3D-printed whistles to use against the Gestapo.
First ruin tourism then virtual ruin tourism. What next, ruined ideology tourism?
that glittering place
remembered in midnight wind
& the stars that die
again in my head rain sound
longer than words & less vain
"In an attempt to make a learned joke, I once looked up the names of people possibly crushed to death by bookcases..." (via Mefi)
"sparkling moral injury"
flerd brillig
abrupt thought train
energy
pain's antidote
in fathoms
last finishing
to this grid
a glad martyr
graveyard blooms
plastic blackened
"At the very edge of Hell, where the meadow is a little bit singed, art students set out their easels and paints”
—@ctrlcreep
"The river..."
“And is a rainbow not light caught in its own pain?” —The Book of the Night
sitcom set in Gaza
the soft ash rain coughed rustles
Sitcom set in Gaza. No Israelis appear, except as shadows & gunshots. Things happen like they really do except there are jokes (probably AI) & canned laughter. Everyone has their own colorful injury. One by one the members of the cast disappear (the other members take over their lines) till all that is left is a legless child in a bombed out hospital, who continues to play all the parts.
"Fumblestiltskin"
miasmatic fort
tertiary carol
pretend things aren't turned
turtle in the myrrh trade
sing tornado seed
sunshine autumn's grotto
charismatic kite
in the coal tar colors
“And yet these same dusky streets are thronged with a moving multitude, are traversed ever by ceaseless streams of men and women, flowing onward, silently, swiftly, eagerly. The very beggars do not speak above a whisper, the very dogs are dumb. The stillness of all voices leaves nothing for the perception of the hearing save the dull tread of many thousand feet and the rough rattle of an occasional carriage. Rarely, the harsh tones of a peasant, or the clear voices of a knot of strangers, unused to such an oppressive silence, startle the ear, causing hundreds of eager, half-suspicious, half-wondering eyes to turn in the direction of the sound.” —The Witch of Prague
"Heavier..."
Aberdeen beach just before the rain hit 🌊.
“But so full is the world of calamity that every source of pleasure is polluted, and every retirement of tranquillity disturbed. When time has supplied us with events sufficient to employ our thoughts, it has mingled them with so many disasters that we shrink from their remembrance, dread their intrusion upon our minds, and fly from them as from enemies that pursue us with torture.” —The Rambler
Japanese-Spanish dictionary compiled by Catholic missionaries and published in 1630 in Manila 📖.
“Melancholy of the Vampire”
Not enough scourge in the sunrise,
blood thin as water.
“sonnet in -gry”
Finding again my haggard heart fang-hungry
after a gram of psychotic pottingry
i wonder if i can mask with wonted rungry
grin like a choice Manhattan-fetching aggry.
Helmet i patch & this time, wrap the puggry;
questioning all, i’m yet of dreams the bowgry.
Where will i go? in public or in skugry
seek out a dragon-task not over-angry?
Truly we’re hot to make the Double Ulgry
whether it’s growth-enhancing, or in malgry:
let me forget that here i glister meagry…
Everyone’s heaped like hares in a conygry!
So much have i tried to sundrily hide from vergry,
stodgeful’s this box. Bring on the higry pigry.
(12 13 89 /publ Feb 91 Word Ways)
“Favour is seldom gained but by conformity in vice.”
–𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑅𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑟
When that Man is Dead and Gone.
“Ku-poh did not think that justice has anything to do with dreadful things or with courage. He thought that justice resembles a short scream. He was sorry that he thought of justice in that way. But justice should work like an air-conditioner, which adjusts the temperature automatically. It is wonderful that the air conditioner utters a scream whenever it is broken. It is more wondrous than it is for a tiger to smoke a cigarette.” —The Daily Life of Ku-Poh the Novelist
“The Romance of Leprosy”
Chinese vermilion
against bitter indigo;
lipstick’d paperclip,
benign arroyo. Alien
cast to the sky until Aleppo.
Opalescent desires stalk
this song without words
i follow like the harsh skalds
who chose thickest darkness for their work.
Graywyvern i unwilling
& sometimes Django:
carving malign vermilion
into candy canes, night into indigo.
