Archive for the 'the most civil' Category
gray days
i have writers block. i’ve always had it. since the beginning. and it just got worse. i got worse. as i got better i got worse. the time between pages grew longer. the pauses between words stretched out forever. it feels good to say it: i have writers block. or i have some kind of [...]
Filed under: brain matter, evolution, knives, moss child, parade, the most civil, what the world is made of | 2 Comments
upon retiring
Not much unlike the smell of a cow nursing its calf on a grassy knoll somewhere on the surface of the moon. If you concentrate hard enough you will be taken there.
The rivers rushing with bile. The moon, a scoop of curdling cream. Your bruised face healing like water vaporizing on a hot sheet of [...]
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residue
when will i peel away all the costumes
and what will i find: puppeteer? farmer? astrophysicists? lover of trapeze?
i’ve been bending for a while towards the language but as if i haven’t
passed through it completely. when does this light bend again?
or can i rely on the archaic fluids of opportunity to open me into halves…
two members [...]
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institutions
a week ago i ripped up and completely destroyed the paper copies of almost everything i’ve ever written. last night i destroyed all of the remaining computer files.
i did it. i kept only six pieces of writing. 6.
i don’t miss any of it. i was glad to see it go.
kinda like taking off an eskimo [...]
Filed under: knives, scarcity and fear, the most civil, what the world is made of | 3 Comments
five ways to kill a man
Five Ways To Kill A Man by Edwin Brock
There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man.
You can make him carry a plank of wood
to the top of a hill and nail him to it. To do this
properly you require a crowd of people
wearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloak
to dissect, a sponge, some [...]
Filed under: humanoid, the most civil | 2 Comments
exercise in negative capability
milk before killing, milk before eating (with the patience required for screwing in a light bulb)
There’s room for meat
and mars this time of year is burnt skin.
They peel it.
When i reach the telephone booth please have my horse ready. He’s been gnawing on the number nine. The last cloud of hay didn’t come [...]
Filed under: a questioning, curious, holograms, knives, moss child, scarcity and fear, the most civil, weeping willow | 3 Comments
(egg-electric gestation)
body=eggshell
electricity=egg
we attempt to plural it.
i press up out of the body, upon
crater
landfill
field
peel, infant exoskeleton
husk, malfunction
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i want to leave behind a manuscript, an important one because in this moment, and many moments preceding this one, i feel capable. after it is written i will go (leave the body) as i am here for few reasons, possibly just this one: to be written down in the books and set forth eternal. [...]
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HOW TO EAT A WOLF
HOW TO EAT A WOLF by Sharanya Manivanna
Does all lust start and
end like this? Don’t get me
wrong. I loved my wolf.
I held him tethered like
a pussycat. I nursed
the rumble in his belly
with hands gentle as a burglar’s.
He lived on milk
and blood and ocean. He
had violets for his furs.
It’s just that he was
beginning [...]
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my goodness, i’ve been such neglectful fingers as much has been extending in my thoughts and ambitions:
i’ve decided to go study with the artists and writers. i’ve found five places in all sections of the country. they call it graduate school. and i, so academically challenged and hysterical, must cut my long [...]
Filed under: curious, knives, knowledge, parade, scarcity and fear, the most civil, what the world is made of | 1 Comment
bone soup
I know a pyramid of animal bones that pulses in and out of existence without
the patient truth of mathematics. I feel its mime touch massage a wound
into the layers of kidney. The factory begins to itch and swell warm with infection.
Blood sooths the memory cells, night galactic and pearly, plays with my hands
Binds them in [...]
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electricity pause
writer’s block getting worse every day. my body feels it too. i’m so stiff and heavy. no circulation of ideas or blood.
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as i looked through all the writing i had written in the past five years i was of course nauseated but i felt something that i didn’t know i would feel: a complete lack of connectedness with my own words…
there were hundreds of lines on love and lust; lots of heat coming from the earth, [...]
Filed under: brain matter, moss child, parade, the most civil | 3 Comments
i’m not interested in your being again. no one is of use. why know this feeling. is it the fiber i’ve been gnawing. lessens the force of the pull. weak little rubber bands keeping the fingers attached. i want to feel the madness of certainty. or at least an effort [...]
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so, what kind of magic is this? i think i’m eating lots of body armor. makes me sick. so little food. i am hunger. i put the rabbits on swings, remembered the umbrellas, cut it out my stomach.
i hope i win 15,000 dollars. i’m good enough but maybe not the [...]
Filed under: curious, knowledge, moss child, parade, the most civil | 1 Comment
i make my own alphabet
i make my own words
i make my own language
i make my own communication
i make my own tether
i make my own bones
i make my own leather
i make my own stone
i make my own battle
i make my own shoulder
i make my own cattle
i make my own boulder
keep the love long and tight
keep the [...]
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can you contribute to my work
can you contribute to my work. i can love so tirelessly, i can love so exceptionally if you can contribute to my work. i’ve had no teachers. i’ve had no compliments. i’ve had no source or origin.
the physical earth dissolves. consciousness is the obsessive root. it grips at the wind and teeths at [...]
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figure
“it’s not like i can give you anything you haven’t gotten before, or anything you can’t get anywhere else. it’s not like i can give you anything worth receiving either. i hate giving standing ovations, makes me feel small. why did you waste your time and stretch mine out so humiliatingly. [...]
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sweep
i want to have simple romantic moments: take my two hands, hold them up to a pair of shoulders, pause for the heat to mix, then press them flat on the skin. hold for thirty minutes.
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cholesterol: my back hurts.
diamond mine: try stretching it a little. do some of that each morning. keeps you real bendy.
cholesterol: what do you know about being bendy?
diamond mine: i studied with a yogi for twenty years.
cholesterol: ohh i see.
peach: i used to study with a yogi too. not for that long but a good [...]
Filed under: owl bones, scarcity and fear, the most civil, weeping willow | Leave a Comment
there’s all kinds of random papers, concert programs, movie tickets, poems, and more shoved in between its pages. and on the pages there are notes from poetry workshop, workshop exercises, sound art project proposals, and lots and lots of coherent and incoherent rambles sealed off in black squares drawn with a black pen. [...]
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the flaw in human consciousness
because i spend 90 percent of my time in self-reflection i figured out something very interesting and highly plausible:
the super developed human consciousness we are all so familiar with is the newest and most complex evolutionary talent on the time lime of life on earth. Because it’s so new it must have many, many problems [...]
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song for broken bones
i’m loud!
i’m real loud!
in the cleaners, i’m loud! i’m real loud! at the cleaners in between the close rack!
i’m screaming, because i’m loud, real loud, at the cleaners!
because i’m loud! real loud at the grocery store, i’m screaming, i’m loud. looouuuud!
i’m screaming in the produce aisle, in the cereal ailse, i’m screaming,
i’m loud, real [...]
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we are so surreal
look at me i’m a surrealist french poet. i speak french. i write in french too because i’m a french surrealist poet. i hang out with other french surrealist poets. we write exquisite corpses. yes, do you know what that is. probably not. i’m not surprised. [...]
Filed under: curious, scarcity and fear, the most civil, weeping willow, what the world is made of | 2 Comments
savage box of delight
are you tuned into my tuning?
turn my radio dial— it’s my nose. it’s my nose. it’s my nose.
in this moment we hear the static: humm buzz humm buzzz humm humm buzzzz
in this moment we hear the music: la la la di di da da da da la di di di da [...]
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