naked and exotic
quixotic and nude
Jane Nude, brassy
The barking of little dogs in the night
Under the carpark stars
In the ballgame radio evening
Out under the UFOs
For the difficult meal ahead
For the evening of drink and abuse
Like cash n carry apes
The world'll be overrun by consumer demand.
We'll run out of goods -- half-human apethings will struggle over empty
boxes. They'll fight to the death for any old consumer good: the top half of
a barbie, a dented toaster, a golf club. In the dirt arena of a fire-orange
The biggest ape's got a hoard of useless kipple. He's bling bling with
finery. Nothing satisfies, all he knows is the journey, the quest. If
he weren't consuming, he'd sit inert. Consumption as the new
evolutionary imperative! Or...the oldest!
Consumption's in the DNA. The canny producers of consumer goods know
this and make it all about hunger. They school us on food advertising,
then use those stimulus-responses for other more complex things. soon
they will apply them to vast abstractions, like Truth, or Democracy, or
Economics. Geopolitical schisms, slapped branded and hawked!
the valley of the burning children
Over the valley of the burning children. An inferno of infants.
Villagers carry babytorches on errands in the nightstreets. "Get
pregnant, mother," urges Svalbard, "the People are starving!" Babies &
children harnessed to drive machines and conveyances. New adults arrive
from over the hill with stapled orders, and join the community.
Children are not considered people at all. They're considered a kind of
subhuman dwarfish race. Memories carefully blanked, and the interim
stages isolated, the People are taught that children, if allowed, grow
into hideous monsters (fig. 1) while the People come from beautiful,
flawless white eggs (fig. 2) produced in an underground chamber by a
lovely large mother-goddess (fig. 3)
Including the imperfections in my art, not discarding or "fixing"
eliding them, acknowledges the fact that life is not perfect, and to
pretend that it is is to blandify and falsify our experience
It's funny how we think that others are actually happy tormenting us
when the truth is nobody who torments another is ever really happy
about it. never does it from a place of happiness.
She and her ilk always making the "right" choices, the "smart"
-- so why the fuck aren't you happy then? Or did you figure happiness
was simply not part of it, you're just lucky to be surviving and
The more you do this, the more of an automaton you are. Easily
controlled en masse by the few far away in their little rooms. Easily
predicted and herded in a body. Toward the logical consensus of your
This how to build a better consumer. Make it so that the only "logical"
choices lead to conditions promoting the existence of a better
consumer-unit. Evolve a better consumer-unit out of the raw material of
the mob. Invent evolution, then use it to your benefit!
Pardon me for venting
In the carolina rain
Junk and gigiology
The fattest man in the icehouse
Drowns in a bucket of piss
At the gathering of a new day
Sinners all aglow
The sun of a liquor store down below
Two giggles ago
Two giggles aglow
Logging giggles on Snogday
the plasma column
call up the electrons
at fucking firebase
like an origami anchovy
we're just a thin film of scum
on the quantum world
a thin film of quantum scum
congealed on this world
rising out of the quantum foam
where all things are possible, and probable
in the warmth of the noir
like a fresnell audience
they're drilling for ancient rain today
why they're dowsing in the rain
why are they dowsing in the rain?
the vocabulary fucks
the vocabulary constabulary
serious in the drama void
the folder fucks
paper cut on your cock
well you'll have to wait for the worst
for the wraith that is wroth
to regain the senses
to struggle through the sensual mindfield
she fired an arrow into my spirit
it fell to earth nowhere near it
a question full of sense
a séance full of silence
what if they gave a séance and nobody died?
what if they gave a sex and nobody came?
Logon to my dignity
Logon to muy dignity
Do dignify my logon
With your studious integrity
Orgasm in the moonlight
On the moonwhite buns of the spilled milk girl
Haul me to a hotel room
I wish to claim what's rightfully mine
I want to explode in slippery sex
Not the illinois senate race
Valentine for Nelly Void
Valentine for Nelly Void
nelly needs indonesia like some people need oxygen
Nelly needs Krakatoa
Kara jerks Krakatoa wild
Mars needs Indonesia badly
Nelly needs Indonesia tonight
Nelly needs a valentine tonight
A valentine of krakatoa
On a crackling phone line now
Nelly will not pick up the phone
Nelly will not dial
Nelly will not cradle the phone
Nelly will not smile
Good god, she said, I'm topless!
As well you are, I said, bottomless
I am, she said, only a middle
Indeed, I said, but what a middle
Like an alabaster hourglass
With a elongated little navel
And handles for my clammy hands
And nonskid skin to boot!
