note this now

What are Fish Gills to Fishers of Men?

At a remove, in a gesture, a part of a thing
Representing the whole.

What are ambivalences of texts?
Polyvalencies in readings?

What flows from this desire
To macerate the pulp of life
Into a sodden discourse—
An echolalia?

The fishers of men as hirsute
Suitors unhinging Penelope’s loom—

What is that? An arrow?

I am arrow proof,
Soothsayer approved,
Trodden by legions of anonymous
Men with angular intent.

Note this now—

I pique in wolf-like rages
Deep into the night.
I aim at precision / incision—

Beware.

“The church has never been asked to explain anything, our specialty, along with ballistics, has always been the neutralization of the overly curious mind through faith…”

— Jose Saramago / Death with Interruptions

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on the lethe

image: p. remer

Languor (redux)

His word, his breath,
Are merely synecdoche —
Ephemeral.

Nothing is true in the true
Sense of the word.

He drifts on the Lethe,
Intoxicated by water that transforms —
A trip into languor —
And never sets foot on the other shore.

“It turns out you can kill the earth,
Crack it open like an egg.
It turns out you can murder the sea,
Poison your own children
Without even thinking about it.”

— Michael Sims / “Who Will Tell Them?”

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thesis paper joyless

flarfish 17(a): simulacrum marcela

(Spanish to Persian to English translation version via Google Translate with Google sculpting)

Inducing a pileated simulacrum—
This very large & important evidence of the potential impact of gravitational loads &
Levitational toadstools: Pileus
Brimless &
Thesis paper joyless.

Circean chubby in their gelatinous set—
Unpredictable & immeasurable—
Marcela the right-wing jet
Stimulates the heart with a shot:
Potassium bromide bright
& a defense beyond recognition.

The new goal was to coze
Through inarticulate agreements
Aggrieved & articulated,
Art-I-ficial,
Apathetic &
Bakra-bent bromides.

“Well, I’m a-thinkin’ and thinkin’, ’til there’s nothin’ I ain’t thunk
Breathing in the stink ’til finally I stunk
It was at that time, I swear I lost my mind…”

— Violent Femmes / “Country Death Song”

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wear fake wings

Perdido en la Traducción (Spanish)

Las angustias y los torpecillos, como torpedos de gloria ensangrentada. Yo me devolucione de una manera trastornada con una demostración explotada y acrimonia. Adelante el alarde y sea alabada Antonieta Asuncion. La mas recaída e iluminadas de las estrellas del cine motografico en Iberoamerica.

En resumen—

No te pongas alas postizas. No trates de volar de tu balcón. Resentidos somos todos, y todos somos elegidos a beber cuarenta cuarentas de Colt 45. Y si vas al concierto, dile a Roly que te de un purgante, despues de tomarte ese espíritu de malta tan lleno de mal de San Vito.

Lost in Translation (English)

The anguish and the clumsy ones—like torpedoes of bloody glory.

I bounced back in a deranged manner— exploited in manner and acrimony.

Go ahead with the boast and be praised—Antonieta Asuncion: the most relapsed and enlightened of the stars of motorcycle cinema in Latin America.

In summary—

Don’t wear fake wings. Don’t try to fly off your balcony. We are all resentful, and we are all chosen to drink forty forties of Colt 45.

And if you go to the concert, tell Roly to give you a purgative, after taking that malt spirit so full of the curse of St. Vitus.

“Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality’s dark dream!”

— Samuel Taylor Coleridge / “Dejection: An Ode”

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the moon unmoored

Perdo’s Pox

Night falls—

A black feather,
A white hair,
A brittle bone,
A rasp for air—

The moon unmoored.

“I am Death, the destroyer of worlds”
Bhagavad Gita

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the whips cometh

Stalagmite Letters

We ran riot through the archives—

Harpies, sharpies and scissors
Obliterating collections into piles

Of pages triangular—
Shards and screeds.

(Pursuit of knowledge agnostic)

Accretions of stalagmite letters
Monticule in dead air

We are the whips cometh—
goo goo goojoob!

“All the gang of those who rule us / Hope our quarrels never stop / Helping them to split and fool us / So they can remain on top.”

— Bertolt Brecht / “Solidarity Song”

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over clear leader

Critical Focal Acuity (redux)

(Fade In)

-Series of found moving images as the film racks out of focus

-Series of stills: long open highways receding into the horizon line; traffic jammed still; parking lots (these sequences without people in the frames)

-Series of of shots resolving into sharp critical focus: buildings from various anonymous downtowns

(Fade Out)

 – 4 seconds of clear leader

(Fade In)

-4 seconds of black leader

(Lap Dissolve)

-Asynchronous sound of obtuse observations about reality shows broadcast on the E! Network, c. 2007 / Over clear leader

-Mundane observations about obscure European celebrities / Over black leader

-Silence / Over cut-ups compiled from 33 sequences of film, all exactly 105 frames long, thrown into the air, and then assembled by chance operations

(Lap Dissolve)

-A Random Series Of Magnified Images Of Fleas

(Voice Over):

“The way that fleas become infective is due to a feature of their alimentary system—they have not only a stomach, or a ventriculus, but also a proventriculus, which acts as a valve that regulates the food that the flea is ingesting and trying to get to its stomach.”

(Lap Dissolve)

-American National Anthem plays 

-A flagless flag pole pings as the wind whips two metal swivel flag snaps on a rope resoundingly into metal pole.

(Voice Over):

“This concludes our broadcast day …”

(Fade to Black)

White Noise.

“But Mom took me in her arms the moment she saw me: a tiny, brown, swollen blob fish. She had been trained to accept filth as her fate. Dad hadn’t.”

— Valeria Luiselli / The Story of My Teeth

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about a walkabout

press the play button above to watch my short film, peripeteia (4:11)

peripeteia

we dream about a walkabout. we exhume gutter politics before they’re buried in the rattle brattle bund. we sling jagged zeugmas. we qualify this and that—our words signify nothing—we fill the interstices with air. the beckon calls for dr. bombay wanted down at zeugmatography go unheeded. we list and keel for what could have been—it inflects every point in our day. it infects every bitter requisition. a far away voice revives a chant: solidarność, solidarność, solidarność—opportunities taken, opportunities missed. a dead man says, a dream has the power to pollute the day. anoxic water is all we find—a blue-green algae, then a blood-red tide. we ramble on with viper thoughts … reality’s dark dream.

“We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep;
We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day;”

— Percy Bysshe Shelley / “Mutability”

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can’t imagine sisyphus

Pandemic Lament (redux)

My depression is deeper
than yours.

My existentialism is darker.

You have Kierkegaard.
I have Fro Niz-nil-imbo.

My nihilism is bleakest.
I can’t imagine Sisyphus happy.

“He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision—he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath:

‘The horror! The horror!’ ”

— Joseph Conrad / Heart of Darkness

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flarf foo for

graphic: weathernationtv.com

flarf foo for henri (clerisy pleurisy)

a mourning veil

a thin membrane

a condolence card pulped in rain

the literati daisy chain
a bottle of cloven-foot skronk

hear the krang of the washtub
the whiddle of the fiddle

a simple onetwothree wheeze
i am eye: i have a cracked rib

relatives in boston found
a runny obituary

infamously scatalogical

“Nonlinear. Discontinuous. Collage-like. An assemblage.”

— David Markson / Vanishing Point

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