ice mommy malone

found voicemail tanscription blues

. . . do not use the toilet and flush with the reserve water held in the tank or water that has been saved in a bucket or nearby tub no flushing UNT5IL the end of the water . . .

. . . i have a haven’t received the part from persons bike shop for the for the him install whenever you get a chance we can install you a good one bye . . .

. . . good afternoon um Laura this is Carmen Sandiego I’m calling from Easter national bank we need to have a new updates on them you might be account please ice mommy Malone polls can you answer me that you received the email so I can send you the information that I need in order to update the file OK please call me back . . .

. . . the level of the repair buckets of water has been placed near each of those bathrooms once complete you can use one of the buckets of water to force flush the toilet gentlemen urinals are available in the men’s room off of the treadmill fitness . . .

. . . restaurants near… Going to say if it’ll say good afternoon my name is Anna iPhone contact with this Siri program my phone to deciding on Bana you could please call me back if I thank you . . .

. . . happy birthday sister happy birthday I’m on the boat thing with the Roto boiler line them up for happy birthday talk to you later . . .

What I’m Reading:

His mind again was a tabula rasa, except that now nothing more could be printed upon it. The film had been exposed.

— Georgi Gospodinov / Time Shelter

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lily pad hermetic

Eye Control

Eye control mama in the least astounding ways by belly up singing or Billie Holiday braying by the light of the moon nothing remains diatonic or dismorphic if it’s not recreational I pass the strangest man on the subway he was going interstellar and I waited all day to infiltrate the bus depot with chromatic meaning especially as your soporific was hibiscus fruit juice out of a triangle spigot it was sometimes in the chirring of those large cicadas which aspired to paid fellowships and residencies that I dreamt of playing pool at Pedro’s house as “Chevy Van” trilled from an AM radio then it cut to a few years earlier as Martin was building bunkers and lecturing me about nuclear war in the year 2000 and its millennial certainty as he claimed and I went on droning in the back of my own head in the depth of my sorrow in the shadow of a psychotic episode.

It’s all so lily pad hermetic. So how could you possibly know? But I remember these things.

What I’m Reading:

A raging river of gurgling snowmelt churned in the ravine far below where I squatted, and as I scanned upward I saw the sun was cutting a shaft of light over the monstrous Andes mountains.

What a breathtaking place to take a shit.

— Kristen Jokinen / Joy Ride: A Bike Odyssey from Alaska to Argentina

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defilement is postmodern

not art / snot fart

defilement is postmodern
defacement is commitment
vandalism is homecoming

What I’m Reading:

. . . re-vision is what keeps vision from hardening into dogma.

— Eleanor Wilner / “Her Introduction” / from Her Read by Jennifer Sperry Steinorth

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the savage republic

happy bitter skates (tankas+)

happy bitter skates
happy bitter on the thrash
bombshell linkman talk
happy bitter speaking tool
reread spoonful minefield blues

overlord country /
lights receding / snarling curs
come to take u home
to the savage republic
stars and bars and truncheons black

watch who u look at
what u looking at!

What I’m Reading:

Normally this walk cheers me up when I’ve had enough of being an insignificant foreigner: teaching classes in Latin American literature at a gringo university is like cutting trees in a deserted forest with no one around to hear them fall.

— Alvaro Enrigue / “Heavy Weather: Air” / Hypothermia

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pear of anguish

plumb me

ive got easter island heads talking at each other
ive got songs for drella in my noise cancelling ears
ive got pier paolo passolini’s 120 days of sodom on the rewind—
and a mustard solo on a hebrew national on a bun
ive got heironymous bosch and francis bacon painting pope innocent x from the far side of a darkened tunnel
ive got the temerity of a titmouse—black crested, if u please—on the tail end of a northern expansive migration as the days weeks + years heat up
glue me to a rack / spin me on ur catherine wheel / plumb me with ur pear of anguish
hours loop and neutrinos shoot thru us
what are we doing to make a difference?
wait
can i monetize making a difference?
wait
give me some nam june paik video feedback
there
that’s better
how do i brand this?

What I’m Reading:

subversive angels flutter like pigeons from a rooftop,
this stripped and starving earth is not a grave

— Martín Espada / “Hands Without Irons Become Butterflies” / Imagine the Angels of Bread

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empire and imperialism

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week

. . . I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail . . .

— Lawrence Ferlinghetti / “I Am Waiting” / These Are My Rivers: New and Selected Poems


The planet just experienced the hottest February on record, with global average temperature rising 1.77°C above the pre-industrial average for the month, according to a bulletin from the European Union’s Copernicus Climate Change Service (C3S). That makes it the ninth month in a row to set a monthly heat record.

