It tells you about the world as if you weren’t already in it. The thousands of spiders. Cream suckers, chinless experiments secreting the dead. The filament winding is a map of hair. Abdominal nests. I grafted my face to the wall, sucked, withdrew. With his promising hands and his drones, he would set up a manufacture. OK. All the hands are there – the House / the Spike. Thick with boodle scum spun into the bluntwire. Here a bloody head comes up, there a phantom goes, how we crack in the underspine, where are the nail-guns use them on everything. Accidence imposed. And when your finger soaked up the pins, diatomaceous mist and all ERRATUM::: this poem in place of the repeated one. Imagine if it found you caught in the sewing machines your payslip embroidered in your cheek, abdomen a-squiggle, drinking 19 alterations of milk in the boiler room. A biological inference arises at this point, messy little furball wings of paper (“critical and clinical” I once heard), commitment, direct address, well-aged mastery of individual devices, the “political” … and what do I stand to lose sniveling and sloshing in a creek on tape for the first time since [x] as you used to think it was bilge dinging these shapes into the hood of your car. All of this has to do with poetry. We’re still alive who stopped listening when asked “what is to be done” as if demanding a burial at sea — now that’s elegy for you. I’ll tell you how that works, it doesn’t. Sometimes the robot scientist’s daughter pretends to be a robot herself, handing out food efficiently without smudging her makeup. Sometimes she turns out to be a robot all along implanted with heartwarming but false memories. Sometimes she has a telepathic link to genetically engineered dinosaurs. When she was a child, she had only robots to play games with, mostly hide-and-seek and chess. This helped and hurt her socialization. The robot scientist might be named Morbius, while his daughter is named Susan. She will be the downfall, the island crumbling, scientist buried beneath rubble, killer shrews loosed on the world. Trace your fingers over me, when I say I, I never mean you. Today I got an email from the moon — FullPig Cupids Wedged between Seers & misguided men. O, Pet his head. Coins fall from his snout — despite this crowded alone my ever. And so and so I fate this, I crowd this, I curious this and you crowd this too and change me again — KERPLUNK! Or the German phrases from the bag of philosophy books I’m planning to sell — Sometimes at holistic fairs you can step into a booth for kirlian analysis. Theories of color and light are one thing. The body is another. The light of the cells. Now I am at the cafe drinking Americano with cream like a Russian General. There are concrete surfaces as smooth and cool as a silk sari folded a thousand times then pressed with a cold iron, slogans in bright red Persian graffiti scrawled on the clouded aluminum mirror of the public toilet, spirals of cooking smells and urine in the tower block stairwells and a sky that is only for some people. Swastikas on the elevator wall. The wall, that is, of the lift. Wimble had something to tell me about the prophecies of Nostradamus. A time of great violence was about to begin. I said, okay. I will think about it. “BUT SHALL I TELL YOU / WHAT BEFELL THE PANCAKE VENDOR,
with nothing to lose
can be able to want to
will over the dam
a feeling to let spatter and
turn no wheel.
He throws the shells of the nuts he eats.
Alawi, turn a friend of mine.
How did you wind up
Plants and I
look back on it.
We’re fucking choking it, and
I’m poured all over the lawn in broths,
in the math scores of
the state in which I am visiting.
Eighth graders, and Krishna in his bower
also did well on the test, and that is when
I decided to become a
(Tapping tab key gently with middle finger while thinking — softly enough that it doesn’t get depressed, or even glum — pardon me, I just rode sixty miles on the bike and my mind is erratic). Ah, ok —
Tombs of women ornamented
Who wants me dead
Referred to as water in a tube
Enter foyer breathe alike
Cauterized condition of agreement
Reticent dowel laurel plague
Contaminate feed and see
Noses of corralled animals part species a flame
Perfidy method divisive
surreal roadkill (“miles of strips of pig”)
scarred forever with mining after selling ourselves with pad ton ends
vanishing in a snare,
a loaded shown a red even stronger cause to ice,
no of real, a beautiful dry, work to when allow,
just as we wear illusory rooms
playing in bracket songs
oin. wr.
could. fl.
attenings.
extric. ls.
grievances.