!!! she said, !!
and I replied ...
suddenly the seas were sixty feeth high
we shipped a sea over the bulwarks
with our cargo of teeth, seventy thousand
in seas seventy thousand fathoms deep
seventy fathoms deep
the teeth fell like rain
from broken boxes of teeth
surrounded by their wadding
down among their batting
teeth on the floor of the sea
weird fish will grin tonight!
and all the psilocybes were happy
and all the psilocybes were writhin
and all the psilocybes were jivin
all across the town
in league with seven tins of breakfast
seven tons of breakfast
yes lights the fuse
les lights the fuse
like a hardcore bodyguard
like a psilocybin boyfriend
transfer of fire
Surging from your furious urging
Spurting from your whispering urging
Splooging from your rugent fusion
Furious, your recent fusion
Like the fury at the middle of the sun
Like the furi in the center of the sun
Like Yuri at the center of the sun
10 degrees cooler than one million degress
where elements turn into other elements
the fusion in the center of you
needs fuel, sunshine
don't digest your singularity self
don't digest even every photon
don't digest your every little photon
the world needs stars, sunshine
the world need suns, starshine
suns spurting photons to a furious summons
suns spurting sunlight off a furious sighing summons
suns spurting sunlight to your furious coming summons
can't digest your every little sun
Don't, it burns!
the cork came out
the conduit hummed
the conduit buzzed
the crowd hubbubed
the hubbub goggled
the hubbub Hubbled
squinting at distant quasar phenomena
focusing in the distant phenomenon
the milk spilled and spilled again
stop me before I spill again!
But milk, perhaps, was made for spilling
Blocks for knocking down
Entropy will have his fuggin way with us
Every single goddamn time
We deserve the rest entropy proffers
Inviting us to loll at his feet
A comfy chair for our relaxal
There's no such thing as heat death, kids
Not for immortals like us
There's calluses on the moon tonight
The moon's hands are pearly with calluses
The moon's been playing the guitar far too much
Plucking the stars far far too much
The moon can run up and down the scale now
Up and down the solar system
Sold out in the solar system
The moon on guitar and bass
The stars on keyboards & bells
The sun is the frontman
I close my eyes and feel you
I close my eyes and fight the wind of you
With my mind I ford the wind of you
With my mind I look for the window to you
I must close my eyes to find the window to you
When open the window obscures into words
Some more smeary than others
Like a parabolic ghost
Like a heliographic phong
There on the convex phone
There on the windowpane babe
She's windowpane for my mind
Acid for my mind
Delivers the slipstick visions
Delivers those lipstick visions
Blotter in my mind
And no sunglasses will suffice
over by the distant proffers
distant by the overproffers
proffers to the distant surfers
on the deck of the beach house tonight
we toast the distant surfers
noble in the golden sunset
classy in the golddust dusk
a toast to the golden haired surfers
climbing the combers below
on galleria street
vomiting in terror
to their underwear sleep
Yesterday I photographed a late flower on the jasmine. Katya's little
white soul, near the chair where she spent her last moments here.
She could be a white flower on a green chair. The sun lasered her soul
into a flower there, burning the leaves. The sun collects the souls of
cats. When she died, the fog literally lifted. So the sun could find
her. She became smoke and went into the sky.
She became a late flower all alone on the June/July margin while the
rest of them bloomed months ago. She always did keep apart from the
others. When I first saw her all the kittens were sleeping in a pile in
the soft cat bed, and she was sleeping curled in a ball on a sack of
cat food. So I said, That's just the kind of nonconformist cat I can
really relate to (or, just the kind of lonelyheart I could really
Last night suffering from being unable to remember being kind to Katya
in the weeks before. In my own black contagion at her mortality, I
seethed into myself and was not
grief and denial I blamed her & raged at
her for not living forever.
I could not remember, either, ever being loving to my own mother. I
can't remember hugging or kissing my mother. Or even being kissed by
her. I can only remember being sung to. I can't remember her hands on
me, nothing, not one touch, no physical affection. It's all been wiped
clean, except for those few cliché pics that have the quality of
Katya lives on in Nick, who's in my lap. The memory of each cat will
live on in the next one. There will never be a catless period. An
unbroken line of cats til I'm dead.
