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