( me / me )

John Henry, except duelling Year's-End poems. (thread)

"Glitter Bowie days there is Be Bop Deluxe, all chrome dreams and future shock melodies. One moment they fly high, big stages, bright lights. Next moment – poof – he suicide the whole thing. He need new form, new escape route. Then come ‘79… Red Noise, sharp angles, nervous machines clicking behind him like haptic robot. He push rock until it snap and fall apart in his hands. After, he dive solo, electronics, strange atmospheres, soundtracks for cities that don’t exist. Every album like small experiment performed in deserted hospital corridor." —qtd on Dennis Cooper's blog via feuilleton

Transplant.

Nibelungfish Nardil
the light nurker gherkin
lost in the plaid pages
or seichesplash plantation
attic room no racecourse
your neighbor rune moonwalks
on the walls sketched skulkers
at banquet skew futile

Black Friday.