In the House of the Hangman 1036

“I am not ignorant that some write, that after the death of Nabuchadnez-zar, his sonne Eilumorodath gave his bodie to the ravens to be devoured, least afterwards his father should arise from death, who of a beast became a man againe.” My beauty is a Last Chance Beauty Queen. She’s restless for an Ikea rodeo, wears sushi bar sandals, stale green light, Styrofoam skin care products, government faucets, formaldehyde iPhones, my beauty is reading this to find out how you can get free stuff, Evanescence edits my beauty. And she smokes a rather elegant small pipe. Your turntables turn litmus blue you should see them in the sun where they rub-a-dub-dub-my-beauty til the beats bounce thru the prisms into the what-world of Remedios Varo’s Creación de las aves. In the shtetl it’s called the bottle of last things. Like a Shiba Inu, I have quickly learned to use my Shiba-scream. In Maine I remember a giant hill of sawdust that my father discovered beside a dirt logging road. It was on the way to our fishing camp in the north and we made a point of stopping there after we discovered it. We kids would run down and roll in the dust and it was quite satisfying. After a few years, plants and other vegetation took hold, and that was the end of it. No. Wait. I mean the beginning. One of my favorite things about the history of photography is how quickly ‘ectoplasm photos’ showed up — and how crappy they were! A similar logic — we have captured this with technology, which is conflated with it being ‘scientific’ — is a big part of the ghost hunting scene. And just the fact that people now go on ghost hunts says a great deal about the conception of hauntings. That we need to track ghosts down to begin with, and then perhaps exterminate them, is a sad thought on one hand. On the other, who wants to be haunted? Nobody. He was dressed in a USA Boxing tracksuit with the word “President” stitched on the chest when he met me for a breakfast of eggs and coffee. He has never had a problem with women boxing, he said. His criteria for inclusion have nothing to do with gender. “When kids call me up, I say, ‘Let me ask you an honest question: have your parents ever hit you?’ If they say no, I say, ‘I don’t think you belong in boxing.’” Oh, the rough beast slouches onward, toward Bethlehem, or Betelgeuse, or beyond, a clone of Nietzsche, but a faun of genetics, too, modified by a flu which inserted some aspects of Artaud, and many else. Then there was the birthday we went to tattoo you. A flesh wound. Deemed eligible, the bank account provides a sense of style (so might a fedora in turbulence). It’s become more than six months ago I referred to another sequence of daring. Do men blink more than women? Certain reflexes seem to count as memory in nerve, muscle and example: the cat looks up to a drawing of its counterpart losing feathers. A title doesn’t confer talent conveyed. Calvados from a snifter late into what they also knew last century. First sip. Not implant but tenacious hamstrings. Complaint of content — its lack thereof or from. An elegant suppleness should be consumed relatively young. Orgasms aren’t oblique on the morning of, or in the night. Sex is precision. “No local passengers carried between stations marked A”. It’s froth on the inside that’s dangerous. Whist, the silent card game … The dead don’t borrow from us as we do from them. How different is brooch from broach. The cat rolls on flowers but doesn’t crush the print, as in cotton, not description of the auto-erotic. In that chair this conversation, a utilizable not employable table. How tender in twelve? Supplant this with the word terse, or focus on all the visible points simultaneously. Light doesn’t blister itself but the epidermis becomes disorganised. Pallor, sometimes misconstrued as a manifestation of missing. Most notable is an intriguing attempt to read J. H. Prynne’s Not-You through the philosopher David Lewis’s ideas about the “garbage” in language, which in an effort to come to terms with the poem ends up, among other things, defining “milk solids” and providing a URL for the Avian Protection Society.

[Note: Sources: Reginald Scot, The Discoverie of Witchcraft, as quoted in Darren Bauler, “I am not ignorant …”, at Theater of Diminished Faculties, 31 Jul 12; Anne Gorrick and JBR, from My Beauty is an Occupiable Space: 37 Prosed Sonnets, at Otoliths 26; Arthur Bradford, and Meghan McCarron, as quoted in Gabriel Blackwell, “Unstuck #2”, at Big Other, 31 Jul 012; JBR; Ariel Levy, “A Ring of One’s Own: Can a teen-age Olympic hopeful remake the image of women’s boxing?”, as quoted in Bookbat, “He was dressed …”, at The Bookbat, 31 Jul 012; phaneronoemikon, “O Bosom of Regret!”, at Jellybean Weirdo With Electric Snake Fang, 31 Jul 012; Karen Mac Cormack, “Sleep is Incurable in Our Lifetime”, as quoted in Gerald L Bruns, “KAREN MAC CORMACK AMONG THE PAGANS”, at PEPC Library; Sam Rowe, “What Are Poets For? – Gerald L. Bruns”, at Full Stop, 27 Jul 012]

Comments

[David]

Yes the newsletter still gets maelid out every month.. I am sorry you did not recieve one for December.. I hope it comes for January.. If not please email the newletter address on the contacts page Thanks!!