hourly at :23

We Ask … of Divination

Dear Residents,

We ask of divination no deviation from devotion to the caw and cedilla.

We ask that you please use cedar chips while entering the garage as the bullfight ring and kitty litter obscure a particular type of idiocy.

We ask that you use caution in ideation as our snowflake rendezvous is plying a new behavioral therapy.

We ask that call and response be done hourly at :23 past the hour, and limit itself to topics of salt and filibuster idiosyncrasies.

We ask that you dilate your pupils before driving your cars out of the garage, and that you relinquish all pertinent identikits of suspect snowpersons.

We ask that if there are any changes concerning the occupancy of your home that you please contact the nearest template manager for the appropriate boilerplate druid for inclusion into the Domesday Pay-Off Traid Plus. (Refer to codicil 11.1a. for any exclusions)

We ask that if you marinate your meats after 4pm, that you please prepare an appropriate sofrito according to Cuban standards.

We ask for exultation’s sake that cotton balls double as snowflakes and “huzzahs” be produced from deep in the gizzard. (Some restrictions apply if you are of non-avian extraction)

We ask that you excuse our caveats as we bulldoze your tenancy, and your petty concerns about glacier calving. We prefer our icebergs Rhode Island-sized and thick.

We ask our clumsy cèilidh be excused. We are all left feet and chicken-toed, bow-legged and jocularly unfunny.

We ask that you snuggle an elected idler as they shovel the excess snow which will one day be mere coolish water. They’ll need buckets then.

We ask that you pardon our glower. We’se mad as hell.

We ask you have a nice day. Ok?

Thank you,

The Manglement

What I’m Reading:

“so
we are
made
made
in pain to pose
and shimmer”

— Jennifer Sperry Steinorth / Her Read: A Graphic Poem

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outside of history

Oneiric Thing

Fade in. Write you into a dream. It becomes nightmare. WASP-69b. All shadow despite the flames ringing the frame. Aggravated arpeggios plinked by helium horns on hydrogen bushes. Something vast, sinuous and sinister, undulates beyond the horizon. Outside of history. Cacophonic ferrous tang. Tour dates announced. Take this show on the road. For all mankind. Fade to black.

What I’m Reading:

To the left, I was now sure, was the place where my brother lay dying. To the right, there was nothing. I decided to walk in the direction of that.

— Maya Binyam / Hangman

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siroccos for company

on the move (ukiah•tanka)

yellow umbrellas sprouting
in the rainforest
canopies of the insects

orange gates appear
in the desert signaling
humans on the move
mass migrations from the heat
siroccos for company

What I’m Reading:

Jan.16.2022

They drop the morphine under your tongue. How
it must feel like a faint raindrop taken
from the sky.”

— Victoria Chang / “Today”

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the terminal point

Wanes

I trap my shadow.
I pin it by footpad to the concrete.
I crush it.

Happiness wanes
At the terminal point—
At the edge of the nimbus.

What I’m Reading:

“the darkness is as heavy as he is himself, he thinks, and the darkness is dense and thick, now it is one single darkness, a play of blackness”

— Jon Fosse / Aliss at the Fire

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an embroidered wound

The Best Stuff I Read This Week

“If I lean in,
I can hear all the words said in your
life, now in a different order. There’s still
no love, even though I’ve looked through all the
words twice.

— Victoria Chang / “Today”


“Decades ago, our politicians and engineers and other problem-solvers failed to build us a bridge to the future when they had the chance. Now, stranded here in the early 21st century, a chasm opening up in front of us, we must find a different path between the worlds. Caught in the teeth of an unsolvable predicament, facing a future “dark and darkening further,” we must still walk forward. But how? Neither pessimism nor simple optimism is going to cut it for us. Something more robust is needed.”

— Andrew Boyd / I Want a Better Catastrophe: Navigating the Climate Crisis with Grief, Hope, and Gallows Humor


“We are the cats inside. We are the cats who cannot walk alone, and for us there is only one place.”

— William S. Burroughs / The Cat Inside


“The less plastic in contact with your food the better, because even if it’s not breaking into microplastics, it could be leaching chemicals directly into the food.”

—Matt Simon / “Microplastics are everywhere. Here’s what that means for your health.” / Apple News In Conversation


“Reader, it breaks.
We are filled with faults.
Here it is again.
An embroidered wound.”

— Jennifer Sperry Steinorth / Her Read: A Graphic Poem


“… concentration of wealth yields concentration of political power, especially as the cost of elections continues to skyrocket. There is the shredding of the democratic system by the rapid increase in the ability to just buy elections.”

— Noam Chomsky / Requiem for the American Dream


“I spend the day in other people’s tears.”