“Gladly,” I think, gauze in hand, by the end, everyone relates to the disembowelment. “Disembowlment most relatable and satisfactory,” The set, the entire universe, anyone with breast tissue can get it, though those in industrialized areas get it much more than anyone else. It is also not, as it is presented, one disease, but a number of different ones occurring in one type of tissue, and this is a tissue that develops according, in part, to environment. It’s not, after all, a cancer of the chromosomes: people who were born female may think their breasts are natural, but these are as constructed as anyone else’s, made from from food supplies and the industrial estrogenic carcinosphere and from what is given to us in pharmacies. Men who have breasts may think their breasts are unnatural, but theirs are as natural as anyone else’s, which is very and also not that much. In every way, including the capacity to make milk, humans are born with breasts and breasts are breasts and also all humans have breasts affected by the environment and personal agency, and these are also breasts. “Because in the end, you know,” said Christos Giovanopoulos in the scruffy, poster-strewn seventh-floor central Athens offices of Solidarity for All, which provides logistical and administrative support to the movement, “politics comes down to individual people’s stories. Does this family have enough to eat? Has this child got the right book he needs for school? Are this couple about to be evicted?” Fotiou said a large part of the first stage of a Syriza’s government’s programme – ensuring no family is without water or electricity (in nine months of 2013, 240,000 households had their power cut because of unpaid bills); that no one can be made homeless; that the very lowest pensions are raised and that urgent steps are taken to relieve child poverty, now standing at 40% in Greece – was largely inspired by what the party had learned from its involvement in the solidarity movement. “We’ve gained so much from people’s innovation,” she said. “We’ve acquired a knowhow of poverty, actually. We know more about people’s real needs, about the distribution of affordable food, about how not to waste things like medicines. We’ve gained a huge amount of information. Greece is poor; this is vital knowhow.” In the central Athens district of Exarchia, Tonia Katerini, another now largely unemployed architect (“There’s not a lot of work for architects right now,” she said), is one of 15 people running a cooperative social grocery that opened a year ago and now sells 300 products, from flour to oranges, olive oil to bread, pasta to dried herbs. The business has grown rapidly and the collective’s members can now pay themselves an hourly wage of €3. The local “without middlemen” market, one of 30-odd to have sprouted in Athens and several hundred around Greece, where farmers sell their produce for 25% more than they would get from the supermarkets and consumers pay 25% less, takes place only once a month, and the group wanted to set up a small neighbourhood grocery offering similarly good value, high quality foodstuffs directly from small producers. Which is to say, I 3D-printed a spirit. Just kidding, of course I don’t have a 3D printer. I don’t even have a 2D printer. I have a long spool of twine though, and I have some unwaxed floss. I mean, you can’t make a funeral pyre in an apartment so may resort to just drawing cool flames on my body in the guest bathroom until I Climb Inside The Old Woman and Peek through The Eye I Trace Circles on The Bark on The varnished slice That’s SO Proudly on Display I Look up hundreds of feet Into The Sky Into The canopy of Branches Where Other whisperers and Other Trees are growing and Each Portion Is accurately noted, deftly remarked upon and not AT All dismissed. Here are the key translated passages: 14.34 “If his words are unintelligible for three days […] his mouth [F…] and he experiences wandering about for three days in a row F…1.” 14.35 “He experiences wandering about (for three) consecutive (days)”; this means: “he experiences alteration of mentation (for three) consecutive (days).” 14.36 “If his words are unintelligible and depression keeps falling on him at regular intervals (and he has been sick) for three days F…]” […] 19.32 “If in the evening, he sees either a living person or a dead person or someone known to him or someone not known to him or anybody or anything and becomes afraid; he turns around but, like one who has [been hexed with?] rancid oil, his mouth is seized so that he is unable to cry out to one who sleeps next to him, ‘hand’ of ghost (var. hand of […]).” 