Zeitgeist Spam

FCF 87

For
instance: A
word of a

single
vowel could
become a circle

Two
vowels, a
rectangle     Three vowels,

a
triangle      Four
vowels, a square

Five
vowels, a
five-point star

Six
vowels, a
six-point star

and
so on…
Our noiseless angles

go
bent. We
eat our soup

at
a table
scattered with dead

ladybugs.
I can’t write
doorknob, or cell

phone,
without making
it sound as

if
I’m looking
for a church.

Cruise ships are delusional. Not the passengers, the ships themselves. This lambkin is sheared and encased in ice. The ice is encased in plexiglass. A bunch of wires … little grayish floaters in my visual field. But I would like to neglect such issues. I murder people for money, don’t you think?? “We” have surpassed post-modernism, leaving it behind, while embracing a new world philosophy, called ‘Fish Fry’, which is much more beneficial, in terms of the common chemistry of things coming apart--

you
know, that
friendly, social warmth,

the
toilet backed
up because it

had
to. Hold
out your hand.

Now
tighten the
muscles in your

forearm –
not a
lot, just enough

to
be aware
that it’s tensed.

Hold
it. Permanently.
You don’t notice

it
for a
while and then,

it
becomes just
an ache. After

a
couple of
days, it’s sore

and
after a
week or two,

it’s
not a
light tensing anymore,

it’s
a clench
and it lets

you
know all
the time how

much
it hurts.
And it travels.

It
starts to
ripple to the

rest
of you,
giving you jolts

of
electricity flashing
like lightning through

random
muscles: pain
that is almost

exquisite
in its
clarity and tone. Version:1.0 Start:0000000YesEnd:0000000NoStart:0000000YesEnd:0000000NoStartYes:0000000RunPermanent:0000 scale1234 5full-fledged hellhound I
began this bit

with
“Hold
out your hand.

Now
tighten the
muscles in your

forearm –
not a
lot, just enough

to
be aware
that it’s tensed.

Hold
it. Permanently.”
As if the

tensing
had ever
been optional. “In

reality, didn’t we fall by the wayside
in order to save God
from the trouble of saving people?”

No,
but I
know why you

think
so. I
was born in

a
year ending
0 or 1

so
I read
“Metal” -helps water but hinders wood; helped by earth but hindered by fire

he used to be totally dull-colored
because he came from the earth’s inside
now he has become a super-conductor
for cold words, hot pictures and light itself
       all being transmitted through his throat

one
large bruise
four inches below

right
knee inflicted
by old growth

stump
of western
red cedar, skat

pellets
the size
of Atomic Fireballs.

Right
about now
you must be

thinking,
“Is her
life an effin’

telenovela?
What do
you mean, Oh

Busy
Abogado, that
you have time

to
go down
to the garden

to
hack up
the rhubarb?!!!!”

my
mother, smiling
euphorically, smoothed the

aluminum
foil over
the pillow. When

it
rained, hours
into our long

journey
to America,
I saw citron-

yellow
flashes. I
reached my little

hand,
feeling his
muscles contract then

relax
as he
moved further out

into
the environment.
First thing today,

he
had his
blood drawn. The

animals
in this
village will have

no
dreams. She
believes her word-

bearing
matrix lies
in her underbelly.

What
I could
see of her

was
wrapped in
steam. What is

your
itinerary? How
long are you

staying?
The old
myths are wrestling

with
the new
myths, the new

myths
are mud
wrestling with surfers,

yogis,
and cyborgs.
The creamy nymphs

are
singing: Tra
la la.          Hee

hee,
ha ha
ha’s whirl like

microscopic
jewels ‘round
“algorithmic suburbs”. No

need
much for
words, whistling maybe,

or
whistling along,
it’s either

Aim
Straight and
Press Vaporize, or

what would happen if I just snipped
the sides of this enclosure? If I just refused

to cook myself today? No matter how doughy,
I know there’s blood inside.

[Note: Sources: I start with Drunken Boat 10, 4 sections, jumping around from section to section according to a “loose associational logic” (Robert Kelly), taking two items from one section, then two from another, etc. I intersperse bits taken from authors at Ron Silliman’s 13 Jul 09 Recently Arrived list, attempting if possible to intersperse between Drunken Boat sections. The 1st of a series? I begin with mis/Translations, taken in reverse order. George Orrimbe, “Vocalo-coloriste Portraiture”; Michel Clavel “Traduction Homographique (Français / Anglais)”. Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno , “Ladybugs”, at Alice James Books (Silliman); Over to Poetics, again in reverse order. Corey Zeller, “Dissolving Over Steel Railings, Un-Drawn Windows, the Language below Bridges, in Advent”; Joseph Woods, “Mobile, Late April”. Juliet Cook, “Sieve”, “Ghost Teeth”, Letizia Merello, self-description, at Turntable & Blue Light (Silliman). On to Greatest Hits, starting with issue 1. Jennifer Coates, “Consistency”; Patrick Donnelly, “Dust”. Cheryl Dumesnil, “Don’t Ask Me”, at The Cortland Review. Lene Anderson, “Like Glass” (a description of fibromyalgia pain K sent me, to give me a sense of what she lives with every day). On to Arts in Asia, reverse order again: Can Yücel, “Poem Forty-Four” (tr. Talât Sait Halman); Changming Yuan, “Chinese Chimes: Science or Superstition: The Ancient Theory of the Five Elements Accounts for Us All”. Alison Hawthorne Deming, “SPECIMENS COLLECTED AT THE CLEAR CUT”, from “The Andrews Forest Quartet”, at Alison Hawthorne Deming.com (Silliman). From here on I intersperse 6 bits from Eileen Tabios’ new arrivals list, 11 Jul 09, “He Hacked Up the Rhubarb!...?...!”. 8 Drunken Boat bits plus 6 Chatelaine new arrival bits = a sonnet. Well, that was the plan … Eileen Tabios; David Buuck, Ruts; Bhanu Kapil, “19. SOFT CRAZINESS: VISUAL MEMORIES, POST-OP”, at J’s Theater; Sasha Steensen, “Wintery Weather and Job Slaughter”, at Starting Today: poems for the first 100 days; Eric Baus, “A Scared Text”, “The Tranquilized Tongue”, at Fascicle 1; Filip Marinovich, “Honorable One”, at Eoagh 3; blurb for Elizabeth Marie Young, Aim Straight and Press Vaporize, and Young herself, as quoted by Ange Mlinko, “Two Chapbooks”, at Harriet; Keith Tuma, “’till mute attention Struck my listning Ear”, at Jacket 26]

FCF 86

pli
selon pli
all the way

to
the horizon …
far/slash/not-

so-
far, surf’s
up, no respect

for
persons …
the sound of

many
atoms the
color of drums …

the
sun which
goes crazy instead

of
down … a
dictionary arranged not

alphabetically
but from
heaven to earth …

from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 63 / on styroform floatation devices /
foaming frothy and bombastic? / slang in /
neon wild / Lou Reed /
blue note brass frog burps /

many of you have read vasari’s lives of the artists           it is a very funny and loveable book          and in it          three times he tells a story          there is a          road and a child sitting by the roadside drawing on a stone           and each time it happens that a famous man           some great artist is traveling on this road          well he passes by the little boy and by chance observes what the child is drawing          it happens to be a perfect circle          a tête d’otage           two eyes

in
each eye.
A nose. A

mouth.

1.

The wind blows your hat off

And your head off, too

2.

Sometimes I’m a being who sleeps

And sometimes someone having a conversation with someone

3.

We have been washed by the primary substance

It has fallen onto our war

4.

Here people are accustomed to the laughter that begins at dawn

The intricate ways of which are just like fear, that natural phenomenon

5.

Doesn’t this piss you off

This numb drop that slowly bleeds like the hole in my cheek or the stone that holds up the world?

6.

The shadow whip-cracks the entire town

“Ask an obvious question, get any obvious answer” or so the saying says, or so the saying does

7.

The midnight sun is larger than the bridge

That is large enough to carry astonishment across an abyss

8.

The sea erases

The letter appears

9.

The crowd exterminated in the doorways still wants to know what we want to know

Demands that we come down and talk

10.

I put my warm ear to the brokenness, an echo rises

I hold my money out to the man with the knife

11.

You nail yourself to the earth with a nail's compassion

To stop believing in reality. To begin believing in it

A green
sky behind my

head.
(       ). (       ).
The centre of

town
awakes lentement.
Les cars which

cross
the streets
at speed show

that
people still
live by fear

of
the bombardments.
But all is

held
as if
the war were

a
history that
we were told

when
we were
children. A green

sky
to match
my green glasses.