There's a little sungod in the room
There's a sundog in the room
There's a ring around the moon in the room
There's a ground fog in the room
And it's civil twilight in the room
There's a kind of fog around the room
Swallowing the baseboards, hugging the baseboards
Playing baseball with the baseboards
Twilight of the fog
A snog in the twilight
A twi-night doubleheader
A snog with Lucy at the twinight doubleheader
Brutus with a scythe
Cassius on the thresher
Violence on the threshing floor of the senate
The Winnipeg Witch
Works at the donut shops in the Manitoba suburbs
Manitou appears to her
Shakes his shamanic rattles
She's prostrate behind the deep fat fryer.
My fingers need their exercise
They need to be let off the leash
Is there a dogpark for fingers?
Where they can freewrite to their hearts content?
I left my fingers in here all night and went to bed
When I woke up in the morning I found they'd typed an entire novel
without me. weird reading the type of thing fingers think is a novel.
They make such silly choices. but some of the forms were divine, and I
kissed them and returned them to my hands.
the magic chancellor
Otto von Bismarck has learned his magic
His alchemical magic from the gloomy dells of the Schwarzwald
Where ugly immortal old ladies smoke long pipes on their doorsteps
With poorly concealed piles of little children bones just out back
These are the metaphorical old ladies
Who consume the spry and green limbs of youth
This is time's slow, inexorable magic
To subsume everyone
Time and Otto von Bismarck
now will subsume everyone
In a rapscallion mandala
Some kind of spiraling phenomena
On the outhouse wall
stamina & lamination
the lovely jackoff spies
with their long slow smiles and vermillion eyes
slow soft message jets
landing far behind the lines
Noodling in the snowbook
In a narcoleptic ark
In a summer all the stars allege
Gary's glass prosthesis
Gary got a glass arm
This marine's got a glass arm now
Which slowly's taking over his psyche
He's thinking glassine thoughts
There are glass entities
Who live in mirrors and windows
Moving slowly, so so slowly
And watching, always watching
It slowly takes over his thinking
They must lock him up
Or he'll smash every pane of glass he sees
Even in the little pane peeking
In upon his padded cell
Looking in and laughing.
Petrol and the lebanese engines
Seabees and the lebanese
This is my Friday night mind
Frustrated in your gimbals
Like a mutated cornucopia
Enjoy the thrill of the dentists
Michael Caine's lidocaine future
Michael Caine's speculating in lidocaine futures
"This supernova nebula," began the astronomer.
"Yeah?" mused his boss, Dr. Tanner, scanning papers & paying
"Well...it's forming itself into an image of Voltaire."
Tanner looked up, over the tops of his glasses.
"We checked. It's clearly Voltaire," said the astronomer.
"When did this supernova occur?"
Tanner checked the online encyclopedia. Francois-Marie Arouet De
Voltaire, died on May 30th, 1778.
"This is superluminal causality," began the astronomer.
"Are you crazy? Causality? How can a dead French philosopher
cause a supernova remnant to resemble his face?"
"Then obviously there's something else at work here."
"Perhaps it's a hoax of some kind. Aliens--"
"Perhaps it's the dorks in your own department messing with the
"Oh, my...I never thought of that."
"You astronomers are so gullible!"
Here among the booming believers. The booming surf of the surfing
believers. In the distance, the booming breakers. Sailors do not like
to hear the booming breakers. The booming of the breakers is the sound
of death approaching. Especially in the night. Then we know we are off
course and headed for certain doom. When the lighthouse is out. Or an
island where there are no lighthouses. On an island in the middle of
the starlit ocean. In the middle of the western ocean all rose with the
afterglow of the middle of the night. We are careering in the starlight
toward the sound of booming breakers. Best heave to and wait for
With nightrise, the ocean tires. The ocean's sleeping under the stars.
The fish are cruising and bubbling.
Heaped contumely on the forward monitors
Foamward on the forward monitors
Homeward to the baby monitors
Starward on an ocean of mirrors
The part of the signal with the flesh on
The Ojibway in prison
Cluster's last stand. General George Cluster. Yellow-Hair. Peanut
brittle. Cluster at Stuckeys. Cluster's last stand at Stuckeys, facing
armies of sister shoplifters.
Harry Yellow Hair, the white man with the Ojibway.
Emily Flypaper Film
Ferroaquarius. Feral aquarius. Feral fish. Feral spirals. Filial
spirals and fish scales. John Cale and the Fishscales. Fish scales =
bubbling underwater chromatics. In the Piscian Mode.
A fly in front of the crescent.
In front of the cement.
Hissing like a thousand suns
Kissing in the kiln
The kiln is stoked by the kissing.
