( via )

( me / via )

Continuous.

Outside the genre it’s not common knowledge that this decade (the 70s) produced not just one great writer—let’s say PKD—but ten or a dozen of the first water, all utterly unique.

Aluminum fountain pen. ($17 on Amazon.)

"Inside, the columns suggest a sacred grove, and the holiness seems older than the faith."

( me / via )

Roofing.

Lowrider bicycles.

“[The University of Buffalo poetics program] has changed American literature and it should be allowed to continue to do that work,” [Juliana] Spahr wrote. “Someday, someone will write a laudatory history, and if it ends now, that history will have to say who let it end and why.” —via

Better together: tailfins & Brutalism.

( via / me )

Best Gumby screen ever.

"nor is the piano's carnal humming
ironical"

—Debbie: An Epic

Off to Battle.

      "From Far, from Eve

From far, from eve and morning
   And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
   Blew hither: here am I.

Now—for a breath I tarry
   Nor yet disperse apart—
Take my hand quick and tell me,
   What have you in your heart.

Speak now, and I will answer;
   How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
   I take my endless way."

—AE Housman

The Black Drama.

( me / via )

Bayeux Wolf.

"Monster Means 'To Reveal'

[After] 'The Laughing Demoness' by Hokusai

The horror lies within these smiling eyes
which glimpse a Nothing deeper than despair.
After despair, it comes as a surprise,
a punchline: that there’s really nothing there.
All is well. Go, stroke your baby’s hair,
then twist the whole head off in laughing rage.
No harm is done. A bird flown from its cage.
Play catch with it, then toss it in the sea.
Or else go out and play the holy sage:
Point to the dumb dead face. You see? You see?"

—Elijah Perseus Blumov

Cherub with an Amethyst.

There’s lots of painters i like for themselves, but Francis Bacon is the only one (—& maybe Goya when he went black) who painted the world i live in.

"Ulalume"—the song.

( me / via [Follow-up.] )

"My wife is currently dressed as Tippi Hedren being attacked by Flock cameras."

"It took me a while to figure this out...It is called a Fecal Management System."
—@ebisback.bsky.social via

The Bagheeta.

"SONNET XVIII: On the Late Massacre in Piemont

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones;
Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubl'd to the hills, and they
To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O'er all th' Italian fields where still doth sway
The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred-fold, who having learnt thy way
Early may fly the Babylonian woe."

—John Milton

Penderecki's Devils.

( via / via )

Soviet uniform Halloween.

"the cult where he never died"

tall
blonde roast
in the claw-laden dawn
things the audience
doesn't know
ørlöglauss November
green star's discovery
understood only for the hue

The artist must’ve been into Hilma af Klint.

"Fierce was the wind. Fallen the willow." —Matthew Dickerson via

The ancient church of Kirkmaiden.

( via / via )

A deep dive into Young Frankenstein.

"the yew hedge of the Grosse Fuge" —Sylvia Plath

Worlds of If again.

"elite capture by shoggoth"

painted scary masks but not this street
don't knock
clowns eclipse aboutness of the whale
oil shock
Rorschach, leaves veer brown, unveil
shapes fleet
murmurations wafting in the mind
steer blind

Romanesque bird.

( via / me )

Lament in the Reign of Skordis.

"Dr Stephanie & the Rabbit"

1.
peeling blue dumpster
fun'ral march of the marionettes

a hundred dollars for a stuck key
ascian thinks it's Groundhog day

2.
Götterdämmerungfish
one skeleton registers
another to vote
going as Joan Vollmer
with a cutout of William
drive down Waterview
one meeting one tea

3.
chryelephantine misgivings

Pink Morgan.

"The causal power of the past inexorably rises." —Andreas Malm via

The Wicker Bunny.

( me / via )

"Commencing with architecture, Pound draws a distinction between the ‘medieval clean line’ and what he calls ‘medieval niggle'."

" Frog put the cookies in a box. 'There,' he said. 'Now we will not eat any more cookies.'

'But we can open the box,' said Scorpion.

'That is true,' said Frog."

—@ctrlcreep.bsky.social

Under Mars's moons instead of Earth's.

      "Miasma"

besoke flint brainfuse
brillig's spent tinchel
      could've gone
   to the gray fields
it's all recorded · all caraway

green-star stonebotherer
to stalk among stark angers
      vocal fry
   on the last trump
it's all recorded · all caraway

"The connections to Black Dandyism, Queer Dandyism, and the Post-Aristocratic modes of dandyism coalesce under the idea of occupying space; the middle and lower classes and marginalized groups struggle differently to occupy the stages of broader society."

( via / via )

Voodoo Priestess.

