A black hole lives here
It pulls all energy and hope
In, merely to obliterate it all
There isn’t any waste
There is no byproduct
There is no “is”
This is June
“There is a word: ‘pariah.’ In human society this word is used to indicate those who have failed, the pathetic, the immoral. Ever since I was born, I felt I was a pariah…”
— Osamu Dazai / A Shameful Life
thin sterling, silver cuff, hand hammered
tangled up in blue and i love it!
cord comfortable and fused
more often than you would like?
thorny gold and silver vines
bind you tight in its inexorable hegemony:
thousands of artists toiling for 33
cents an hour in triangle shirt waist
conditioning and fetor
the death dress and identity of an early
viking age…
* bead * tangle * bracelet *
* womens * everyday * ceramic *
high polish from low sweatshops halfway
around the world…
or very near your corner 7-11
embroidered on her breast is a pattern
of pink roses obscured by a branding
iron welt
buy it at the gray market stall
near the canal street subway stop
it can be can be transmuted into a random
color…
or a random other whose bad luck was
being born on the backside of the globe…
wear it with pride and impress your
impressible friends with your
narcissu-tchotchke
order the blue bangle tangle guidebook
in 12 different languages
order now when a special occasion beckons:
one of my favorite things is going for cocktails…
“Sweet is it, sweet is it
To sleep in the coolness
Of snug unawareness.
The dark hangs heavily
Over the eyes.”
— Gwendolyn Brooks / “truth”
Use this taro chip as your viaticum, the priest says.
Where am I?
In a priest driven ambulance, he says.
Good luck, the one in the passenger seat says.
What are you going to do about the primary explosion? the nurse administering my I.V. asks.
Play it as it lays, another says.
No, you did not leave anything on in the kitchen, yet another says.
So I told them: I put on my tight disco pants, and applied plenty of hairspray. I think there were invaders at the gates. I wrote as fast as I could before midnight. Then I turned into a malevolent parsnip with pomegranate tendencies. I didn’t parry her sari because she asked me nicely not to. Remember that. So I repeated it often through the night to myself. I reminded myself to use my inside voice inside my head. I didn’t have to be so loud. And I made a point of not speaking my internal monologues in front of strangers again.
Amen, the priest said.
“Read, read, read, read, read. Those who read own the world; those who immerse themselves in the Internet or watch too much television lose it… Our civilization is suffering profound wounds because of the wholesale abandonment of reading by contemporary society.”
— Werner Herzog
“Get your xenograft ideas away from me. Take off that stretchy, crappy underwear. I’m showering tomorrow morning. Clean. Clean pajamas. All right sleepy time for me. Nice and cold. Yes. It’s going to stay cold all night long. What? No. Sush! As it is we ate so much right before… basically within two hours of going to sleep. No. Why? Are you? You know I like it in the summer to turn the air way down at night. I’ll be asleep in twenty minutes. I know it takes you longer, but… just get under the covers and you won’t be cold. Stop! Go to sleep. Just read until you go to sleep… or put your headphones in, you always fall asleep within ten minutes that way. Maybe tomorrow morning if we wake up.”
“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.”
— Oscar Wilde
¡coño viejos! / just enough to keep moving / thee old folks r frazzled / speaking in tongues / say things they never said in public when they minds were right / right-right / but they hearts were always hardened / puckered as weathered leather / dry as cotton on a sand drift / if you draw a venn diagram there’s an intersection between us / in the way of chromosomes / but they ain’t no true overlap / just a bunch of xx’s / dumb-ass / insane chemical xx’s /
blue / i’m blue / white / red / how similar flags look / no compunctions about leaving ‘em here to die / desiccated half buried in this desert / he anti-semite / she islamophobe / neither took a long look at theyselves / not quite the right shade / white enough to pass, tho / ‘til they opened they island mouths / oneatha’ quaint ones / babble different tongue / posture different way / not stewing right in thee great melting pot /
double double toil ‘n bubble / fire burn ‘n caldron bubble /
huddled mass shit / ya’ know / 90 miles to go / ‘til i unburden myself / & we must keep going /
never ending / but it don’t have to end this way
“many cubans say fruta bomba for papaya. mitt romney once claimed he loves papaya on miami cuban radio, unaware it means pussy. que clueless, que jokes, when we speak before we know.”
