"Touching grass is not enough I need to fight a raccoon over a pizza crust" —@lukelukeluke.bsky.social
Monday, September 21, 2026
"How many more times can I declare victory?"
"A petrified cry,
Suspended breath of one who
Had hoped for better."
—@rayhourigan.bsky.social
"The krasny ugol, the beautiful corner, is where the icon hangs and the little lamp burns under it, and you cross yourself towards it from the door; you do not approach, no one stands there, and yet it steadies the room as a keel steadies a boat, anchored in a place forever out of reach."
—Vittorio Zappa via
To a Minor Poet of the Greek Anthology.
"Gas has hit a price where siphoning it is a white-collar crime." —@sundaedivine.lol
Equinox soldier
bounced back email
wood pylon
coign lose
"It occurs to me that preliminary sickness of Yage is motion sickness of transport to Yage state."
"moon lost between moons"
living with halfsilence
hilch like Jimothy
shadow from two suns
marplot at my own wisecracks
half-seen, half-felt, what next
in a world that's wholly dark
black light & sparklers
on a whisker
"Japanese counts small creatures with one word and cattle and horses with another. Silkworms are counted with the cattle. Ittō 一頭: one head of silkworm. They were given the best room in the farmhouse, and the name for them was o-kaiko-sama お蚕様, the honourable silkworm, with the suffix otherwise kept for customers and gods." —Renares via
Sunday, September 20, 2026
Bruce Conner's film & one more.
"Riches are certainly no proof of merit: nay they are often (if not more commonly) acquired by persons of sordid minds and mean talents: nor do they give any intrinsic worth to the possessor; but, on the contrary, tend to pervert his understanding, and render his morals more depraved."
—Humphrey Clinker
Narrative of an American Girl.
"redefinition of the second"
stormlight, jet plane
still, some ploy
spools past rout
caught on beastfoot
"Venus ate its moon"
leapfrog bookcrawl
Sunday
with web lure
why sort clouds
at boil
"One moment at the Marlon James Powell's event I wanted to highlight, because it made me happy: We both love The Church's Under the Milky Way w/ fond memories of hearing it the first time. There's a great paragraph about the song in his new novel The Disappearers that captures the essence of the song" —@jeffvanderbeer.bsky.social
GoGo Penguin’s Window into Thrownness and Beyng.
"Silently the three came to the portals of the chamber, where entrance was barred only by a black arras wrought with the signs of night in silver, and bordered with a repetition of the fives names of the archfiend Thasaidon in scarlet thread." —@klarkasht.bsy.social
Marginalia: Nick Land’s Annihilation as a Station of the Cross.
"barrage of sides-taking"
deadbolt clunk
root hog
speedway whining
loss can pull
found poem
scoriac mist
ruse of scathe clout
bronze swoosh
thought cries
guest foist
"By the third day, my phone had died. There was no electricity, no way to recharge. All the extreme contingency plans I had carefully arranged (contacts in the UK experienced in ransom negotiations, FBI connections through family) became meaningless. We were unreachable." —KK Kozik via
Clown minimal: 20 tracks from techno’s goofiest moment.
Saturday, September 19, 2026
Even though i enjoyed seeing Jessica Lange do her best each time with those scripts, nothing in AHS ever was as disturbing as the opening of Season 2: Asylum.
" 'How did Plautus get back into the room?' said Miss Burke.
'The door is ajar. Did you think he could open it?'
'No,' said Miss Burke, who knew he could not. 'But it is only ajar about an inch.'
'That is enough for Plautus. He can make himself into air. I believe he could get underneath it.' " —@ivycomptonburnett
Through the long years of the war.
"Skunkworks"
There are no atoms
indivisible at last to be broken to.
If i was once
the site and source of such resplendent fire
or, oak, stood riven
lit from a forking lode, then more i shall be.
Atoms into atom-shards
and into shards of shards, there is no ending,
no last dust
but may be made to walk and weep again.
2 24 84
In 1966 the Shadows of Knight recorded a song about potato chips. (thread)
"News Aggregator"
We know the rustling grom sweeping irksome land
Eaten from within, come; stone
Dense desolate rustlings stir in the sand
Of therk frown
Infamous command.
Tadpolian Napoleon flashbangs read
Not the cost, dense, of each thing's
Age never-to-be, to Moloch fed...
Slags appear,
The spoor of bad kings.
Dark unspeakable will, our lordly despair
Under cushioned leaves' decay:
End, foreseen not by Waihopai bare;
End blown off, away
12 07 03
Pack my box with five-dozen liquor jugs.
“Nevertheless, he still tarried about the skirts of Parnassus, translating some of the classics, and writing miscellanies; and, by dint of an invincible assurance, supercilious insolence, the most undaunted virulence of tongue, and some knowledge of life, he made shift to acquire and maintain the character of a man of learning and wit, in the opinion of people who had neither; that is, thirty-nine in forty of those with whom he associated himself.” –Peregrine Pickle
Lost and found: an impossible watchlist of hard-to-see cinematic curiosities.
