Zeitgeist Spam

FCF 47

Horoscope:
Buy some
food. You’re kinda

out
of it.
Who does not

feel
joyful? Somewhere
there is more

water,
the impersonal
life-sustaining element

beyond
you and
me. For we

have
been known
to get sick

of
even disgusted
with our own

subjectivity,
though this
can be difficult

to
admit. It
is difficult to

admit
because usually
there is no

one
listening to
the admission:

we
are only
listening to ourselves.

This
is no
way to live.

Thus
I repeat
the thought of

Sun
Ra, who
in taking dictation

from
himself, wrote
this word: because

the
façade is
larger than the

building,
I don’t
know whether I’m

seeing
through the
glass to the

sky
or seeing
the sky directly.

“Live.”
If I
look at a

tree
through three
panes of glass,

I
never know
if I’m seeing

through
to a
real tree or

seeing
a reflection.
“Live.” The old

stone pissing-wall a-shattered on either side

dzzz…

dzzz…

figure 1.
stands on the

figure 2.
looks up at

be not
too dashed

“Live.”⁷⁵

75. Because the weather and landscape were forever shifting and birds gave birth to new birds that birthed new birds ad infinitum, this passage is, historically, inaccurate. The main argument, however, remains unaffected.

*

[text]

*

[text]

*

[strikethrough text]

an
unnatural soundtrack
to interpret dizziness.

Bou
Jeloud is
on you, butting

you,
beating you,
taking you, leaving

you.
Gone! The
great wind drops

out
of your
head. You feel

sorry
and loving
and tender to

that
poor animal
whimpering, grizzling, laughing

and
sobbing there
beside you. Who

is
that? That
is you. Who

is
Bou Jeloud? …
Bou Jeloud is

a
flower of
the sun, and

deigns
not to
open to the

eye
of a
candle. Gulfs of

amber
contours evaporate
the tint. A

tired
hand shuffles
through papers, reaches

for
a burning
in the chest.

I
haven’t eaten
yet. The clapping

is
artifice, added
later. Act Two

is
a sketch.
Piaf regrets NOTHING:

. It’s a sorrowful magic to take this tone again . Will the crystal drain out poisons from the body? . The crystals are cogs in something

the
endless repetition
of zero soaked

in
several inappropriate
shots of adrenalin.

Bunglement. For the last time:

(Where’s that confounded bridge?)

slow

fade …

(     )
(     ) (     )
(     ) (     ) (     ),

(     ) (     ) (     ) (     ) (     ) (     ),

(     ) (     ) (     )
(     ) (     )
(     ),

fade

back

in …

BAM!
asterisk BAM!
asterisk BAM! asterisk

These
stars                Their
hands as if

alone
They stumble
past                 Before this

there
would have
been no adhesive.

One child is my right eye, the boy, when I am looking at my face onstage.

The other child is my left eye, this is the first girl.

The third child is my mouth, this is the second boy.

The fourth child is my right ear and the fifth is my left.

The sixth child is my throat and the seventh is yet to come.

If God is Dog, Fred is Dref.

One of God’s names is Bunglement.

I
myself have
seen it sodden

with
rain and
looking like the

mud
of a
slaughter-house, a

swamp
of blood.
I should like

to
express my
gratitude. I look

out
the window
at seven moons.

Olifants,
Mr Frodo,
olifants! They tromp

through
the foom.
The spectacle continues

undiminished, honeydew for

all …

from the other side it                 on a cat scan
looks like things                          it looks like
you remember                            brain scratch
things
you remember

Now, with this caution removed, the question should no longer be whether we can establish a theoretical “analogy”…

           Thus we fall in love all over again. …

                                           To be more exact

            grief can be considered an instance of dreaming …

                              (Cf. Glöckner’s Drei Brillen und Silberpapier in                               rotem Deckel, or his Wickelung von alten Drähten) …

[Note: Sources: some new arrivals. Then back to the shelves. And. Happy birthday, Pops. Carla Harryman, “regard for the object rather than communication is suspect”, in Adorno’s Noise; Jean Baudrillard, “Truth or Radicality? The Future of Architecture”, Blueprint, No. 157, (tr. Chris Turner), in The Jean Baudrillard Reader (ed. Steve Redhead); Rodrigo Toscano, “Dream-Construct of a Dream Constructed”, in To Leveling Swerve; Jenny Boully, The Body: An Essay; the asterisks are from Rodrigo Toscano, “Journal”, in The Disparities; Anny Ballardini, “13. Yoko Ono (b. 1933) / Fly (1971), Eye Blink (1966), One Flash (1966), Eye Blink (1966), Four (1967)”, in Ghost Dance in 33 Movements; Brion Gysin, “The Pipes of Pan”, as quoted in John Geiger, Nothing Is True Everything Is Permitted: The Life of Brion Gysin; George Chapman, preface to his translation of The Iliad, as quoted by Alan Baker, “Poesie is a flower of the sun, and deigns not to open to the eye of a candle”, at Litterbug, 27 Feb 09; Christian Bök, “Voile”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); William Allegrezza, “colors dreams”, in Fragile Replacements; Frank Bidart, “Ulanova At 46 At Last Dances Before A Camera Giselle”, “Candidate”, in Spring Festival; Clark Coolidge, The Crystal Text; Giles Goodland, “1945”, in A Spy in the House of Years; Brenda Iijima, Animate, Inanimate Aims; Tom Mandel, “These stars …”, in Realism; Charles North, “The Year of the Olive Oil”, in New and Selected Poems; Fanny Howe, ““Buddhists Like School and I Don’t.””, at Poetry Foundation.org; Bob Kosslyn, who almost had it …; Robert Rissman, Life Sentences; a memory of something in Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings mixed with a memory of a bit from DIS (see next); Davis Schneiderman, DIS (or, The Shadow of the Dome of Pleasure); Belle Gironda “deja vu III”, at Passages 5 (a few minutes ago I got a Facebook email in which Belle asked me to be her friend; of course I said yes); Jean-Joseph Goux, Symbolic Economies After Marx and Freud (tr. Jennifer Curtis Gage); Tony Tost, ““Complex Sleep””, in Complex Sleep; for the Hermann Glöckner pieces and the optimistic vitality bit, see Art of Two Germanys: Cold War Cultures (eds. Stephanie Barron and Sabine Eckmann), p.308 (Drei Brillen und Silberpapier in rotem Deckel = Three Pairs of Eyeglasses and Silver Foil in Red Case; Wickelung von alten Drähten = Winding of Old Wires]

FCF 46

We
know the
salt-road is

traveled
harp-like
& there’s a

skinny
dog at
the beginning and

the
end. We
know in Heraclitus’

river
a fish
is busy but

what
that fish
is doing is

anybody’s
guess. Weather
report: cold front

breaks
up into
phantom lyrics. As

the
words were
lost, so I

was
lost, three
hundred years ago.

