"Mieterscham"
Renner burning runway
rista of Creek Canyon
swart go-juice
assuages theft
labyrinth learned · sienna contrails
eye in the sky scurry
scaffold & dull laughtrack
self-wheeled to the wharf cliff
overpass
blinking portal
you will find · no friendzone
outside Emathia
"O miseranda domus, toto nil orbe videbis
Tutius Emathia."
—Parsalia VI.819-820
"Ah wretched Race! to whom the world can yield
No safer refuge, than Emathia's Field."
—Rowe's Lucan
"...the sort of jokes that Italians make about the Venetians and the Tuscans are rather similar to the jokes that the English make about the Scottish, for whom beer is a soft drink and for whom, as a Scottish friend of mine once told me:
'the word fuck’s like a comma.' " —Alexander Fayne via
You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.
"bread too wide for the toaster"
no better mammal now
that i should not have squandered
depths unsounded,
sheets i might have written on.
but fragrant hours arrive,
replete with puzzling auras:
no stern kairos
green noise posed which red did solve.
where would forgiveness come,
if not from finding further wrongs
& broken lungs
along the road of fire-slalom.
"Moonrise, June 19, 1876
I woke in the midsummer not-to-call night
in the white and the walk of the morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe
of a fingernail held to the candle,
Or paring of paradisaical fruit,
lovely in waning but lustreless
Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow
of dark Maenefa the mountain;
A cusp yet clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him
entangled him, not quit utterly.
This was the prized, the desirable sight,
unsought, presented so easily,
Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me
eyelid and eyelid of slumber."
—Gerard Manley Hopkins via @rhunedhel.bsky.social
"For as long as the city has existed, appalled visitors have fantasised about all of this collapsing."
"I’ve never done pay-per-view, but I’d pay to watch his name removed from the Kennedy Center live" —@beinghelpish.bsky.social
Pride flag made from real nasa imagery .
"His sense of the discourse around ‘the Great LPs’ in popular music is that there is a conventional main-stream canon – Beatles, Stones, male singer-songwriters, Joni Mitchell, their ilk – curated by magazines like Mojo, Rolling Stone and Record Collector, that gets all the public attention and discussion, and that makes all the money for record dealers. Floating above the public canon, however, there is an entirely separate shadow-canon of records, quite thoroughly understood and acknowledged by the collector-initiates, but listened to and known about by almost nobody else.
This is what has happened to the literary canon as well." —Paddy Bullard via
"Beowulf is dense with them. By my count, there are at least 129 kennings.."
inscrutable electronica
on this bridge late at night
in this blazing noon reverie
spring was a dream
even as it fed us
"The Parnassians
Sons of islands, who in sensuous, tropic
minds— luxuriant, remote, and feral—
mined for words like Madagascan beryl.
Prowling jungle thoughts, they tracked their topic:
human vanity, the lush, entropic
bloom of desperate life, and beauty’s peril,
studied with an eye austere and sterile,
distant, God-like, ruthless, microscopic.
Life, a fever dream of El Dorado,
foredoomed quest for false desiderata,
these conquistadors made it their motto:
Lose thyself in savoring the data.
Make thy art only an obbligato
harmonizing Nature’s cruel sonata."
—Elijah Perseus Blumov via
"As per habit, I keep compiling my cluttered index as I read, with whatever filched pen comes to hand. Consciousness is a latecomer, an annotator, an infinite index in stolen ink." —Riverwork
"Camp is gender without genitals."
"More than in the original French, I felt I could taste Montaigne in Florio, whose text emanated notes of clove and saddle leather and woodsmoke." —Lisa Robertson
"I found David Lynch on a Kansas two lane."
"Remembering the Ancient Ways on the Rivers of Chu (3)
The wild wind ruffled my belt of orchids,
A sudden rain sprayed my magnolia oar.
The souls of Qu and Song have gone to darkness,
The desolated hills and rivers mourn.
Now shadowed clouds invade the evening scene,
The sea-line trees fade into the falling tide.
I’d pluck some winter herbs as offerings,
But no bright gods will take my sacrifice."
