Lobster Girl Singing

Lobster Girl singing. Day. … The lobster lives

and dies, struggles and adapts, and all the while deepens
the ocean to preserve the imagination of the universe: the first-order random text is selected, and certain statistical properties are zero. A day is late. The
           old man

uses the ‘+’ and ‘-’ buttons to increase or decrease
the wall of code with a lengthening shadow
despite Maldoror’s scream.

OK Lobster Girl. OK. So cold is the dream in spots that the temperature
plunges to -140° and the iciest lobster grows 9,200
feet thick. I chant like the broken hearts and the insects,

dimming the sun,
milking the sky of its cobalt
gaze. Few fingers go like narrow

laughs (I’ve seen the god rise behind the mask’s what
I’m trying to say, yo), the original angel who
spends as much time working on the source files as the

poem/disguise, and all space is endlessly divided thus into circles and triangles inscribed one within another, combining and moving in harmony, and changing into one another in a geometrically inconceivable manner. A sound accompanies
           this luminous movement,

and I suddenly realize it is I who am making it. “It’s a glorious ride”
“… a glorious ride” … “… a glorious ride” …
O Lobster. O Lobster. The lobsters grow wings, making possible a variety of

vegetation from tiny flowers to massive woods
that resist the face of the earth. And yet there is day.
O those virgin boys and their high notes

and those poor little pups (Love, Fur and Poetry!) burrowing under sofas and
whimp’ring.
From Bénabou’s algorithmed “Aphorismes”:

9. Beauty is the continuation of patience by other means.
10. Hatred of ignorance is no other than love of the rhythm.
O Lobster, one last time: The sea continuously jerks off. Continuously means
           continuously. We can only guess what

happens to our files after they leave our site.

[Note: I sampled bits from Frank Lima, Inventory, from various daily blog stops, from C T Funkhouser, Prehistoric Digital Poetry: An Archaeology of Forms, 1959-1965, from New Media Poetics (eds. Adalaide Morris and Thomas Swiss), from Douglas Kahn, Noise Water Meat: A History of Sound in the Arts. And other stuff. Form more or less (less is more) follows the original.

Specific sources: Frank Lima, “Lobster”; Angela Genusa, “Note’s From Monday Morning’s Staff Meeting”, at Tijuana Taxidermied Typewriter, 11 August 2008; Theo Lutz, in Funkhouser; “Auto-Beatnik”, in Funkhouser; Marcel Bénabou, “Aphorismes”, in Funkhouser; Adalaide Morris, “New Media Poetics”, in Morris/Swiss, and Brian Kim Stefans, in Morris’s footnote 39; Kenneth Goldsmith, “The Bride Stripped Bare: Nude Media and the Dematerialization of Tony Curtis”, in Morris/Swiss; Kahn; René Daumal, as quoted by Kahn; Georges Bataille, “The Solar Anus”, as quoted by Kahn; John Gallagher, “Only Lovers & Believers, Please: Ars Poetica I”, at ars poetica; Eileen Tabios’ sign-off at the end of her editor’s intro to Galatea Resurrects #9. (Hommage à Frank Lima)]