500 bald doll heads. Bewitched, betwixt, and tricked, all done up with all that lovely goo! Speaking in logic (or Greek), we/they/we/they/we will bang into the sun. We come to fuck the mutants. We go to mutant them. I am one with the mutant firing limbs. ‘This is a romance of fractals’, tinsel and silky; in the Nichomachean Ethics, Aristotle defines happiness as the one thing “we choose always for itself and never for the sake of something else.” Like:
One summer, out on the mudflats,
I unearthed a parking meter
the flood dragged twenty miles.
You can’t give one example of time getting old. Now break them down into tiny people, wrestling at arm's length for some soup. Go on like this for ages. One repeats the sixth step — “and 6 and 6!” — turning around with one’s partner, moving backwards to finish the pass — “in reverse now!” — steps seven through twelve. Ignore the tremble. The skin of your deity smells like gasoline. Who knew Warren Buffet plays the ukulele? Like a grass burn in space, like a mad head smashing bits of stuff, like I myself have my own big dictionary, like slip in the snow monkey metaphor with an e softly but firmly, like on the stars on the floor, like I wear orange and red fur, like juice the brick, like welcome Chinese investors, yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!
Be housed, clutched, inert. Receive, that wave earthed in keratin Dark’s cuticle then fastening dark hand, recede. Conductive, slow strings waist, a focus vantage stills, in weaning light that houses break. Elaborately plaited fingers crack on a shell in the breech. By coastal rolling, granules secure and justified, flowingly the solvencies peak and burn in type ; infant salts the branches feebly ripening, banded. Spines unfold as, movable, suns inlet solutions of landscape, savouring limit so warmly that to a fixed wing you fled over
language and theories de cauterize and un captivate the attention of a child bent fixed hell for leather of fucking like a pretend dog, this should be what you stand for, not the press or forgetting.
Nice to wonder about with you, nice to stay fat, nice never truly to be a polygraph. Worth it that the woods be sovereign what matters is that any of it happened at all, the children a little fucked (concept to pop to sex) up and Formby in Albania like Big Bird to Catanou did quite well with that toaster. Around now climate change arrives. All those water-screws, force pumps, water-lifting wheels, vents, wells and settling tanks, all those reservoirs, canals, aqueducts and pipes buried under mountains and rivers, and all those jets spurting out vases and statuary, creating water rainbows, all those fountains, giochi d'acqua, automatas and damp grottos: those are the gurgling circuits, the programmable interfaces, the data storage devices and the visualization screens of these landscape supercomputers. To operate it, you will have to consult a crypto-edition of Solomon de Caus's Les raisons des forces mouvantes, avec diverses machines tant utiles que plaisantes, auxquelles sont adjoints plusieurs dessings de grotes & fontaines from which the following may have been excerpted: Embedded in the earth is a Rube Goldberg collection of tubes, tanks, valves, pumps and sluices. You could think of it as a hydraulic computer. Water flows through a series of clear pipes, mimicking the way that money flows through the empire. It lets you see (literally) what would happen if you lower the price of bread or increase the construction of palaces or whatever; just open a valve here or pull a lever there and the machine in the garden sloshes away, showing in real time how the water levels rise and fall in various tanks representing colonial trade supplies, food riots, and so on. Attached to the measuring tube is a series of fountains that gurgles the solution to the equation. I made this meat collage from a microwave cookbook. Was there a garden, was there ever ice cream in my pockets, repeating others, steam pressed live & in lying you're at work, crying and masturbating, you want to be in the world, locked safety to your body pressed in a cubicle you have so many feelings, so much stuff. The police come in and shoot you. Repair my aim. The cutlery drawer is open and the forks are dull. Galileo swoops from the sky and kills the whole farmyard, tearing the throats of geese with his universe, holding down pigs, ripping the tails from rabbits to fashion a new love.
[Note: SPD Spring 012 catalog #8. Sources: JBR, but see “One Shot, One Kill” episode of NCIS; Susana Gardner, Emily Critchley, “(The Avaunt Garde)”, Frances Kruk, DOWN YOU GO OR Négation de Bruit, j/j hastain, myrhh to re all myth, Jaime Robles, “from foundling 2275, a boy”, as quoted in Gardner’s “Attention Span 2011 / Susana Gardner”, at Third Factory, 25 Oct 011; Marjorie Perloff, “HAPPY WORLD: What Lyn Hejinian’s Poetry Tells Us About Chance, Fortune and Pleasure”, at Marjorie Perloff; JBR; Sean Patrick Hill, “Down in the Flood”, at Vagabondage Press; Paul Hoover, “The Windows (The Actual Acts”, as quoted in SPD Spring 012 catalog blurb for Hoover’s Desolation: Souvenir; Noelle Kocot, “Why Write”, at They Will Sew the Blue Sail; Dan Bevaqua, “Dance with the Devil”, at The New Inquiry, 23 Jan 012; fragile keys, “Nontology II”, at Fragile Keys, 23 Jan 012; Eduardo C Corral, “AFTER BEI DAO / AFTER JEAN VALENTINE”, at Devil’s Lake, Fall 011; JBR, but see Deep Cough, “Warren Buffet Ushers In Year Of The Dragon With Ukulele”, at Disinformation, 23 Jan 012; Jonty Tiplady, “Eskimo Porn Belt”, at Salt Publishing; Bruce Willis, Die Hard; Neil Pattison, “Slow Light”, Jonny Liron, “6.XII”, Jonty Tiplady, “Superanus”, as quoted in John Armstrong, “Poetry and Politics and Truth, a response to Tom Dunn”, at Bebrowed’s Blog, 20 Jan 012; Alexander Trevi, “Gardens as Crypto Water Computers”, at Pruned, 23 Jan 012;Nick Sturm, “I wish my poems could wave”, at We Who Are About To Die, 23 Jan 012; Luke Roberts, “Egg Hunt Triumph”, “Colossal Boredom Swan Song”, as quoted in John Armstrong, “The ice cream in Luke Roberts’ pockets”, at Bebrowed’s Blog, 11 Jan 012]
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