"In the late 1800s one scientist, Willy Kuhne, from his studies of the action of the chemical rhodopsin, saw the possibility of taking pictures with living eyes, 'optograms'. Among other things, he exposed the eyes of a rabbit to a barred window, then kiled the rabbit, removed its eyes and fixed its retina, upon which was seen the light and dark pattern of the bars. In 1880 he arranged to obtain the eyes of a man who was beheaded, and from them he printed an optogram that does show an image, but one that is impossible to interpret." —Jillian Smith, Senses and Sensibilities (1989)
“For Harvest
The year turns to its rest.
Up from the earth, the fields, the early-fallen dew,
Moves the large star at evening, Arcturus low with autumn,
And summer calls in her many voices upon the frost.
I who have not seen for weeping
The plum ripen and fall, or the yellowing sheaf,
Am not unmindful now of the season that came and went,
The hours that told off freshness,
The bud and the rich leaf.
Though I turned aside before the summer
And weathered but a season of the mind,
Let me sit among you when the husk is stripped,
Let me tell by the bright grain,
Those labours in an acre of cloud and the reap of the wind.”
–Léonie Adams
I'm Five Years Ahead of My Time.
"Where do you see yourself in 5 years?"
"O[g]den
Is top dogden"
—@adamroberts.bsky.social
"Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions."
—Tony Kushner, Angels in America/ part 1
"The anatomical fact of this labyrinth is indisputable" —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social
"This Earth should be called Ocean and the water is the most powerful thing on it." (thread)
"To a Cat
O curious cat · curled like a question
asked and never · answered at my feet,
your whiskers twitch · like wet wires
electrified by elements · of earth. Blood red
as mine seeps slow · from fresh scars
wrought in feline · forest fights.
Sleep light, for life · lurks full
of sudden fiends · who flash a claw
then disappear · like devils, into darkness."
—Carla Galdo at Alliteration.net
Aretha & Carole at the Kennedy.
loud croon cark
joy's quietus
watches soot float
at pain set
Listen Up: Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass.
"In the wake of Wendell Berry's passing there have been a number of memorials rightly extolling his advocacy for local culture and attachment to one's geographical origins, one's hometown, etc. All good stuff, a necessary corrective to the uprooted internationalism of late capitalism. Not enough is said, however--and Berry himself was lacking in this--about people for whom this prescription doesn't work: migrants, immigrants, displaced people of all stripes. People like me, for instance, whose 'homeland' is a complicated mix. Sometimes 'home' isn't home, and the heart finds its place in other ways." —@andrewfrisardi
A Dozen Undervalued Movie Satires.
Friday, September 18, 2026
Poets are used to seeing each other freaking out. Math nerds, not so much (apart from A Beautiful Mind that is).
"speedreich"
missives from far marrows
migrate tigress
in the jumble jamboree
adjust small failures
where i put my pyre-crumbs
passes from eyes
only this green placemat
garish in the bare dawn
going like bird migrants
going like smoke
wingshapes of weird love
warp the harp remaining
Saw the ghost of Elvis on Union Avenue.
glow swirl dance
edge sink
dark soon
each look fades
lights round
choice cost
The Last Days of the Danube Institute.
—Favorite pulp writer? Cornell Woolrich. He was our Dostoevsky.
Gonna write an epic poem that covers ALL THE BASES. Oh wait, Mr Dante beat me to it..
Now that's what i call poetry.
"trick or not, my crimson spit-seal still sticking" —Tom Snarsky via
jackal headwinds
drywall goulash
sloyd-made ode
prowl good feed
Much as i appreciate novel verseforms, i think this one lends itself better to syllable-counting than accentual-syllabic pentameters. As blank verse (which is enlivened by variation) it’s terrible.
"Jupiter develops space travel"
dead grass, burning street.
Nardo Gray ride.
foined hoof spawn
Faust mewls.
I was reading This Tree Grows out of Hell by Ptolemy Tompkins. My wife asked me what it was about. “Aztec theology,” i said.
"A work in progress quickly becomes feral. It reverts to a wild state overnight. It is barely domesticated, a mustang on which you one day fastened a halter, but which now you cannot catch." —Annie Dillard via
"...techniques change and one could talk about painting by making a sort of history of the techniques of painting." (This goes for poetry too.)
" 'You are not at the bottom of a hole?' asked Toad.
'No,' said Frog.
'You are not lost in the woods?' asked Toad.
'No,' said Frog.
'You are not being eaten by a big animal?' asked Toad.
'No,' said Frog. 'Not at all.' " —@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social
Mr. Thomas Hardy composing a lyric.
