“This is just to make sure it catches properly and doesn’t tangle,” he said. An assistant switched on four large Ritter fans, the kind used by movie studios to whip up 40-mile-an-hour winds. Soon the flag was flying high, a wild, hydra-like form. During one crawl through Tompkins Square, he wore a business suit while arduously dragging his body along the ground, using his elbows and knees. For other crawls up Broadway, in a nine-year project called “The Great White Way,” he wore a Superman costume. But still the stink is all about you & the danger opaque & omnipresent! So says a passing chorus of vagrant trash babies coasting thru the ad-vents. So slaves on a rank airship we stink with our working wage & wither in whether or not to eat winter wind or live without shiver. Shit, with quickslivers sinking in we live in our taxing skins, tanning hides & heads invisible. Does it dissolve in the bloodstream, this fragile parasitic branch? It knows us & grows us & gets in us & grows in us & we in it but we don’t ever even get to meet it. We build our nitely ark to raid the sacred spaces & lay our eggs in prophetic places, & all along the way we say hey vagrant trash babies come, most blow on. I mean, nobody is going to remember their stereo system from 2015 when they are 82 in Paris, drinking tea with their own mutant offspring, who may or may not have come from their own: biology: and may instead – which is just the same and sometimes better, quite frankly: be their dog. They are giving out turkeys at the Public Assistance Office, wrapped in plastic, the legs folded in, balled for convenience, you must have had to write your name on a raffle ticket …
Later on, I thought it was
funny to put your head
on Barbie’s body.
I’m sorry, and I’m really sorry, but say
you are in a room waving
when your arm flies off.
So then you’re calm cool and collected
and go call an ambulance,
But now your other arm wants to go too!
Then punches you to death cause you won’t let it.
Say that since “There’s nothing / a ghost hates / more than complaining”, “We are the Spanish Harps, / We certainly hope you [still] like us. / We are the Spanish Harps, / Vwing, Vwing, Vwing”.
So write out yr birthday numerically, like
my friend x was born 06 october 1980 or 06 10 1980
reduce each of the 3 numbers to 1 digit like this
1+9+8+0 =18 -> 1+8 =9
add them up
keep adding until you get a single digit
unless you hit a doubled digit aka 11 or 22
in which case you are a master number +
☽ [moon sign]
I can only imagine you’ll this enjoy to the max, so please fulfill its and your destinies, if you don’t mind. And speak to your host, of course, if the mood strikes ‘cos that would be coolness. It’s actually lifted from a song lyric by the late Danish band Vår. Oh, wait, I take that back. I did play some Star Wars racing game whose title I can’t remember. Let’s see, okay ... “the best song ever” turns out to only survive as choral melodic fragments, “woah oh oh” and “yeah yeah yeah,” onomatopoetic signifiers of togetherness and bliss. The best song ever constitutes a paralinguistic place beyond where words mean, they travelled to this realm that night, and it was there they experienced a protopop that was an uberpop, an apokalypsis in the literal sense, that as the strappings of any particular song were stripped away, the evidence was revelatory. A revelation, critically, that the singer can no longer remember. Like imagine if Dante had woken up and thought “best katabasis ever” but never written about the terrace of the gluttons or the fifth sphere of heavenly warriors → Continue reading →
• The poem Gaia Is Gone by Louise Anne Buchler is linked to the words “Gaia.”
• The sound piece Gaia’s Flesh and an Untitled Poem by Alice Hui-Sheng Chang is linked to the words “flesh,” “history,” “geography.”
• The poem Becoming Gaia / a liturgy to accompangy transition by Markie Burnhope is linked to the words “toxins,” “genes,” “contortions,” “textures,” “holes.”
• The artwork Untitled (Landscape) by Lefteris Tapas is linked to the words “My holes, my parasites, my luminosity, my turbulences are oracles.”
• The visual poem Not Without Newsprint by John Morgan is linked to the words “membrans,” “geography,” “turbulences,” “dead.”
• The poem Ventricle by Steve Toase is linked to the words “goddesses,” “fallen,” “heart” from the source text Gaia’s Flesh.
• The video Evanescent episodes: arrival and exodus by Caroline de Lannoy is linked to the words “MIraculous MOmentary SAtisfaction,” “We become Gaia” from the source text Gaia’s Flesh.
• The poem Estuary by Ann Matthews is linked to the words “dead,” “trees,” “dandelion fluff,” “turbulent,” “between sea and marsh.”
• The poem Terrible Goddess by Yoko Danno is linked to the words “yesterday,” “swallow,” “living,” “wind,” “pile,” “human,” “pear tree,” “earth.”
My toxins, my temperatures, my hormones, my precipitations are climatic.
My genes, my blood cells, my organs, my wilderness are history.
My contortions, my breathing, my colors, my mutations are intelligence.
My textures, my membranes, my secretions, my definitions are geography.
My holes, my parasites, my luminosity, my turbulences are oracles.
walking the land between sea and marsh
floating the cows like funerary urns
glossing the mud as the jewelled head
the sea creatures near converse
light coming into sky above still black
ridge, bird slanting toward pine branch
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
basically a super boosting of extinction studies into an end of the anthropocene Skynet after-party. I mean, the giant robot in the sky is full of doom and riot, almost equally, right? It’s worth YouTubing. As is Marcel The Shell With Shoes On, not that that has to do with anything. But if so, I mean, if not, how are we to read lines like this one: ‘a mammoth / unstitched from the mighty thigh of the glacier, the Roaring Id’?
[Note: Sources: Jori Finkel, “William Pope.L Makes Statements From the Fringes”, at New York Times, 18 Mar 015; Ken Fox, Azmud, quoted in “Ken Fox: Azmud extracts”, at Association of Musical Marxists, 18 Mar 015; JBR; Bhanu Kapil, “Friday Interview Series: Porky”, at I thought I was writing about an immigrant. I was writing about a monster, 20 Mar 015; Kit Yan, “At the Medicaid Office”, in Troubling the Line: Trans and Genderqueer Poetry and Poetics (eds. TC Tolbert and Tim Trace Peterson); Susie Timmons, quoted in Annelyse Gelman, “Superior Packets by Susie Timmons”, at Nomadic Press, 3 Feb 015; Math Tinder, and Dennis Cooper, quoted in Cooper’s “‘a number is a feeling’, by math tinder”, at DC’s, 21 Mar 015; Brandon Brown, “One Direction, Best Song Ever”, in Top 40; Sarah Crewe and Dimitra Ioannou, and Wendy Mulford, quoted in Crewe’s’ and Ioannou’s “aglimpseof 17 . GAIA’s FLESH”, at aglimpseof 17; Stephen Ratcliffe, “3.21”, at Temporality, 21 Mar 015; Jonty Tiplady, “Youiniverse, Chip-Clips and Enchantment At The End of The Anthropocene”, email, rec’d 22 Mar 015 approx 7:01 AM PDT; Andrea Brady, and Frank O’Hara, quoted in Brady’s “Distraction and Absorption on Second Avenue”, at Academia.edu]