( via / via )

Interview with Daliborovo Granje.

"Daliborka Tower"

I am sadly closing my collection
   of animal table lamps

ev'ry so often · give a hint
   of the winter's · toll on love

ev'ry so often · let it show
   the dark snowman · shade barking

are my plans small · enough yet
   natal setback · berated

ev'ry so often · as things go

Retrieval of article on puSlogh vagh.

"Daft Punk's split marks the end of the Long 2000s." --@RougesFoam (2021)

Stationary rainbow & a variety of motions.

( via / via )

"It's raining in Gaza."

" 'We still have much to be thankful for.'
'But less than we had,' said Roberta, 'when we did not think of being thankful.' " --@icomptonburnett

Sour.

"LOST (Univocalic Anagram-Haiku)

Snow, from roots to moors —
so on, to tomorrow's forms —
sorrow's moot, frost moon...."

--@Anthony_Etherin

▪️"Elimination"▪️.

( via via @joycecaroloates / lanny quarles )

Eyestrolabe.

"Leg-wearying
Between the indigo mountains fall
White snowflakes:
Robes dyed that hue
Spark such feelings."

--Ise

Plastica.

"Probably the last time dangerous ideas were taught at a university was when the Czar forbade young Russians to study abroad in revolutionary Paris, and instead sent them to reliably authoritarian Berlin, where they encountered Hegel." --@_ryanruby_

【C】【O】【R】【E】🏃‍♂️🔳+▒/.

( via / via )

Hot Neptune online.

"Red pestilence and war
Have now refunded to the usuring wind
The breath of all its peoples..."

--@KlarkashT

Tree, Allay online.

"midsummer's eve
underneath a rose moon

I'll wait for you

until my hands are bloodied
from holding back the dawn"

--an'ya

Has the Press Learned Anything?

( via / via )

By the River of Formalin.

"a field covered with thorns
twisting, winding
a field covered with thorns
bottom of the well"

--@poem_exe 8/2020

Antikythera online.

"Enrold in flames, and smouldring dreriment" --The Faerie Queene, I, 8.

Saktranomicon online.

( via / via )

Polaroid variation 💙.

"As faire Aurora in her purple pall" --The Faerie Queene

Sorry, broke the screen.

"caterpillarcore"

cerulean road crawler
reft of vetust deftness
still i pursue silage

in the self-made nadir
among slow slingshots

Mö! Lilöm online.

( me / via )

Dancers after Dark.

& i alone · am left telling
scant trace of · worlds gone
what Google knows · treacherous tides
else sweep · resist-worn

dead to me · who never met
saw before · on a white wall
now they keep · who never kept
while you still lived · & me neither

the swarm seething · makes the only sound
our ears hear · or our legs rather
& child of a friend · picked you out
to write about · & i got asked

so Sean Earley · i must have seen
on a white wall · forthwith forgot
my little bit add · you remain then
as the season yields · you never wore

"Cioran is to the essay what Borges, I think, is to fiction."

"And the night bird whirrs/ too close to your eyes." --Hölderlin

Loop made of 100 frames and synced to sound.

( via / via )

Tired_pixels_47.

"Fifty-seven days hath September,
April, June, and November.
All the rest have fifty-eight,
Save poor February's fate,
Having fifty-three days clear,
And fifty-two in each Leap Year."

--D G Compton, Farewell Earth's Bliss

Appears Above.

   "lemniscate"

   dreriment
crystal neaptide
   freezing gist
smart fester
   into steel

A Darian calendar for Titan. On the same website, a survey of proposed calendars for Mars.

( via / via )

Energy Shield.

"Bedtime Story

Long long ago when the world was a wild place
Planted with bushes and peopled by apes, our
Mission Brigade was at work in the jungle.
Hard by the Congo

Once, when a foraging detail was active
Scouting for green-fly, it came on a grey man, the
Last living man, in the branch of a baobab
Stalking a monkey

Earlier men had disposed of, for pleasure
Creatures whose names we scarcely remember
Zebra, Rhinoceros, elephants, wart-hog,
Lion, rats, deer, But

After the wars had extinguished the cities
Only the wild ones were left half-naked
Near the Equator: and here was the last one,
Starved for a monkey.

