FCF 82

God
is singing
and clacking his

maracas
as he
dreams his dream

in
a cloud
of leaf, feeling

happy
but shaken
by doubt and

mystery.
So beginneth
creation, according to

the
local powerpoint.
And what is

time,
then? See
next slide. Count

backwards
from one-
hundred by se-

vens.
Bulletoid: Fling
the entire body

out
into the
suchness using only

the
momentum that
can be initiated

while
wearing a
tubular multifunction garment

made
of soft
seamless micro-fiber

nylon-spandex.

Cloud
let fall
a drop of

rain.
The End.
Except for celebrations,

incredible
celebrations that
rush around the

Earth
like Happy
Dragons. Okay, one

is
one is
one’s a jumble,

a
juju, a
jubilation of -- dare

I
say? -- overdetermined
upheaval. Apparently it’s

all
like painting
the floor of

the
Sistine Chapel
with the literal

thrill
of Herman Munster’s
condition green. Phone

rings:
“It’s great
out here. If

you’re
gonna get
your hobble on,

do
it before
the heat …” Deictic

words
acknowledge that
my here is

not
your here;
my tomorrow is

not
your tomorrow.
Sick of being

treated
like a
dog, Manco Inca

rises
against the
men with hairy

faces.
Who doesn’t
want to be

the
remainder that
cannot be absorbed

and
made to
work effectively? In

the
next picture,
everything changes. The

flesh
has been
used. The brow

is
tense and
along the nose

is
a wary
(a weary abrasion).

This is not really comfortable. It does not climax. Everything is off-balance. The wall is tilted; the hair hangs weirdly, the legs are not at ease. One eye looks out, one looks off. Nothing has connection. On second look: though their bodies are entwined, his hand on her leg, her arms around his neck, they are falling off each other in perpetual stasis.

This is just the beginning. The moment says stop but is not going to make it. I’m moving faster: shoes are hung on electricity

poles.
Rapacious ants
continue to mortify

people
and undermine
walls. Socrates no

longer
entertains; he’s
just one more

assbite
like Judge
Judy, badgering pinches

pendejos.
I cannot
go on            I

have
other ontological
commitments           The winds

of
pestilence are
devastating these regions.

English
cucumbers are
worth one point.

Crying,
on the
other hand, makes

you
smaller. For
that reason old

women
and the
mourners at funerals

are
the size
of cockroaches. This

isn’t
in her
grandfather’s books, which

Juana
reads, but
she knows. These

are
things she
knows from talking

so
much to
her soul. Juana

also
talks to
the clouds. To

talk
to the
clouds you have

to
climb the
hills or to

the
top branches
of the trees.

“I
am a
cloud. We clouds

have
faces and
hands. No feet.”

When
it is
said the cat

and
the mice
[ellipsis] We have

wished
by identifying
them to make

them
welcome. Please
keep that in

mind.
For the
present they are

here,
entering into
what we make

and
will be
making of what

we
see. When
we say the

studio,
please keep
in mind we

do
not refer
to the room

in
which we
see the projections.

The
–ing is
the process, the

interaction
with the
world that WE

hope
to result
from us coming

to
this door.
The door of

this
room. The
damaged record playing

the
damaged needle,
the bread had

been
wearing the
tablecloth as a

gown,
the dresser
as the blade

of
the knife
that curves from

the
tip, and
the sun was

drying
all the
house shadows out:

a
bone thrown
to the conventional

reader
who requires
a “plot” that

contains
sentences like
“unbeknown to her,

Flaunted
Fifth lingered
on the outskirts

of
town ...” Wherewithstanding
Nottwithal. Last night

we
took a
trip to Lake

Something.
You were
driving. The road

ended
in a
cul-de-sac.

The
bat, hanging
from a branch,

noticed
a Kayapó
warrior leaning over

the
stream. We’re
walking this earth.

We’re
walking this
shining earth. I

strap
on the
male pronoun sometimes.

[Note: Sources: Critiphoria 1; taken in sonnety-sized chunks. And Eduardo Galeano, Memory of Fire: Genesis (tr. Cedric Belfrage). And. From Critiphoria: Karen Alkalay-Gut, “Formalism: A Poem”, and Rafael Campo, “The Mental Status Exam”, as quoted by Alkalay-Gut; Bruce Andrews & Sally Silvers, “Lack of Entrepeneurial Thrift”; Stan Apps, “On the End of History”; Allen Bramhall & Tim Peterson, “Plastered Retro Mop Transformations”; I skipped Derek Beaulieu; Rachel Blau DuPlessis, “Two more thoughts about deixis”; Charles Borkhuis, “Newsense Anti-Manifesto”; Abigail Child, “A Motive for Mayhem”; thanks go to Paavo Monkkonen for the phrase “pinches pendejos”; Ewa Chrusciel, A Life; Ewa Chrusciel & Kate Dusenberry, “Intraters”; I skipped Peter Ciccariello; Wystan Curnow, “Nocturne”; Jackie Clark, “Observing the Canopy”; Thomas Cook, “Afternoon (3)”; Maria Damon, “A Vocation for Longing": Kinship, History and Absence chez Nathaniel Mackey”, and Damon quoting Nathaniel Mackey, Bedouin Hornbook; Alan Davies, This Is Thinking. Now for the and. Bodyhose.com]

Comments

[tom beckett]

You had me at "pendejos."

[Bob]

Can I use "Clacking my Maracas In a Cloud of Leaf" as the title for one of the volumes of my autobiography?

[John Bloomberg-Rissman]

Depends which volume ...