Anyone,
she said,
had become her

favorite
pronoun. That
was how I

remembered
it. How
a senseless rock

suddenly
had eyes,
the stupid world

looking
at you,
it made a

claim,
had the
prior claim, had

been
there longer,
was not anything

like
you, except
in the eyes,

so
long boys,
it said, I’m

on
my way
to California. The

molten
metal cooled
and was beaten

into
brittle rattles,
while the little

children
prattled to
the kitten and

the
rattlesnake battled
with a turtle.

O
onion, you
make us cry

sin
afligornos.
You are clear

as
a planet
and destined to

shine.
I don’t
think it can’t.

Seven
seven seven.
I don’t think

it
can’t. Seven
seven seven. Seven

seven
seven. We’re
only in love’s

straits /
All hope
we’ll get thru

this
with exactitude
and dignity, we

don’t,
but with
bravery we shuttle,

and return. Next day take the oak leaf from the book and bite a chunk off and keep it in your mouth. Find a recording of wolves howling from natural recordings, or even a recording you made yourself of friends howling. But if you make the recording, direct your friends to a Rallying Howl, then a Defensive Howl; let them decide what that means. Listen to the recording on headphones and go outside chewing your leaf, keeping the book on you, in a bag, under your arm, between your ass cheeks, it’s up to you. Walk where there are people, walk where you can find THE MOST people. Keep chewing with the howling while studying faces and arms, studying how they move with one another, move around one another. Take notes, take as many notes as you can. When you’re tired of chewing your leaf move it between your teeth and gums, but don’t spit, swallow, don’t spit. Remember that this leaf has been soaked in the book while you were dreaming. This isn’t about appropriating text, it's about text absorption:

a
bottle of
warping formula.

Lift
the hazard.
Tune down by

fifths.
Lucretius warns:
‘Better the swan’s

brief
song than
the cry of

cranes /
Spread by
the south wind

through
the clouds
on high,’ (twice),

so
that any
return to what

you
thought was
home has already,

well,

_____________________________ (try saying that out loud)

opening any small orifice or enclosure of the self – be it ear or mouth or tightly clenched fist, asshole,

In sweetness
In solitude
The peace of chaff
A spice
Fetching potential

To ascertain
Of death
Wasting against a
      batch

In bliss
To grow

A right of orchards
At a sudden color

What are we to make of this window, banners, discourses, men, the waking
           ears, like immortal fields?
What are we to make of this drawer, like a round angel?
What are we to make of this face, ticked as fear?

Must we be a record?
May we be a cup?
Must we be a great line of poetry?
(“Everything in the world to do. I must be lying already. And the sacred is
           sacred.”)

Is this red then, this celestial strife?
Is that wilderness then, that amber hurry?
Is that air then, that young old old?

What did our hair do until it picked us?
What did our throat do before it heard us?

What did our hand do until it suited us?
What did our rib do before it defeated us?
What did our finger do before it heard us?
What did our face do until it thought us?

What are we to make of this brow, newer than a winter?
What are we to make of this verb, astonished as a friend?
What are we to make of this ecstasy, our arms simple with news?
What are we to make of this bough, newer than an ecstasy?

When I say “bless” I mean a cat blesses the shaft of light that enters a room by sleeping in it.

Passing near the black hole
in a civil war ahead of the traffic
“hiding jokes in mud bricks” and “listening watching waiting”
I would be eight people with the rib-cage of an elephant.

Stick a tester in it.
Is it ready?

A?
B?
C?
D?
E?
F?
G?
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

The passive ornate—of temperature—is half-stone—is delta—tone measure—of
crystal—ruby lost—a toilet mechanism—sounds like—whistle—or
where
to just reside—

The passage is wide
open
to the solar
system.

It’s vowel time now and
the jury sweeps by in a cause and effect maneuver –
imagine all the filth of time
the bones that have been crushed in machines by machines or become
machines …

Cupids and Bacchus
           Have given me carpet burns …

Someone was silent, and we wonder whose voice it had been.
              A. indefinite / relative / relative
              B. indefinite / personal / personal
              C. definite / personal / personal
              D. indefinite / personal / personal …

… the UN Convention against Torture and the US revisions of and exceptions to that convention, a dictionary of non-lethal weapons terms and references, the report reviewing Department of Defense detention operations, technical works on game theory and strategy, declassified White House memos, transcripts from animated video games, Emily Dickinson’s poem “Split the lark,” the song “The Big Rock Candy Mountains,” and Louis Zukofsky’s “A” …

icons
& the toxic halos
licked
all over like a stamp, my every garbage at
the actual border,
making it, making it over, taking up the slack.

The bottle broke in your bag & you're
getting flammable, very flammable.

No special name.

            Your name here.

wwww lllluuu kkkhhhaaa.

An equivalent stretch of sand
or an equivalent stretch of sand
a definition of sand
the hair on your balls or if you’re too busy for balls
the tears like elves

Shiva Elijah Delphi achara Bruna leche flan Lama Vegas tidal volta destitute Alma then to write, in chalk, the final result, on the slate flagstones of the park,

Faint carvings base the moon, moonfaced seashell, cottontail, wind. loose pyjama
ship’sprow, little empire, little amusement drawer, the no-it’s-not banquet, the
carousel’spull. no, we are not accidents
of long ago, the tongues made
of tiny little tongues, call monsters to the walls.

When you sleep you miss / the courtesy service dream
where there was first aid
but no Inspector, an

Out of Office AutoReply: If you drop the weapon maybe. --------- -------------------. A

look on the child’s face as if running through a trashy jungle with her tiny broken penis out. That’s

true, you could hang your hat on the wind, and when you opened your mouth it was like True or false: I LIKED THOSE PEOPLE, EVEN THE MOST HATEFUL AMONG THEM. This

is not the “Oh!” of Eureka! but the “O” of a

vocative.                                         But the thing

that worries me most

                                             is that even in this neighborhood

if you wave to someone

                                                       they don’t wave back

                                                                                           …

What are they thinking?

                                                         Are they scared?

                                                                                                 Scared of

waving people? An

acre of soil might contain 130 pounds each of algae and protozoa, 890 lbs. of insects, nearly 900 pounds of earthworms and about 2,000 pounds each of bacteria and fungi as well as … mega processes … the soil is charged I say, with iron, so you might have tasted its slightly bloody meat flavor. ‘Thought

is in the mouth’ wrote Tristan Tzara. There’s Leonardo’s dream, one he dreamt when an infant and recorded in his notebooks and which is recounted by Freud in his ‘psychobiography’ of the artist. A bird – a kite – flies in through the window, into the bedroom where he Leonardo sleeping, and it thrusts its tail into his mouth. Otherness of ‘I’, sky bursting in on him through the medium of this bird. Is this consciousness, as if it were something out there? Flight bursts into a room and is trapped here. Leonardo’s dream – you could interpret it as something exciting; mouth-flights, flights

of, flights of, flights of, flights of, prayers that leave tears in their objects of devotion, loosening, overlapping, frbrloping [huh?] an intimate proximity other

than. The same thing applies to the other who enlightens us, notably through desire, as is the case for the

sun, the “forming

blank”: if you want to know what you look like stick your face in the blind mirror and feel the mirror with your

face. Is there water in water? “Once you try to embrace an absolute geometric circle the naked loss stays with you like a picture echoing.” Here’s

a “funny story”: When I was alive I would type like this     the three fingers of the right hand

and the two of the left     or hold a pear     thus     or

take the skin off a cucumber with a device in the right hand and the pleasure

of the [illegible]

flesh             “what feeds me to ashes”              “it’s a little scraped up and it has a lot of”              the tree collects moisture in this case rain sweat blood urine stinging eyes open she------random not random from the closest

[…]

------of an age to------
opening eyes------from

[…]

fur yanked off

But how might one consider

these works? I want to

begin with the photograph opposite.