By then the Mission Brigade had encountered
Hundreds of such men: and their procedure.
History tells us, was only to feed them:
Find them and feed them:

Those were the orders. And this was the last one
Nobody knew that he was, But he was, Mud
Caked on his flat grey flanks. He was crouched, half-
Armed with a shaved spear

Glinting between broad leaves, When their jaws cut
Swathes through the bark and he saw fine teeth shine,
Round eyes roll round and forked arms waver
Huge as the rough trunks

Over his head, he was frightened. Our workers
Marched through the Congo before he was born, but
This was the first time perhaps that he’s seen one.
Starting in hot still

Silence, he crouched there: then jumped. With a long swing
Down from his branch, he had angled his spear too
Quickly, before they could hold him, and hurled it
Hard at the soldier

Leading the detail. How could he know the Queen’s
Orders were only to help him? The soldier
Winced when the tipped spear pricked him. Unsheathing his
Sting was a reflex.

Later the Queen was informed. There were no more
Men. An impetuous soldier had killed off,
Purely by chance, the penultimate primate.
When she was certain

Squadrons of workers were fanned through the Congo
Detailed to bring back the man’s picked bones to be
Sealed in the archives in amber. I’m quite sure
Nobody found them

After the most industrious search, through.
Where had the bones gone? Over the earth, dear.
Ground by the teeth of the termites, blown by the
Wind, like the dodo."

--George MacBeth

<><><>
<><><>
<><><>.

"All through the lorn
Vacuity winds came and went, but stirr'd
Only the flowers of yesterday."

--The Roman

Leiningen Versus the Ants.

( via / from the Parson's Prologue / via )

EMBROIDERY#01.

I have long been haunted by a brief aside made by CS Lewis in his famous essay, "[The alliterative meter] has, in addition, a metrical structure, which could stand alone, and which would then be to this system as blank verse is to the syllabic."

Aesthetic.

"COFFIN (Palindrome)

Mood sad,
lost I
a wan, if focal, life.

We rot.

Some rust nail,
posed under,
nooses a crack —
cuts a stuck carcase,
soon red....

Nude,
so pliant, sure,
most ore we fill —

A coffin awaits,
old as doom."

--@Anthony_Etherin

SPACE\TIME #12.

( via / via )

The future 📡.

"reminiscences of the pentameter"

hawk crosses my hustle
a crazy swipe's ripeness
almost forget gaming

to gasp sudden wonder,
warded away hardware

Jamming out to the beats.

"As yet the dull Maremma of the future
From the mephitic stagnance of the past
Stetches as unforbidden."

--The Roman

〜〜〜.

( via / via )

🧪gn.

"The arts they sought are but injurious." --Mooney's Hosidius Geta

DPSY21 EDIT02.

"the stalking horse winner"

possible ghost of Orion
half of that Beaver Moon
i pensiculate brosny
in the dry stubs of winter
with bassoon indigo anguish

unknown substance · apt
to collywoggle
across the mild years
i've watched the science like flindrikin

GM🪷🌼🌸🌻🌺🌹.

( me / via )

Seascape_Screensaver_1.

unknown substance · raghdirst lost
arrayed reasons · in the wrong airt

n̸e̸g̸a̸t̸i̸v̸e̸ n̸u̸l̸l̸.

"Those Cretan mazes that outlie the heart
Can no man tread so swiftly."

--The Roman

"To say that the book is cunningly constructed and self-referential is like saying that a kaleidoscope is shifty."

( me / via )

Falling in2 a spikey hole of cereal.

"I am in need of Archimedes' machines
And the nerves of Psamtik even more..."

--Tzetzes 12

Crystal #12.

"carrying batteries into the desert"

one vigil through the shapes of light
cascading onto another

& only sometimes words seemed
to correspond

pulled out of bed
in the middle of the night

reversals
& recognitions

chipping away at the
old themes

water
the intransigence of baklava

sev'ral hundred incoming
envelopes

the uncknowledged
cough

exile from the city i knew
into one i don't

the muezzin's cry
transmuted into churchbells

rhagfyr
& the ghost of each leaf

MEMORIAL TO THE SACRED WIND OR THE TOMB OF THE KAMIKAZE.

( via / via )

Ballet of squares.

"December

From the sad leaves withdrawn,
Remote, estranged and cold,
Forgetful autumn's gold
Alone abides in some December dawn.

Tearless and clear and chill
As eyes that have forgot
Far love, or find it not,
The pale bright heavens arch the barren hill.

Now, in this afternoon
Enchanted, blue and brief,
The year has lost its grief
In valleys mute below the spectral moon.

For here no mourning-dove
Laments the season flown:
On love that wanders lone
Falls the blue balm of silence from above.

For here no zephyr grieves
To tell the year's dead dream;
And down the pine-lulled stream
Lost memories drift and loiter with the leaves."