Suitable art for the Cthulhucene.
“Battle-Hymn of the Hemophiliac”
Surrender to an intuition of snow
—night blackened by the sound.
Whatever love bestowed
the storm brings down.
Caladiumgang steroids your soulless self
answers; & your selfless soul disperses.
On the other side of this erection courses
a river so cold because it knows the Gulf.
Because it knows the Gulf & you do not,
you fill the night with lamps, & let that note
infiltrate the mem'ry of a thaw:
the only call for those who, stalking the wolf,
surrender to an intuition of snow.
"You don't speak German, Tom."
"Income: some coin.
#palindromebypairs" —@anthonyetherin.bsky.social
"All men live enveloped in whale-lines." —@mobydickatsea.bsky.social
“The New Understanding Why”
Those whom the gods would destroy
they first drive mad.
Mere limits cloy
those whom the gods would destroy;
they seek a toy
no child has ever had.
Those whom the gods would destroy,
they first drive mad.
"tomorrow will be different"
CaudiYoda curry
cool saffron illumes doomtrot
armature holds homeboy
honk infinite minotaur
minotaur
story turned unsteady
stark idiot drool spooler
this car rush & kirsch heist
occurs antlike scorns vantage
vantage
says it's for looth leisure
long rodeo seachange
power tool waged torture
tender despair made bearable
bearable
dieback pinball dawnsplurge
dark elegy create later
create morning urnspill
illness enhanced by spyware
spyware
12 Books your Regency Heroine should Read.
“The closer you come to the end, the more there is to say.” –Paul Auster, In the Country of Last Things (1987)
8/21/2017 Eclipse, Prominence.
"The dolphins are getting Alzheimer’s from algae blooms
caused by warming waters and toxic runoff
and you could see the bloodstains in Sudan
from space.
The cobalt is mined by children
and the music is made by robots
and the grownups are wondering
where the fireflies went."
—@caitoz.bsky.social via
“And I am blown along a wandering wind,
And hollow, hollow, hollow all delight.”
—The Passing of Arthur
"My AuDHD is like if a vampire and a werewolf had a kid, but the only powers the kid got were the ability to be killed by silver, crosses, and sunlight." —@dresdencodak.com
“Pubkegdaxesh”
Little moon,
how void this comprehension.
Either i lost it
sometime between my two previous tonsures,
or it flew through the hole in the sky.
Necronomics, to count only heft’s
cobblestones
when i know so much of other kinds of weight.
Dropped plunk in my monk coffee
spirit level eye.
I remember smoke
curling in the floods, & i remember she
used to phone
without ever letting me be sure
from her sense or gestures, why.
Now i dwell with feline green
orbs of the myst'ry.
Now i unfold printed sheets to show
where i went…
Is there given nothing further to deny?
I spin by one lucent flicker the perfect
web of words to collect her dew, like
neutrinos tossed when suns die.
"noisome matrix"
darkmanna
siege of dirges
fortified
wine, will, redoubt
to write on
a repaired page
of yearnings
beyond repair
"Ours is the wish of those who are drowned,
ours is the wish of those who are drowned in stones."
—Hashem Shalola in You Must Live
"The engines cannot take the strain, sir!"
“Through the gas house district the car carried him, where the darkness was lighted up by crimson and orange pencils of flame from all-night foundries; past mammoth gas tanks which loomed black against a slate-gray, star-studded sky; past silent coal yards lighted only by low old-fashioned lamp posts whose square glass globes were so encrusted with coal dust that they gave scarcely any light; over a railroad viaduct where, far down below, a snorting, puffing switch engine could be seen playing hide and seek with thousands of twinkling and blinking red-and-green yard lights; and into the western fringe of the downtown district once more, lighted by four or five street lights to every block.” —The Face of the Man from Saturn
"For the Disability community, losing Alice Wong is like losing Ursula Le Guin or Octavia Butler."
"dearth of a fossil"
moon landing
mockup wobble
marble tharn
therapy couch
rectangle
riddle aglow
by myself
& some cactus
If "electric pentacle" wasn't a 60s band it should have been.