On the left a torn

scrap of orange foam sits

upon a slanted strip of

wood, a smoking cigarette at

its end, the wood lying

across the cut upturned base

of a plastic bottle (that

was previously used to store

paintbrushes, it would seem) which

in turn is angled upon

the shaft of a hammer

the metal head now acting

like a pair of splayed

feet. In the middle a

russet pear has been placed

upside down in the neck

of a cardboard tube, a

bottle-top for its crown,

while rusted metal tubing sweeps

down, a strip of wire

hooked to its end, across

which is stretched a paint-

stained yellow rubber glove. To

the right, the metal tube

rests on the toe of

a dusty blue shoe that

stands back on its heel,

another lit cigarette here held

nonchalantly in its laces, as

if on a bottom lip

in consequence, of affinity, through proximity

one November I began to glow. Blank space peopled with empty shapes

gold pailletes of stars to die for

“lyric valuables” shot thru with the square hole of [I don’t know] in the center of each video still

“ … bite your own teeth … ”

glimmer of oh

_____________________________ (try saying that out loud)

opening any small orifice or enclosure of the self – be it ear or mouth or tightly clenched fist, asshole.

OK. in consequence, of affinity, through proximity

one November I began to glow. Blank space peopled with empty shapes

gold pailletes of stars to die for

“lyric valuables” shot thru with the square hole of [I don’t know] in the center of each video still

“ … bite your own teeth … ”

glimmer of oh …

between
roses and
shadows … the same

story
the crow
told me … the

only one I know …

pli
selon pli …
fold upon fold …

[Note: Two of the inserted bits from Autopoiesis (XXXV, 2.11) are for Jen Hofer. Sources: Harry Gilonis, “mountain divide”, “fragrant temples”, “chinese sonnet”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Rosmarie Waldrop, “Steps in Integration”, “Evening Sun”, in American Hybrid (eds. Cole Swensen and David St John); anonymous, “An Anecdoted Topography Of [Eleni Sikelianos’] The California Poem”, at onedit; anonymous, “On Ryan Gallagher’s Plum Smash and Other Flashbulbs”, at onedit; David Antin, “remembering [/] recording [/] representing”, in talking at the boundaries; JBR, “Otages (Coda)”, in Otages; JBR, “Autopoiesis XXXV”; Beverly Dahlen, A Reading, “Two”, “Five”; Lyn Hejinian, My Life in the Nineties; Pablo Neruda, “Ode to the Onion” (tr unknown); Heof Huth, “And Water for Thirst”, 49 Pentecostsm. 7, in Visual [/] Verbal [/] Vocal; Bernadette Mayer, “To Admiral Scott About Space”, in Scarlet Tanager; CA Conrad, “(Somatic) Poetry Exercises TWO: Oakenwolf”, at mark(s); Elizabeth Robinson, “As Betokening”, in Harrow; Robert Sheppard, The Anti-Orpheus: a notebook; Jean Vengua, “Home”, in Prau; JBR, Autopoiesis 2.7, 2.9, 2.10, 2.11, Cy Twombly: Cycles and Seasons (ed. Nicholas Serota); Grateful Dead, “Uncle John’s Band”]

Why I Love LA

From an AP story on Yahoo brought to my attention by Omo Bob: "The [Jackson] family was expected to hold a private funeral at some point at Forest Lawn Cemetery Los Angeles. No public funeral procession through city streets was scheduled, and it was not known whether Jackson's body would be at the Staples Center memorial. In a symbolic convergence of events, however, the circus will be there. Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey starts a run at Staples Center on Wednesday. In the predawn hours before Jackson's memorial, the elephants will walk from the train station to the arena."

FCF 85

Which
is to
hold out in

the
spilled entrails.
The sun pummels

the
River God.*                            *God is the name not the god of the river.
No, it sucks

at
it. It
sucks its head.

It
bangs the
body. The tongue

in
your throat,
you find, is

not
your own,
just a copy,

that’s
a really
funny joke, blown

like
dampness from
my little room.

Solar
systems, as
bound objects, are

never
fully available.
In astronomy, that

black
drapery of
the stars, deep

in
the curve
of my heart,

as
if the
sea weren’t underneath.

I
do the
math for fresh

water.
Spirals are
for pleasure. In

the
cult of
what would happen

if
we had
choices, would we

know
it? Now
let’s draw some

circles
big ones
small         overlappin            til

I
get pretty
damn lost. Je

suis
né comme
le rocher, avec

la
respiration aggressive.
I was born

like
the rock,
with my wounds.

From
birth I
have had an

aggressive
breathing. My
nervous breakdown is

immensely
boring. You
are the one

I
want beside
me in the

vehicle,
our hands
on each other’s

knees,
shouting our
heads off to

the
music recorded
on this obsolete

medium.
I want
to think more

(way
more) like
X X who

moved
outside his
preandproscribed canvas out

of
necessity, tho
I don’t even

know
what necessity
means. His focus

just
went past
the corners. X

X
sat there
for a very

long
time. Sitting
for a long

time
doesn’t appeal,
either, whelping stars

gentle
chains wind-
blown plastic scraps,

baroque
confusions, underlining
the star-lit

crates,
escaping into
skunk huts, broken …

The
point enters
spilling its message.

Is
this a
case of “the

foal
not shying
from the hand

that
gelded it”?
Suddenly I understand

why
they left
the empty bowls

on
the table,
in the empty

hut
overlooking the
sea. Suddenly I

understand
why they
left the empty

sea
on the
table, in the

empty
bowls overlooking
the table. Suddenly

I
understand why
they left the

empty
hut on
the table,

in
the empty
sea overlooking the

bowls.
Suddenly I
understand why they

left
the empty
sea on the

sea,
in the
sea overlooking the

sea. Suddenly
circa 1960
something about the

future
makes the
past go — no! —

Disinterring utopian scenes like this one, it all contracts a rather brackish taste I’ve grown to love. We were unwinding into looting the blank debris our forms so endlessly fulfill, nursing on spectacular slaughter. But it didn’t take long before we emerged, together again, from a hole blast thru the audio feed,

folded into yourself
how hard you are working on sleeping

folded into myself
how hard I am working on sleeping

folded into ourselves
how hard we are working on sleeping

·                        “What am I

· doing in this abstraction as if

· it were my experience

· and I were just an activity

· of time trying to make itself clear?”

Inside
of grace
the number of

my
friends increased
and joy wove

stories
of impossible
loves. Inside of

grace
the poor
tormented the rich

and
the hat
was lifted in

an
act of
pure gratitude. Inside

of
grace the
passing bird shat

on
the furniture.
Inside of grace

the
plane passed
over Albuquerque and

tho
they’d served
the meal and

shown
the film
there were still

two
hours to
go. My wings

are
yes and
a half meters

wide.
I’m sexual.
They cut my

flesh
aggressively. From
Persia I march

to
India and
back. I lean

on
my elbows
on warm stones.

(“My
bloody is
completely cheese”).

is what I have
a PRE-EXISTING
condition?

when is the LAST
TIME I had sexual
intercourse?

I
WENT TO
a DISPUTED REGION

the
DISPUTED REGION
via brain sucked

thru
nose straw
into canopic jar.

Though as I
say that
I know it’s

what
I’ve said
each time I’ve

arrived
at this
precise moment, before

I
pause then
notice a tribe

of
red ants
stuck like dried

cranberry
bits in
thin cracks in

the
oak bark.
To go on,

at
that point,
always seems an

inadequate
description of
what it is

we
do when
Brahma wakes. On

the
run, the
body wobbles. Sitting

still,
the planet
shakes. Fort … da …

[Note: For Alan, Tom and Geof. Sources: Ron Silliman’s new arrivals list, posted 1 Jul 09. Marie Buck, “List in the Window from the World”, “Bitumen”, “Hunt the Thief”, at La Petite Zine; Amy Catanzano, Starlight in Two Million: A Neo-Scientific Novella, at Tarpaulin Sky; Joel Chace, “in the kingdom of the American Way”, at Three Candles; René Char, as quoted in Mary Ann Caws, “René Char - Resistance in Every Way”, at The Brooklyn Rail; Jordan Davis, “The Facility Finder”, at Shampoo 34; Olena Kaltiak Davis, “That Which I Should Have Done I Did Not Do”, at Harriet; Brad Flis, “Screams and Permutations”, at Milk Magazine; Celia Gilbert, “September, Running With Birds”, at Ploughshares; Kevin Goodan, “Untitled”, at Alice James Books; Linda Gregg, “Now I Understand”, at Poets.org; Rob Halpern, “D I S A S T E R L Y R I C”, “D I S A S T E R L Y R I C”, “from Music for Porn”, at Eoagh; I skipped Serkan Işin, a visual poet, from whom I’d have to steal everything or nothing (that’s one of the interesting things about vispo; how to sample?); Ruth Lepson, untitled, at Moria; Paul Pines, “#6” at PaulPines.com; Amelia Rosselli, from War Variations (trs. Lucia Re and Paul Vangelisti), at The PIP Blog; Tomaž Šalamun, “Kestrel, Buzzard, Hawk, Falcon, Buzzard” (trs. Thomas Kane and Tomaž Šalamun), at Melancholia’s Tremulous Dreadlocks; Rachel M Simon, as quoted in blurb for her Theory of Orange, at Pavement Saw Press; Stacy Szymaszek, There Were Hostilities, hyper glossia, at Boston Review; Gail Wronsky, “Go On, Sure, Why Not”, at Verse Daily; Deborah Woodard, “Sanka Mnemonic”, at La Petite Zine]

FCF 84

“Enter
the ghost,
exit the ghost,

re-
enter the
ghost.” Hamlet resembles

an
axiom, more
precisely an axiom

concerning
axiomatics. Sybillant
monsters in paisley

come –
the way
a copier spews

page
after page
with a single

line
of symbols
across the top

unstoppable
argh no
matter how many

times
you hit
CANCEL PRINT JOB.