Kissing like one thousand suns
Stoked in the morning, in the blaze
The morning comes up like a flash fire
Morning trains its beams on the hills like a forest fire
The kiln is stoked by lightning
Like a morning breaking like lightning
It seemed to come on like a flash of inspiration
Like a brilliant Einsteinan idea, the morning
Dawned over the pines
The keepsake computers. Keening brilliance in the ten thousand suns.
Prilliance of the ten thousand things. filled with sun like a monitor
full of sky.
Fierce with a bone melting glare, red like the stoic gaze of jesus
Brianna and her bretheren. Brother Ren of the bretheren. He wants to
dance in the priory yard. He wants to bring his boombox to dinner with
the monx. Monks of the Isle of Man. Manx monks dancing to the box.
Anger of the whanger
Like a gypsy ghost pavilion
Like a forest full of gypsy ghosts
Picking the pockets of the other ghosts
The bathwater of childhood. Steeping in the bathwater of childhood.
Steeping in the childhood bathwater. For how many more years?
A flock of index ghosts
A flock of distant ghosts
A flock of distaff ghosts
She hovers by the towers
Hypocrisy of the apothecary
Smoking in the pubic tub
Years of stritch & stain
At the years of mirrors scrub
Crud from around the drain
Smoking in a pumping tub
Pumping in a pubic tub
Pumping with a pubic tug
The cool air smells like motherfuckers
The cool air smells like motherfucker city
Twilight in Motherfuck City
I want people to look at my writing and say, Hey, waitaminnit...that's
impossible. You can't do that!
Like a wartorn lothario
Jimmy the wartime lothario
One of the only men left in town
Aside from the outbreak of lesbianism
Women thrashing together in the night
Jimmy, 4-F on account of his (giant) penis
Has all the ass he can handle
He's got like 6 daily regulars
He's fondling the wartime women
He's up to his balls in coochie & cooze
The kid is overdrawn on sperm to 1967
The war's end is a relief of a unique kind
Afterward, he's got to see them every day, these wives
These wives who once fucked the shit out of him then
And now the wives treat him like scum.
seven word surfers
Shivering in the coldsward
Heading winterward in a dogsled of eagles
On a dogsled of seagulls
Heading chrissyward on a cold steel rail
Heading christward on a sword of destiny
On a cross of destiny
40 businessmen in a cruciform aerodevice
loosing exposure on an overexposed world
an overexploded world
on an overloaded world
on bicycle ice
on a dogsled of souls
on a wintersled of wins
the sun sledding winterside
to a desperately southern horizon
surfing a dense southern horizon
a dogsled of souls
morning over media city
the sun's a protractor grenade
here in the summery gardens
here in the summary gardens
there's digitators in the Summaries
computing sums all goddamn day long
a different kind of person toils in the Producteries
the ghost of a nude model
ghost of an old nude model
ghost of a new nude model
ghost of the newest model
that which does not kill us
only makes us laugh
that which does not kill us
only makes us longer
sleeping late in the penitents
sleeping late in the pennytents
In the tethers of the netherworld
That's where our love will go
Snarling in the netherworld
Either or in the neitherworld
Neter in the Netherwords
crushing the bundsnatch rebellion
beating a tattoo on the stateroom door.
Summers of pullman & stateroom rebellion
Hunting catcalls in the street
Maureen in a mini magenta
Plotting a course by all the construction sites
Haunting catcalls in the streets
The miniskirt ghosts
The translucent construction workers
Fuckin umbrella beauty
You sinkfuckin sucksnog!
A watched boy never boyles
The BoBo brothers
freewrites & the calendars of god
the powwow gunpowder, the war of the calendars. the Julian vs. the
Gregorian forces. Nobody really took the Metric forces seriously; they
set up a splinter group in the tip of Ethiopia which can still be
visited today. There they reckon the months by flavor.
Volcano cow operations
Vulpine cow repercussions
seeing the ancient ferry trees
carrying stars from one side of the sky to the other
ferrying stars from one shore of the sky to the other
Buddha came and lived with one of them for a while
its thoughts too slow and not human
he almost got it, but not quite
molecules rearranged. in the maw of the volcano. volcano molecules
touchstone cute. cute cute volcano with a shaven vulva. smooth vulva
ivory dreams. smooth vulva drama.
the whores are back to their old tricks. They're back to their old
dicks. the money was too too good. that's the thing -- she yearned to
fuck for money so I let her. and simple society would never allow such
a thing. the simple polite shapes of society. the simple polite
simpering smileshapes of polite police society.
