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Inside is another and another and another. Someone’s lying on the edge of a mandala, fingers softly wrapped around a dead gray bird. The sky, non-photo blue. Grave tone? Slow burn? As if by asking, I came to deserve. Set the timer to compensate. If I do this enough, will my sweat take on your chemicals? Just look at the Ziel cover art: The lizard gets chopped in two by the one-red-eyed decapitated teddy bear. I bleed the grass and hold all these insects around the outside of my stomach. I give birth to everything in an explosion of my skin. My face my hurt mouth that holds the house inside. There’s a really nice reissue of this which is well worth picking up, despite not having the one song I reeeeeeeeally wanted (the doomy guitar piece that plays under the Highgate Cemetery desecration scene near the beginning), but this gloomy variation on Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata hits a similar spot. When I told Cammie about the anger management class, she was shocked. “Why did you have to take that?” I told her exactly why and she said, “Whoa! I had no idea!” 1919 is for me the year of the deaths of Rosa Luxemburg, Karl Liebknecht and Jacques Vaché, but also the year of the General Strikes in Seattle and Winnipeg; the year of Breton’s and Soupault’s Les Champs Magnetiques. A torrential rain entered our mouths and exited through our palms. We were tract housing. We were melodies. When I open my eyes, I’m a croupier. I’m a person in a towel on a balcony. I’m James Bond. A chimp on drugs, as Bobbie Louise Hawkins said last night. But without the drugs. These are not the conditions under which a person might make a report. Why am I still wearing the dress I wore last night? I will send you all postcards. I will send you all lavender & antimatter. I will send you a splintered telephone. I will send you cucumber moons. Thus the NYPD has created a network of overseas offices, while the US Army is increasingly deployed domestically. Among the oyster shell middens found at prehistoric campsites they have found child size plastic buckets, and in the oldest cave of all, painted on the farthest darkest wall, they have found an image of a child with a plastic bucket, and can only interpret the sinuous squiggles that surround the image as waves ...
[Note: Sources: JBR, ekphrasis practiced on a photo at The Body As Conduit, 8 Jul 012; JBR, ekphrasis practiced on a photo at The Body As Conduit, 8 Jul 012; Kate Schapira, “I catch myself”, in The Bounty: Four Addresses; JBR, ekphrasis practiced on cover of William H Hallahan, Keeper of the Children, as embedded in Darren Bauler, “I read this in high school …”, at Theater of Diminished Faculties, 8 Jul 012; Logan Ryan Smith, “ghosts spiders &dogs”, in Stupid Birds; Darren Bauler, “Pierro Umilani, Magical Moonlight, from the Angeli Bianchi Angeli Neri score”, at Theater of Diminished Faculties, 8 Jul 012; Jennifer L Knox, “‘Coffee Ice Cream and Fruity Pebbles’”, in The Mystery of the Hidden Driveway; Franklin Rosemont, An Open Entrance to the Shut Palace of Wrong Numbers; Bhanu Kapil, “Last Day: Summer Writing Program: Decompressions”, at Was Gertrude Stein a Punjabi?, 8 Jul 012; Julia Cohen, “Listless Lisp Press”, at $650 Apartment for $650, 8 Jul 012; George Steinmetz, “Stephen Graham, Cities Under Siege: The New Military Urbanism, reviewed by George Steinmetz”, at Society and Space – Environment and Planning D, via Stuart Elden, “Three reviews of Stephen Graham's Cities Under Siege”, at Progressive Geographies, 8 Jul 012; JBR, comment appended to Rebecca Loudon, “We went to the beach …”, at Radish King, 8 Jul 012 (Rebecca, I wish you the happiest of birthdays … (tho by the time this is posted it will no longer by your b'day))]
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