— Victoria Chang / “Today”

What I’m Listening To:

“I am still falling, the earth is dying
Don’t stop the party, the world is spinning
And you’re just a body, you’re just a body”

— Lucinda Chua / “Somebody Who”

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super-sized syzygy

Instead of I Love You

I’d rather say…

My heart, a meatgrinder pulse in your cosmic stew churns out galaxies of beatpoet farrago. Each beat splicing and fractionating you into every nightmare, every delirium, every synaptic Fata Morgana. You’re the papaver fix that jolts my popovers, the junky serenade that jellies through my nervous system.

Imagine, butter babe, a neon skyline tattooed on the underside of your eyelids, that’s the cityscape of my infection. Every alleyway a memory, every skyscraper a bomb cyclone shrieking your name. And I shirk in my unpressed shirt, a beatnik bard, serenading you with my distortion and static.

You’re a word virus, yellowjacket momma, infecting the universe with our scruffy love. It’s going to be negative fifteen, but I’ll be out there, tangled in a Möbius strip of clenched sphincters, where time unravels, every kiss an eternal shout, every touch a super-sized syzygy. Forget linear narrative, moon pie! I’m a quantum entangled sun in coronal mass ejection across the cosmic void. I’m as asynchronous and disjunctive as they come.

So open your third eye, moonbeam, this ain’t no Hallmark romance. This is pure love that explodes off the page and into your soul via your medulla… will you be my Valentine? My St. Sebastian pin cushion?

image: Planetary System chart, with five opening flaps, depicting Eclipse of the Sun, The Moon, The Zodiacal Light, and Meteoric Shower / Yaggy’s Geographical Study, 1887 / in public domain

What I’m Reading:

As Brion Gysin says: “Man is a bad animal!”

— William S. Burroughs / The Cat Inside

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angels bullfight fireflies

drink

bulldog benefactor alcohols the bite—
spindles the jab

firework atlas sahib jackboots the algorithm—
compliant

cerberus-headed and addled—
i hold u in

there is no need for intent or evacuation—
angels bullfight fireflies
drink

What I’m Reading:

“we surrender
two birds
and
three children in the furnace”

— Jennifer Sperry Steinorth / Her Read: A Graphic Poem

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colitis goes by

Mister Mondegreen

I’ve planted it here in my bones and made it a part of the ringing in my ears. There’s no Marquessa of Nice Dreams. All is tinnitus and susurration—nightmares in the depths of our daily miracles.

Place your hand here on this chopping block. I promise to draw it from memory once I’ve severed it. Then I’ll scotch tape the drawing onto your stump.

Call me peculiar, call me nightmare whippersnapper, but don’t call me Mister Marmolista!

The rocks I chip away at are imperfection. I want to free the plague inside of the blocks of marble.

I’m a bit unusual, you see. I work addition by subtraction. I’m an attraction. Come one, come all—but don’t use my come blanket, that is all mine.

Come into the light where I may see you better and clarify what mystifies me about you. Then I’ll ask about that odd orange-yellow patina all about you—about millet and colitis.

I don’t recall where I heard about that mondegreen once. Instead of hearing: “the girl with kaleidoscope eyes,” they heard “a girl with colitis goes by.”

So call me Mr. Mondegreen instead—that’s my life.

Now you may go about yours. Have a nice day.

What I’m Reading:

“you are the cow that gives birth
to an unutterable fantasy
you are the jelly
& you are the come blanket”

— Harris Schiff / “Pure Poison”

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eater of beans

Lament the Asterisk*

The world is full of asterisks and mollusks, but the asterisks are quickly replacing the mollusks. Whelks and welts are abundant in the inner spheres of lucubration and indigestion. Are you studying my gestations? My ravenous clawed and fanged It’s Alive child? … or thingamajiggy, as it were? I’m a great thespian, tragician, and imperturbable babbler of dreams. A pockmarked jelly rolled Bwana Johnny wannabe dreamer schemer—eater of beans—my grandmother’s frijoles colorados, if you please. This pointless thumb striking emolument signifying nothing but pounds and furies. What have I come to? What can I bear? What will I do next but lament the asterisk?* (Yes, ok) What a pernicious periwinkle am I. Where’s John P. Ryan when you need him?

What I’m Reading:

“You’d never
know the planet is dying. Here, the clouds
have holes in them and the deer are more etched
with shadow. “

— Victoria Chang / “Today”

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critical focal [{(/acuity/)}] vacuity

What I’m Reading:

“There is snow, now—
A thing of silent creeping—
And day is strange half-night”

— D’Arcy McNickle / “The Mountains”

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