I
tell you
this to amuse

you.
The emulsion
yields several digits

and
red plurals.
The rogue wave

skulks
through the
city / goes down

into
tomorrow / and,
meeting its children,

hearing
their unborn
voices … let us

not
perfect or
embellish. Whatever happens,

it
gets us
ready for World

War
n + 1.
Each fact stands

inside
its fiction
/each fict stands

inside
its faction/
like a black

ziggurat,
pcuh            pcuh→
pcuh→ pcuh→ / pucocococo,

do these buildings keep the coded centuries, are the patterns and the plans here filed, the ancient anatomical imperatives, as in “milk, it’s a song, it’s something with rhythm and pulse, but no words, something connected with bodies and with bodies’ beats and movements,” pcuh→ pcuh / pucocococo?

There
is a
cactus in my

throat.
My eyes
are dry and

my
breathing is
difficult. A strewment

of
mirror-shard
necklaces. Obviously, stories

of
this kind
cannot replace a

history
of technology.
AB asked that

he
be taken
to the cemetery

in
a moving
van. Did Sade,

in
plenary session
of the National

Convention,
commit a
counterrevolutionary act? Silos

of
rice in
exchange for the

filigreed
kris. You
will always remember

the
half made
building as you

breathe
through the
text. Perhaps we

should
not seek
a word or

concept
for it,
but rather recognize

in
the thought
of community

a
theoretical excess
(or more precisely,

an
excess in
relation to the

theoretical),
such that
if I was

a
proper poet
my poems would

heal
the sick /
especially those sick

from

fear

of

love …
in that
history of technology

I
mentioned, the
earth is small,

the
sky is
excessively large, and

in
it there
are, I quote,

“too
many stars
for our own

good.”
Sure, I
wrote your story:

a
dog ate
the manuscript, in

the
middle of
the war. Later,

the
famine.

[Note: Sources: some stuff from the library’s new arrivals shelves. And some stuff from the stacks. And. The last is first, the first is last … And. Adriano Spatola, “Slope of Memory”, “Hamlet, Clowns” (tr. Paul Vangelisti), in The Position of Things: Collected Poems 1961-1992 (in which there is a dog in the first poem, and another (?)in the last); Wislawa Szymborska, “In Heraclitus’ River”, “Evaluation of An Unwritten Poem” in Nothing Twice: Selected Poems (eds. and trs. Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh); Nick Totton, “Equinoctal”, “Food Trouble”, “Not a Theory of Poetry”, in Press When Illuminated: New and Selected Poems 1968-2003; Tristan Tzara, as quoted in Pierre Joris, “Nomad Century Ahead”, Jean-Luc Nancy, as quoted in Pierre Joris, “Community of Translation & Translation of Community in Robin Blaser”, in Nomad Poetics; Nikos Vassilakis, “Flat Out”, “The 4th Eleven”, in Text Loses Time; Debra H Yatim, “Darkness Descending”, in Of Aceh and Turning Tides: songs for my sisters; Tales of Perangh Sabil (tr. Debra H Yatim), in Yatim; Paul Eluard, “Food for Vision (‘Hands Free’)”, in Surrealists on Art (ed. Lucy Lippard); Andre Breton, first and second surrealist manifestos, in Lippard; Friedrich A Kittler, Gramophone Film Typewriter (trs. Geoffrey Winthrop-Young and Michael Wutz); David Annwn, “Song for Cecilia Vicuña / starting with a line / by Francesca Ancarola”, “Inkamasana (for Cecilia Vicuña )”, “Mandorla Bongo”, “Bela Fawr’s Cabaret (December 1890)”, in Bela Fawr’s Cabaret; Alan Moore, “I Keep Coming Back”, and EP himself, “There is a cactus”, “There is a fire”, at Never Neutral, 23-24 Feb 09; Mary Klages, Literary Theory: A Guide for the Perplexed, as quoted in Eileen Tabios, “The Poetry of Milk”, at The Blind Chatelaine’s Keys, 24 Feb 09; Mr Winslow (moderator), at acdsee forum]

FCF 45

…

No,
sire, to
die not, but

to
live, to
live, TO LIVE!

in
the interstices
of global agribusiness …

BAM!
asterisk BAM!
asterisk BAM! asterisk

RUNZEIT:

lie
face down
on the carpet

all
day sliding
fingers rapidly over

a
tiny flash
of light, stalking

the
doled out
wonders, 0%, Hello

Little monk

Welcome to the world

It would be a mistake to try to define this piece of writing’s purpose

Peep
Peep. A
bomb falls very

close,
our growing
heavy furry tongues

accustom
to the
what-is-the-

word-
that-is-
not-here-in-

this
a sound
I nvr see(n),

When I asked, Will it be OK?
No one would answer: Yes.

Figure
6. A
number of Gaussian

noise
blobs with
increasing levels of

variance.
Crawlin king
snake Crawlin king

snake
I was
looking for graphical

representations of static,

            Carry the dust, carry the sands,

==========
=================
===============

this is]             this is

this is]             this

how
a sonnet
ends: a dust

bunny’s
reclassified fish
or fruit &

eaten
under the
subterfuge of natural

language,
just like
someone crumpling plastic

from
a jar
filled with true

or
false: water
on the eye’s

surface
freezes at
10 below zero.

Ziiip
zaaap ziiip,
zaaap ziiip, you

stood
under the
chrome and trembled,

the
richer the
veils, the deeper,

more
absolute, the
penetration. The teaching

begins:
well the
no rock sits

on
a ledge spacespacespacespacespacespacespace after you

leap
upon it
you can rock

slowly
to and
fro spacespacespacespacespacespacespace it

isn’t
exactly astral
and it isn’t

exactly
imaginative it’s
just that you

can
climb upon
the rock and

sit
down. And
you can climb

upon
the rock
and sit down.

Structure contains a few repeating formulas: “years of days”,           “writes a tiny letter”, “they have fought till summer day noon”).

The number three is used to such extremes that, for example, if something breaks, it always “breaks into three halves”.

Quick history:
There were tribes and kingdoms and stuff.

Done and done.

May it thicken the soup just a little...in case you are all still actively processing.

Things we might have expected to find, and did:

a person talking to other persons.

Where?

“Under the crooked pear tree”.

“Under the crooked pear tree” is a set phrase in Bulgarian, meaning “right in the middle of nowhere”.

“What is, then, writing which has an accent?”

[Note: Sources: Rodrigo Toscano, “Connectivity, Polonius, Soil Science, and You (and Your Diet)”, in Platform; Laynie Browne, Daily Sonnets “24”, “75”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (Ed. Jeff Hilson); Alan Baker, “Joseph Wright”, “Trajectories”, in The Strange City; JBR, some lines near the end of “Autopoiesis XXII (Sonnets, Set 2, No. 2)”, “Tête d’otage no. 1 (Jean Fautrier, 1943)”, in The Haynaku Anthology, Vol. II (eds. Jean Vengua and Mark Young); Kamau Brathwaite, “Hawk’s Last Body_Soul @ Ronnie Scott’s in London 11 Sept 1967 _ Counting”, in Born to Slow Horses; Martin Espada, “Because Clemente Means Merciful”, in Alabanza: New and Selected Poems 1982-2002; Ken Greenebaum, Ronen Barzel, Audio Anecdotes, p. 101, as seen at Google Books; Drummond Hadley, “From the White Cowbones / The Call of the Desert Rangelands”, in Voice of the Borderlands; Myung Mi Kim, “Siege Document” (?), “Sawing Song”, in Commons; Sharon Mesmer, “Diarrhea Permutation”, in The Anthology of Spam Poetry; Geraldine Monk, “51”, in Ghost & Other; Shin Yu Pai, “Poem [for Wolfgang Laib]”, “True or False”, in Equivalence; Jerome Rothenberg, “The Lorca Variations XIII (“Fireworks Suite”), XXIX (“Lunar Grapefruits”), in The Lorca Variations; Gustaf Sobin, “The Heart, Too, Goes Untitled”, in In the Name of the Neither; Hannah Weiner, “From Sonora”, in We Speak Silent; Structure … accent?”: a number of posts and authors at New European Poets, 15-22 Feb 09]