"planet of a green star"

Valley of Death we crossed, or most of us;
now this.
Madmen-run asylum, dirty trick
good luck.

Public was a resource to extract
bucks from.
Now it is a hollow thing & sham
bare plucked.

Waking from a dream of other days
long gone,
breakage & the suffered wrong remain—
fed jaws.

Will we rise to save the wreck they made
or—nod?

Ruins of Reality.

"To latibulate is to find a cosy corner somewhere and hide in it." —Susie Dent via

What is a Poem?

( me / via )

Cruffin.

As i grow older, i have less & less patience for bad faith, bad choices, bad communication & bad design. Especially, bad design.

Haiku.

   as if backcountry
little thuds mark the season
   the dashboard glimmer

that warns me of nothing real
concurs with these blunt acorns

Sonnet 73.

( me / via )

Season of the Witch.

tiltdecantative newsreels
buttress the wry vertigo
of a ghost watching quick hijinks
of a lone sane asylum'd
tribe of frogs boiling
happy as a clam
stupidity on tap, given
all the avid moguljaws

moguljaws at my arval feast
like sands in the hourglass

That, in turn, I have translated back into English.

”My self-confidence comes from the fact that I have discovered my own dimensions. It does not behoove me to make myself smaller than I am.” —Edith Södergran via

"I still keep company with magicians and giants, fairies and fauns."

( me / via )

"I dutifully wrote all this down, but there was no place in the detective novel for such a thing as an alive hillside, and the whole story warped around it."

"In fact, historical records show that as many as half of the million fatalities didn’t result from direct starvation. They died from illness and disease trying to prepare food that was unfit for consumption." —Jessica via

On this day in 1962 he persuaded his submarine captain not to launch a nuclear torpedo...

Emperor Waltz, outsourced
orpiment verve, vorpal
      client loud
   in the cold noon
no peace here · nothing but clink

waltz at the end winding
past worn piles of turnips
      your nerve tweaked
   twiddle at dodge
car ailing · unaccountably stymied

for all this dread drilling
adroit flinch the tinchel
      reward placed
   a plight cave-set
who knows the rest · a wrong enthroned

no less peasant lasered
along the thronged causeway
      crushed windpipe
   dawn of ruins
supposed to dance · to this dark music

things fail us thralls of
thunder asthma's jazz hands
      obsessed probe
   into void proof
gracious amber · the illness paused

looking afar fictive
fighting kites above us
      rooting for
   the right one win

Surplus Dispraise.

( me / via )

Haunted house.

causality
saudade swoon

go fight in
good boy gray

2026 ED138.

"The great days of jesterdom are over and are not coming back." —Franz Kafka via

I am No Longer That Jabalia Child.

( via / via )

Bacon thread.

"Origami club has welcomed me into the fold." —@misshavishambles.bsky.social

The Explosion.

"African Moonrise

The wind with fœtid muzzle sniffed its feast,
The carrion town, that lulled its crowds to rest
Like the sprawled carcase of some giant beast
That hives the rustling larvæ in its breast.

When the cold moon rose glinting from the fen
And snailed her slime of fire along the hill,
Insomnia, the Muse of angry men,
To other themes had chid my faithless quill.

But wide I flung the shutters on their hinges
And watched the moon as from the gilded mire
Where the black river trails its reedy fringes,
She fished her shadow with a line of fire.

Against her light the dusty palms were charred;
The frogs, her faithless troubadours, were still,
Alone, it seemed, I kept my trusty guard
Over the stone-grey silence of the hill,

Till a starved mongrel tugging at his chain
With fearful jerks, hairless and wide of eye,
From where he crouched, a thrilling spear of pain,
Hurled forth his Alleluia to the sky.

Fierce tremors volted through his bony notches
And shook the skirling bag-pipe of his hide—
Beauty has still one faithful heart who watches,
One last Endymion left to hymn her pride!

Sing on, lone voice! make all the desert ring,
My listening spirit kindles and adores...
Such were my voice, had I the heart to sing,
But mine should be a fiercer howl than yours!"

—Roy Campbell

Painting, 1946.

( via / via )

How couples met, over time.

abyss dirge
wipes
threatsong—
proud rook plays
these cold wretched rooms

coign

Nor would I be a Poet.

" 'I went back home. When I got there,' said Frog, 'I found another corner. It was the corner of my house.'

'Did you go around it? asked Toad.

'I went around that corner, too,' said Frog." —@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social

Cobwebs from an Empty Skull.

( me / via )

Talk about provenance.

"Because of the economy every trick-or-treater can have one cable from the random cables box." —@prufrockluvsong.bsky.social

"This is the power fantasy of the clever child: to see one’s actual or imagined brightness qualitatively distinguishing them from others, enabling them to perform feats far beyond the capability of common dullards.."

limerential tally
on the lost walls
bloodbright costly tinchel
topic hovering
pale cerulean haunch
with cave-traced animal fat
limerential tally

The Fatal Hour (part 2).