—Ma Dai via
"Postcarity"
dragon kingdoms · in the cold stories
half-light gray · still gravel
faint voices · in single file
enter the heart of the lamp
"Thought could be the binding medium, but I still don't know what thinking is. A kind of inner voice? A night sky that supports or constellates my fragments? A loom with its four direcfions, which contain what? Is thinking a textile?" —Riverwork
"Whatever the painting communicates, it does silently and wordlessly, and what I understand it with is similarly silent and wordless. Can one then speak of ‘understanding’ at all? Yes, for intuitive knowledge exists, silent wisdom exists, and I believe this unarticulated understanding of the world comprises a much larger part of our self than we usually imagine." —Sven Birkerts via
"What Voyager 1 Saw Before It Died"
zuihitsu, glimmer-rue:
prop comedian
punk rock pet groomer truck
the philosophers of my youth
whom i hardly knew then
& less so now
move slowly my face burning
try not to frighten the rabbit
"dork catnip"
mindstained dawnlights tarry
turn in at the stern cutout
vacuole my workplace
away with drab habits
mindstained lost myst'ries
mud quarry & dark font
"Two hands in their circular mimicry of pursuit cannot dissemble the face behind them that in deadly earnest hunts us down." —๐โ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐กโ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ก๐๐๐๐ข๐
"Chateaubriand is unpopular. I think it certain that now nobody reads him but me." —Lisa Robertson
Liminal Poem for Martin Gardner.
i write this
not even for me
& justice
that plant in need of repotting
pliant tinned ever-pit
finny manifesto
forcibly downed corsned
"Woundrous
I misplaced wondrous
in the wound between
bone-stuck fatigue
and bus-window rain,
the street-priest's bray,
and rattle of keychains.
It resurfaced
inside a cracked apple,
skin learning
the smalltalk of
bruises,
the pop of juice
under thumbnails
coaching other colours."
—@theevilstuna.bsky.social
"I am for whatever can augment, annex, entangle, unmap. Opacity resembles the densely figured world, so extreme in its reversals and feints and equivocations, in its curious knotting of sensual and mental phenomena." —Riverwork
ๅฐฑ่ทๆฐทๆฒณๆไธไปฃ employment ice age generation. [Shuushoku hyoukaki sedai]
"If Weil urges attention it’s never merely for attention’s own sake but for the sake of a world liberated from the myths that would make truth a matter of well-meaning rather than participation in a community of reason." —Taycross (2020) via
"buttercore"
memesqualor Fillmore
murder absurd distant
wordporous apparel
& squamous memesqualor
those for whom thinking is downfall
travel a sour road
Rhinoceros (1974).
"mirage niche"
the skies cleared · above Mar-a-Lago
craveworthy dronedrop
our store jaunts · jugular whiplash
smoky cravings relished
rubber bandfast · car key holder
pale cerulean gibbet
black cherry soda · shrill mockingbird
Walmart whisker shadow
"Lost languages are living their own lives." —Lisa Robertson
Open source alternative to Google Docs and Microsoft Office.
"A book's melancholy purpose, I considered, is to never remain itself, but to enter ongoing metamorphosis in the hands of strangers." —Riverwork
"And people wonder what good a philosophy degree is."
bruiseblood solider
in fixed sequence make entry
O planet Poitrine
the troubled eye dominant
houselights on in the ughten
"We live here now, the hyper-real, the representational as primary field of encounter."
"chryscrossalis"
matutinal worddribble
dryght of grue etins
to grind human femurs
quibble at the grab bag
indexical coal mine
catalogue the dog days
"Being an American during the 250th Aniversary of the United States feels a lot like if the terrorists in Die Hard demanded that the hostages continue having their Christmas party."
—@quebecoiswolf.bsky.social
"Were you the shadow of the waxwing slain by the false azure of the windowpane? Yes? Then you might be entitled to compensation" —@evangrillon
count anthills, fall of a leaf
labyrinth aspic eyeballs
black iron prison fizzing
cosmic ice cashcow
collective vivisector
their greed has no bounds
as their emptiness no cure
"...the luminous translucency of pink Iranian onyx."
"When I call by habit
My cherished friends’ names
Always on this strange roll-call
Only silence answers me."