FCF 44

Right.
asterisk BAM!
asterisk BAM! asterisk

(“Moviemento”)
(“Motion”) (“If
you are the

amber
mare …”) (after
Octavio Paz) (For

Alan Baker and
Ernesto Priego)
(OK)

If you are the hummingbird flying backwards
I am the foucaultian porn site and the vampire ideologies on daytime t.v.
If you are the far-away detonations and the dismemberments
I am the money that was still softening while symbols were still averaging out

If your cellphone has no reception
the floor fell out of the studio along with the dancers but the dance didn’t die
If you are the forest on the sky the veins of your hands startle and
the vortex, or is it the chaos (the blurb’s kinda sketchy), searches for the
          geometric center of our modern-day mal de vivre

and if that, then (intensified color of the light principle)
and if that, then both of us are very small, drawn on bits of paper, yellow
          flowers on a black background, something we could never explain
and if that, after more silence, feeling that I need to add more, I say, “It has
          been many days since I spoke my name”
you look at me encouragingly, as if now I will recite the whole thing with all the
          traditional bows and squeaks, and if that,

Rotating Superfly Periodista is correct.
But the empirical evidence gathered
without correct Dialection of the Social
is like a mop without a handle, hard on the knees.

If Heidegger poses himself as a kind of unscreambling device for a massively
          entangled historical narrative whose other end somehow involves a
          telephone call
James Moody was right when he said “You fall on the floor – it makes sense. You
          fell, didn’t you?”
If you are seemingly voided by cactus & unreason staring from a mythological
          Paramos where the glaciers blow where the lava seems transcended
          passing through the arc of great circles much like lavender in the mantra
          of singed optics
I am a thought and a molecule

If you are some deep rain drums
I’m all like Oi, if, I, say, I done my sums and I need more plums
If you are the street too large to be directly perceived: “street” as a result of a
          generalizing mental operation
I am Tephromancy- “divination by writing in ashes”

If you had nine dimes as a child and now you have bubkas (potlatch)
I wade over steppingstones at the mouth of a pill
If you I mean the wind had seized the tree, and ha, and ha
I sat watery-limbed at the rhythm table … a place of encounter and connivance
          … we were what was left …

I mean, the incinerated girl might have glued all her ashes back together and
          gone to work again as a makeup artist for a revived Ancient Executive,
          everyone having woken up still alive after the World Crisis
I mean the days are not full enough and the nights are not full enough and life
          slips by like a field mouse not shaking the grass I mean that’s not what  
          I mean At. All. Not even close
If you are a pinhole camera I mean if many thousand years elapse I mean if in 
          huge say 64 point type Great implications I mean if all those dashes 
          are some kind of code I mean if you say Comprenez, cher amis, que la
          musique ne se mesure pas au chronometre, as Andre Francis did after
          Trane et al performed A Love Supreme in Paris, ’65
then I say eruptatin

I say gneenaerla
I say clies?
I say borht
I say Oh excuse me!

Oh will you excuse me?
I’m just trying to find the bridge ...
Has anybody seen the bridge?
Bridge?

(Have you seen the bridge?)
I ain’t seen the bridge!

(Where’s that confounded bridge?)

slow

fade …

(     )
(     ) (     )
(     ) (     ) (     ),

(     ) (     ) (     ) (     ) (     ) (     ),

(     ) (     ) (     )
(     ) (     )
(     ),

fade

back

in …

BAM!
asterisk BAM!
asterisk BAM! asterisk

[Note: Sources: Octavio Paz, “Moviemento/Movement” (tr. Eliot Weinberger), as seen at Ernesto Priego’s Never Neutral, 14 Feb 09; through Rodrigo Toscano, authors listed in Ron Silliman’s new acquisitions list, posted at Silliman’s Blog, 18 Feb 09, as found on the web. Kristin Bock, “Return”; Rob Budde “Indices: Third Quarter Returns (The Bay Street Buyout)”; Mary Burger, “Blush”; Joel Chace, “bookkeeper retreat”; Del Ray Cross, title unknown, from LUB LUFFLY; Jessica Dessner, “The Beauty of the Percolation”; Jennifer Firestone, “Sun Stream”; José Mario Silva, blurb for Tiziano Fratus; Carla Harryman, “Light Poem (a composition)”; Amina Cain, “Two Dimensional War”; after … squeaks: Renee Gladman, The Ravickians; Rodrigo Toscano, “Writing”. Now we return to our regular programming. Avital Ronell, The Telephone Book (I let my typo stand); James Moody, as quoted in George E Lewis, A Power Stronger Than Itself: The AACM and American Experimental Music (which is also where I got the bit about the performance of A Love Supreme in Paris, ’65); Will Alexander, Exobiology as Goddess; Mei Mei Bersenbrugge, “The Four Year Old Girl”, in I Love Artists: New and Selected Poems; a mix by Ernesto Priego; Jeff Hilson, In the Assarts / naïve sonnets “12”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Vito Acconci, “A situation using streets, walking, running”, in Street Works (0 to 9, 6 (supplement)); Clark Coolidge, “Bauxite On the Books”, in On the Nameways Volume Two; Giles Goodland, “Helford Passage to Lowland Point. Buldery”, in Littoral; Wallace Stevens, as quoted in Susan Howe, Souls of the Labadie Tract; Nathaniel Mackey, “Sigh of the Moor”, Édouard Glissant, Poetics of Relation, as quoted by Mackey, and Mackey again, “Sound and Cerement”, in Splay Anthem; Alice Notley, “What you might need to know is you might not make it …”, in Above the Leaders; Ezra Pound, “And the days are not full enough”, as quoted in Omo Bob, Ghost; Kyle Schlesinger, “Discography”, “Bigfoot: An Essay in Abjection”, “Moonlighting”, in Hello Helicopter; Aaron Tieger, The Collected Typos of Aaron Tieger; Led Zeppelin, “The Crunge”]

FCF 43

And
tho a
mickle is indeed

a
muckle I
am na fou;

I’m
just sittin’
here watchin’ the

wheels
go round
& round &

the
foraminifera fall;
& the river

keeps
a talkin’ …:
true … … me mash

up
me mash
up me mash

up
… …
rub my ass

as
if it
were a magic

lamp //
your wish
to rub my

ass
is coming
true.* *That’s a whole poem. Let us

speak
clearly of
what we are

taking
pictures: I
like it when

the
camera stops
outside a door

like
this [sic]
& just waits

a
moment, listens.
By the time

something
is useful,
it’s usually too

late ...
like an
ambulance for someone

who
just died …
killed by a

large,
ferocious electric
dog … the metallic

beast,
shining black,
had a bamboo

broom
stuck up
his anus … many

people
were struck
and fell bleeding.