--Clark Ashton Smith

Revolving unfolding rose.

"She often looked with compassion, at such a time, upon the stragglers who came wandering into London, by the great highway hard by, and who, footsore and weary, and gazing fearfully at the huge town before them, as if foreboding that their misery there would be but as a drop of water in the sea, or as a grain of sea-sand on the shore, went shrinking on, cowering before the angry weather, and looking as if the very elements rejected them. Day after day, such travellers crept past, but always, as she thought, in one direction--always towards the town. Swallowed up in one phase or another of its immensity, towards which they seemed impelled by a desperate fascination, they never returned. Food for the hospitals, the churchyards, the prisons, the river, fever, madness, vice, and death,--they passed on to the monster, roaring in the distance, and were lost." --Dombey and Son

Winter Evening in Holland.

( via / via )

"[A] recent study found that every time the temperature rises another tenth of a degree Celsius, another 140 million humans find themselves living outside what scientists call the 'human climate niche,' the zone with temperatures where our species flourishes."

“there aren’t even any wounds any more, and no verb at all shall ever be heard again, no memories, no traces […] the last word has died away long ago […] for only the bare crust of the earth remains, only the thick black dead cold ashes, in which we stand facing each other” --László Krasznahorkai via @dreamsofbeing_

Megalopolis I.

"Incarnations

Do not deny,
Do not deny, thing out of thing.
Do not deny in the new vanity
The old, original dust.

From what grave, what past of flesh and bone
Dreaming, dreaming I lie
Under the fortunate curse,
Bewitched, alive, forgetting the first stuff...
Death does not give a moment to remember in

Lest, like a statue's too transmuted stone,
I grain by grain recall the original dust
And, looking down a stair of memory, keep saying:
This was never I."

--Laura (Riding) Jackson

Postum 12.

( via / via )

Welcome to Crescent City.

the bright lights · & the little pains
constellate flow · flense my vector
arrive at coign · that's a carven cloud
genius declare · a jest stifled
nor await reck · hutch perilous
ahoy to the pert · quay of encounter

Hainin.

"I have good reason to believe that a jog-trot life, the same from day to day, would reconcile one to anything. One don't see anything, one don't hear anything, one don't know anything; that's the fact. We go on taking everything for granted, and so we go on, until whatever we do, good, bad, or indifferent, we do from habit. Habit is all I shall have to report, when I am called upon to plead to my conscience, on my death-bed. 'Habit,' says I, 'I was deaf, dumb, blind, and paralytic, to a million things, from habit.' 'Very business-like, indeed, Mr What's-your-name,' says Conscience, 'but it won't do here!' " --Dombey and Son

Luminous Signals.

( via / via )

The Cipher.

"In the August 1946 reprint, publisher Victor Gollancz noted that 'of the small [first] edition that was printed, 596 copies were sold and 834 "remaindered".' " --Wormwoodiana

"Rachilde issued the book under a male pseudonym before reviewing it under her own name and, hilariously, trashing it." (via feuilleton)

"In Tokiwa
The waters from the pine-tree spring are
Held in gathered hands-
Every single drop that falls
Shows the passage of a thousand years."

--Ise

Closer to Fine.

( via / via )

Good Lafferty thread (not new).

heuristic apricity
tugged back
into the whirlpool

prozymeides
things fostering falsehood

all the chthonic faiths
gather around the fallen
pylon

smirr in deep rhagfyr
not yet peiskos

deemphasized collections
on the winster side
of fuzzle

Walking in LA.

"Faith, I would string my lute
With hangman's hemp, if it made music."

--The Roman

"Liquid Sky has a particularly Soviet quality. Not only is it a montage film with much parallel action, but the costumes, makeup, hair styles, production design and even the herky-jerky dances are also highly suggestive of Russia’s 1920s Constructivist avant-garde."

( via / me )

The missing clyfford still painting has been found & this is it.

I said we'll never know what's specific to men & women until all barriers are removed, & then it turns out women are better at math & leadership, & men are better at reaching high shelves & being hysterical.

Strange bird.

"spiderous flange"

1.
diamonds are in my blood
blurred in the idols of the tribe
best voice changer

our new friend
innocent of meanings

eco-doula in the cold half-light

2.
cotels
never cease wanting to stay
as on those cold mornings
in this identical light
& the hand that writes is withered
with remaining

3.
huddled nomad
as i fetch the 2 coffees
to be portable

as was once my dream

4.
weaned of the more expensive ritual

Picture from a Medieval book with animals.