Ooo-
eee-ooo.
I have seen

the
future in
those symbols all

4told …

I
saw a
mighty messiah or

satan
or tempter
was formerly thought

one
of making
the fun scene.

While
the lily
white shall in

love
delight, all
was as empty

as
the upper
sky! (grave the

sentence
deep) All
was as empty

as
the narrow
chinks of his

cavern.
It gives
that same grunty

body
feeling. “ALL
THINGS ARE INTENDED

FOR
OTHER PURPOSES
THAN THOSE FOR

WHICH
WE USE
THEM.” “We breathe and

we
fill up
with air and

that’s
like a
commitment only no

it’s
not, because
we exhale right

away,”
an ailment
not to be

treated
except with
anagrammatic homeopathies sibilant

whispers
which cure
our injured declarations

of
love by
transmuting a language

that
otherwise falsifies
us into wholeness

and
pretends to
fix us. Hyperglossia

is
the critical
form disruption takes

to
interrupt the
regime. I was

pre-
Pandoran once,
clear & amok,

scarlet free where scarcely
                              orange or purple.

It is vital to remember that theory chases after the substantiated self. Theory relies on vicarious molecular charge from living tissue.

Input
output—surges
networks with zeros

and
ones. Production
paradigms infiltrate and

totalize
ecologies which
makes for one

compressed
top-down
world saturated of

itself—
in the
process of poisoning

both
internally and
externally, razing to

the
point of
no return, gutting. …

If
only one
could cough up

the
toxicity, the
amusing hat shaped

like
a spongemonkey.
spongemonkeys are the

crazy
things from
the Quizno’s commercials.

Originated
in the
internet cartoon “we

like
the moon,”
which was created

by
Joel Veitch,
my future husband,

though
he doesn’t
know it yet.

You
can see
the original cartoon

at
www.rathergood.com/moon_song/ Damn
Joel, do the

spongemonkeys
have to
watch us get

it
on again?
Do they have

to
ogle our
supersonic polysemic flambé?

In any event, it seems safe to say that the autonomic nervous system hasn’t befitted us since the forming of the new rind of neocortex. She came from the mountains, killing zombies at will. Some people cried, “But that was cool!” and I could only whisper “we should NOT be killing zombies!” . . . Hate and love — if those are the options

1.
The cloud
is green / His

hand
is light /
When I speak

of
skin I
speak of the

largest
organ. 2.
Exposure / Stripped to

the
invisible / Her
hair brushes the

sidewalk
where all
is dusk. 3.

A
blank wall
is singing / Influencing

future
reality / Because
hair pores function

like
radar. 4.
Spring is in

the
paper dress /
You are exposed /

And
have become
radioactive. 5. Grapes

on
the moon /
Curl up / He

emerges
wet, noting
the difference between

touch
and immersion.
6. Nine minus

seven
equals two /
This is all

we
want today /
happy murk, flagrant

disturbativity.

In Case of a Semiotic Emergency:

1) See well enough to read so that you
can register signals given by textual
particulars ie the syntagms,
textemes, orthography, paginal
markings, as well as the framed
spaces between. Remember to also
look outside the text (if there is
anything outside of text), for such
dangers such as smoke, fire or
water which would make
the text “unusable”. If necessary,
you can wear glasses or contact
lenses.
2) Hear well enough to understand the
secrets of the text. You can use a
hearing aid, though it may not help.
3) Speak well enough to give
information to the text itself, in fact
to all the graphematic clusters
during a semiotic emergency.
4) Be able to use both hands, both
arms and both legs as well as be
strong and flexible enough to
quickly open the text and go out
through it. Be able to embrace the
obstructions, intrusions.
5) Be willing to help other readers
towards higher planes, plateaus of
meaning.
6) You can be of any age, race,
gender, of any socio-economic
background. It is recommended
however, that this productivity will
be most effective to those who
acknowledge themselves as an
aporitic intersubjective agency of
calculation, negotiation and
interrogation, a decentered
sensorium that inherently questions
the cultural logic of late capitalism.
7) Be with no one that requires your
care so you can directly and
intimately merge with the letters,
their physical and material forces;
feel them in your mouth and on your
tongue, down your throat and in
your blood.

Yours truly,

The
Diplomat writes
in dolce, the

Administrator
in E-
flat. “Do you

remember
the importance
of bone for

rosaceous
growth?” “Have
you sought the

remedy
of flower
petals in Ayurveda?”

Civil
societies agree
that voices expressing

pain
do not,
at certain times,

matter.
The wheelchair-
bound body searches

for
the push-
button door and

ramp.
This body
is sent, often,

on
a circuitous
route. I learn

something
every day
about Shady Cartography.

The
point is
not to seek

a
cure for
the problem but

to
learn how
to benefit from

the
*high* the
pathogens engender as

a
consequence or
side effect of

the
disease. in
the chaos of

the
now -- or
as Benjamin called

it,
JESTZEIT, the
nowtime, the time

that
must be
recovered in a

flash
in a
moment of danger,

--What
just fell
on my smartness

on
my mind?
A critique is

not
a matter
of saying that

things
are not
right as they

are.
It is
a matter of

pointing
out on
what kind of

assumptions,
what kind
of familiar, unchallenged,

unconsidered
modes of
thought the practices

that
we accept
rest … Criticism is

a
matter of
flushing out that

thought
and trying
to change it:

to
show that
things are not

as
self-evident
as one believed,

to
see that
what is accepted

as
self-evident
will no longer

be
accepted as
such. Meanwhile, it

would
be absurd
to try to

decide
whether we
are living through

a
long parenthesis
or whether History

crawls out of itself anew over a succession of nights spent working on it.

A
bracket bloodies
your hand. A

last-
season bracket
blackens. Below the

surface,
heat rushes
through the ground.

The
basement of
the library contains

the
letters A
and B and

C
and Z
and squads of

microfilm-
reading gobots.
I started my

day
with acupuncturist’s
tea and ended

it
with water.
I boarded a

connector
flight but,
before that, I

put
my shoes
in a bin

and
noticed they
didn’t match. Everyone

puts
their shoes
in a bin.

When
“In the
future, bright colors

will
give some
clues” was written,

the
author must
have believed a

future
was given.
Or at least

pretended to believe.
A sore
throat makes good

pillow
stuffing. All
languages are derived

from
grounded rhino
horns. Using rich

dark
soil &
pompous feathers in

mayhem's
hat. Are
we really so

helpless?

(1) Damn I hate speech!
(4) I hate text
(3) I hate both your asses

                    -Rodrigo Toscano, “TRUAX INIMICAL”, 3

            … and lacking a better verb I promote
this inauthenticity …

                    -Lisa Robertson, “First Spontaneous Horizontal Restaurant”

… this simulacrum of “ambient language” …

                    -cf Edwin Torres re “ambient language”

This

“… in spite of us.”

                    -Babette E Babich, Words In Blood, Like Flowers: Philosophy and
                     Poetry, Music and Eros in Hölderlin, Nietzsche, and Heidegger

“trees
are made
of light and

water....
waves explore
the domain of

a
source. radio
is the same.

Heat
and light
are the same.

zero
produces both
negative and positive

infinity....
certain precepts
grow fat.” “But

when
you do
spend time staring

[at
a pebble,
for instance] it’s

instantly
apparent that
we are not

only
surrounded by
our writing (and

what
we’re told the

writing
means), but
there are fewer

places
to go
to retreat from

it.
What started
as cave drawings

has
yet to
cease and we

have
tagged everything

around
us.” [Cf
the weirdness of

the
de-languaged
photos by Thomas

Demand] “(Stopped in traffic, waiting for the light to change - you find a logo. These people exploit our ability to stare. They tap into our personal time, the time yre not doing anything, that special disconnected to immediacy time. Meaning loses hierarchy when what yre looking at doesn’t matter, when it begins to alter without constraint, when it enters a tunnel and exits elsewhere.)”

