Somoza Unveils Somoza’s Statue of Somoza at the Somoza Stadium.
"bolus"
kaiju hopscotch · hope festers
whipped cream in my coffee · in the killing dawn
i'm sure there are reasons · garage door
all the windows drawn · a weary cycle
inchmeal delivered · the long haul
described in scraps · a bard bundles
newsreels relish · & wild rumor
in the chiming of the words
I do not even know how to caption this.
Herman Melville, Customs Inspector Number 75, New York City, 1871.
shade pedigree shrapnel
insure amber durance
between dog & superglued gilt
gunmetal clink welkin
slumberweed thing-drizzle
watchful with tart hurdles
breeze-moved curtains yielding
shade pedigree shrapnel
"And the rebuilt Temple will not be the same as the one destroyed."
"[Twin Peaks dwarf, backwards voice] That dark brandon meme you like is going to come back in style" —@rmhaines
"Carl Johnes was working at Columbia Pictures in New York when his boss asked him to go over to Joan Crawford's apartment. ...She knew she wanted to give away some of the books...but she didn't have a clear idea of which ones to keep. ...The Rod McKuen and Jacqueline Susann books struck him as expendable, but she snatched Susann's away from him saying, 'She's one of my dearest friends!' " —Scott Eyman, Joan Crawford: A Woman's Face (2025)
"learning new systems"
big moth crushed under thin rain
burning oil refinery
talking philosophy
with my pencil sharpener
talking philosophy
with my pencil sharpener
deft footstool softener
as effigies atrophy
deft footstool softener
as effigies atrophy
big moth crushed under thin rain
burning oil refinery
"AGIs might become more capable of changing our values than we are capable of changing AGI values." —Forgotten Languages Full via
"In Occupied Shuttilon"
1.
jagged white line
circusy classical
another
another
Parnassian switchblade
2.
so far up the mountain
it just struck me how far
good luck & bad luck
from here
nothing matters from here
& there's decades more of climbing
& you will never reach the top
3.
voice swallowed by echoes
cold feet in wet socks
rosary of waiting rooms
& the far off fall of demons
dressed stern in the worst way
second guess my choices
why hustle a croissant down
it may rain all day
these rooms that are borrowed
makes them most of all my own
black coffee like an edict
you return to your book
car without wheels
up on cinderblocks
one thunder revvs before the last has lapsed
Many such cases. I had a broken plastic hose on my car that ended up costing $500 because it confused the onboard computer my car didn’t need & i had to get someone from the dealership to reprogram it. We had to get an entirely new washer because the slight vibration it developed from being off-balance confused the computer in it that it didn’t need & there was no way to reprogram that one.
Imagine a whole civilization constructed on this basis. That might be the explanation for those mysterious jungle megalith complexes where everyone just up & walked away from it one day.
Count your fellow passengers’ eyes.
"There’s very little money in actually selling product."
"And the citizens, denied every word, invented an animal: the grass mud horse, a noble mythical alpaca whose name in Mandarin is a perfect homophone for 'fuck your mother,' which spawned songs, plush toys, nature documentaries about its battle with the river crab (homophone: 'harmony,' the official euphemism for censorship). The people built a fake zoology with one entry just to say the sentence on the parchment. The state banned the alpaca." —@terminallydrifting via
only for the antler
ergot, fatidic burgle
dun skies over scaffold
skidmarks, plague-ridden
& we have the records
the air thick
with coming storm
in the old songs · not enough blood left
on green neon walk
"beautiful wrecked slalom"
legended · narrow stairway
we crept up
to my black sheets
fremd festival hosting
fastness holy pastime
scroll forward · a Saturn streel
what's this land
whelming toxic
steeple sealed with plywood
Plimsoll at skull ullage
ultracrepidarian bard
wends his way
to a black cup
Oldsters who want physical media are like the last underground.