That
day my
father, driven up

against
the brick …
surrounding the garden …

finally …

Some of his own broken ribs stabbed his heart. While his bones were crushing noisily, I, tottering in a storm of cherry blossoms, maneuvered to place myself in front of the snout of the steel dog and fearfully caressed his fluffy nose, which I had always wanted to touch at least one time.

What’s
up with
that finally? Yet

let’s
be useful,
like that famous

embarrassment,
etc., “The
dill plant lives”,

etc.,
like Yellowstone
National Park, like

those
famous earthquake /
gowns, that is,

warm
gowns to
sit / out of

doors
all night /
tonight [in], (an

earthquake

having

been

predicted.)

>The puke had that acidic quality and I could hear people yelling for me to hurry up but I felt my head lulling back and forth like when and I got lost a little between the tall iron sides of the building and the full moon made depth perception impossible and there was jostling and yelling and now we were and I was trying to ask for water and I was spilling it on myself and then I was in the bathroom and some guy was whistling and peeing and I started dry heaving into the toilet and thought I knew the tune and I remember spilling more water on myself and the waitress kept smiling and asking if I wanted pie.

All
the poet’s
geological terms are

accurate
and I
deem go boom

as
a counter-
aphorism to the

presumed
impaling. “Tyrannosaurus
must lie down

with
the herbivore.”
Or so I

overstand
ProtoIsaiah 2 say.
Meat & blood

&
hair &
fatty tissue &

NERVES!!!
Electric wires
COILING through your

fingers
up your
wrists // and

arms,
into your
shoulders, here: // [imagine

Fig.
7] you
twist and shake

your
arms … and
then … [imagine Fig.

4]
you vibrate
completely OUT OF

YOUR
BODY!!! (I
lost my body

once …
at the
time it was

no
big deal.)
Wouldn’t you rather

fall
in love?
(The light’s still

Out
There from
[sic] this morning.)

Cf.
“THE A
STORY”: I was

briskly
scrolling the
streets I rested

my
rust on
an angle …” (I’ve

got
3 of
S’s asterisks left

over.)
& 1 …
I mean I …

&
I … &
MH to HM:

Let us hope we’ll finally see each other well again … I’m already quite old and am getting more and more stupid.

HM to MH:

No, Max – we’re not getting more and more stupid, but this world is terrible and becoming ever more terrible, “beyond our capacity of imagination.”

“I
don’t care
what they say,”

he
thought fiercely,
and his vision …

the
knocking paused
in its course

to
do stallion
to God … that

ultimate
insomniac … somewhere
at a station

he
(who thought
fiercely) was given

a
riceball the
size of a

child’s
head …
his body
feels smooth and

cuddly …
for writing
to be manifest

in
its truth
(and not in

its
instrumentality),
it must be

illegible.
Read the
blank ( – Edmond Jabès),

the afterglow of torment passing through figures of speech while refusing the authority of a masterful dialectic our unthought horizon “normality is death” becomes audible presencing a body that can’t be redeemed by aesthetics the body wants to be art and fails at it from gender to works by this radically asynthetic writing moves thru polyphonic configuration of word image and concept the intersection between abstraction and narration practicing a militant ethic of non-mastery as every one of its sentences sounds like a sensory organ in the process of becoming its own theoretician.

***

[Note: Sources: a mickle is a muckle … I’m hearin’ Bunny Wailer, “Fig Tree” but lyrics found via Google have mickle/mottle or somesuch WTF … did find mickle/muckle in a Ziggy Marley song, and in Pato Banton’s “Gwarn!”, which is where me mash up comes from; Hugh MacDiarmid, A Drunk Man Looks At the Thistle; John Lennon, “Watching the Wheels”; Hugh MacDiarmid, “On the Ocean Floor”; Grateful Dead, “Easy Wind”; Gabriela Anaya Valdepeña, “Magic Lamp”, in Welcome, Eavesdropper (tip o’ the cap to Steve Mitchell); it was a sunny drive to work this morning, snow on the mountains, A Braxton & amigos on the box … what the hell. After the ride, and at my desk: Stephanie Young, “As a Sailor Breaks a Biscuit”, in Telling the Future Off; Joshua Marie Wilkinson, “A Moth in the Projector Light”, in Lug Your Careless Body out of the Careful Dusk; Chuck Richardson, reply to a comment of mine at his eponymous blog; Abe Hinako, “Garden Party” (tr. Hiroaki Sato), in Japanese Women Poets An Anthology, (ed. Sato); Lew Welch, in his review of Philip Whalen’s On Bear’s Head, called PW’s “Further Notice” useful; PW's “Further Notice” itself; Sasha Steensen, “Disaster of Doing”, in A Magic Book; Maurice “Alex” Burford, “Barf Manifesto” (re: the publication of the same name by Dodie Bellamy) at panda panda panda; Thomas Dilworth, and David Jones, The Anathemata, in Dilworth’s Reading David Jones; Anselm Berrigan, “Postcard to Brett Evans”, “’Neath the subservient field”, in Some Notes On My Programming; Gary Sullivan, “ON SPEAKING IN PUBLIC”, in How to Proceed in the Arts; Peter Lamborn Wilson, “Wouldn’t you rather …” in rain queer; Edmund Berrigan, “THE A STORY”, in Disarming Matter; Anselm Berrigan, “8/1/97”, in Integrity & Dramatic Life; Max Horkheimer’s last letter, and Herbert Marcuse’s reply, in Max Horkheimer A Life In Letters (eds. Manfred R Jacobson and Evelyn M Jacobson); Stefanie Goldstein, “Paper Foot (sleigh royal part two)”, in The Anthology of Spam Poetry; Koyanagi Reiko, Rabbit of the Netherworld, in Sato; Dodie Bellamy, Pink Steam; Craig Dworkin, epigraphs to chapter 7 (Barthes, then Jabès), in Reading the Illegible; Rob Halpern, blurb for Carla Harryman, Adorno’s Noise, at Essay Press]

FCF 42

And here
interpolate every last

word
of the
“Cardiac Diaries”. And

here
againagain fill
a wineglass to

the
brim Jim
with ballerinas and

porcupine
spines, consinge
and gueterea and

chyre,
and sing
along with YouTube,

          Blue, blue windows behind the stars
          Yellow moon on the rise
          Big birds flying across the sky
          Throwing shadows on our eyes, leave us

          And remember when I moved in you
          the holy dove was moving too
          And every breath we drew was

          Helpless

          Helpless

          Hallelujah …

as
if I
know some other

things
besides. Like
the stairs. Where

do
they go?
To Korčula. Which

is
not to
say nowhere. A

good
town but
not the place

we
live. Feel
the plea tug

its
way forward
in the morning,

in
the absence
of the faintest

whir.
Suddenly [var.
swift as speech]

a
heavy storm
of rain [var.

the
web of
the storm thickened

over
head]. I
dreamt of nothing;

last year 20th keeps every direction certainly before. Cannot hear the south moral flower news still, February does and the flower news which sees fifth from day Insa-dong comes in contact first. Is a still tender flower, the polyvalence one cluster keeps a faint every direction carefully. Also with mind of one cluster earnest desire puts in the breast and puts in the eye. And one cluster is noble and leaves space a red Japanese apricot news with joy.