O doctors, brokers        & other parfumists of

current operating procedures

offering several different formulae
of eau de brutal and normal

& of all the immortality.pouches
this the barest.the thinnest:

[go to: humansuffering.com
[link to: efficientmethodsof.
[clickon: oneminutecontributiontothecause
of.deathrampage.comfortzone.avoidance.mechanisms: then

mapquesttheentireglobe

for some kind of permeable mutual
diagram in which the edge of one center becomes the center of

…##~~!!!. )))____! ! ! ………..______________

(emblemata;
deconstructi sembalm)
(emblemata; deconstructi sembalm)

(emblemata;
deconstructi sembalm)
(emblemata; deconstructi sembalm)

(emblemata;
deconstructi sembalm)
Out there is

sunsetted
a low-
wattage glow to

backlight
the active
to give the

stuff
I want
to be disoriented

by
a slow
bow. It’s getting

on
time to
pick up the

drycleaning
and gas
up the vehicle.

If one saves a butterfly, has one saved the world?

Rabbi says: If one saves one butterfly, even with long wings,
one butterfly that has fallen into water, it may be said
“He has saved the whole world.”

It
may be
said. What are

questions
now? Are
the dead permitted

to … ?
Rabbi was
silent a while

seemed
troubled. It
may have been

the
next night,
even, that the

dream
was dreamt
of the weak

messianic
power, the
lost necessary squeal.

[Note: Sources: Jacques Derrida, quoting Hamlet, and Derrida himself, in Specters of Marx (tr. Peggy Kamuf); Edwin Torres, “What Is Altogether Ordinary”, in The PoPedology of an Ambient Language; spam emails rec’d 28 Jun 09; Eileen Myles, “Paul Lee’s Piracy”, in The Importance Of Being Iceland; André Breton, as quoted in Eckhard Schneider, “For Eternity”, in Jeff Koons (ed. Hans Werner Holzwarth); Jeff Koons, as quoted in Ingrid Sischy, “Jeff Koons’ World”, in Holzwarth; Rob Halpern, on Stacy Szymaszek's Hyperglossia; Jennifer Scappettone, “da s” - both the Szymaszek and the Scappettone were found at the Litmus Press website. Back to Critiphoria.The last in a series of 3. Brenda Iijima, “METAMORPHIC MORPHOLOGY MEETING IN LANGUAGE: P as in Poetry, Poetry Rhetorical for the Election Season”; Urban Dictionary; Adeena Karasick, "Reader Safety Information Care and Use Guide: Criteria for Readers”; Robert Kocik, “POETRY MAY TAKE ANY SUBSTRATE (including poetry)”; Here I abandon Critiphoria. No, I don't. I cherry-pick. And mix with and. Drew Gardner, “Why I hate Flarf So Much”, as quoted in Sharon Mesmer, “Flarf Is in POETRY and So Am I”, at Virgin Formica, 23 Jun 09; JBR, “Autopoiesis CXLIII”; Pat Clifford & Aryanil Mukherjee, chaturangik/SQUARES: A chessbook of collaborative poetry, as seen via Charles Bernstein; Jill Magi, “Stutter and Segment from COMPASS & HEM / Lyrics and Notes from My Body Project”; Stephen Walter’s map of London, about which I learn in an email from Jared Schickling, 28 Jun 09; Scott Malby, “Miss Translation”; Fil Marinovich, “The Typewriter Portrait”; Michel Foucault, “Practising Criticism”, as quoted in Mrinalini Greedharry, Postcolonial Theory and Psychoanalysis; Meanwhile … parenthesis or: Cornelius Castoriadis, “The Retreat From Autonomy: Postmodernism as Generalized Conformism”, in World in Fragments (tr. David Ames Curtis); Marty Northrop, prefatory (italicized) bit before “Forty Daises”, “Guerre True Destine, or By Any Other Name”; JoAnna Novak, “Rivers and Tides”, “Inland Empire”; Maurice Oliver, “CONCLUSIVE EVIDENCE’S CONCAVE FACE”, “Scaly Fins.Aquatic.Infinite.”; Nikos Vassilakis, as quoted in Nick Piombino, “THE SHAPE OF THOUGHTS TO COME”; Evelyn Reilly, “PERMEABLE MUTUAL DIAGRAM”; Eric Rzepka, “stamatakis mutt [[[[[ oir”, “quarles and pere-zuleika”; Frank Sherlock, “Over Here”; David Shapiro, “Song for Chaim”, “The Dead Will Not Praise You”, “Walter Benjamin: A Lost Poem”]

FCF 83

That
would be
nice if it

were
true. That
would be nice

if
it were
false. I read

somewhere
(Calvet’s biography?)
that Barthes ate

like
a wolf.
What is the

part
of all
your thinking and

all
your ways
of looking at

things
and doing
things that is

not
to a
decisive degree conditioned

and
codetermined by
the structure and

the
meaning of
your language, the

organization
of the
world it carries

with
it, your
first family environment,

all
the “do”s
and “don’t”s to

which
you have
been constantly exposed,

the
friends you
have, the opinions

in
circulation, the
ways forced on

you
by the
innumerable artifacts that

surround
you, and
so on? If

you
can in
all sincerity truly

answer,
“About 1
percent,” you are

certainly
the most
original thinker ever

to
have lived.
It is certainly

not
our merit
(or demerit) if

we
do not
“see” a nymph

inhabiting
every tree
or every fountain.

A
pair of
bright red shoes

lies
on the
sill. The other

window
is never
open, but frames

a
cactus in
an earthenware bowl.

Somewhere
in the
room is a

wooden
tomato. All
the Aliens stir

the
Tang. I’m
a stranger in

this
world. Seven
Jewish mystics sat

upon
a bench.
Suddenly they were

no
longer mystical.
A Haitian slave

is
inexpensive, and
easily available. (Did

you
know they
give dogs the

same
medication for
seizures as people?)

Answer
to question
from the audience:

The
salesman works
on commission and

he
needs to
get back to

the
business of
seizing neurons from

those
who dream
of being a

body
while the
body dreams of

having
a soul.
The televised voice

is
fluttering.
The dreamwork is

a
laugh a
minute. There’s a

riot
going on.
The eye, at

the
summit of
the skull, opening

onto
the sun
in order to

contemplate
it in
solitude, opens

and
blinds itself,
and thus it

plays
the role
of a fire

in
a house;
the head, instead

of
locking up
life as money

is
locked in
a safe, spends

it
without counting.
On her deathbed,

my
friend’s mother
hailed a taxi.

My
uncle said
his boat was

here,
and a
friend got ready

to
push her
empty grocery cart

down
the supermarket
aisle. Once, during

my
misspent days
in London, while

visiting
a friend
in a clinic,

I
saw a
rubber stamp on

the
admissions desk
reading “Psychosexual Problem.”

The
attendant turned
around and like

a
fool I
didn’t pick it

up
and glorify
my self. Yet

angels
perceive the
foliage of trees

as
roots drinking
from heaven. Some

clip
art looks
best in the

rain,
some rain
looks best in

situ.
Clip art
is both a

wave
and a
particle. Creation has

gone
terribly awry;
the divine sparks

have
broken through
their vessels and

plunged
into the
darkness of the

world;
the divine
sparks are absolutely

postcolonial.
The Essex
Street fish seller

plucked
up the
iced bright fish

by
the teeth
with two fingers

and
said: “White
fish.” This cap

is
a large
cap crocheted by

my
friend which
I try to

make
look like
it’s a rapper’s

hat
but really
it’s worn for

reasons
entirely like
spiritual. [Out of

desperation
and confusion,
he walketh upon

the
ground and
eateth the bitter

melon,
and [tho
he wears a

big
hat] he
refuseth to

build
a cocoon.]
Sing: I’ve sleeping

for
a book, —
serenely desert, and

I’m,
with the
sands in sleep,

the
sands, in
sleep, and in

sleep
I’m sand
with the sands

piled
upon my
breast, I’ll be

repeated
with each
wave — with each

long-
lulled read-
through * **

[[* = circled or boxed
** = crossed out with a diagonal]]

Again the text speech is written in a different style, one that is intended for direct public address, one that puts the words of the TEXT into the mouth of a designated, or presumed, speaker.