simpering society, whispering to the police
simpering society whimpering to the police
polishing off the cops
polishing the brass of the cops
kissing brass to the cops
polyps of the colyps
cops of the colon
silent spiraling mind
slowly spiraling mind
slowly orbiting mind
you and your slowly orbiting mind
return to endless sender, Steve!
sweltering smiles in summer school
schooling under the summer stars
rain with a chance of rain
rain with a chance of summer stars
rainwashed glance at the stummer starms
the strummerstorms drumming on the lighthouse roof
the thunderhouse strumming off the booming wrack
the sea and the lighthouse jamming
in the key of C
summer strumming 101
strummer summing 101
the Black Archives
sweltering in my unstruck mind
something in the unstruck tents
swimming among the unstruck tents
like a clever little elvis
with his clever little spine
his little splinter spine
an old and broken dowel in there
put a metal rod inside, son
a stainless steel rod in there, my boy
when they find they can't bend you over
they will stop trying, and forever
forever, clever little elvis!
Liars on their bikes
sinners in a bulging hotel room
in the sinner diagram
in all your willowy stillness
Driving bike parts to the Brothers Wright
Punching precipitation in the nose
Kicking precipitation in the balls
Pincing punchers in the balls
Pinchpunch punters on the bricks
Sinners on the bricks
Liars on the brikes
Liars on their bikes
Circling beneath the streetlight
This is the source of all spurious knowledge
The neighborhood boys on a summer night
The old age theremin
Spooky, creepy old age
The age when the horrors mount
Sleepy, creepy old age
Where every glance in a mirror is a chance for disaster!
And all the orderlies look at you with distaste
Surly they clean up your accidents
Now and then they violate you with their finger
Now and then humiliate at will
Impunity beyond your ineffectual relations
Now just a smear of odiferous images
Strobing in on a Sunday afternoon
With their nonsensical questions and queries
They're uninterested in the real truth
The results of your experiments in time and space
Your poorly articulated discoveries
Intelligence gleaned from a mind quickly slipping
It'll soon be gone forever
If only they'd listen.
cape cod radar
returns at the cape cod radar station
the cape codsuckers
the cod liver oil suckers
the cape liver oil cocksuckers
cape race radar
cape ann radar
cape hatteras CODAR
for detecting enemy cod
cape cod code
cod and an enemy code. The enemy has a code. In his doze.
Enemy doze in a dory tonight -- party in the dory in my pants, in my
underwear, the dory, the canoe in my underwear -- banana boat comin'!
take a gander at my banana boat, babe...come to the islands. The one
with the lone palm tree in the middle...often I palm this tree, this
stick poking out of the ground, this dowsing rod, this divine lightning
rod, this light divining rod -- and I'd like her diving on my divining
rod. For her inspiration.
curry the furry bathrooms
pestering a damp little blonde
like a g-string jesus
A fairy who lives in a yellow traffic light
a velvet yellow rickshaw
like a velvet skirmish
a velvet yellow scrimshaw
the ransack generals
here in a rucksack european metropolis
like a european jesus
johnny and the lightning rods
teenage virgin assassin
just like a lightning assassin
just like a leatherette jesus
so there's your smile
in a million pieces
crestfallen in Japan
satisfy my hungry orgasm
the brotherhood of noise
smiles at the planet mars
slashing at the planet mars
mars is in a million pieces
the smiles and the nozzles
the smoke and the stones
the broke and the bones
standing in a pile of busted teeth
standing in a cone of broken bones
many of them my own
Clean opium snow
Robot shackles for your ass
Violating economics willynilly
Beneath an ice cap moon
The moon is there to keep the ice caps company
The moon is there to sing to the ice caps through the long cold night
Ice caps are nice caps, would not hurt a fly
But they are quite cold to the touch and their weight can fold
Riding in Van Gogh's severed ear
Down a spillway to the sea
Out to the Zuider Zee
Stay the hell out of the North Sea in an ear like that!
It don't draw but what, quarter inch at most?