— Kyle Carrero Lopez / “(slang)uage”
She had studding-sails out alow and aloft, with a light but steady breeze
Whether it’s true or mere hyperbole is not the point
those passages where the Hebrews by hyperbole ascribe
recipes in Arabic, even though the quantities mentioned are
surely poetic on her starboard side abreast the funnel
Her hull was opened up Shrunk recreant from thy mighty aid
“I have lived a shameful life.
I can’t understand how this thing called ‘human life’ is supposed to work.”
— Osamu Dazai
“The question is not whether Lincoln truly meant ‘government of the people’ but what our country has, throughout its history, taken the political term ‘people’ to actually mean.”
— Ta-Nehisi Coates / Between The World And Me
“You fill me with stiction.”
“Friction?”
“No. Stiction.
“Shouldn’t it be inertia?”
“No, stiction, damn it!”
“Sorry, I don’t know what that is.”
He was filled with a horror and a hate so acute at that instant that his fist automatically clenched and his arm seemed to move autonomously driving that clenched fist to an inexorable meeting with his brother’s face…
The author’s stream of thought is broken here, and a lyric, and then a deconstructed thought impinges:
Anger is an energy. The certainty of reason is a tyranny.
Speak in aphorisms. Think in signifiers. Be the signified.
And so the author continued on another string. The nascent narrative broken…
“You fill me with inertia.”
“There, that’s more like it.”
“Like what?”
“Like what I like.”
And then unable to completely gather their wits the author’s work and discipline was irretrievably disrupted, and they were done for the day.
“We live, as we dream — alone.”
— Joseph Conrad
As of the who: in a liturgy of grained righteousness cleansed, folded & articulated —
Bestiary of birth canals and unguents squeezed from bodies now desiccated;
Concupiscent casuistry led me to my troubles
Delineated in these lines in the margins of thee Apocrypha.
Energumens here, and you come into a world of pain, possession, & black hole nothingness
Fecund you are, full of so many — what you are not is
God, and neither is the author — purveyor of distilled sin in pearl dust & gin
Humanity’s dark mirror of depredation
“Instant Karma is gonna get you…”
Jaundiced and juiced we know
Knowledge is nothing. We have proven as much. We are eyeless in
Lenticular madness refracted, and blinded, as those who would drink four ounces of white wine and horse dung
Macerated and made into a tincture for the masses to imbibe.
Neoteric quaffs that did not quench our thirst and we went thirsty, and in search
Of the man who described literature as a “tissue of citations” its contexts and referents unknowable, akin to a
Palimpsest of the putative self — a coin scratch off ticket past the attenuated ego(s) — to live in the Id everyday & at night I’ll place
Quincunxes on your eyes for a faster journey to nowhere.
Rampikes dot the road here, a jagged landscape without human trace, and the sky above is filled with
Starlings that twister about appearing as unhinged tornados marking the air with darkling ablutions —
Take thy clyster pipe and syringe and find a willing orifice proficient in state sponsored press releases —
Unction administered — and nailed up to the door jambs of a vacationing congess raising money for a defunct president.
Vacillate no more for we are refluxing on our American original sin
Wandering through the Death Museum where we whisper colloquies to lives well lived in a
Xeriscaped land of ochres and sand browns — a land so prickly that we found nothing but portents, penitants, and penury
Yoked to a future as arid and bleak as our past. A new
Zoonotic apocalypse is the only viable option as we ease into these closing minutes… or we’ll burn it all down ourselves.
“… there is nothing ordinary about humanity and good sense. As we see now on both sides of the Atlantic, both traits are quite extraordinary, especially when they confront the entwined threats of biological and ideological plague.”
— Robert Zaretsky
Nimbus F (currently in orbit) [6] has an experiment
the corresponding cathode currents are given
by hierarchical
cloud foundation laughing gas winner… and described by
two bit Cathode University tied up in the high value of sliver
limitless limits limn limned limning limns limo limos limousine …
plexuses demonstrator cathode curiously libellous fucker’s
cathode-ray tube | catholic | Catholic Church | Catholic Epistles | Catholicism …… war | limiter | limites | limiting | limitless | limit point | limn | limnetic | limnology …
The final configuration is L-shaped, lit by color-changing LED light cabinets and cove lighting and cold-cathode tubes.
NIGHTS NIGHTY NIHILS NILGAI NILGAU NILLED NIMBLE NIMBLY NIMBUS
“Reading is more important than writing.”
— Roberto Bolaño