The
speaker’s like
an insane child

who's
been chased
from home by

the
entire family.
Where’s that bass??

My kingdom for one of those loudspeaker cars, rigged with bullhorns,
That I might drive it through Chicago, Dallas and D.C., its fat Bakelite
Microphone an apple in my trembling hand, bump       ba bump bump

Hung
down Wrapped
up, pounded chimney

grip
Morning sky
along Somnolent sun

Not
against heavy
scaling Bitter elderberry

singing
Reeds away
Wounded deep again

Beating
dark doors
rattling leaf pile

Yellow
barn distant
Whine groping slow

Smothered
feet Splitting
red fog Blackbirds

scramble
For grub
fragrance. Bump            ba

bump
bump What
I’m trying to

text
is unreduced
to its molecules,

dark
matter acronymically
textured into temperate

understanding.
Money talks,
dear, and the

silence
is deafening.
Or heartening. Or

But,
at some
point, wouldn’t it

serve
us to
consider other foundational

questions?
“unicorn hardcore
soft porn abortion

e-
cards” is
a rather succinct

and
accurate description
of contemporary consciousness

in
the developed
world in the

early
21st century,
an immersive media

environment
in which
we can “stay

warm
on a
cold night” of

the
“you anemone tentacle
look like a

chicken
pie” soul. . .
Crumbly 0000-

00-
00 00:00:00 ..,
while clicking away

links
after links
that “Ka kaaaawwwwwww

Ka
kaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwww” 1
Star 2 Stars

3
Stars 4
Stars 5 Stars ...

(5.00
out of
5); ... patty melts

and
corn dogs
and shrimp wiggle …

bloody
earlobes and
other appendages

litter
the aisle …..
the baby’s still

breathing ..
maybe .. standing
in for the

epidemic ...
in the
era of the

global
polka-dotted
lobster flu .. .. .. like

the
aging white
man of the

popular
saying … Still,
he worried about

…the
fact that
the goat had

…a
beard, and
he secretly consulted

…an
oracle in
a neighboring country,

…who
assured him
that only a

…bearded
spirit could
seriously threaten his

rule.
And if
you’re not well,

let’s
face it.
“Ka kaaaawwwwwww Ka

kaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwww”.
Up close
you look like

the
anemone’s tentacles.
ghastly talus
crusty vernal aluminate
locksmith repression
hereinbelow
zagging
zagging photography crystal
menopause zoo breakthrough
oxygen ophiuchus politic
and must thou, foundling, still forego lying back languidly
thou seest me the meanest thing, and so i am indeed;
and a dark desert all around.

[Note: Sources: Cornelius Castoriadis, “The Imaginary”, in World in Fragments (tr. David Ames Curtis); Tom Raworth, “The Vein”, in Earn Your Milk. From here it’s back to Critiphoria 1, with an occasional and. Kenneth Delfik, “Silas Touches a Stranger”, “The One-Inch Store Was Levelled”; Van Morrison, “Cyprus Avenue”; E Benjamin Skinner, A Crime So Monstrous: Face-To-Face With Modern-Day Slavery; Holly Delaney-Wade, “For me …”; Thom Donovan (quoting/paraphrasing Artaud?), “Vertov (On Obedience)”, “On Reading Walt Whitman’s ‘Song of Myself’ Again”; Georges Bataille, “The Pineal Eye”, as quoted in David Farrell Krell, Archeticture: Ecstasies of Space, Time, and the Human Body; Denise Duhamel, “Slippers”; Sheila E Murphy, “Quit joshing this near the manure”, as quoted in Thomas Fink, “Poetry Interrogating Itself: Sheila E Murphy’s The Case of the Lost Objective (Case)”; Alberto Pérez-Gómez, Polyphilo, as quoted in Farrell Krell; Edmond Jabès, Book of Shares, 31, as quoted in Norman Fischer, “Light(silence)word”; Ben Nicholson, as quoted in Farrell Krell; Alberto Pérez-Gómez, as quoted in Farrell Krell; Norman Fischer, “Light(silence)word”; Peter Hallward, Absolutely Postcolonial; Cliff Fyman, “I was keeping a journal …”; Drew Gardner, “Acceptance Letter”; I skipped Jenny Grassl; Jeff Harrison, “I practiced these sands, the freshest crowns”, “The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion”; Carla Harryman, “let no one represent you”; Niels Hav, “In Defense of Poets” (trs. P.K. Brask & Patrick Friesen); Jamey Hecht, “Nixon at Bosworth Field”; Mitch Highfill, “Residual Lexicon”; Jen Hofer & Dan Machlin, “ember”. Then, bits from a couple links posted today 26 Jun 09 by Ron Silliman: Allen Mozek, “Notes on Conceptualisms”, at For the Birds; Stan Apps (quoting Nada Gordon, K Silem Mohammad), “Review of Poetry Magazine, July/August 2009 (Part 1)”, at Freewill Applicator; & then a lil ol google search on the K Silem Mohammad phrase, the results of which include a bit from Ngugi Wa Thiongo’s great Wizard of the Crow; finally, bits from spam emails rec’d Fri 26 Jun 09. Also: Sarah Blaffer Hrdy, Mothers and Others: The Evolutionary Origins of Mutual Understanding; the polka-dotted lobster’s an ekphrastic bit relating to a work by Jeff Koons]

FCF 82

God
is singing
and clacking his

maracas
as he
dreams his dream

in
a cloud
of leaf, feeling

happy
but shaken
by doubt and

mystery.
So beginneth
creation, according to

the
local powerpoint.
And what is

time,
then? See
next slide. Count

backwards
from one-
hundred by se-

vens.
Bulletoid: Fling
the entire body

out
into the
suchness using only

the
momentum that
can be initiated

while
wearing a
tubular multifunction garment

made
of soft
seamless micro-fiber

nylon-spandex.

Cloud
let fall
a drop of

rain.
The End.
Except for celebrations,

incredible
celebrations that
rush around the

Earth
like Happy
Dragons. Okay, one

is
one is
one’s a jumble,

a
juju, a
jubilation of -- dare

I
say? -- overdetermined
upheaval. Apparently it’s

all
like painting
the floor of

the
Sistine Chapel
with the literal

thrill
of Herman Munster’s
condition green. Phone

rings:
“It’s great
out here. If

you’re
gonna get
your hobble on,

do
it before
the heat …” Deictic

words
acknowledge that
my here is

not
your here;
my tomorrow is

not
your tomorrow.
Sick of being

treated
like a
dog, Manco Inca

rises
against the
men with hairy

faces.
Who doesn’t
want to be

the
remainder that
cannot be absorbed

and
made to
work effectively? In

the
next picture,
everything changes. The

flesh
has been
used. The brow

is
tense and
along the nose

is
a wary
(a weary abrasion).

This is not really comfortable. It does not climax. Everything is off-balance. The wall is tilted; the hair hangs weirdly, the legs are not at ease. One eye looks out, one looks off. Nothing has connection. On second look: though their bodies are entwined, his hand on her leg, her arms around his neck, they are falling off each other in perpetual stasis.

This is just the beginning. The moment says stop but is not going to make it. I’m moving faster: shoes are hung on electricity

poles.
Rapacious ants
continue to mortify

people
and undermine
walls. Socrates no

longer
entertains; he’s
just one more

assbite
like Judge
Judy, badgering pinches

pendejos.
I cannot
go on            I

have
other ontological
commitments           The winds

of
pestilence are
devastating these regions.

English
cucumbers are
worth one point.

Crying,
on the
other hand, makes

you
smaller. For
that reason old

women
and the
mourners at funerals

are
the size
of cockroaches. This

isn’t
in her
grandfather’s books, which

Juana
reads, but
she knows. These

are
things she
knows from talking

so
much to
her soul. Juana

also
talks to
the clouds. To

talk
to the
clouds you have

to
climb the
hills or to

the
top branches
of the trees.

“I
am a
cloud. We clouds

have
faces and
hands. No feet.”

When
it is
said the cat

and
the mice
[ellipsis] We have

wished
by identifying
them to make

them
welcome. Please
keep that in

mind.
For the
present they are

here,
entering into
what we make

and
will be
making of what

we
see. When
we say the

studio,
please keep
in mind we

do
not refer
to the room

in
which we
see the projections.