"Under the Ion Hammer"
Master of kiteslipt Spetznaz, amnesia is our leader;
Determinancy gone, abductee is our leader.
The tenuous adhesion of a cotton hush
Yields prismatic derangement whose rent church is our leader.
In strawberry fields of self-hypnosis i too roamed:
A maple sapper of the charcoal is our leader.
And your good squirm of lurid flashbangs now protrusive
As kudzu, cannot fail to dub you as our leader.
Leader! into caverns worn with jackboot march
No throe may deflect; epigraph: flambeau is our leader.
11-15-03
20 Essential Classic International Films You Can Watch for Free on YouTube.
Thursday, September 17, 2026
A couple of computer poems from Horizon, May '62:
"MICE
The broad sleighs of glass are dashing hungrily,
She is a toilet of dissolute water, and I am those bland melodies.
So, chess was arsenic and gold was beer,
It was a snail of murmuring beer, and I am those angry nets.
He was lustier than the twine and more bold than the shop.
The milk of plates upon many sands of cream was like consummate magnates."
"ROSES
Few fingers go like narrow laughs.
An ear won't keep few fishes,
Why is that rose in that blind house?
And all slim, gracious , blind planes are coming.
They cry badly along a rose,
To leap is stuffy, to crawl was tender."
20 Classic Horror Films Free on YouTube.
"Prose is like via a faire greene way wherein a man may travell a great journey and not be wearie, but verse is a mirie lane in which a mans horse pulls out one leg after another with much adoe and often drives his master to light to helpe him out."
—Sir John Harington, Note on Orlando Furioso via @themeanderingmiltonist
The Galdrmaðr Weaves an Evil Spell.
"...everything must be cast aside so that a solitary phrase can be sustained in the aftermath of what cannot be discarded." —Christina Tudor-Sideri via
Lost and found: an impossible watchlist of hard-to-see cinematic curiosities.
"Speculum"
hypertalion halo
chutzpah, sides are idle—
& killing is a fire
cages keep recurring
carnivan grown fine print—
& killing is a fire
red-assed baboon rulebook
baryonic enclave—
& killing is a fire
with a fire's glee
drillbit winsome tendril
warrior smirks
the drivearound furnished
Xerxes' helm found
cure where the dark circles
& no one cares
to feed on you specific
or your fictions
hellbent circus hearkened
harries wodwo
no warrior to revv up
gray Toyota
September stung anguish
stereo thugs
& what thereafter
shut door failure
destroy reels
slog frown woods
like fast set
"This 'slam'—a showcase of short-form puppetry aimed at adults—is one of many that make up the thriving and thoroughly eclectic New York puppet community, whose underground has flourished in basements and black box theaters over the past five years." —Arielle Gordon via (ungated)
Whenever i discovered a new obscure author i used to look there to see if he got there first. Usually he had.
"oh yeah my best case scenario is that ai turns the entire internet into an incomprehensible protean hell of superintelligent agent swarms that we have to fence off and abandon, returning to the sunlit world that was our inheritance" —@samkriss
"I have to learn how to imagine a world beyond the one where I am stuck."
while this machine thegnchess
sherbet of stone burbclaves
curlicue
or Great Pumpkin
i just want you to know · nomadology wanting
instant decaf
bluwhite fluoresce
shook trade
jawgouge voice
loss
fettered swarm
unknowingly final time
the burial theme reaches our ears
as across waves
cracked concrete
fern nook
loud drool
highway clipclop
poet ploy
Gnostic Holy Wars in the School of Night.
“In our exploded and massively wallpapered age, I have found that in Artaud the ancient, black springs of poetry are graspable, like a writhing piece of star gristle. Antonin Artaud is the stamina of poetry to enact in a machine-gunned hearth the ember of song.”
— Clayton Eschleman via @mtthwtmknsn
Wednesday, September 16, 2026
"I was trying the other day to remember the name for a book that is read in both directions, with the back half upside down to the front half, and then I forgot I was trying to remember it at all.
It’s tête-bêche..." —@benjamindreyer
"modus vivendi"
moving row's arrival
arrange stringencies
listen for loose rotors
one's lair caroled
husband the harm fusebook
hilching filchamong
speak less & scorn spurious
aspects of jazzlack
wheelchair stuck, lore whommled
along the throngshore
wheelchair stuck, lore whommled
along the throngshore
— Unwanted Narrator (@unwantednarrator.bsky.social) September 16, 2026 at 6:02 AM( via / via )
center's pull
more these days
wrong fight drops
cat school's out
net spoilage
"Parasitism...is a sort of rent. ...It is the thorn in the flesh of the world, another sign, if any be needed, that the world is actual and fringed, pierced here and there, and through and through, with the toothed conditions of time and the mysterious, coiled spring of death." —Annie Dillard via
"If Gnostic Pulp is a strand of literature, then Weird Nature is one of its nonfiction cousins."