This is a record i had to listen to over & over, with dawning recognition of its beauty & power. At first, i didn't even like it (& i listen to a lot of way-out stuff). I would say, a lot of free jazz depends on momentarily creating cadences which are played with & then mutated--or discarded--& it's not that hard for a practiced listener to recognize them in real-time. But with this record, Coltrane is not working with cadences but with textures & clashes of textures. He's utilizing implications & absences, & it's the knowledge of his deep foundation that is what grows on you with every further listen. Poets who are wedded to the unspeakable are occasionally allowed a place in poetry, painters make a fetish of their love of mysteriousness, but musicians who go to the same place only get a sad, knowing smile from "musician's musicians" because if this is also music, everything they've spent a lifetime learning is—wrong. via
"Gregg"
Mallalieu y l'Age d'Or
malfunctioning garage door
tramped down path
to the blue pool
absent · its sometime guests
watching the world · wake up from history
watching out
days of Hormuz
& mine sweeper grim
Previously Unpublished Works by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha.
"Who are the great divagators of literature?"
woodsmoke & dovesong
Venus & Jupiter vie
step high in grass lush
Computer Hacking Documentries Mega Collection.
"I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams - like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves."
~ Hermann Hesse via @poeticoutlaws
Maska. ☆☆☆☆☆
"Like building a maze as you go while at the same time getting lost in it."
—@jacobwren.bsky.social
"I had thought myself frail..."
"wizardly impetus"
between dog & · wolf, twining
thread of light · alone where
fluorescents
softly bicker
passage to put back things
perishing thesh hour
static as the stone · on your own grave
did you think
the world would not
dodder on, amsace
between dog & wolf
clearer the garble
pages whose reason has fled
button on the wall
& a code to keep up with
the cough no named intruder
The church will be finished in 2034.
"In 1950s Tokyo, an imported jazz LP cost 3,000 yen at a time when the average monthly office salary was 20,000 yen. The jazz kissaten was the solution to that arithmetic.
Japan's jazz kissa trace back to a single establishment: Black Bird, which opened near Tokyo University in 1929, playing Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong on an Electrola phonograph for students who had no other way to hear American jazz. By the mid-1970s, roughly 200 kissaten operated in Tokyo alone and around 600 across Japan. The typical room is dim and compact, stacked with vintage American audio equipment: Altec speakers, McIntosh amplifiers, Thorens turntables. More than 90 percent of these establishments still play vinyl.
The defining practice was silence."
—Michael Daniels via
"...in a single moment, diffused, profuse, complete and distant..."
The Daphne du Maurier Short Story Scale.
idol armor
thick clouds & lit foreground
lost in the spaces between
fresh breeze in the scrappy lane
mild-named season of rigors
"There is something futile in undertakings such as Picasso's Guernica..."
"Part of what Dead Mall Press is trying to do is tap into some of the qualities of the mimeograph era of approx. 1965-1985, which was a stripped down, DIY form of poetry publishing that existed among relatively underground poets. This era marked a time before non-profits, grad programs, and computers/internet changed everything." —RM Haines via
"Southeast Asia, the site of his trauma, also gave him the tools that he needed to recover from it."
"The interiority bias, as is spelt in Jungian circles today, doesn’t as much belong to Jung as it belongs to Jungians - gazing inwards into the discipline that is more in love with the walls of its vessel than its content, processes and development." —Gabriela Sova Spulirova via
"He found that flow requires one specific thing: a challenge that matches your skill level."
"full fridge"
equilibrium lobbied
lab of worthwhile scarlets
book of primes pillaged
for Porlock oracles
crunk in the capitol
noclip smirr smackdown
kismet early evening
substrate. Little Rome
after Olive Garden
rescue dog
of a derne yard
the sky full of portents · & pale steeds
The only way to read it, with those covers & some dirt weed.
"Theory: vinyl made a come back because Ikeas Kallax storage units fit vinyl records perfectly."
—@pauljholden.com
Confirmed woolgatherer here. I can waste four hours without half trying.
"And they say perfect criticism doesn’t exist."
"Sonnet Addressed to George Oppen, Arlington National Cemetery
I think of the dead, the disposition of
the grave, the marble here arrayed. I’ve found
my words to be but parodies of sound
or parodies of silence, and (above
all else, perhaps) mere parodies of love.
The ‘heartlessness’ of words, you wrote (you, bound,
as I), lies in their opacity. We sound
their depths—the force of clarity, a cove-
nant. Over by the Mall, the cherry trees
are finishing their dance, and the monuments
are softened by the scent of fading blooms.
Our wounded earth is flooded with a sea
of petals that flick and flutter as they’re spent.
