( via / oil painting by me )

My mother dreams of whiteness.

the news blossoms bleary
on my blown-out eyes of stone
statue of Leo Strauss
staring like jazz mazard quelled
& i ask the offspring
of the only lost released
how can i still hold you
happenstance or trap of plot

The Ancient Engineer.

"But soon we'll bonfire all his trash, tricks and trumpery" —Finnegans Wake

The Vulgar Image.

( via / via )

Gnossienne in Asia Minor.

"Frog and Toad looked into a mirror.

'We look brave,' said Frog.

'Yes, but are we?' asked Toad."

—@frogandtoadbot.bsky.social

Sakura.

cold toast
& a castoff
accord still no borderline
stunts, while over Ant Farm
unknown pleasures break, Kitëzh
& cold toast

Ulysses' Gaze.

( via / via )

Every legal story now.

If you hear him snoring you have to start singing over it.

Minerva Bowl.

"lone star topaz"

lone star topaz leapfrog
liquid courage thurible
pass a van whose paneblurb
poses to change floes of ice
giant gem this harmfield
jerryrigged for losers wears

Minnehaha Falls.

( via / oil painting by me )

God is Alive, Magic is Afoot.

"Here is a plea based on my whole experience: do not be a magician, be magic." —Beautiful Losers

Slow moving channel.

comet's tail of time-trace
touching vacuum blackness all
this dust distance suffers
dying & stone builds alone
dark glow on a pale glow
glass intricate sickness
i write through nil rainstorm
running with psalm-comet's tail

The world turning in ascii.

( via / via )

New laws of robotics.

"wtf is a FIFA peace prize? that's like being an NFL laureate in physics" —@dieworkwear.bsky.social

The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún played on Germanic Lyre.

"be enormous fungi"

fill mystique constructed
more as a jest, slestered chart
dark turquoise nest, Durkin's
diligent web though of vril
vacancy— the sickle
sky— crowded the embers— shroud
clinging towers clueless
eclipse of what scuttles off
& the thin poet (thawing
thesterness) ingests damage
masquerades as mood wisp

montage as a lodgement trope
the low buildings lewder
by light of noon, runic shards
—sienna mold mainlined—
messaging what? cesspilled orb
foam clinging to claimant
eclipse broken now & grips
the will to form warm-frames
wet redbrick district of hurt
virtual thumbscreen screaming
at scrollnoon, the whole undone

"There are of course many examples of political constituencies that have in fact killed scores of children (en route to some other evil goal), but I can't offhand think of any historical examples of a political constituency organized for that specific purpose."

( via / via )

Tailfin era.

"spongebob squareback"

sandalwood song, hindered
by something like high cold moons
dusty cat— comment wasteland—
increase-gravity teahouse
the Hague's cardboard hurdle
rehearsed glare of parasangs
lorn sandalwood sunrise
suppurating cupcake moon

Many-Host Ghost Goby.

"Fashion this heap with gleaming snowshovel facets, for I meant to build an altar. I meant to light a curious little highway shrine, but I drown in the ancient snake cistern. I meant to harness plastic butterflies with rubber-band motors and whisper: 'Consider the plastic butterfly': but I shiver under the shadow of the diving archaeopteryx." —Beautiful Losers

"AI art is eerie because it seems like there is an intender and an intention behind every word and every pixel, because we have a lifetime of experience that tells us that paintings have painters, and writing has writers. But it's missing something. It has nothing to say, or whatever it has to say is so diluted that it's undetectable."

( via / via )

"It doesn’t matter whether the English translation was what was used to translate his books into other Western languages... What mattered was that the true original existed in Gĩkũyũ, thus helping to create a Gĩkũyũ canon of written literature."

" 'It must be the climax, the coping stone, the peak of youthful experience.'
'Oh, don’t use the word ‘climax’, ' said Josephine. 'It has such a suggestion of anti-climax. And we hope that things are not over for them yet.' " —@ivycomptonburnett.bsky.social

"Girlfriend of founder of imaginary group is, well, a very Kristi Noem category."

Edgefield winds its twinge
weird façade rathe-slaughtered
a movie skipped—map
to many long songthreads—
conspiracy sown
in surds that glow holy

"If the war had ended long ago, joy would have filled every home."