That's not enough keel for these waves!
shudder & squirt
there's a seacucumber with your name on it
they make footwear from its mucus
it's true, the brown boys do
for walking on sharp coral
numismatic coral, the coin collectors of the reef, seizing sand dollars
from the hapless shrimp
in a numismatic realm, numismatic writing
the rare coins of my writing
the gulag of the invisible girls
a real girl gulag, school
howled at in cages by the boys
violated in gym class by the fingers of the boys
heather's gym locker where she lost her cherry
by a large boy she never met before
and never saw again
the retarded son of the gym teacher
has deflowered a hundred girls on campus
Teeming with rain
In a controlled burn
Careful turn onto Coldwater Cyn
The strobing tanning lights of the scene
Police tan in their very own lights
Policemen in speedos
Catching a tan
In their very ownlights
Once on Colfax I stood and watched a woman die
They pumped her and ultimately drove off lightless
And you know when they drive off lightless
What light just went out.
spending November in Patagonia
I'll read Cien Años De Soledad from cover to cover
All through the long hot days
In the morning I'll write based on the things I see out the window
In the dusk I'll take a walk across the surrounding hills
From a hilltop I'll see the sun pushed down by stars
The wind in the dying grass
The wind dying in the orange grass
The wind and sunlight dying in the colorless grass
A year of springs
And then a year of falls
And I'll write them up daily
And publish them
Great naturalistic tomes
Or masterpieces of indolence
History will decide!
Un año de primaveras
En el hemisferio norte y el sud
Cuando habré tenido la dinero
I think my work would work good in paragraphs. Paragraphs like Howl but
with less plurals and a great deal less buggery.
I don't want to become some humorless icebreaker prowing through the
I don't want to write dreamseeds for the working slaves, to distract
the masses from their essentially Gulag-like lives. That is I don't
want to be part of a system designed to distract the masses from their
slavery, to spice up their humdrum television lives in the evening and
extend their bondage. Perpetuate their bondage.
Yes, I don't want to obfuscate their predicament with dwarven
entertainments calculated to keep them laughing, keep them drunk, keep
them from noticing they are basically well-fed Siberian prisoners in
the warm Americas of the world.
But then again, why not? Isn't that the key to things? Everybody's on
the treadmill to Nirvana anyway, and the point of life is probably not
on the huge things, but hinges on the very very little things. The
point of life, the small pointy reversals and little knots of
Imagine my wool, my sense of humor shorn but still smiling, my ivory
white teeth locked against the thick, folding, collapsing pans of a
frozen ocean. Snackin on ivory white whales, sucking the cocks of huge
whales -- no thanks. A slimy whale poured like wet white clay, like
curdled yellowy semen, into a thick chair behind some office desk --
No, I come into the office with harpoons, you thick fucks. Expectantly
turgid pricks: here's a harpoon for your glans.
I come crashing up the harpoon docks, fucks, a whale on two legs,
coming to puke ambergris all over your fuckin asses. To seal up the
hollywood assholes with a plug of cetacean wax. Will I be the one
motherfucker put on a new blacklist, a blacklist of one, of people who
won't play the goddamn game? Everyone else, eyes rolling, busily
gulping cocks by the hundreds, well -- I'll sock the fucking cocks, if
you don't mind, you kneepad sycophants.
Deals sealed in foreskin leather
The contracts are in a case of foreskin leather
They've got their armies well entrenched
Every single parasite has the avenue presighted
It's more than a triangulation, it's an infinitulation.
But let me tell you what it's like: the disappointed eyes of everyone
around you because you are fucking up their ride. You, alone, will not
play ball. First they are disappointed, next they censure, finally they
ostracise. If it goes beyond that, we're talking murder. They'll kill
you to keep access to the golden teat. So, before you go there, you'd
better be sure your way is better than all the others! For it's you
they'll lionize/revile at the end of the work week. And if you'll put a
new system in play, they'll be forced to play it. It's no wonder most
people just knuckle under and suck up. Sucking corporate cock isn't
that bad. It's sort of sweet, tastes slightly of ginger. Bathroom
cleaner. Slightly rotten cafeteria food.
In their disappointed eyes. You are the one who won't play ball.
Your tender repression begins.
Some infinite capitulation
For the capitalist suppression
Your infinite capitulation
The parent child relationship endlessly recapitulated
Some of the amateur mummers are on fire
Mummers of the rebel nebula
Robert Burns and the sunburn boy
Sad surfers at Nebula Abbey
Splashing in a pool of lightning
krishna and kristina
Cunning on the cadmium paths
Cut the cord at Capistrano!
The corpus of diametric change
Diamonds by the metric ton
Persons of nervous descent
cunning with the carcrash coeds
like a left-handed superman
a coda to a casual yesterday
A hundred miles to the Nile
Several miles of stars in the sky
An old pharoah in the co-pilot's seat
"You have come to take me to the Khert-Neter," he intoned.
"I'm flying the mail to Cairo," I explained.
"Where is my ka? My ba?"
"You've been sleeping for three thousand years!"
"Are you Osiris?"
"Name's Chet Buckley! I'm an aviator."