19.33 “[If] his mentation is altered so that he is not in full possession of his faculties, ‘hand’ of a roving ghost; he will die.” 19.34 “If his mentation is altered, […] (and) forgetfulness(?) (and) his words hinder each other in his mouth, a roaming ghost afflicts him. (If) […], he will get well.” Jonty Tiplady knows. Offering praise effusive. Spend whole days on the couch not staring into space rather staring into the most inner recesses of your soul. Find nothing EVER. The DJs choose their own records. Hate them for it – all attempts to create and market their own ‘personal brand’. No I didn’t know I Know What Boys Like wasn’t first sung by Shampoo. An unread Frank O’Hara; which, along with all the onesies of March, was on the short short list. You poor damaged boy. Four things at once with absolutely no offence taken at the meds comment. It’s a masculine Midwinter’s Day, perhaps. Searches like “XXX stories for my husband” came in from Arkansas, which might not have been Arkansas because I remember using blogger in Los Angeles and seeing it logged as Arkansas. But as soon as she started learning English, she discovered words to say and repeat. The first was “TRAFFICS,” which she would yell from the back seat of the car as we drove home from my job and her first day care person. Then came the brief era of “change mind!” She'd walk around the house calling out, “change mind! change mind!” He liked the mention of “spare change.” That’s why we love them. Bob has just dropped his construction helmet … You could tell who was in or not in on the joke. There were the coughers, the whisperers. She got up once to look inside the piano, then sat down again. Soon, he was teaching less and less, and his students complained about him. Then -- and this was beautiful -- his friends (three or four or five of them) took over his classes until he had 10 years vested in the system, first while he was still in his apartment, then in a home. They would shop for him, do his taxes. And then he was gone to California, where his older sister had died of early onset Alzheimer’s, like their father. Alan had never made commitments to people, because he knew his DNA. But I bring this up because Alan was once trapped in the “It’s a Small World” ride at Disneyland for a very long time. There are not enough names for us, or there are too many, usually fractions, like half- or step-. We are the kids who don’t know about each other until there’s an odd early a.m. call or facebook post that suggests we might share a parent. Maybe that parent is assigned us by Harold Bloom. I often wish there had been more fugue states in my life; I mean, I like the way the internet imitates thought:
the the the and the as as of of assigned to and
on on and and of a of of and a also to
of of and of understanding of of and and of
the the to at opposite errata are the are
also and of which are added to a to a to
on and and and and and and and unidentified
and of and is annexed of of and of of in in
of of from of of from of a sand by by of and
the in and and and of life of of appeared in and
by of imprint with a section was the the was in
from of for and and and and a final subject of
to in into are confuted to an into of
[Note: Except as noted, a spin thru Ron Silliman’s links list: the letter G. The spin ends with a full stop. Then back to regularly-scheduled programming. Sources: Frances Kruk, PIN, untitled mini broadside from 2005, further squints (not Silliman); David W Pritchard, “Pastoral Elegy”, at [“IT’S TIME TO HOP TO THE BLUES.”], 24 Jan 015 (not Silliman); Jeannine Hall Gailey, “The Robot Scientist’s Daughter (in Films)”, at Jeannine Hall Gailey, 23 Jan 015; Susana Gardner, “Rough Springing Pig Cupids Forever Rooting Erotic Garbage in Alleys Near the Arno in Florence”, “Sonnet in which I steal all the words from your favorite poem in Rough Spring”, “(untitled sonnet)”, at Truck, 8 Jan 014; JBR; Bhanu Kapil, “Violet Light Streaming through Car Window After Acupuncture”, “Photograph of the Southall Water Tower”, at Was Jack Kerouac a Punjabi?, 22 & 24 Jan 015 (not Silliman); David Larsen, The Thorn, Andy Gricevitch, Myung Mi Kim, The Bounty, p. inman, at. least., quoted in Gricevitch, various posts, at Otherwise, 16 – 29 Apr 010. Del Ray Cross, “mmcccv”, at Anachronizms, 23 Jan 015; Anne Boyer, “It seems important to write …”, at Anne Boyer, 24 Jan 015; John Henley, “Greece’s solidarity movement: ‘it’s a whole new model – and it’s working’”, at The Guardian, 23 Jan 015; JBR; “3D printed …”, “just kidding …”, “I’ve wasted many years …”, at I Shall Destroy Everything Around Me That Prevents, 24 Jan 015; Simon Pettet (recapitalized etc by Google), quoted in Michael Lally, “Simon Pettet’s As A Bee”, at Lally’s Alley, 24 Jan 015; Vaughan Bell, “A misdiagnosis of trauma in Ancient Babylon”, at “Mind Hacks”, 24 Jan 015; Richard Barrett, “By Oxford Road station they sat down and wept”, in Hugz, at KFS; Susan M Schultz, “Conversations with John Gallaher’s _In a Landscape_”, at Tinfish Editor’s Blog, 24 Jan 015; J Crouse, Checklist, at KFS]
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