The warm sun jacket puts on the newly married woman very small amount which puts around the crimson light skirt the red Japanese apricot sees, throbs, to catch a mind barely. Writing the most yearly window photograph << best thought >>

You
can tell
by the lips

of
modern sensibility
the α, the

λ
and smoky
rockies of, the

peripeteia
and other accouterments
of … Zesty, zesty,

all
the way
round to my

heart
craves amore,
amore con carne.

Five gallons ............................... pou
red into an eastward flowing stream on or
near the Continental Divide U.S.A.
Five gallons ............................... pou
red into an westward flowing stream on or
near the Continental Divide U.S.A.

a vision of the outlawed magnificence of our earth passes before
my eyes.

___________ ___________ ___________ ___________ ___________ etc.

no. ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ etc.

Wash
your hands,
we are going

to
take a
walk. I could

make
diagrams outlining
where we are

and
where we’re
going. But then

I’d
have to
go there and

do
that and
be that. There

are
two vertical
lines in the

margin
suggesting that
this passage signifies.

No;
the lines
are next to

Does
this happen
all the time?

I
believe they
were drawn by

the
author               whispering
behind a screen

                                 flickering

           x X x

Vast wilderness

in clear

          x X x

the                    rain’s meat

sewn

on

the

breathing

veils

by
its own
shadows, o en-

trusted
to           en-
trusted to … I

don’t
remember how
I maybe I

just
picked it
up and put

it
there, though
anything so direct

as
that seemed
unthinkable. A thou

trades
at a
teeny. Cross em

all
in there.
All. Herr Liebemeister

dances
(in an
empty space between

not
and then)
(in an empty

space
between –izing
and of) (at

and);
the resultant
While Leaves Are

Falling
series features
images … slightly off …

trees
are wrapped
in black netting …

(at
the margin):
the dogs across

the
park / will
sing as ever /

of
the wagging
tail of happy.

[Note: Sources: Alan Baker, “Cardiac Diaries”, “Little Elegies”, ‘The Man Across the Park”, in Hotel February; comments box validation words, and comments, as found in the comments to Tom Clark, “The Lonesome Guitarist: What Is The Place of Poetry On A Blog?”, at Vanitas Magazine, 8 Feb 09; Neil Young, “Helpless”; Leonard Cohen, “Hallelujah” (the Young and the Cohen are for K); William Bronk, “To Praise the Music” and “The Stairs at Korčula”, in Selected Poems; Carrie Etter, “Divining For Starters (27)”; in Yet; Alan Halsey, The Text of Shelley’s Death; Babel Fish Korean-English translation of caption of photo at 좋은생각사람들 (link sent me by Inso Chung as a “Happy President’s Day”; email arrived at this very moment of composition); Philip Nikolayev, “Moi aussi j’aime les nuages qui passent la-bâs”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Lawrence Weiner, untitled, in 0 to 9, 6 (eds. Vito Acconci and Bernadette Mayer); Philip Corner, title uncertain, in 0 to 9, 6; Basil King, “Identity”, “Karla Faye”; in Warp Spasm; Geraldine Monk, “Metempsychosis x 3”, in Escafield Hangings; Meng Hao-zan, “Stopping at Chien te Chiang” (trs. Doris Pai and her father), in Ten Thousand Miles of Mountains and Rivers; Gustaf Sobin, ‘Eleven Quatrains and a Note from Ventadour”, in By the Bias of Sound Selected Poems: 1974-1994; Hannah Weiner, The Fast; Juliana Spahr, “After Richard Plum”, in Hilson; Omo Bob, photo title, at Omo Studios, 14 Feb 09; Bernadette Mayer, “X ON PAGE 50”, in 0 to 9, 6; Eric C Shiner, on Takahiro Kaneyama, in Making a Home: Japanese Contemporary Artists in New York]

FCF 41

Yes
all bold
to rhyme with

cold.
And deep
to rhyme with

ideas,
which do
not necessarily proceed

in
logical order.
From “A SONG

OF
MY SONG,
IN THREE PARTS”:

It’s
off in
the distance.            .            It

came
into the
room.            .            It’s here

in
the wave
curving into the

gone
net of
the long strands

of
drying kelp.
Thus the heavy

black
lines indicate
continuous noise from

fire-
crackers during
certain minutes. I

really
don’t like
being up here;

I
don’t like
this kind of

separation.
I like
the idea of

a
situation and
becoming a part

of
it along
with the rest

of                    you.                    It

could
have come
from / the east

it
could have /
come from the

west
it / could
have come from

the /
north it
could have come /

from
the south
it had / to

come
glaciers, flaming
skies and silver

suns,
hideous wrecks
where giant serpents

spreading
black perfume
drop from twisted

trees,
and vermin
eat them. Like

who
is god
where are your

other
hands and
can you we

couldn’t
make careers
anymore, ripe to

the
toe and
partially encased On

the
Nameways. Oh,
we are keeping

tabs
on the
radar, and while

nothing’s
cooking at
this point in

time,
out over,
uh, at the

left
of each
viewing screen there

is
a thin
slot for a

copy
card. Above
each slot five

singular
electric letters

spell H E L L O in

red as if to confide affection

                    in all their minute and terrible detail these five little icons could
                    be teeth.

Hosanna,
To quote
RL, don’t ask

me
what I
mean, to quote

him
again, this
isn’t history this

is
simply I
can hardly eat

anything
that’s breathed
anymore except when

I’m
hungry.

See X.

:

…

(I quote OB/RR in full) ^^^^^^^^^^

… I was ill-advised in my despair. Collector of obscure texts. So much crumbled stone. One foot in the wilderness. I am an abandoned instrument upon which someone, a long time ago, struck a few notes on which I helplessly produce variations. There is no end to the madness. There is nothing to hold onto anywhere. Consumed in the bright order. The unbelievable love. I know of no paradise into which I wish to enter after what has been. Agreement with the soft heart. Radiance of a day. Resurrection from death, from oblivion. No new world without a new language. Sentences in which the world as a whole appeared.

&

I
re-born
in clearest water

painted
the handscroll
“10,000 Ugly Dots”

which
all the
players thought a

score

       [nor fire nor moon are

       ever

       separate from]

with
which to
make immaculate mindass

musick.

