pointed four directions to his stumbling soul?
  Quibbled the whence how where when who and what
Till golden antlers blossomed and the Tree was whole
  And Dian poised, and Icarus forgot
  What Icarus had been, and what had not,
And searching lost the hope that Icarus designed
And seeing, never saw that Icarus was blind?

O Iarus is fallen, alabaster foam
  Hangs stilly, still, Icare est chut ici,
White tangent to the green wave's arc he's shotten home
  Man-bird, sky-arrow to the unriddling sea,
Who was so questing, still unsated, lost to act,
  Quartered the zig-zag sky for beauty's use,
Swooped, soared, sailed, wheeled and turned and sudden stooped on fact
  Or use's beauty or the keen mind's loose
  Hot ions streaming in a fluent sluice,
Heedless that Icarus must fall against the wind
Echoing, ever falling in the hollow mind.

Sun of my night, lamp of my not uncertain void,
  Here Icarus is fallen, here he lies.
O fallen Icarus, whose fleshly eyes alloyed
  The fire and solar gold and still are eyes
Give me some manner bacck the brain, the hardiness--
  If Icarus is fallen once he flew.
Hard-taloned on the sunward wrist he scorned the jess
  Pressed on his quarry in aethereal blue.
  Icare est chut ici, and still he knew
Less where the heron went than what he hoped to find
And more the cloven hoof-print than the frightened hind."

--Al*c B St*v*nson, South*rn Po*ts (1936)



Th* Riddl* and th* Knight.


"One wonders if it will take the fall of the American Empire to uncover the full extent of Washington's war crimes."


"Stray melodies of dim remembered runes" --McKay

   "Oligarch Twilight"

just past my window's margin
you stay · words cannot
bring you into this crystal prism
along with all my crystal shards of color

you stay dark
dark and without form
till that day
i and my glass join in abfraction

and abfraction turns traitor


T. J. Bass.

"In the Gion district of Kyoto, there is--or I should say there was--a miburi-go (gesture language) structured around the forty eight signs (kana) representing syllables in the Japanese language..." --Michitâro Tada, Japan*s* G*stures (2004)

My Compassion and My Contempt Have It Out (photo by JR Compton)


Clar* Turlay N*wb*rry.


"We have not heard from Riverbend either, but hope that, as in the past, she has traveled to safer areas." Follow-up.


L is now known.

'...each time a head is cut off or an eye put out in Vietnam and in France they accept the fact, each time a little girl is raped and in France they accept the fact, each time a Madagascan is tortured and in France they accept the fact, civilization acquires another dead weight, a universal regression takes place, a gangrene sets in, a center of infection begins to spread; and () at the end of all these treaties that have been violated, all these lies that have been propagated, all these punitive expeditions that have been tolerated, all these prisoners who have been tied up and "interrogated," all these patriots who have been tortured, at the end of it all the racial pride that has been encouraged, all the boastfulness that has been displayed, a poison has been distilled into the veins of Europe and, slowly but surely, the continent proceeds toward savagery.' --Aimé Césair*, Discours* on Colonialism (1955; tr J Pinkham)


   "Dalit Cthulhu"

swamp viridian dawnlight
churchmutiny pools

arguing
among this bomb squad's top protocols

cars splash from long undraining blood troughs briskly
and furl spills

i would not touch a thing of
all viridian all ruth all gulls


"The teleportation effects are, like all Turkish special effects, a strange combination of retarded and rad." Plus. (via M*tafilt*r)


"The mutineers of the Chemin des Dames are the Front's only true heroes. It is their statues that should have pride of place in the capitals of Europe instead of those of their executioners." --St*ph*n O'Sh*a, Back to th* Front (1996)


3nigma.

(via adsofth*world dot com)


Jan Lukasi*wicz.


Props for Pamuk. (PS "On the day the prize was announced the French national assembly passed a bill making it an offense to deny the Armenian genocide, so that a person can now be prosecuted in France for denying something that it is a crime to assert in Turkey." (via Moorish Girl)


   "The Dream of a Child of a Man

I am standing in an abandoned classroom.
The linoleum floor is red. Spackle-scarred walls
batter me with a hospital's mildewed green.

Everywhere on this earth, there is either grunge

or a shadow that mimics the one dead body
that, propped like a puppet, a pillow, a sack of potatoes
turns the corner into something far too sharp.

Nearby a hat rack impales a skull like a joke, only
more fresh: Tatters of jerked skin still adhrre.
In the corner, a woman's panties, turquoise, bloody.

A German Junker racks the sky, expands it forever

which roars with its boom, the clanks and shouting, its
muted dives. In my dreams, I am a Ukrainian partisan
himself pausing to dream. My rifle is heavy

I hate it. The confiscation of the furniture of sleep

has left its scuff across the tiles, a demon's jagged name
or an abandoned letter home, but to where worries me.
A dead comrade's replacement crouches half within

the empty yet full gesture of a combat torn hallway
which would be a tale to tell you, my small child.
But a child in muddy taffeta is not crying here at all.

