In the House of the Hangman 808

It is Sunday now. The water in the river is cold. Every surface has a gout face. There was a bubble in volcanic stone [haiku] it ripples still. Each surface explores another notion. Set me on fire kerosene. “Tell me that’s not what it’s like when you get old.” A wreath around the surface. A separate surface. As if in repose. Thru thawing cryosphere, toxic drift of nitrates towards Gulf of Mexico. I heard about the sun / not only that it moved / but that it was mad, / as I would be / having been pushed to burn and burn / wandering over the white-flecked tops of the minute waves / for a whale to cry, “my body is smooth and lithe / in the water as you know the issue of your bowels to be. I move more rapidly and my / skin is like velvet. I am large and sometimes present myself to the touch.” Be careful / and cry at the sun, “the moving glycerine is a vast, subsumed body, / casting a great eye upwards, as if in play.” Anyway I’m horny, like Aldo Leopold, thinking like a mountain, and Neil Evernden: the pathetic fallacy is not a fallacy at all. I mean you, Tanuki, shapeshifters forced to integrate into urban lifestyle. Really I am sitting at a desk with beautiful reflecting glass I thought I would go through to see if there is something I can use, like take off your pants and ride the subway, like I’ve written a script with no alphabet in it in the Mao-Shan tradition of Too Great Purity which says you can open bodhisattvas up like pop cans and no “purity” and “inverse-purity” ever squirts out. The disease is all up in my flesh; means / contaminate ends, sighing / to the content about how they march in place / to victory – it’s concrete poured, / … / In an effort to overcome such obstacles, the group turned to solid materials based on polyethylenimine, a readily available and inexpensive polymeric material. But did you see that small and green and lumpy 2^nd moon? I intended for my / financial statement to be included / / in the file. But there are no finances. / The weather is a Subaru. I picture an unripe potato. The dog that growls, that’s you when you’re a dog, but now you’re the man the dog chases, snapping at your legs. You run, but you are your equal.

[Note: Sources: David Fishkind, “Sunday Nap”, at HTMLGIANT, 8 Jan 011; Set me … kerosene and Chris Stroffolino, “End of a Life on Paper”, in Bay Poetics (ed. Stephanie Young); Timothy Morton, “Velocities of Ecocriticism Liveblog 2”, at Ecology without Nature, 8 Jan 012 (notes on Rob Nixon, “Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor” (MLA Presentation)); Sean Finney, “I Can’t Stand the City as I Saw It that Day”, in Young; Rosemary Griggs, “By the Way”, “Woman in the Barn”, in Young; Timothy Morton, “Velocities of Ecocriticism Liveblog”, at Ecology without Nature, 8 Jan 012 (notes on Ursula Heise, “Ecocriticism and Animation” (MLA Presentation)); JBR; Majestic, “Take Off Your Pants And Ride The Subway”, at Disinformation, 8 Jan 012 (“Today is No Pants Subway Ride day, in New York City and around the world, wherever subway (underground) trains are to be found (all sorts of places, not just the obvious ones like London’s Tube and the Paris Metro).”); JBR; Rodney Koenecke, “My Purity”, as quoted in Stan Apps, “Where No Word is Made to Seem Awkward”, in The World as Phone Bill; Judith Goldman, “if all else fails”, in Young; “New Materials Remove Carbon Dioxide from Smokestacks, Tailpipes and Even the Air”, at Science Daily, 4 Jan 012; JBR, but see Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (tr. Jay Rubin and Philip Gabriel); Del Ray Cross, “mdlx”, at Anachronizms, 8 Jan 012; JBR; Keith Shein, “from Rumors of Buildings to Live In (14)”, in Young]

Comments

[Karifa]

Para saken mas okay kung khuuka ka nalang nang bagong kasambahay yung talagang magtratrabaho kahit hindi mo kailangang ipaalala.