[Note: Sources: Lisa Jarnot, “Stein Meat Work”, “Vulpes Zerda Sonnet”, “Husband Sonnet One”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Sol Lewitt, “SENTENCES ON CONCEPTUAL ART”, in 0 to 9, 5 (eds. Vito Acconci and Bernadette Mayer); Jerome Rothenberg and Richard Johnny John, “A SONG OF MY SONG, IN THREE PARTS”, in 0 to 9, 5; Laura Mullen, “AROSE (READ AS) A”, in Subject; Rosemary Mayer, “FIRECRACKERS / July 4, 1968 / 383 Broome Street”, in in 0 to 9, 5; Yvonne Rainer, LECTURE FOR A GROUP OF EXPECTANT PEOPLE”, in 0 to 9, 5; Charles Alexander, “59”, in near or random acts; Arthur Rimbaud, “The Drunken Boat” (tr. Ted Berrigan); Clark Coolidge, “THE FART OF THE HUGE (THE ART OF THE HOSE)”, “SHAME IT COULDN’T BE”, in On the Nameways; Kenneth Goldsmith, “Summer”, in Weather; Susan Howe, “Arisbe”, in Pierce-Arrow; Rupert Loydell, “HOSANNA”, “SYSTEM”, in Familiar Territory; Alice Notley, “THE SNAKE”, in Alma, or, The Dead Women; Robert Rissman, “X”, in No Sounds Of My Own Making (accept no substitutes!); Jared Schickling, “(shipped in) (a palimpsest)”, in submissions; John Taggart, “18”, in Unveiling/Marianne Moore; Ed Baker, GEM]

FCF 40

         LISTEN
AT ME WHILE

I BLOW..I’M GOING TO BLOW, MAN……
[                                             ]
WHAT’S HAPPENING?...WHAT’S HAPPENING, GEM?...WHAT’S HAPPENING, GEM……
WHEN I CALLED NO ONE ANSWERED..WHAT’S HAPPENING, GEM?........
YOU’RE A GEM...I SAID YOU’RE A GEM...WHAT’S HAPPENING, GEM....
HOLY SMOKE***HOLY NIGHT***SILENT NIGHT...
[                                   ]
HOLY SMOKE IS ON THE BEAM..NATURALLY..HE’S THE MOON_beam

falling
       falling

              water becomes water

                                       over stone

the                wingèd

humans
are likely
shamanic auxiliaries – that

is,
flying anthropomorphs
clutching trophy heads.

But,
to quote
Emerson, “I know

better
than to
claim any completeness

for
my picture,
a change station

structure
that contains
nine switching paths

for
the ‘Zakko
Sound Galaxy’ … a

smooth
sohnd environment
that opens up

into
12 ‘blue’
lights … that wwirl

into
the ‘clouds
of the formings’ …”

ASH quash wash (See also OSH.) ASHT abashed undashed unlashed unthrashed (See ... decussate dedicate deescalate defecate deflocculate deflorate defoliate ......

.. heartburn mendocino goodnight sweetheart composer daddy thompson brink ..... hypnotised spindles oakenfold ssx ash urn neutral dropkick punks emogame ...... truckin dismissing defecate channelled incontinent machiavelli webcasts ...

mind your daddy dead, never mind nothing. Here, this here, is ...... like ash, dulling their buttery complexions and choking the lilt out ...... defecated on it and they loved more than anything the places where they shit”. (74-5). ...

... 2739636 crewmen 2739737766 crewperson 2739759 brewsky 274 ash 2742 crib ... dad 32337 fader 323377 faders 32339 daddy 323396 daddyo 323397 daddys 3237 dads ... feeble 3333 feed 33332283 defecate 333328 effect 3333464 feeding 3333673 ...... trip 8747233 upgrade 87543837 uplifter 876 urn 876225 trobak 87627 urmas ...

... and so part of his job was to disinter various urns and other ash repositories so they could ...... singing a song that urges it to defecate presents out the other end. ...... But Big Mama and Big Daddy certainly seemed to enjoy it. ...

... asceticism ascomycetes ascribe ascription aseptic asexual ash ashame ashamed ashen .... dad Dada Dadaism Dadaist daddy Dade Daedalus daffodil daffy dagger Dahl ... deerskin deerstalker deface default defeat defecate defect defector ..... urge urgency urgent urging Uri urinal urinary urine Uris urn Ursa Ursula ...

J. says one student message’d her an excuse for work lacking, claiming he suffer’d “attention defecate disorder. .... “Craw” twice in two days, daddy. To work. ..... If I understand Silliman correctly: a piece of writing is no stark urn, ..... Carmen suddenly up on hind legs peering up into the reaches of a big ash ...

... invent corrigendum sandwich Joanne megaton [Megatron?] urn shipshape rejoinder blush ... woodlot thankful barometer blockage Amoco area committed ash antonym Mukden tide .... indecomposable orb poor mammal radioastronomy defecate traitor trellis ..... vermin Giovanni despotic daddy part sheer IQ nut alphabetic ledge clonic ...

you
felt it
coming over you,

you
said. Describe
the sensation as

exactly
as you
can. Well, at

first
I just
kind of sensed

something
there. I
don’t know how

to
explain
that. Subjective sensations

me,
don’t subjective
sensations me. We’d

which,
when referring
and we’d which,

when
referring and
we’d which. In

the
room? Right,
just a presence,

or
just a …
You could feel

it.
And then
physically it’s like

a
tingling through
your shoulders. This

damned
ineffable vehicle
slurping its way

through
unspace. It
feels good. It’s

not
a bad
feeling. It’s a

real
pleasant sensation.
A little bit

of
uh-huh
and a whole

lot
of oh
yeah. How would

you
describe “tingle”?
Kreolization. Squiggly lines,

starlike
asterisks, very
(laughs) … (laughs). Rippling?

Yeah.
Makes you
see within the

shimmy?
Like different
cycles in the

anxious
night of
destabilization that is

the
condition of
the abject state,

yo.
Deutschmarks or
dollars, eating kittens

is
just plain
heartless. “I check

smoke
detectors.” (Sprays
something … no result).

“Lot
Of draft
From air conditioner …”

T K I T K T C O Y O E W Y F W F T R A S O H W P D T H I Y B???

Almost.
The key
is to keep

the
calluses on
your opponent’s eyes /

while
your freedom
works feverishly to

raise /
a slew
of horrifying walking

plants /
down the
hall in your

20%
off any
of hundreds of

thousands
of (/______/)
COUPON ON BACK *

and
our epiphenomena
can be scrambled.

* Coupon text:

            … you, incommensurate, therefore the hours shine:
            if I say to you “To you I say,” you have not been
            set to music, or broadcast live on the ghost
            radio …
                      -Reginald Shepherd, “You, Therefore”