—Anna Akhmatova, 1943 via
"No, I’d love to hear your common sense view of the left-right political spectrum. Your generalizations are illuminating and not at all influenced by having lived your entire life in a nation ideologically committed to the preservation of capitalism." —@rmhaines
"Award-winning literary fiction in the 2020s is a set of established best practices and outcomes: the vivid sensory detail, the labor-landscape-memory entwinement, the identity-group narrator who matches the identity-group author (market segmentation and differentiated sales FTW, gotta get on that pastel-colored front table at the local indie bookstore!), the melodic voice that lingers long after the final line, the prose that pulses with restraint and quiet authority." —Oliver Bateman Does the Work via
"BUILD A SUN (Anagrammed Lines)
I build a sun. Feted, it rises.
Inside its beautiful reds,
in its dust, a blue fire dies."
—Anthony Etherin
"I have passed through the doorway of a broken branch."
"2002 XV93"
page yellowed
in the yeckate
rush of wings
weary counting
Fimbulspring
cobble a few
Fimbulspring
sprawls venomous
rush of chords
no more rentchecks
tiny screen
scraping a few
tiny spring
for this clockpunk
scribe's cherished
mode of dodging
dismal thunk
narrates a few
dismal thunk
the ongoing
ravel reel
where ravens thrive
page yellowed
gather a few
but only a few
"In times of unthinkable destruction, the aesthetics of rarity need no more inflation." —Lisa Robertson
"This period of awakening reached its culmination in the 1919 Paris Peace Conference when the Japanese proposed a clause affirming the equality of nations regardless of race. It was roundly rejected." —Naucratic Expeditions via
"vermiculite"
shipwreck in the dayroom
ruminate earth fathoms
a new coffee naff but
nugatory war games
thwart oracle's rede
famous car chase
chiselled autumn brown
antique pointy towers
spiralling
count in sixes
dun corridors · not well lit
Hollerith henchman · to the Road Runner wraith
"The three prime characteristics of liminality are ambiguity, hazard and opportunity."
"Waiting for the Storm
Breeze sent a wrinkling darkness
Across the bay. I knelt
Beneath an upturned boat,
And, moment by moment felt
The sand at my feet grow colder,
The damp air chill and spread.
Then the first raindrops sounded
On the hull above my head."
—Timothy Steele via
"Dionysus is not the god of excess. He is the god of what cannot be contained."
— E.R. Dodds, The Greeks and the Irrational via @armenikus
"For Arendt, modern technology makes it possible to imagine a world in which even our own actions, our own tools, become meaningless for us.
More than that. 'There is no reason to doubt our abilities,' she writes, and this is the height of the Cold War, to exchange the human condition for 'something we have made ourselves, just as there is no reason to doubt our present ability to destroy all organic life on earth.' " —James Duesterberg via
"the future is dog carts"
grugprab calaveras
enclosing Cape Canaveral
Chinese Shoegaze, shoggoths
in the Ghaybfeed bubble
margin-ebb, scurried
like scary mariachis
patches of sun, Sitzfleisch
Sumer never roomed in
"Weldon Kees in Mexico
He hardly ever spoke; we thought his name
was Robinson and watched him from afar
for fear of yanqui guile. When he first came
to town, he played piano at the bar—
some Friday nights—jazz riffs that blended
into weary talk—though soon he grew
more scarce. He drank more and the concerts ended,
which is what exile and tequila do.
One day his landlord said he didn’t know
if Robinson had skipped out on his rent.
We kept an eye out while the tide was low
and poked around the canyons when we went
out walking, but a search was never done.
We had no reason, and desired none."
—A M Juster via
"Aeonian dooms and realm-deep rigors fill" —Clark Ashton Smith
OS/1 [frutiger aero, computer gaze, vaporwave].
"I was determined to meet the moment and took what I thought was a huge risk and told him my favorite Sonny solo was Three Little Words from Sonny Rollins on Impulse. Sonny was wearing shades, but when I said that he tilted his head down and made eye contact with me and said:
'Me too man, that was one of the good ones.'
Sail on Sonny Rollins, the Saxophone Colossus, now and forever" —@nosoundleftbehind
pedestal-borne bastards'
burial still faring
finds my warmer welcome
of wear, elegy, kiteslip
cracks without light crater
this crown's glowing snowball,
wordstagger instead of
step intended; swindle