The
–ing is
the process, the

interaction
with the
world that WE

hope
to result
from us coming

to
this door.
The door of

this
room. The
damaged record playing

the
damaged needle,
the bread had

been
wearing the
tablecloth as a

gown,
the dresser
as the blade

of
the knife
that curves from

the
tip, and
the sun was

drying
all the
house shadows out:

a
bone thrown
to the conventional

reader
who requires
a “plot” that

contains
sentences like
“unbeknown to her,

Flaunted
Fifth lingered
on the outskirts

of
town ...” Wherewithstanding
Nottwithal. Last night

we
took a
trip to Lake

Something.
You were
driving. The road

ended
in a
cul-de-sac.

The
bat, hanging
from a branch,

noticed
a Kayapó
warrior leaning over

the
stream. We’re
walking this earth.

We’re
walking this
shining earth. I

strap
on the
male pronoun sometimes.

[Note: Sources: Critiphoria 1; taken in sonnety-sized chunks. And Eduardo Galeano, Memory of Fire: Genesis (tr. Cedric Belfrage). And. From Critiphoria: Karen Alkalay-Gut, “Formalism: A Poem”, and Rafael Campo, “The Mental Status Exam”, as quoted by Alkalay-Gut; Bruce Andrews & Sally Silvers, “Lack of Entrepeneurial Thrift”; Stan Apps, “On the End of History”; Allen Bramhall & Tim Peterson, “Plastered Retro Mop Transformations”; I skipped Derek Beaulieu; Rachel Blau DuPlessis, “Two more thoughts about deixis”; Charles Borkhuis, “Newsense Anti-Manifesto”; Abigail Child, “A Motive for Mayhem”; thanks go to Paavo Monkkonen for the phrase “pinches pendejos”; Ewa Chrusciel, A Life; Ewa Chrusciel & Kate Dusenberry, “Intraters”; I skipped Peter Ciccariello; Wystan Curnow, “Nocturne”; Jackie Clark, “Observing the Canopy”; Thomas Cook, “Afternoon (3)”; Maria Damon, “A Vocation for Longing": Kinship, History and Absence chez Nathaniel Mackey”, and Damon quoting Nathaniel Mackey, Bedouin Hornbook; Alan Davies, This Is Thinking. Now for the and. Bodyhose.com]

FCF 81

           I’m not

sure
if I’m
telling a story

here
or unveiling
my mania. It’s

like
the parable
of the wound

and
the voice.
Lava is everywhere.

A
wand passed
over the crowd.

The
wound cries
out. Someone, you

or
me, comes
forward, and says,

I
would like
to learn to

live,
finally. As
if death were

the
ace in
the hole. There’s

a
dog in
the hole. The

dog
is so
freaked out it

won’t
eat the
tranks. All we

can
do is
listen to it

howl.
Does he
know what black

milk
means? the
young tree wears

a
storm of
blossom beside the

bulldozer
and [the]
wires. Thre are

2
ways to
nagivage through this

thing.
They relate
to “embarrassment for

the
flailing comedian” –
and to “the

virgin
boys given to
premature ejaculation”. Or

perhaps
a calculus
that begins I

too
come from
the city of

dolls.
What’s up
with all the

beheaded
Barbies, by
the way? We've

all
heard the
millions of stories

about
beheaded Barbies.
Can someone explain

that
to me?
There enters the

Chorus of Women and unfortunately in the confusion the beginnings of some of their lines are lost but the Stage Manager acts quickly turning the page and the lines of Euripides are enunciated clearly complete with their proper capitalization.

Phaedra is led in by the nurse. Her women follow. The attendants help their mistress to the couch. Tearfully she [blah blah blah], twenty young actors enter, twenty more, [male] for lack of a better descriptive term,

the plot turns again and the scenery rapidly shifts [in]to [and out of] an office, then a prison cell and finally a picnic of

a
fist of
ice an atom

of
hydrogen. The
bed moves an

inch
closer to
the window before

morning.
And though
that shouldn’t have

satisfied
him, it
did. So, let’s

say
something, now
that we’ve got

ourselves
so worked
up. Isaac the

Blind
has an
insight: “The inner,

subtle
essences can
be contemplated only

by
sucking … not by

knowing …”

10.+++21|
1.5

,70[7

.4

.02.2222222222222///////////////////////
.0./////////////.021
00000000000

comma

ha[i]res are wishes,

especially
dark ones
(but oh so

much
faster and
frenetic; it’s a

wonder
a mere
two dimensional page

can
contain their
velocity). Hare today

goon
tomorrow. Dream
giant cockroach in

the
wall dreams.
We realized at

the
exact same
indescribably horrific moment:

he.

ate.

the.

cheese.

* the stars in the midnight sky are fuzzy and bright — and wet

* several days in paradise, then I make a trip to the county dump, for philosophy, doxa, etc.

There was even talk of a cave — no one’s life was safe. Let’s face it gesture is one of the pleasures of having sex, like gathering rosebuds for a clear complexion. No asterisk. It’s always a good time when it gets difficult to breathe No asterisk.

Tactics mean the world is drying. Years take back the paltry fall of / yesterday, the parking / lot where woman as robot left her meal, prompting a departure of all /others from the tiny / space as though stubble were a launching pad, found charted, and / gears finely worked. Finely not finally. No asterisk.

An
aphorism:
You are nothing

but
birth suspicious
the grounds of

your
birth have
been lifted. Computer,

do
your best,
okay? the weirdly

chaos-
processed small
effect generated just-

right
reverbs — like
gamma-ray bursts —

like
the sound
of a gerbil’s

orgasm —
unaba unafa —
like the fat

fruit
that’d come
free from the

twigs. Even differentials invite the miner’s lettuce into escalation, penny to / the well-pleat. / Indignant fire thinks “red vinca” as it flags across latticework, micron / tougher than vent / respires its fool’s errand in crass hydrolitic colonies, cedar staves and / sister cities.

it’s evening here

brighter than a flea

[Note: Sources: stuff from just about a sonnet’s worth of the poets in the new arrivals lists posted in the last few weeks or so by Eileen Tabios, 7 Jun 09, and Ron Silliman,, 17 Jun 09. Using what I could find on the web by them. Supplemented by a few bits from Silliman’s links post posted 19 Jun 09. And. First, most of the and: Eileen Myles, “The Importance of Being Iceland”, in The Importance of Being Iceland; Cathy Caruth, Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History; Jacques Derrida, as quoted by Jean Birnbaum, and Derrida himself, in Learning to Live Finally: The Last Interview (trs. Pascale-Anne Brault and Michael Naas). Now, to the lists, which I will intersperse, first something from ET’s, then something from RS’s, etc: Chad Sweeney, “Diurne”, at The Highest Number (I can’t tell from context whether he knows Celan’s Todesfugue …), An Architecture, at Shampoo 29; JBR, email to Eileen Tabios, 20 Jun 09 (cleaned up before sent, but this typing was too goodbad to lose …); Juliana Spahr, on David Buuck, The Shunt, at Wild Horses of Fire, 16 May 09 (didn’t find any Buuck poem itself, after 3 pp. of Google …); Liz Waldner, “A Calculus of Readiness”, at Poets.org; cris cheek and Kirsten Lavers, “The Arts and Entertainment”, in “The Books – sources and procedures”, at Things Not Worth Keeping; Carie Olivia Adams, “A Useless Window”, at The Site of Big Shoulders, and as quoted by John Deming in a review of A Useless Window, at Cold Front Magazine; Camelia Elias, “On the Clock”, “Retreat”, at Frag/ments; Catherine Daly (or Abbey Daly Montgomery) (or??? Perhaps an unintentional display issue??), at A List, A Misc., 13 Jun 09; James Galvin, “Post-Modernism”, at Poets.org; Crag Hill, review of Anselm Berrigan’s Some Notes on My Programming, at Crag Hill’s Poetry Scorecard, 15 May 09; Anselm Berrigan, “Eight Poems from Have a Good One”, at P.F.S. Post; Jean Vengua, “factors”, at Okir, 20 Jun 09; Michael Gizzi, “Hours Dismembered”, at The Sienese Shredder 3; Donna de la Perriere “House (The History of Us All)”, at Emily Dickinson.org; Scott Glassman and Sheila E. Murphy, “Untitled Collaboration”, at The Duplications; Stephen Paul Miller, “Photo Post”, at Marsh Hawk Press, “Off the Top of My Radiohead”, at Chax 4. Back to and. 3 bits from reviews at Cold Front Magazine, week of 15 Jun 09: Molly Sutton Kiefer, referring to something Kim Addonizio said, in a review of Nin Andrews’ Sleeping With Houdini; Thibault Raoult, El P.E.; Lightsey Darst, “Blueberry Picking”; Eileen Myles, “D.H.”, at Eileen Myles.com]

FCF 80

backwash
of revelation
where the screen

saver
starts quietly
shooting stars at

the
world >. stars …
_world_ … Metonyms for.