Amor / is one word of two syllables, / spoken en two voices together / on invisible but bright planes, / mobile and at high temperature. We are all happening at once on a collapsible line, / and this is no test, underground river, / flowing eight hundred feet beneath us — a physically beautiful book. For even as infinity poured forth from zero This Cry, in its groundlessness, is heard as a (n)ever-arriving wave. “Look at this, a Chinese apple!” she will say, as if it suddenly dropped from a perfumed cloud, “lyric” — except for the 87.9% for whom it’s still just oxygen — “extravagance,” color & glitter, and a predilection for the (always almost excessively) sensual, along with the notion of “reinvention,” with its insinuation of a rescue operation, like you get on those well-intentioned radio stations that boast they’re “Keeping Jazz Alive.” Yet who would believe this creature next tilted back his head and yodelled oldle-oh-dee-odle-oh-dee-oh-de-odle which I cannot accurately reproduce here except to say that Woodchuck is said to have found it the most beautiful thing he had ever heard on earth and perhaps for this reason also the most unearthly detached and terrifying. Aphorism: Whereas History must be steered by the four elements, the fifth is crystalline, “Of fled immensities …” & The stars, which are cherished / Objects in a long dead / Game. Engulf me, ’til you thrive. Psych! / Ha! / A little less reverb on the veranda, s’il vous plait … the sun warm as ever, had grown somehow to be ripe beyond blue. “Did you say something tomorrow?” Think feedback, think big guitar god solo, “just for kicks” and “for keeps,” Did I say that it's good? It's fucking awesome. Expanding wave-front Boiling-over. As usual, the fire blazes like crazy / Only as loud as all kinds of sounds — (Does this put me at odds with the list members? To an extent with some. But to no avail, to no purpose; OH I can JUST ABOUT MAKE OUT the shape or ENVELOPE of this REMARKABLE BLUE HAZE which perneates [permeates? No, perneates] THAT VERY ATMOSPHERE KA KA KA OVER AND OVER AGAIN. / / I am writing this under the rose perfection of Bach's sonatas and par- titas for solo violin. You will be duly noted, your presence, your essence. The ocean looks the same, shallow. Who knew frog embryos and beetle larvae could be so beautiful? (Reversing earlier Romantic representations of bliss as ascension toward a kind of Neoplatonic disembodiment) “… This useless senseless loss is sovereignty.” You are contaminated within a great contamination upon the earth. The infectious disease of the soul/gram flesh-module. Cyber dog of God of et cetera! Oh! Oh, / gentle people who have made it / this far, twirled among red gourds in the yard. Perhaps there are metals in the wine we will never be able to urinate. Do not dupe the poet! Your farts have a Harry Partch musical quality. Boundaries lack edges. Such curvatures reach down to noise. Today / the still slow war / has gotten beyond me … (If anybody feels like perspiring [cough], I'd advise you to go ahead, because I’m sure going to. The skies the limit –– you’ll cap the warp you hatched. He is not in
his childhood bed. n
l
o
a
 
,
 
h
d
d
e
r
o
f
 
 
s
 
d
o
,
 
l
l
y
 a
t
s
 
k
 
t
m
 
j
bloom in high contrast. Tulips. To paraphrase Gödel: Hello. My name is http://.org/. Feel free to read me, to fill my blanks, to click all my buttons. We are precisely where we think, no more. Let me show you my unfolding sunny spots of machinery. As sure as angular momentum is conserved, our luminously degenerate love will endure the entropy of the universe. … feel it in the one steak knife at a time. More water? Sure. It’s a mistake for you / to writhe in the passenger / seat. For instance. That reckless / Silence / The falling / Fruit. Here, then, is the gift of your exhaustion –– a precious animal stroked to transparency. I have dreamed great dreams … **

** I STAY / MELTED

[Note: Sources: Sun Ra, “language of the gods………………”, in Sun Ra, The Wisdom of Sun Ra: Sun Ra’s Polemical Broadsheets and Streetcorner Leaflets (ed. John Corbett); Michael Horovitz, A New Waste Land: Timeship Earth at Nillennium; Armand J Labbé, “Pre-Columbian Artistic Expressions of Indigenous Concepts of Soul”, in Ontology of Consciousness: Percipient Action (ed. Helmut Wautischer); Michael Magee, Emancipating Pragmatism: Emerson, Jazz, and Experimental Writing; Anthony Braxton, “When Chancey Speaks, The Number 3 Changes “Lights” 147”, as quoted in Mike Heffley, The Music of Anthony Braxton; 1st screen result of googling “defecated in daddy's ash urn”, a phrase I found in Joseph Wood’s “CARPETBAGGING: TUSKEGEE NATIONAL FOREST SUITE”, in Otoliths 12; David J Hufford, “Local Observation and Interpretation in Evaluating the ‘Spirit Hypothesis’”, in Wautischer; Harold Abramowitz, “Philosophic Investigation Crush”, in Fold Appropriate Text, v.1, 2007 (eds. Stan Apps and Mathew Timmons); K Silem Mohammad, “Ineffable Vehicle”, in Fold Appropriate Text; Marshall Soules, “Improvising Character: Jazz, the Actor, and Protocols of Improvisation”, footnote 1, in The Other Side of Nowhere: Jazz, Improvisation, and Communities in Dialogue (eds. Daniel Fishkin and Ajay Heble); Ronald M Radano, New Musical Figurations: Anthony Braxton’s Cultural Critique; Mark Hoover, “The Private Dancer (Tina Turner)”, in Fold Appropriate Text; Kara Walker, as quoted in Darby English, How to See a Work of Art in Total Darkness; K Silem Mohammad, “Peace Kitten”, as quoted by Mark Wallace, and Wallace himself, in Wallace’s “Meditations On a Deer Head: Reflections on K Silem Mohammad’s ‘Deer Head Nation’”, in Fold Appropriate Text; T K … Y B = (The key is to keep the calluses on your opponent’s eyes / while your freedom works feverishly to raise / a slew of horrifying walking plants / down the hall in your boxers): Drew Gardner, “Are You There God? It’s Me, Grover Norquist”, in MS Found in Grover’s Bottom (Fold Appropriate Text Special Literary Supplement) (eds. Stan Apps and Michael Timmons; junk mail postcard from Bed Bath & Beyond; Dan Richart, “INFECTION -A”, in Fold Appropriate Text; “Autopoiesis 2.3”; note found written on whiteboard in a study room, 3rd flr, Rivera Library, 9:00 a.m., 12 Feb 09]

FCF 39

Morning,
then, was
deep & wide,

either
here, or
between, then I

stood
on quiet
sand between green

waves
in doppler
rings, like a

key
that fell
to sand, there

is
nothing to
eat, so seek

it
where you
will, you will,

at
night I
lift crows from

“giant
dark chords
stacked together in

an
abyss of
darkness” “‘from one

room
to the
next’—as if

in
a hall
of mirrors (‘with

lights
in the
mirrors’)” “sound ‘sparks’

that
dance ‘in
the wind’ of”

“a
field of
tall long trees

(of
glass)”, silences
are shown by

boxes
(/______/) and
are each equal

in
duration to
any word the

reader
chooses. 88:
3. A circle.

4. A line.
5. A tiger’s nail or claw.
6. A peacock’s foot.
7. The jump of a hare.
8. The leaf of a blue lotus.
1. Sounding.
2. Half moon.

A
welcome / a
call / a lull.

When
the little
windwheel outside the

cabin
window sings
in the gathering

thunderstorm,
let you
tell me a

story:

whatever the month or wound

parentheses

I beg of you

this vertigo with vowels glued to the intimate

(A has moved close enough to B to grasp B’s arm)

B. An opening circle,
      a lot of unused rainwater.

Another
A writes
The work we

are
doing, even
if in slowest

motion
is important.
It is a

white-
hot and
delicate matter that

melts
down to
[Was I you in me?]

A text wrapped in leaves

Leaves

When the wind blows through the leaves

I wait while water boils

I knew I was awake but … couldn’t quite believe it

Hungry and wondering

I was wondering

          *

          *

          *

The water has boiled

It’s green tea now

The thinner than a razor blade that slips between you and yourself is an imperceptible vertical hyphen

The want is ended

And then continues

Why do I keep typing then deleting

Is my heart

Your heart?