— James Dinneen / “The world just experienced the hottest February on record” / New Scientist


. . . God, like the future, is female—a prophylactic
against patriarchy, a cork stopper in the mouth of a gun.

— Gregory Pardlo / “Giornata 4”


In accounts of the Anthropocene, and of the present climate crisis, capitalism is very often the pivot on which the narrative turns. I have no quarrel with this: as I see it, Naomi Klein and others are right to identify capitalism as one of the principal drivers of climate change. However, I believe that this narrative often overlooks an aspect of the Anthropocene that is of equal importance: empire and imperialism.

— Amitav Ghosh / The Great Derangement


The soldiers give off a smell that reminds me of coffins. I find myself wishing that a heart attack would kill me.

— Mosab Abu Toha / “A Palestinian Poet’s Perilous Journey Out of Gaza” / The New Yorker


Just to recite the relevant history, as quickly as possible. Forty years ago, Exxon’s scientists learned all there was to know about climate change—they forecasted the temperature in 2020 with remarkable accuracy. And the company’s executives believed them—among other things they began building their drilling rigs higher to compensate for the rise in sea level they knew was coming, and plotting out which corners of the Arctic they would drill once it melted. What they didn’t do was tell the rest of us: instead, they helped erect a huge architecture of deceit and denial and disinformation that kept us locked for three decades in a sterile battle about whether or not global warming was ‘real,’ a fight both sides knew the answer to from the outset. But one side was willing to lie.

— Bill McKibben / “The most epic (and literal) gaslighting of all time” / Substack


. . . I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody . . .

— Lawrence Ferlinghetti / “I Am Waiting” / These Are My Rivers: New and Selected Poems

What I’m Listening To:

All hail
God’s Country
Daily Mail bacon baps
Racist uncles want their country back
Flag Shaggers
Maggie Thatcher
Oh Britannia
God save the King

— Lambrini Girls / “God’s Country”

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a fever dream


image: Andreas Cellarius / “Copernican System of the Universe” / 1660, in public domain

the word : firmament

we are lost at sea without anchorage.

the firmament is a figment of a syphillitic fever dream.

the firmament is affixed to a corrugated sheet of tin—full of pinpricks—and backed by massive metal armatures. the sun and moon roll on their gyring tracks, and a giant nighthawk streaks by occasionally with a bundle of fiery sticks in its beak.

this is the vindication of the seamless. seems like a scene a from another time, but no, it’s now, it’s true. it always has been. thee internets says it’s so.

i saw with my own eyes the impossible. the irrepressible. because look what a shining city on a hill we’ve made here.

here, here. huzzah and hurrah. harrumph and holly.

affirm the freakishness of the firmament affixed by a fever dream.

the only constant is impermanence.

image: J.J. Grandville / “The Wanderings of a Comet” / 1844, in public domain

What I’m Reading:

It is the star above us makes us see
The distance of the firmament, immensity
Of the green wave that swells beneath the dark.

— Jenny Joseph / “Out of Sight of Land”

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sunshine state withers

Back Home Tanka (redux)

Back from the sun’s glare—
Fog obliterates the sky—
It’s good to be home.
The birds shroud their songs in gray—
Sunshine State withers away.

What I’m Reading:

I dislike tanned people. They walk around with dead skin on their bodies.

— Agustina Bazterrica / “Dishwasher” / Nineteen Claws and a Blackbird

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in this (my) neighborhood pt. 56

Signs

Signifiers

Semaphore Sinals

It’s All Semiotics

What I’m Reading:

Outside, even the sun-god, dressed in this life
as a lizard, abruptly rises
on stiff legs and descends blasé toward the shadows.

— Reginald Gibbons / “At Noon”

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all her ghosts

Driving the Heat Dome (redux)

Traveling sorts her memories.
Driving to Miami sharpens
her father’s voice—like acid
catalyzing in her ears boring
a ragged chute to her amygdala—
simultaneously black-holing her backward
and shooting her into an uncertain future
full of Get to Know Jesus and Get Your Guns
& Ammo
 Here billboards. She fights.
She flees from all her ghosts. She barrels
south—under the heat dome. 

Tobacco leaves yellow—corn browns & withers—in her wake.

What I’m Reading:

. . . my father dug a pit
for the pig roast,
and neighbors spoke prophecy
of dark invasion
beneath the growl of lawnmowers . . .

— Martin Espada / “Cada Puerco Tiene Su Sábado” / Imagine the Angels of Bread

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