“that landscape at the end of Sorcerer”
we were so caught up
in the mere idea of the rain
we missed the last cicada chirr
& when they made their lithe escape
i wander now through streets of gray & dun
blowing mists & stare
through each faraway burn
as here at home beasts snirp
“You fear the earth, you fear rough ground and rocks, you fear moister earth and rotting flesh, you fear the flesh itself, all flesh is rotting flesh. If you love not rotting flesh, you love not at all.” —R A Lafferty
"The characters that should not get killed get killed in a merciless way."
"I capture shapes in fleeting spells. I fail,
resigned to fathom shroud but never core.”
—The Noson Sonnets
"Music on Victor St"
Temple-Tuttle rumpus
took that night to scroll boloids
access house in the country
karaoke-pal Ellum
cancer first to fasten
"Our findings highlight the deep meaning and positive impact of focused interests on autistic lives."
“O Java Tide”
The chilly waters of the night
are not the night.
The ratchet of my anti-theft
device scrapes in a silent car;
the lone drive’s left.
The frigid margins of the dream
are not the dream.
I venture onto foreign soil
in search of rapture & to spring
a hoar gargoyle.
I trail no saving string.
The frozen surface of my life
is not my life.
AI is now auto-enabled in gmail by default.
“I’ll have the cashier draw you up a check at space rates–no, say word rates–half a cent a word is all we can pay–but that’ll be twenty-six bucks. Five of the twenty-six, however, will have to go to the mathematics professor who fixed me up with the actual figures that are set forth in the story. He had to compute them out for me, with logarithms.” —The Face of the Man from Saturn
Black Gravel (1961). ☆☆☆ More.
“entangled hazes faded hands create” —The Noson Sonnets
"sniper's alley"
shiny buttons unshared
portion & long black strongbox
miracle words muddle
aware of each brisk fisticuff
no one holds this howl back
hideous brink, death riddle
Coots in the distance on Frensham Pond.
sniper safari
rarefies span
inspires afar
airfare snips
prairie fans
piss a refrain
i rap fairness
a ref's aspirin
The decor of plan & design has yielded to the exigencies of repeated moving & having to fit into available space, long ago, & thence a rapid obliviousness upon most of the rooms’ contents—haunted, still, by where a thing should or used to be.
DNA.
I always thought there's room for a multigenerational saga based on the idea of a family that buys barren land up north somewhere & JUST WAITS.
it doesn’t have to take forever
to watch the coffee dribbling down
to fetch the heart of it again
& know its power
as one who understands
it doesn’t have to take an hour
though in that way it sometimes does
for useless entities carouse
when all you want’s to name that color
high above the Broken Lands
Dynasty of Dust. (redux)
"diet of xmas penguins"
lettuce hash the hot thing
rehearse winds of curselift
pie carrier-cowan
across the sweet wheatfields
many-fathom'd funhouse,
affordance-rife boardroom
in the crashbright crystal
credit but a dead language
"Establishing an authoritarian state while simultaneously destroying state capacity was never going to work; it's just going to be massively unpleasant to live through, and for those of us who aren't young it will probably consume the remaining years we have." —@edburmila.bsky.social
An alternative mapping is only useful if it includes things the regular maps leave out, or shows passages unapparent for the ordinary trekkers. When making alternative maps has become an industry, that is already a broken landscape to have to negotiate; yet for all that, a step is still a step.
The map without salesmanship does not exist.
"ode to the secret police"
doom airt of an imminent
orange rain warning
enemy borne backwards
barely any hairballs
malware in the marl airt
the world is not so long
though long it takes to die
from point of view of clowns
avid in underfong
each useless alibi
in toxic splendor drowns
the world is not so long
though long it takes to die
When all reality has become surreal, remembering when it wasn’t surreal will still be surreal.
"Of course, Epstein's golden age—Stevens, Frost, Williams—is Wilson's era of 'demoralized weariness'."
“I wonder, Flask, whether the world is anchored anywhere; if she is, she swings with an uncommon long cable, though.”
—@mobydickatsea
"broken limb
after a winter storm
still holding on
who would have expected me
to see such truth"
—@evecastle.bsky.social
A Picture of my Parents with their First Television.