"Are we headed for Aaru?"
"Here is my heart." He proffered a thick lump. In the ensuing chaos, it
flew from his hand. When I regained control of the ship he was gone. I
cursed it for a benzedrine hallucination.
Cairo swims in the coffee-colored gloom
The landing strip torches tug at the aerodrome
The mechanic pulls from the cockpit
A carven blue scarab from the deckplates
A little blue sprog and a little blue bug in a cocoa-colored nighttime
like the thick espresso of the gecko Arabs. The windy sand torches of
the Cairo nighttime and the sultry smell of jasmine & shit from the
shores of the River. The poor-half castes squat there, shitting and
laughing, and tote their bottles of nighttime up the bank to a
cantilevered hovel on the hill.
A spongy smell in the sucking mud. Sebek lounges in the shallows,
somewhere between the reeds. He'll eat the coolies and get drunk on
their noxious liquors. Everything around here lounges. Best to get back
to the plane and take off in the cool of the morning before Kheperi
smoking gods in the sun
smoking god in the sun
tan and naked
greasy in the sun
tan and gray
the yellow gorse steps
gorsestepping on the nazi alps
on the nazi volcanoes
the quasi-nazi volcanoes
nervous blue mechanics
hindu mechanics with their many arms
Nude kidneys. Scanners & nudists. The newest nudist at the colony.
Establishing a colony on Mars...a nudist colony! Colonizing Mars with
nudists. With android nudists. They have skinless colonies, androids
do. Android porn is bare circuit boards & servo armatures. Androids
feel a thrill when seeing a circuit board pulsing with energy, and not
just because of the sympathetic magnetic field.
Herbivorous jitneys. Bioengineering the carnimal. The caranimal. A
beast who can quickly zoom you to your destination. And eats trash.
Generic herbivores. Herbivore Williams. On a rocket to god. On a rocket
to Scandinavia. The terrible herbivores of Terrible Herbst. Why, they
gengineered these monstrosities! Only, they escaped into the wild.
Night after night you hear their nitro-injected roar down the canyons
of the wind, the gullies at the east side of town. The roar of feral
horsepower! The guys who tame those broncs are suicidal!
heading out to the karma pharmacy
heading to the karma chemists
arguing with the karma chemists
In a catcall democracy
standing with the celtic dentists
dentists fill the standing stones
dentists sand the sending stones
dentists send the standing stones
to the chemists to fill a script
and also for a packet of crisps
the sum of the karma pharmacy
sunshine on Karma Pharmacy
on the corner of Dharma & Rue
at the corner of Sunshine & Rue
Kelly & Carina
On a luxury liner to a variable star
constantly smoking hopium
over by the hopesprings
pulling on the hookah
dope springs eternal!
edgeless rainshine in this room
Flying an eye liner to Berlin City
Unwind in the Eden wind
The green eden wind
The towels of california
The tallies of california
I want summer for Christmas
I want the dowels of california
Please me with a certain signal
And a warm morning in Eden
Bird tracks on snow. Word tracks on snow. Snow lightning. Lightning's
dna, the electric eel of the sky. Up in the air there, the hair in the
air, the lightning makes the sky's hair stand on end.
My word of snow, lover. Snow krispies. Nose krispies on a penitent
bloom. Prayers on the surface of an explosion, inked in the very plasma
of the big bang. The big bang exploding with tibetan prayer flags.
The air is full of gray hair. There's gray hair in the wind. Gray years
in the teeth of the wind. The false teeth of the wind. In the toothless
wind. The toothless windows. Dark windows like missing teeth.
The puma of my paranoia. My parboiled paranoia. Defends the status quo
with knives and bombs. Petards, that is. Like a bunch of pisspoor
Princepses. Gavrilo Princeps. The silly sonofabitch who killed Archduke
Franz Ferdinand. And his wife. www.gavriloprinceps.com is available.
Princeps used a pistol. Died of TB in 1918 in an insane asylum. Franz's last
words: "Mama don't die! For the children!" But she was killed first.
Then a million troops in trenches. Then a million civilians in influenza.
A million divisions of civilians, marching off to work.
Atoms on the highwire darlings. The highwire darkling. Greymatter on
the highwire darline. On the radarline darling. Darlings on the distant
early warning line. The DEW line.
That's probably where my arctic jones began. Learning of the DEW line.
Bases situated at the farthest reaches of the globe, at the edge of the
world, watching for Russian missiles who'd pop up over the poles.
Waiting for russian missiles to appear on the green 'scopes.