Her broad back bends beneath their soft perfume."
—Eric Racher in Plough
"The Timberstacks
They have such character—they are unlike
the mounds of raw materials you find
in quarries, construction sites—for the timberstacks
were once alive.
Today they mount each other’s pyres; tonight
their silhouettes
blazing through dusk…
Their rough-hewn pyramids
shoulder the glyphs with which they speak to me—
though what is it they say?
Of all the fates they couldn’t understand,
in this at least they find
themselves so closely packed,
more closely packed than in the deepest jungle;
and they need only whisper
to each other.
But what is it they say?"
—Huck via
"What the classical writers were doing is what we have largely lost. They were not 'tolerating' tsuyu. They were not 'waiting it out.' They were treating the season as a guest in the room, with its own habits, and behaving accordingly." —Tōan via
If u think abt it 'The Yellow Wallpaper' was kind of the first entry in the Backrooms universe.
"Detail a terror retaliated." —Anthony Etherin
in cheese coma, in chemtrails
feral karaoke
back to some
semblance of grid
the napkins creased · regions crosshatched
have not missed much of
militeledildonics
bullet holes in
high ancient walls
somewhere whited by · whilom bomb dust
library books buried
The wealthiest one percent are now responsible for more deaths than all geological hazards combined.
"siege by all candies"
whirlwind tardy tolling
we tell ourselves fables
thick heat among threatshapes
authorship conniption
go as we had giddy
nor Gehenna fended
"poem is a tool for finding out, not a vessel to fill with the known" —@eireannmor.bsky.social via
A gothic, dieselpunk spectacle.
"I saw both the AIDS documentary We Were Here and the feature film Milk (about assassinated gay rights leader Harvey Milk) in the Castro, films in which the theater itself appears, and to be inside a theater that is inside the movie you are watching is a wonderful Moebius strip-Russian doll of an experience. " —Rebecca Solnit via
"the building, barking & biting book"
the ghostly dryght · drizzles in subfusc
places once · a plan might have tarried
meanwhile mannikins · mightily arrayed
in the sky scrollop · redshift & shuffled off
"The Sublime
To stand upon a windy pinnacle,
Beneath the infinite blue of the blue noon,
And underfoot a valley terrible
As that dim gulf, where sense and being swoon
When the soul parts; a giant valley strewn
With giant rocks; asleep, and vast, and still,
And far away. The torrent, which has hewn
His pathway through the entrails of the hill,
Now crawls along the bottom and anon
Lifts up his voice, a muffled tremulous roar,
Borne on the wind an instant, and then gone
Back to the caverns of the middle air;
A voice as of a nation overthrown
With beat of drums, when hosts have marched to war."
—W S Blunt
“Man’s greatest epic, his four long battles with the advancing ice of the great continental glaciers, has vanished from human memory without a trace.” —Loren Eiseley
"Let’s not get forced into the mirrored casket of greatness."
"They laugh at the right moments..."
"Taking in Masonic lore, peculiar hidden pubs, the drab prosaic horror of new build suburbs, trees that evoke dread and wonder; crumbling churches and the food, drink and cultural morays of lesser travelled Holloway backstreets (he has a real thing for Holloway and Camden Town), The London Adventure is also a (perhaps, the) foundational work of early psychogeography, less working guidebook in the mode of, say, The London Nobody Knows by Geoffrey Fletcher (1962) or Len Deighton’s London Dossier (1967) and more akin to the playful, verbose, cog twisting world of Iain Sinclair’s London Orbital (2002) (and on which Machen’s London Adventure was a firm influence)." —Harry Sword via
"stormaganza"
on the dwaleroad Macbethish
benthic spiralling keelhaul
cafe au lait fine constant
affordances arm's tie-off
consolationmaxxing
car flying flags
"dwalm psalmody"
diaphanous grade grubbing
grown under umber floors
true color trickster
Tralfamadore mooring
hawseholes of wayback
capybara werewolf
firewall & crawl highwire
this space never spanned yet
bespoke wheel of newsreels
hawseholes of wayback
"Two decades later in 1971, when Caedmon Records was sold to the Raytheon Corporation, you could tell that the light was failing already for American literary LPs." —Paddy Bullard via
"And then went down to the ship..."
