In the House of the Hangman 1264

Disturbance arc continues in abundant time for freezers full of loving couples musty as the far-off asthma of the nightingale, eternity is supper for sows. I myself Jack ate an overflowing silence in summer time pubic hairs of human history, let’s have coffee, business and creed, if you want to love something it could be the wind of Greek letters. Aren’t we all lifelike? Once you admit there is a house on top of the moon, what do you do with a pencil for a rusty gate? And another thing, hell is only the seediest elder of them that gather in the corner of the glassed-in porch to hash off about bourbon enemas and capital gains. How do I know this? A voice come out of a gash in the upholstery of my vehicle and hardens into a bud vase of pirhanas and makes soft gravel out of my legs. Ueinzz is a sound uttered by one of the actors, in one of our first rehearsals, years back, and whose meaning escapes us entirely. “From this perspective, a person may call upon God ... but then be free to send God away while making out with the romantic object.” Would you like some red daisies? Or a sewing machine made to sew irregular stitches so quilts look handmade? Or a blue lion with a red mane racing down a pelt of earth on a wild bike? Morning orchestrates its little engines — / residual truth, frightening rain / a leaf / shaking with yellow jacket liftoff / / It’s a deafening sound drives through / sincerity, its armored trees & sad insects / / Who’d want to move from the particular? I like things the size of a pea, I like miniature umbrellas and I like walnuts and I like the part in Hamlet where where he says he could live in a nutshell and count himself the king of infinite space (were it not for the fact he had bad dreams). In addition, any lecture on dolls winds up being 80 percent Rilke, 30 percent Shostakovich’s certainty that musical notes radiated from a piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain. Both lightning and “the monkey” – “Documentation of Mutilated Body on Landscape” – “bodily outline[s] drawn by ignited gunpowder on the earth.” ‎(~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~) After the angle bracket G., Ida and Sad But Great journey into the heart of a glacier where G. meets a flock of ice bats, “blueblack … absolutely silent … toaster” size. There is a trip inside the mind of G.’s favorite musk ox, Io, as she wakes one morning. There is a combination auto-repair shop / psychiatric hospital. There is an erupting volcano. The Greek chorus is called Wife of Brain. But I had my eye on another bottle: Secretions Magnifique, a synthetic concoction that's supposed to — supposed to — smell like a combination of semen, blood, and breast milk. It’s $88. Long story short, I wore it for five days. Sunday: When those blood notes get anywhere near the upper half of your body, it feels like you have a mouthful of pennies. As I’m walking to the train, I keep getting whiffs of myself and have to stop and gag several times. Monday: Around noon, I’m in the Condé Nast elevator (don’t ask) with some supermodels. One of them did wrinkle her nose, but she could have had a cold or something. Also, they were probably too tall to register that I was even in the elevator with them. I realize about an hour later that I should have just asked the supermodels to smell me, and then I get really sweaty and upset by the missed opportunity. I notice that the smell gets stronger the more I sweat. Tuesday: I completely forget that I’m wearing the perfume at this point. It doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, I think I’m starting to like it. It’s like having a cool secret, and it gives me a certain amount of edge — I’m forcing unwitting people to smell cum all day. Like Olya told me, “If you can pull it off, why not go there?” All anyone really wants out of life is to be remembered, right? I don’t care if I’m remembered as the small woman who inexplicably always reeks of cum, so long as people don’t forget me when I die. Wednesday: felt sorry for a girl who said I smelled like her dad. Thursday: forget about Thursday.

[Note: Sources: Nanao Sakaki, “Bellyfulls”, in How to Live on the Planet Earth; Alfred Starr Hamilton, “Little”, “For a Rusty Gate”, in conversation with Geof Hewitt, and Ben Estes / Alan Felstenthal, “Foreword”, in Alfred Starr Hamilton, A Dark Dreambox of Another Kind; JBR; Michael Ives, “A Flower Blooms in Waco”, “Relax”, at Exquisite Corpse 9; Peter Pál Pelbart, “The Deterritorialized Unconscious” (trs. John Laudenberger and Filipe Ferreira), in The Guattari Effect (eds. Eric Alliez and Andrew Goffey); George Lundskow, “The Sociology of Religion: A Substantive and Transdisciplinary Approach”, as quoted in Hazel Sullivan, FB post, 15 Mar 013; JBR; sewing machine … look handmade?: Rachel May, FB post 15 Mar 013; JBR, but see Rebekah May, drawing embedded in FB post, 15 May 013; Noah Eli Gordon, “from THE YEAR OF THE ROOSTER”, at Octopus 7; Mary Ruefle, “Lectures I Will Never Give”, at The Rumpus, 14 Mar 013; JBR; Bhanu Kapil, and Ana Mendieta, as quoted in The Unseen Mendieta (ed. Olga Viso), in Kapil’s “Annotations: Unseen Mendieta”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 15 Mar 013; Jesse Glass, FB post, 15 Mar 013; Sam Anderson, “The Inscrutable Brilliance of Anne Carson”, as quoted in “The New York Times Profiles Anne Carson as ‘Someone from Another World’”, at Harriet, 15 Mar 013; Allie Conti, “This Is What Happens When You Wear Semen-Scented Perfume”, at Vice, 15 Mar 013; JBR, but see previous]

Comments

[Ed Baker]

almost met Nanao when
visiting friends up in Portland, Maine

missed him by about six days
at Gary lawless' book store.
I did, however, meet Jim Koller.

Gary snapped the photo:

http://edbaker.maikosoft.com/pictures/edbaker_jimkoller.jpg

I could say more, howevers,

[john]

Nice, Ed. Never met either (hardly ever met anyone) but these are my mad uncles, for sure!