strapped to some unfathomable debilitating fear - yet that it is: fathomable by the tinge of it being primodial - archetypical - a very real "god" without an organised boasting court of a spanish inquisition - just a solitary ordeal...
new york city concrete - in 1970s style grit cinema - something akin to: a veil of flimsy sandpaper covering the eyes... as i'm thinking of buying charles olson's maximum poems - not that there's much of a difference between a hardcover and a soft-, at forty-quid a pop... that's comparable to splashing out on a heidegger's black notebook...
some awe-inspiring punctuation - morse and shrpanel - a pinnacle of rewind as i sit and watch: america the 1990s... and it's so much the same export and it's so much what's basically new-old if i were to keep my eyes itchy with glue and insomnia...
i think i'll buy the book - cur non?! it would surely make starving so very spectacular: spec-tac-ular... hardly a near miss - because there's always that: to imagine a square is nothing when imagining a kangaroo...
nor like this → here or therefore ↓ - c h o s u i l n (e) d i e f (d) v n e u r ↑ noiɈɒbnυoʇ ɒ niϱǝd ←
here: right - no centre - here a wish: left - begins: no leftover... someone once told me to stay away from the postmodernists... but on a diet of acute sensibility and teasing that old fulfilling desperation of life told by one against the marrow millions...
to present a whole chicken for a meal... when compared to... a bowl of chicken hearts that can be used to make a broth... you wouldn't roast a chicken with all the tender insides: of liver, of heart or stomach... headless chicken you serve... but... this one chicken is... and a bowl of chicken hearts ready for a broth / brew also... but the tenderness of a comparison...
i should have bought tool's fear inoculum when it first came out... i should have bought tool's fear inoculum when it first came out...
an ancient fear like a shadow that can move on its own will without a necessary body and a projection of the mind...
for the same amount of money... tool's fear inoculum or charles olson's maximus poems... let the heaving sigh of american originality pursue a decade longer... i'm not exactly supposed to find cultural exports of russia appealing... i might...
but america comes naked... comes certain... comes brown-nose and comes... a lethargic stress of light: if that could... but it's not possible!
i shouldn't have bothered reading postmodernists... beside Olson i don't think that i have...
it's not such an impossible gesture to wish for: given... one's own wish is... the sulking silence of a theatre - deemed impossible with actors... i feel so many crawling eyes over my body when i designate myself to a rest: but always prior... before a dream: there's never a dream... there's the erotica of suicide... a complete kenneth koch hard-on for jumping out of the window... there's even the added "mystery" of jumping out of the window with a knife... to make sure... the knife is pointing at the heart... because... making a pancake of oneself... finally having a revelation that... yes... upon impact... there's the skeleton with electric extensions of nerves... that there's no exoskeleton and that upon impact... the pain spreads like a soothing immediacy - that there are not days or weeks or medical induced coma recuperation...
what is the common question? suicidal thoughts... oh god... aren't they the best sort of erotica... the will to death is all that can be sometimes achieved... when so little of life fits... hierarchical agonies and groans...
it's not a hard-on but it's... a sort of goosebump hot shave and friction stubble of a tickled pair of ******* suddenly dropped into a bowl of creamy ice... with the whole guillotine spec-t'ah-cular! it's hardly a hard-on... it's an imitation ****...
that death must be ****** is so certain: inch by inch i try to escape the monotonous anthem of pride of the elders... the coffin the grave the hobby of tending to a yet entombing epitaph... death must be the best **** to come... beyond a mere dog howling bark and dangling whipping of dirt with hind legs and broomstick tail...
a pristine man to exoskeleton - a satanic gravity of falling... it's so important to imagine falling and how time morphs... perhaps throwing a stone prior and then chasing it... or at least pretending to chase a laughter of the mountain given the nibbled at nugget: guiding one's way!
because it can't like being with a woman and debating the worth of vinyl in the shop - how one might invest in buying up vinyl - i did buy a frank zappa vinyl and there's no debate...
i think of death personified... but unlike the personification as a mere skeleton: i imagine that there's a mouth... an ****... a stomach and the intestines...
of a god i find a heart at ache and a mind with scabs... and i can't help but acknowledge the genius' agony of: beside all that's perfect... the rats and the brimming full of imperfections...
i wish for a thought of luxury that's very much a death of either a patriarch or a sowing shut of a glutton's passage.. accents of rhythm: enough to allow a pass of bass mingling with the drums: the drums have lost their prized concern to be excavated... and all feels like Sunday...
even the trees rest... there's no insomnia of work... there's enough of the intricacies that manage idiosyncracy to manage a well conserved sigma purpose of... how Σ = ◻
these whimsical details that are - but also leave the contraband of gypsies unaffected... splinter of the mind: a caution when a word is used contrary to the shackles of revisionist psychopaths... since that's the right definition: and psychopaths are prized Nero bulls should the "other" N with bigger... come giggling... laughing because the route of the river was... the drying of the tongue... not because of point: ever being made... but because... there's the bite of the bait of the tongue made into sacrifice... and oh... my sanctity of the mind... isn't...
toward a sea of drowning... toward a sea of night... toward a gorgon moon... and the antithesis of jumping from a height: that a drowning might be concentrated upon... a question: regarding a buoyancy of bones...
the taste of warm whiskey is always a bite... i once hoped to have made myself in an acclaim of expressing love... i was... apparently... the great don juan loiterer... the penny count st. matthew drifter... an arithmetic mad count lesson x: because... algebra is how a large number is condensed...
i still love the taste of the bitten off nails... it's unlike... well... it isn't... because you can't exactly fixate your teeth on an in-between with cartilage... come bones... and the hair is: a fly in a champagne flute... but nails? nails are like target practice... when one has to come across... playing the flute of a chicken drumstick... leaving the hollow wooden piece and some... marrow...
a testimony of a word collage over a wording... that's also a limbo fretting that's a bad grammar: the bad taste of analogy... the missing of teeth "metaphor": that all metaphysics, can be, a metaphor... that... any language spoken these days... that isn't greek... with that lisp imitating iberian primo... is like... a death sentence with time: inconsequential...
there's a pretty poem... there's a pretty flower... there's a spider, there's the concept of architect... and there's... the great gatsby: fly in a champagne flute to have to... "spoil the party"... there are the postmodernists... and there's the: vague... tongue-chasing... modernist-revisionism... a post-tow-too... of the post- in light of all 'ings myriad'ern!
the heaving dust of words: that by a democratic majority are... unread... like some... fiddling genghis khan jr. this... loiter... this... john adams' ripe lingering apple of frustration... to have to imagine: heaving for applause... then: that there's / it's necessary to heave any or rather: no applause... than the deserving rite is inhibited parlay of the pickled pear... the shadows can somehow make grief... that the sun can spawn planets and subsequently moons...
it's oh so impossibly true! the fickle drama of youth and the paint-stroking of hormonal rogue over-powering a blatancy of blue teasing suffocating a "purpose" of bishopric purple... beside the already having arrived at... cardinal creases... otherwise hasidic black basic...
my faint! my full moon! me jolsting the aspiring marathon sprinter of a oyster's worth! the leisure of barricading stones that's grieving for some wisdom from a solomon & mountain.