Surprise, most of those missiles were toys. Homes for Gypsy families.
Or Egyptian families. After the collapse of communism they poured
concrete over the exit hatches. The bunker soldiers entombed with their
nukes. To wait out the long half lives. Skeletons accompanying the
plutonium to the end of the world.
mercy from the saviors
mercy from the softmoney senators
smiling, the miler dials
standing at the public phone
standing on line at the public phone
while the storm breaks overhead
mercy, the softmoney smilers
standing on the pubic line
softly on the hairline
tucking softmoney in a soft smiler's hairline
the softmoney saviors
and the soft hairline senators
they're legislating orgasm even as we speak
they're legislating fucksticks right and left
generating fucksticks left and right
under degenerate fucksticks
slender under umbrellas
the smilers and milers conspire
umbrellas of softmoney sunshine
glory in a globe of dope
down in the singlemine line
the hamilcar operatics
rhythmatic dreaming on a combination of sounds
on this morning's combination
this money's combination
the smiles this morning'll dial
Pulling a glory below us
Towing our glory below us
Towing a glowing glory
Toiling, our glory, below us
While we soar in the blue sky above
Our glory sears the ground below
Thirty thousand feet below
Our glory is a ground-dwelling denizen
Kin to the shadows and reflections
Kin but a different species
Special, not ordinarily seen
Nor noticed from the windows above
When we came down to land, a little airplane in the center
A little logo, a bat call, signaling to the lizards & the snakes
Come follow the airplane to Texas!
Reptiles! Gather in Texas!
Overthrow the Alamo!
Disturb the Republic!
Slither through the Republic!
dancing in my skeleton pants
the astrologies all point to war
the auguries sing of dissension and strife
someone needs to paint eden for you
someone needs to fill capsules for you
to tend the green lawns of Paradise
someone must continue generating Eden
and that someone is me.
so I'll shore up the fantasy kingdoms
the old jingling rhapsodical kingdoms
the islands of sirens in the dusk
the rutilated blondes of a winedark dusk
just keep generating!
Humanity needs its turbines, after all
Humanity needs its turbines humming!
Vivid in their fleshes
Sodden in the sodshine
Sleeping in the sodshine
My moldy old bones
Sleeping in the sod
The sunshine transitions
The sunlight at the end of the grave
The sunlight in the sixfoot door
Peeking in the coffin lid:
Blue sky and sunshine!
He peeks in the coffin lid -- light across his eyes
There's blue sky in there
Reverse angle...long shot -- his eyes looking in through a tiny
slit in an otherwise pure vast blue sky.
Skipping stones across the coffin lid
Skipping Jones across the coffin lid
Skipping coffin lids on scumstar lake
Skipping coffin lids on Killschuyll Lake
Skipping Jones across Coffin Lid Lake
Skipping his old clean bones across the lake
One by one
Nothing's connected to anything anymore
The nothingbone's connected to the fleshbone
The psychebone's connected to the brainbone
The stylebone connected to the moneybone
The pridebone connected to the fallbone
The causebone connected to the effectbone
The planbone connected to the resultbone
The actionbone connected to the consequencebone
But no bone's connected to another anymore
One by one they've been skipt crost the lake
stories of plump & vapid rape
on a roadtrip to Malaria
heroes in the dilapidated waters
a date in an energy cafeteria
their noses came to visit
Smooth amateur Marie
Her smile as smooth as spanish dynamite
How do you get it so soft?
frogman at the mall
the energy of a soft brown upstairs
The moon and its slippery grooms
Legends of the brassieres
resin on your treasonous souls
singing along with the steeplechase winners
Shaman of the unglued
levees & fishes
solo lads of confusion
The blurt of the pep pill people
Arson is good for business!
Them and their many little manslaughters
on a Seattle wagon train
tan summers of rock & roll
in a loosely knit bikini
Shayla waxes the waterslide
Twinkie Houseman reclines
in the betadine sun
with a nap sleeping in her lap
another member of the bell pull boys
licensed sunshine commanders
stand directing photon traffic
giving up to the old south wind
on a blustery morning in eden
on a wedensday morning in eden
The Hamptons at the end of time
We'll be waiting for you there
Playing gin rummy with old salt-stained cards
Listening to the call of the lighthouse
The lighthouse at the end of time
Is the thing you've been catching glimpses of
Glimpses in your palimpsest
A stone's throw from the clouds
A stone's throw from the lighthouse clouds
From the lighthouse pens
The lighthouse pen writing palimpsests on the sky