Where
are we
now? In Ellipsis,

just
east of
the postmetaphysical. Where

every
Monday someone
breaks. Last week

it
was you.
There are many

crows
that bark
and strut. The

wind
is not
a whip, but

still.
Toads plunge
out of silvery

waters.
Plunge out?
That’s cool. Leap

the
rats and
flit hissing. Perhaps

there
is a
color I can

sleep
in like
a spare rune.

The
radio is
not on, yet

much
is still
audible. The millionth

word
in the
English language is

Web
2.0. It’s
half past hangin’

time
in Ellipsis-
town … Look! the

golden
footbridge shattering
into the June

snow.
First you
broke, and then

you.
The city
is coming up

to
code. Combine butter onion garlic celery
mushroom and cumin with turmeric
ginger clove honey lemon tomato apple
salt pepper and water to steam

a
long, large
snake-shaped molecule.

The
difficulty, as
she noted perspicaciously,

is
knowing which
ace is the

ace-
in-the-
hole.

[Note: Sources: Rae Armantrout, “Parse”, in Next Life; Elizabeth James, “During an eclipse”, “Gun Detox”, in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets (ed. Jeff Hilson); Marjorie Welish, “The Glove”, “‘Look, Look!’”, in American Hybrid (eds. Cole Swensen and David St John); Ann Lauterbach, “Five More Songs For Joe”, in Pressed Wafer 2; Hữu Thỉnh, “Poem Written by the Sea” (trs. George Evans and Nguyen Qui Duc), in Language for a New Century (eds. Tina Chang, Nathalie Handal, Ravi Shankar); Georg Trakl, “On the Moors”, “The Rats”, “Homecoming”, (tr. Robert Grenier), in Selected Poems; Elaine Equi, “Asking for a Raise”, “For August in April”, in Ripple Effect: New and Selected Poems; Alexandra Topping, “‘Web 2.0’ declared millionth word in English language”, at Guardian.uk; Catherine Walsh, “Nearly Nowhere”, in Other: British and Irish Poetry since 1970 (eds. Richard Caddel and Peter Quartermain); Kevin Davies, The Golden Age of Parephernalia, in Nineteen Lines: A Drawing Center Writing Anthology (ed. Lytle Shaw); Alison Knowles, Footnotes: collage journals 30 years; Michael McClure, The Surge; Maureen Owen, “Poems Without Names            or your plane takes off”, in American Rush: selected poems]

FCF 79

where
all sizes
fit something, where

the
something’s exe.cut[up]able
t (?), je sais,

it’s
obvious, this
serenity inside the

hysteresis
loop or
just exchange words /

‘why’,
‘ok’, say[s]
the word ‘number’

ha /
say[s] ‘why’
the word ‘interrogate’

[interrogates]
the word
‘disrupt’, sounds like

‘here’s
a pill
for your’ species

conceived
on the
threshold of the

Gateless
Gate, with
each heartbeat essentially

a
symbolic language,
although it is

frequently
thought of
as instrumental by

those
who practice
it. It is

a
way of
acting out and

so
saying something,
and because the

magic
is so
effective in saying

what
it does,
it is thought

of
as aimlessly
beginning again, in

the
spirit of
animals with the

daemons

of human beings inside

them,
“this phenomenon
consists of a

hallucination,
try to
break yourself against

a
sphere, a
kind of delight

which
pluralizes meaning
by gesture and

without
conjunction.” No
input file specified.

It's interesting. Things happened one at a time.
           And now this is happening

           It's interesting. Things happened one or more
           at time. And now this is happening.

           It's interesting. Things happened one at a time.
           As it were. And now this is happening.

           It's interesting. Things happened one at a time.
           (As it were.) And now this is happening.

           It's interesting. Things happened one (or
           more) at time. (As it were.) And now this is
           happening.

o dedi
o dada orzourav o dou zoura
a dada skizi

o kaya
o kaya pontoura
o ponoura
a pena
poni

ge re ghi
regheghi
geghena
e reghena
a gegha
riri

menendi anenbi
embenda
tarch inemptle
o marchti rombi
tarch paiolt
a tinemptle
orch pendui
o patendi
a merchit
orch torrpch
ta urchpt orchpt
ta tro taurch
campli
ko ti aunch
a ti aunch
aungbli

used
to be
I could rub

my
eyes with
a strichnine Babylon, towering

over
the Forty
Noches of Noah-mondes ...

now,
Everything smacks
in a Hyber-

Cocktail
J’accuze-i ...
for the fastest

asses
anything glows!
And you, the

goose
who laid
the golden egg,

reply:
How hard
of hearing I

am
now, Constantly
in time to

music
that’s As
Sedimentary articulation become

the
lush agnostic
coal drowned in

the
Ydegrat Maelstrom.
Along such an

axis
(intuitive) the
extension / of a

line
drawn in
space as a

tangent
may be
said to tear

itself
apart, the
object in a

corner
conceived as
a series of

curves
standing for
the reason one

drives
to that
place determined to

show
that something
is fundamentally sound[ed].

As
water in
a glass is

tilted.
must a kind of iotacism

be proposed?

**

And another thing!

**

Or this.

This, this and this…

**

this
statue commemorating
an historic electrical

storm
represented carved
in salt on

a
plinth of
winds // itself now

stands

in

terror
of rain //
and you laugh

heartily
at its
predicament // what way

is
that to
behave? * And

the
parakeets Twitter
so beguilingly that

the
jungle bends
itself to surround

them
in an
orange-green veil.

What
does subject
mean? A knee

can
be torn
up again and

again.
oyez oyez

            nearer than mitochondria

Render
and receive.
Hold. Fast interchange

of
properties: lucidity,
despair. Rebellion among

the
constellations, long
words to frighten

older
persons, a
curb to walk

on
one foot
in the gutter,

and
the other,
and the other,

and
the other.
No output file

spedivied.
MySQL Query
Error: You have

an
error in
your SQL syntax

near
“ at
line 1 / Query:

select
      •      the
      •      old brain

with
the new
brain in her

arms.
a center
with a circumference

loosely
attached. I
could scream or

cry
right now.
Why you might

ask.
But you
don’t so I

didn’t
say a
word. destitute of

earnest
about sorry
about [not] thinking

of
really what
was meant was

Alpha
input =
“hi”: “Assuming “hi”

is
a phrase –
Input interpretation: Hello.

Response:
Hello, human.”
[< wd certainly > luv

it].
all ova
the {/Ur} place. ]

=my
mind_< … > emotional,ly]frag[ged_again]
< caught … one more

time >
< way up
on way up

on
way up
on > +purRrfect_bOne_[+purRrfect_ < who’d

have
thought there’d
be so much

love
[so much
trouble] in disyah

[Note: Sources: EPC mashup #2. See EPC for links. I go A, Z, B, Y, etc til I end w/M. And, as always, and. Charles Alexander and Sheila Murphy, Prayer, Rupture, Dwelling; Mary-Anne Breeze [Mez], “RE:OPPO.S[ABLE].I.T[HUMBS]ION!!”, as quoted in Komninos Zervos, “Komninos Zervos reviews Papertiger #3”; Sean Bonney, The Commons 2; Joel Weishaus, “The Gateless Gate”; Abigail Child, Artificial Memory; result of clicking a link at Lourdes Vásquez’s website; Alan Davies, “040501”, in This Is Thinking; skipped U; Antonin Artaud, “The Return of Artaud, The Mômo” (trs. Clayton Eshleman, Bernard Bador); Edwin Torres, “GIGABYTE ME - HOW MUCH RAM IN YOUR SUMMER OF LOVE?”; Norman Fischer, “Or if due to pressure of foreclosure”; Rod Smith, “The Latest Attempt”; Jorge Guitart, “Tour Notes”; Stephen Ratcliffe, “Sculpture 15”; Michael Heller, “Winter Notes, East End”; Sina Queyras, Expressway; I skipped I; Trevor Joyce, “From a work in progress”; Nick Piombino, “Third Silent Manifesto”; Robert Kelly, “The Invaders”, “Mont Blanc”; I skipped O; Charles North, Tulips, “Sonnet”; Hank Lazer, “The Experioddicist #2”; Mary-Anne-Breeze [Mez], bits from a number of pieces found at Netwurker; Van Morrison, “Cyprus Avenue”; Bob Marley, “So Much Trouble in the World”]