( me / via )

Autumn is not in the sky.

"Theranos Nosferatu"

thunder asthma, Oz
uncurtaining murrain
ever after fovea
& cartel of Telstars
sleep disorder sledding
slant without grout antler'd
fire in the belly Fillmore
defies pale cerulean

Tokenizer tax.

"Whether we chase our Joys, or tempt our Woes,
Pursue our Toil, or deviate to Repose,
To Manhood rise, or verge beyond our Prime,
One Tide transports us, and that Tide is Time."

—David Lewis via

Red Right Hand.

( via/ via )

Genocide to Stay Out of Jail.

"WORD FACT

To 'pandiculate' is to instinctively stretch the torso and upper limbs, typically while yawning.

The word lends itself nicely to this palindrome:

Pandiculate: go get a lucid nap." —@anthonyetherin.bsky.social

Tanith Lee Tribute Anthology.

"uphill & uphill"

glittery metallic cloth
ev'rything put back right

a project of centuries

rathe cathedral in this book
that breaks & wavers before my eyes

glittery metallic cloth

Pluviaminatory U-Bahn.

( via )

Harp Concerto: Movement 1.

      "the thousand fingers of sepsis"

gauche phosphene, in Gaza
gutdarkness hearkens
      stained cup tilts
   tattered grognard
no Star Trek future · in this flash desert

daily breadcrumb tumbril

Untitled (AB80).

The fact of overcrowding does not justify the belief in jostling.

Haunted Omnibus.

( via / me )

Best Giallo soundtracks.

"And 'Immortality' / mildews… / in the museums of the moon"

— Mina Loy via @mtthwtmknsn

"Actually the leading open problem in philosophy is if there are open problems in philosophy."

"rosary of elves"

built to last wraith
night full of elbows
dark coffee joy
vow

Golden Orifice.

( via / via )

The Sun over Athens.

"Answer me this Malcolm Gladwell you fraud if 10,000 hours doing something is all it takes to master it then how do you explain why nobody in LA knows how to fucking drive?"
—@otsumamiboy.blacksky.app

Cherokee word for 'strange'.

scrawny output
piss smell
strange alloy i mold
a soft loop

Exquisite Paradise Mountain.

( via / via )

"how can one elegy stitch your/ map of wounds."

"directory of forgotten purposes"

old battlefields haunt my
playground sloom in debts'
crookdark soil

Afternoons and Early Evenings.

"Even if meant in jest, Burgess once gave a revealing answer in response to the question, 'On what occasions do you lie?' to which he replied: 'When I write, when I speak, when I sleep.' "
—@thememoryhole via

This Solitude of Cataracts.

( me / via )

Cretans.

"Janet was dismissed by the art world as a self-taught housewife and grandmother, while Pollock was celebrated as a revolutionary genius." —@sarahfuchss via

Sweet are the songs of bitterness and bliss.

“All is laughter, all is dust, all is nothing,
for all that is cometh from unreason.”

—Glycon, The Greek Anthology, x.124 (tr Paten) (In Lojban.)

I Was Taught to Read Using an Alphabet That No Longer Exists.

( via / me )

Updated Uzbek alphabet.

blaze at Eagle's Nest
wolfish smile
dark swoop home
crowds hoist bosh

"Then the universities discovered that poets and novelists would pay tuition to sit in a circle and be honest with one another."

Things tribalism is not the answer to: everything that's a real problem.

"He’s talking really about music (and probably Hegel), where a waltz is recognisable as ¾ time, but in which we encounter something else, some residue of thousands of dances, mostly in Germany; all these feet scuff the surface of the dance, so that you can’t help but smell a certain kind of shoe leather when you hear tum ti ti tum ti ti."

( via / via )

Fake Moleskine.

",,,ultimately I view a poem in translation as a poem written by two people - and nobody objects to a song written by two people." —Huck via

"He misunderstood what people wanted. He thought it was answers..."

"The Flying Fox

At times the vision settles in his eyes
like water clearing in a muddy stream;
half-waked, he seems to hold the whole of day
englobed within the amber of his dream.
All light is at the edge of what he thinks
as, dense with dreams, he tents each arching bone
against the fabric of his wings and sinks
into himself, as if his sleep alone
could still the will that urges him to flight.
His senses strain against the fading light
like a dog claws the chain around his neck.
Night undoes that knot: then, great wings unfurled,
he holds his voice out like a hand to stroke
the solid edges of a dreaming world."

—Tyndall Brandon

A poem written just for them.