You were never born to me here, there, or ever."

--Gordon Hilg*rs, Th* War Against Th* Alphab*t (2000?)

(via g*n*va-link dot ch slash st*fcola slash storm)


   "THE WHITE CITY

I will not toy with it nor bend an inch.
Deep in the secret chambers of my heart
I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch
I bear it nobly as I live my part.
My being would be a skeleton, a shell,
If this dark Passion that fills my every mood,
And makes my heaven in the white world's hell,
Did not forever feed me vital blood.
I see the mighty city through a mist--
The strident trains that speed the goaded mass,
The poles and spires and towers vapor-kissed,
The fortressed port through which the great ships pass,
The tides, the wharves, the dens I contemplate,
Are sweet like wanton loves because I hate."

--Claud* McKay, Harl*m Shadows (1922)


"The reality of the otherworld was not in question. The Celts were so certain of it that they would even lend money to be repaid in the next world." --A*d**n Cr*min, Th* C*lts (1996)


York Wilson.


Cast*r's Blog.

   "A Lay of Winning and Losing"

a floor long
moon brain glow · solid unknown
against ambush · on

moaning indigo oblong crystal Darfur

a ongoing agony · closing
pools twinkling · psalm wobbly blindfold silk
adamant
lungfish anxious skillfully · par poison own

angular sandcoil Ogpu

warp Xiombarg in us
Italbar walking
ambush abort · dusk tsunami · shards sobbing
with ambit
solid raucous ours final unknown

ignominious wisp ink
why · wink such idiot botch
pools obsidian
floor sobbing indigo agony
octopoid
animals hybrid cannot · atavist rasp
slowly adapt · Darfur add · affliction full
crystal raucous polity until
again pools withal subtract


"The epic Teutonic anesthetic, Heavy Metal was brutally ham-fisted renderings of blues-based white rock--a totally moronic and downered wipe-out which complimented [sic] the Seventies teenage leisure activities of arson and alcoholism." --Juli* Burchill & Tony Parsons, Th* Boy Look*d at Johnny (1978)


Att*ntion-D*ficit D*mocracy.


"...Godzilla is inside each one of us." --Godzilla 2000

(via trav*l-*arth dot com)


"When asked about the disproportionately large hands found in his paintings, Pletka replied, "Frankly, there are two reasons. One is that I found hands to be difficult for me to do. So, I started focusing on them in order to do a really good job. The more I focused on them the bigger they became." "


   "A Bivouac

You came without a human sound,
  You came and brought my soul to me;
I only woke, and all around
They slumbered on the firelit ground,
  Beside the guns in Burgundy.

I felt the gesture of your hands,
  You signed my forehead with the Cross;
The gesture of your holy hands
Was bounteous--like the misty lands
  Along the Hills in Calvados.

But when I slept I saw your eyes,
  Hungry as death, and very far.
I saw demand in your dim eyes
Mysterious as the moons that rise
  At midnight, in the Pines of Var."

--B*lloc


"Whereas the historical eighteenth century lasted 126 years (from 1688 to 1815)...and the nineteenth century lasted ninety-nine years (from 1815 to 1914)...the twentieth century lasted seventy-five years (from 1914 to 1989)..." --ibid


Song.


"No wonder Southey could laugh when, having written fifty stanzas about the forthcoming royal wedding, he heard that the engagement had been called off." --Mark Stor*y, Rob*rt South*y: A Lif* (1997)

"Sleep: and between the closed eyelids of sleep,
From the dark spirit's still unresting grief,
The one tear burns its way. O God, O God,
What monstrous world is this, whence no escape
Even in sleep? Between the fast-shut lids
This one tear comes, hangs on the lashes, falls:
Symbol of some gigantic dream, that shakes
The secret-sleeping soul... And I descend
By a green cliff that fronts the worldlong sea;
Disastrous shore, where bones of ships and rocks
Are mixed; and beating waves bring in the sails
Of unskilled mariners, ill-starred. The gulls
Fall in a cloud upon foul flotsam there;
The air resounds with cries of scavengers."

--Aik*n


"It may be a bluff. It may be a feint. It may be a simple show of American power. But I doubt it.."


"But sixty years before that [1923], Jakob Burkhardt had written: The time of 'the terrible simplifers' will come." --John Lukacs, Th* Hitl*r of History (1997)

(via //xavi*r dot bord*ri* dot n*t slash blog)

(via //bass2000 dot obspm dot fr)

Clyfford Still, 1949 (via tigtail dot org)


"The deeper you dig the harder the rock, the narrower the tunnel, the lonelier the journey."


17.
radiant
miasmata walls
throughout scorn flurry

tatpurusha radiant Saragossa
squall psalm childhood twinkling aurora
quaff Samhain

fitful acquisitions walk
pursuing haystacks a Whig
pursuing radiant tamarind

laptop smoky · warp brain fighting ink wodwo
alloy spiral has
stairway air


Finish of Rocky Mini-World 134340.


3nd of Summ*r.


"There sounds a shot of pistol..."