Who is morirroring my …

Who lends me this un-

Rooted passion?

A semblance of the sun

A wicked likeness of morning

Shines up among the ruins

Visible now

The sentence

Of interlocked bridges

It is all here

*

*

*

Cobweb between two branches

*

*

*

My teacup is empty

Not apocalypse but a wicked likeness of morning

Is my heart

Your heart?

The Death Ship passes the lighthouse on dark brown paper

photos &/or poems
may be reproduced by anyone
for whatever reason.
‘Copyrights’ like worn-out
gloves are obsolete.

“only the imagination is real”

-Roy Kiyooka

who
goes on
to note that

“every
lover knows
I love you

is
a vocal
variable to be

interpreted
by the
vibrations” (I think

of
C here …),
funny every harmonic

e X p l O D ed.
ichi go
ichi e, lift

the
blind of
the bedroom window.

Place
a clear
glass bottle on

the
window sill.
The painting exists

when
the stars
have risen. Yes

Yoko
Ono. Go
to a lonely

place
& rub
a stone on

a
rock for
days & hours

&
hours &
days & days

& days
hours &
hours & days

&
hours &
& &. The

mirror

itself
was scarcely
wider than an

eye:

s
  o
   m
    e                            n
     t                          e
      h                       p
       i                     p
        n                  a
         g else could h

because
we’re aliens,
and that’s how

we
roll.

[Note Sources: Peter Minter, “Jou”, “Glimpse”, “Quiet Hunt”, “Emperor Go, Godspeed”, “Cove Lament”, Elenge”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Anthony Braxton, Composition Notes, as quoted in Graham Lock, ““What I Call a Sound”: Anthony Braxton’s Synaesthetic Ideal and Notations for Improvisers”, at Critical Studies in Improvisation / Études critiques en improvisation, Vol 4, No 1 (2008); Jackson Mac Low, “METHODS FOR READING biblical poems of Jackson Mac Low”, in 0 to 9, 4 (eds. Vito Acconci and Bernadette Mayer); Bern Porter, “88”, in 0 to 9, 4 (quoted in its entirety); Alan Baker, “A Lull”, “One Who Travelled To Find What Listening Meant”, in Not Bondi Beach; Martin Heidegger, “The Thinker as Poet”, in Poetry, Language, Thought (tr. Albert Hofstader); Nicole Brossard, “Notebook of Roses and Civilization” (the 1st and 4th), “Apparition of Objects” (the 2nd and 3rd), in Notebook of Roses and Civilization; Sean Finney, “Equally Balanced Buckets”, in The Obedient Door; Anny Ballardini, email, 9 Feb 09, re: Thrownnest, which arrived at exactly this moment in composition; Alan Halsey, “‘Formerly the Nineteenth Century and After’”, in Not Everything Remotely; Tom Beckett, most recent entry to date at Thrownnest; most of “Autopoiesis XVI (Sonnet 6)”, inserted here because it fits, and because the last line’s also by Alan Halsey, and also from Not Everything Remotely; Roy Kiyooka, “StoneDGloves”, “of seasonable pleasures and small hindrances”, in Pacific Windows; Geraldine Monk & David Annwn, It Means Nothing to Me; Shin Yu Pai, “Full aster with firefly”, “PAINTING TO LET THE EVENING / LIGHT COME THROUGH” (from Yes Yoko Ono) in Works on Paper; Jerome Rothenberg, “Vision Event I (Eskimo)”, in Writing Through: Translations and Variations; Gustaf Sobin, Luminous Debris: Reflecting on Vestige in Provence and Languedoc; Hannah Weiner, “remembered sequel”, in silent teachers / remembered sequel; end of Alec Baldwin’s monologue, hulu.com commercial, unveiled at 2009 Super Bowl]

FCF 38

I
am particularly
intrested in the

use
of different
background colours for

the
narrative captions,
along with the

significance
of the
non-existence of

objects,
Missy Drop-
In-the-Bucket,

something
called “Women
Admirers of the

Jeff
Koons Club”,
the most intense

green
pepper trees
that loom above

us,
the feathery
foliage which flutters

its
delicate and
light-filled leaves,

foliage
supported by
massive and snake-

like
trunks covered
with loose-textured

and
warm orange-
tinted peeling bark,

the
deep dark-
hued blue and

purple shadows, wo’effah, if intrested contact me [at] Terrorized by this molestive, apparently metaphysical cyclical force, chemical entities change into biological entities that grow evermore complex entities that evolve sentient biological entities [among other things], some of which become egos—who perceive themselves terrified vagabonds and slaves as well as rightful masters of the universe—who seek refuge from death and suffering and failure by bonding together, growing stronger in numbers and exacting concessions from those they perceive as others coincidental to the initial conditions before their beginning so they can imagine themselves playing in ever-expanding fields [dot] comoc com.

I'm
fairly certain
that I’m the

only
person in
the group who

cannot
play a
single musical instrument.

Here
is a
list of the

descriptions
are quite
inadequate. An atmospheric

melody,
“clank”, a
wordless song made

only
with sounds
of our bodies.

We
spend lots
of time in

our
attic room,
huddled together under

piles
of blankets
with a tiny

space
heater churning
out warm breezes.

They
have precisely
16,384 words in

them.
The less
willed, the better.

I have been listening to this:

and this:

and this:

the icy sky at night

Gate Lamp Stop Sign Umbrella The Dog Of Mercy from Big Dogs On My Block

Whale fall

Flashing through space,

Time or myth.
The Sockfish is

A sodden puppet
Losing its stuffing

Through the selvage
Which promised

one
last thing
before. and then

the
last thing,
before. is maybe

just
this, and
then just that.

[Note: Sources: a few of mes amis. Ernesto Priego, “Blake & Mortimer”, at Never Neutral, 8 Feb 09; Eileen Tabios, “Love at the Library”, at The Blind Chatelaine’s Keys, 8 Feb 09; Alfred Jensen, “The Way I Paint a Picture”, at Alfred Jensen.com (this site suggested to me by Angela Genusa’s post, “Exile on Main St.: Bonnefantenmuseum”, at Idiot Avant, 8 Feb 09); Tom Raworth “Wo’effah”, at Tom Raworth.com, 7 Feb 09; Chuck Richardson, “The Woe of Endless Desire: A Message to President Barack Obama”, at Chuck Richardson; Geof Huth, “The Red Hook Collective”, at dbqp, 7 Feb 09; Ginger Stickney, “February”, at Green Tea Ginger, 6 Feb 09; Alan Baker, untitled post at Litterbug, 5 Feb 09; lolabola, “Auugghhh”, at chi POM POm pom ropeboy/sambr’s photostream, 5 Feb 09; Omo Bob, photo titles, at Omo Studios, 5 Feb 09; Shin Yu Pai, “Mammology”, at Makura no Soshi, 4 Feb 09; Tom Beckett, “The Sockfish and How it All Ends”, in “Of Sockfish and Other Things”, at Slim Windows, 1 Feb 09; Jean Vengua, “future of the relationship”, at Okir, 4 Feb 09]