This is a new art / new ideas
Mark making implement . . .
And this is another—the same
It seems.
And this one appears silver but it’s the same—
Just a different shade.
This is the last implement of the four.
Why do words always intrude?
What I’m reading:
“When you reside in a city which isn’t the city of your childhood, whatever you perceive lacks the resonance of memory.”
— Kathy Acker / Empire of the Senseless
A slack holograph lives here
It pulses enigma and horror
It is, to obliterate all,
Missing a watchman—
There is no byproduct
There is no “is”—
There is hornet and horsefly.
There is no sleep—
Sleep eludes us.
What I’m Reading:
“… my neighbor hates me. she’s blocked off the window. there’s no light, everything is dark, she’s closed me in. she thinks she owns the light. she raised the cats, and then they came to my house.”
— Julia Wong Kcomt / “woman eaten by cats”
Would you, could you, please, at least write 100 words as a draftee peasant to your rest-home workshop. Stretch your lenses out so they penetrate the air— the airships that pour out of you overtaking you & your apotheosis—your bullock neighborhood trade stay-at-home courtesan contraption—plateau & spread out through the urge and endless slime of creativity sparked by the single piston of plummage at the center of your quill. Quail in chestfuls of crusted & crestfallen tormentors—budgies out for the values of aphid genealogies of your right plugholes. Something plugging something puggish & streaming this way comes galactic fuzz. Buzz of outburst. Muzz of metallic streaks shearing untethered in howling skronk of empathic northward-facing missiles. Please be appalled by my lettering, please be appalled by my words. Please be appalled by these hundreds of workshops. Please try this at home.
What I’m Reading:
“I shall now by means of my profound rational processes find the explanation for my madness, and human socially unacceptable behaviour.”
— Kathy Acker / Empire of the Senseless
How do I manage to stay underground?
Are you going to help me?
Can you arrange it?
I can’t do this alone.
What I’m Reading:
“Now I only dream in English. I do not recognize my own voice.
I open my mouth and it carries no perfume of the people before me.”
— Muna Abdulahi / “ESL”
Thesis paper joyless—
After the injection of potassium bromide
there is no Marcela right-wing jet set.
After stimulation to the heart
uploaded their gelatinous set.
It’s unpredictable and immeasurable.
The new goal to express their defenses (set)—
immaterial & pileated & your articles,
articulations & agreements—beyond set
& beyond recognition. Beyond repair.
What I’m Reading:
“And I say then I’m glad I dream
the fire is still alive”
— Louise Glück / “Song”
Thee Bullyboy Creep
Bullyboy in turtleneck aplomb
Stringing z’s together in an endless creep
Creep o’ the century
Creep o’ the week
Do thee Bullyboy Creep
What I’m Reading:
“We have the capacities for understanding and, at the same time, we understand nothing…”
— Kathy Acker / Empire of the Senseless
This ritual: its repetition is liturgical.
A call and response in absentia.
There is no rejoinder.
There is no “and also with you.”
What I’m Reading:
“One form collective crime takes is marriage.”
— Kathy Acker / Empire of the Senseless
guilty bystanders we?
bystanders guilty we!
we guilty bystanders.
What I’m Reading:
“’Now,’ he said, ‘I’ll by God show them how ugly the Ugly American can be.’
And he breaks out all the ugliest pictures in the image bank and puts it out on the subliminal so one crisis piles up after the other right on schedule.”
— William S. Burroughs / Nova Express
Something in the magic of the sour blueberries and yogurt made the start of the day feel somewhat violet—or should I say blue. No. Go ahead and say blew. The day blew before it really got started. She, standing there, with a mouthful of bitterness the sun being smothered by the haze of factory smoke and wildfires. There was something more acrid than usual in the air, like a sweetness that cloyed at the edge of sludge, something sickly in the burning. The sharpness in her mouth brought her back to the moment she was inhabiting — a smudged pink sunrise beyond the billowing, and the nascent thought that something was dead and rotting just beyond the perimeter fence. She swallowed the bitterness with one gulp and let out a long exhalation. Instead of feeling lighter she was leaden and off to face whatever was out there waiting.
What I’m Reading:
“When your image is dead you become virus and must obey virus orders.”
— William S. Burroughs / The Ticket That Exploded
We are a great school of fish.
Teenager proxy finds the way in—into the circle of grace—plants the seeds of dissension.
Chances are it won’t be us.
Teenager strange face finds a rat covered in grim ichor—wants to spread the triumph of the will over all bully boys—heads for the resevoir.
Turn quickly for the safety of that shoal.
Teenager hooktooth finds the dentist’s scalers arrayed before him—pockets them—slips out the back door.
Predators must be sated.
Teenager piston-thumbs spiral-eyed at the first-person shooter simulacrum—too good for simulation—ferrets out the family arsenal. Gym bags: 1, 2, 3. Off and away in the family wagon.
This is the movement of fear.
What I’m Reading:
“Nothing would be as we hoped it would be, here in the first draft of existence. People were finally beginning to catch on. Our rage made perfect sense.”
—Sheila Heti / Pure Colour
