thee istsfor manity reader

What I’m Reading:

‘Another cargo of eager victims—one almost expects to see Breughel and Hieronymus Bosch cruising the freeways in their rental-company cars.’

— J.G. Ballard / Crash

sloop on a loop

kneading each other
this short flicker film
a protest sloop on a loop
at a tax and stay caravan
affixed to martyrs and brandy
the birthday violation
the fighter as a circle
who gained footage of world expansion
the spiritualist from these broadcasts occasionally overpowering the fiercely militant drawing-room in radical decorum

go figure
eleven years later

What I’m Reading:

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!

— Lewis Carroll / Through the Looking Glass

a cemetery assortment 

a wedding for a cemetery assortment
of chests hired to capture crab apples worldwide
apples with no stunt-phrase or apple handlers
the cast—including a fifty-five-year-old forest of dreck during the eight sublime shares spliced by ages with runways in jumbles across the vast velocity veldt, villages suicide to keep up

a noose is flung around nature
for the ring of her cries

surely, if you weren’t impotent
you would be shouting
but there ain’t a thing you could do but take it
take it like those who didn’t bother to leave
the house to vote
let that bite you in places

set a ring around this circus

What I’m Reading:

Then we’ve got to take to the streets in a different way. We’ve got to shut down this country. . . We’re just beginning to think it through. We’re talking with colleagues and other organizations. There’s got to be a moment when people of good will will just say, This is way too far.

— Anthony Romero, to David Remnick / “We Might Have to “Shut Down the Country” / The New Yorker

Signs & Legends (redux)

There is no legacy in semiotics, she thought—nothing to tether to—not land, historical connection, cultural heritage—it was a deep deracination. She found no reason for planting any of her own signs, for setting her own roots, for begetting generations. She expected another apocalyptic culling—this one global. So why read signs?

Take a blithe light around the blockyard, you. Just leave me alone. You gimcrack tchotchke addict. Get your orgiastic superstars elsewhere, maybe at the Debauched Mart—they’re open 24 hours. Be off with you … and your pedestrian fish pix. So, again, why read signs?

What I’m Reading:

The days are bleak and I’ve forgotten how to dress.

— Tishani Doshi / “Tigress Hugs Manchurian Fir”

Spot Embarrassment

You want in on the joke?

Resting on smokes of joke, bunk, and stride, which are encased in cement, it seems outlandish, the diminutive creams seem to belong more to the manicured liars. The Orange Liar — thee antediluvian reptile. (coming soon to a nightmare near you)

Lumbering in the foreground sculpted by fossil fuel fusion. Re-cultured by the most regressive minds south of Paducah. Muddy prehistoric tableaus represented in bacon fat and butter. The first such exhibit for a rabbit bank, and a spectacle of the vegetable minds of the deep penny loather.

Still swampy after all these years and billed as a testament to transceivers-de-frenzy of heavy-sherry mice in a bowl of concrete. Mmm, that’s good eating!

Hollow-out a bowl of tower iguanodon — a massive, ancient herbivore around ten metres in bad hair plug-o-rama — one of Britain’s finest friends in a time of frippery and fraud. Careful, or we’ll sort you for the 52nd state of this pestilent dying fraudulence.

That asteroid can’t come soon enough!

What I’m Reading:

America has just invented Kinder, Gentler Genocide.
The patent is pending.

— Joe Sacco / War on Gaza

Nonsense

As Per the Review of American Flag Bows:

The courtesy superintendents are preparing for orange affection by moving aggressively against broccoli-haired stormers of good sense. Don’t hover about, lover, make yourself useful and burn your ballot before the Garfish Supermoon. 

Abase yourself before ceramic cookware as President Gas turns up the hot hot heat. Please see your barely credible predatory background packets, and whisper imagine that.

A gown wardrobe ruined indeed… What if we rewilded all of the world’s governor cows? 

Don’t you hear those sussurations in the form of human voices thrown as mourning doves?

Nonsense.

What I’m Reading:

Our time, on the other hand, has fed its despair in ugliness and convulsions.

— Albert Camus / “Helen’s Exile”