Saturday, December 30, 2006

This Time Last Year Wasn't a New Year

This time last year,
I was in a coma,
I was dead to the world.

I wasn't alive.

All I could hear were the plastic sheets.

I thought I was a project.

I thought I was a project of tubes.

I wondered if I was alive.

This time last year,
I was in a coma,
Dying.
Leaving the world.

It wasn't terrifying.
It was a release.

To fly across ceilings,
With no movement.
Even my breathing was controlled by bags and concertina air,
I thought that life was white.
Like music.

I went into different places.
I went up into the sky.

I saw everything in white.

A New Year,
Or a New Year,
Or a New Year,
Or just:

Wake up
Wake up
Don't sleep forever.

Friday, December 29, 2006

the question

"So, tell me, which is your favourite team blog site. Tuche and Automaton or Taking the Brim?"

Sunday, December 24, 2006

god bless animals

in cold comfort he cages the words in code
the better to hide behind me dears
cages the words to secret the meaning
and loose the verb that has no feeling
but the climb up his arse is a long rope
and he spends many a day there
studying his d&g like a bible
like a bible full of tripe and trip wire
with the intent of becoming intellectual.
intellectual my fat backside me dears
oh for the blush of cruel animals
that acts with instinct
and hates with passion
anything better than the semaphor of prose
anything better than that pretension.
copyright forsaken

Thursday, December 21, 2006

upon a ponce and cosmo

dog brave the lucky post to piddle me right and centre too.
well, you would think that wouldn't you?
stands to reason doesn't it?
i mean no two dogs are the same are they?
are they?
canada has it's own pretty boy pumped up and apples and england, dreaming still of past glories, has its hyper humper and grand vizor, visor, vicER.
but you know and i
know
we don't give a tinkers cuss do we?
fuck 'em all i say.
fuck 'em all.

In the Road

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Strange changes of mind have been happening to me recently. It seems like every time I venture out of the door something happens whereby my original plans are thrown out, replaced by new ideas and intentions. I have just sold my car and this has meant that recently I have had to make more use of the local paths and roads to get around.

I had decided to go out into town to get some essentials and when I was there I suddenly made the decision, without any real reasoning, even though I had not yet bought the list of things that I had intended to, that I wanted to make my way back home and not wander around town any longer.

I paced up the road on the way back feeling the rain clouds slowly closing in on me and my wish to get home became ever more urgent. With every step of my boots the gradient of the pathway seemed to increase in steepness, to a point that when I passed the school at half way I had to stop and take a breather.

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Sitting on the bench, looking around, I spotted a women spewing out a full bucket of soapy water onto the road surface, its suds trickling on the slopes, her head disappearing as quickly as it had appeared behind the tall walls that formed a part of the roadside. The water made an expressive mark, dribbling across the road.

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I felt the urge then, to step out, into the road. For the moment I thought it was all clear.
Once in the middle of the road its flow of bumps and patchworks became more evident. With one ear to the sound of a roaring engine behind me I inspected the river of marks and abrasions lying stiff and dormant at my feet. The earth had moved below the tarmac and a series of ripples had formed. I spotted signs of movement in the different coloured patchworks and recently laid sections of tar. I felt that people had marked out certain areas as if for special consideration, to designate that area or this area for future plans, to further the development of the road surface.

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The fluorescent yellow colouring of the grid might have meant that it was only to be used in emergencies, that take place at night time, the pattern of the top attempting to mimic loosely the structuring of the surrounding gravel, muck and stone-inlayed tarmac. Workmen, for their part, had obviously attempted to leave a mark by pressing boots into the recently painted grid before it was dry, in 1995, for time immemorial.

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Many variations of shadow and texture made up this lower grey deserted area, marking out a history of incidents and accidents, of gouges and pot holes covered up and pasted over, being continuously re-knitted to form an ever larger and more detailed patchwork.

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The scored surface was pressed into to make openings like an advent calendar. Strange puppet heads could appear when lifted up? Some clue perhaps in the top markings, a mystery language to mark out one ductile plate from another. The ground is hard and stubborn under foot yet appears moulded like as if it were made of wet toast or worn leather?

Could there once have been a melting and a pouring, then a spreading all over being topped off topping off with sewn-on plates varying extravagantly in size and dimension?

The molten material had perhaps engulfed everything in its path and descended, as a river of dirt, down the hill. That would explain the apparent chaos of the undulations and the odd bits of clothing still showing through the surface in parts?

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The clouds above clustered together and turned a darker shade of grey with the sunlight burning through, glancing off the wet tarmac, welding together the fine pores of the surface that looked, at that moment, quite like the texture of a well done cake just pulled from the oven.

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The hill becomes steeper and my slow walk peters to a standstill. My legs are so tired that I feel they are going to drop off at any moment.

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Standing there, I close in to inspect the grade A metal that is stamped into the Autumn ground, scraping away the leaves.

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They have underground people in New York don't they? I was expecting a figure to pop his head up at any moment and shout a greeting. He had left his folding knife by the doorway, which a stranger might perceive is an insignificant piece of cardboard.

I framed some passing strangers through my lens but then changed my mind.

Glad to get past the worst of the hill. I was now just around the corner from home, looking forward to getting in, all these unnecessary detours had worn me out.

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I dumped myself inside and having taken my shoes off and put my aching legs in the bath to soak, I started thinking about getting something to eat.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Press play and button march




note the protuding ribcage that could pierce flesh.
particles enter timidly and only if guided by sleep.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

What we require for the occasion is something special....something extraordinary.
No, no ordinary ass fucking, anal dreams will do.
We must have something worth remembering.....something notable.

Perhaps, a razor-slit clit would be suitable.
Maybe even a slow space docking.

We must think long and hard on this. We must be sure to realize the full potential of the situation.

Friday, December 08, 2006

die die Geschichte schon immer geschrieben haben

Männer, die die Geschichte schon immer geschrieben haben, haben Lysistrata damit verleumden wollen. Tatsachen sind aber eben Tatsachen, und dagegen konnten sie gar nichts. Und Pederastia ist doch Pederastia geblieben. Schluss.Ach, ich freue mich so wahnsinnig sehr, hierher zu kommen!


my penis 1

i have been trying to find my penis. now i know that it is around here someplace. trouble is i cannot for the life of me remember where. normally i know exactly where it is but not today. normally it is kept safe and warm between by curled fingers. it likes it there. warm and tight.
maybe i left it over on another site.
i guess that i had better go and look....

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Provection Into Testament's Brave Logick

Archita's dove we
to jack for Tresseta's tailwind
the habule
incessile
infortibitible
and nosomane ambrosia
of Heliconian nymphs to
spectabundal audysseus es
too ward )_(&_(*_&*)&
by tu thro pune {putput}
ba - boon
as of a coincidence
of angles, angels which inhabit
the Apophreniac climacteries
transparent lichtenthorns broadcasting
a rococo genome of bull-nosed ray
each plodding, toucose varbletete
succour'd in unknowing pleem
tongue the lee medium menain
meaning all shroud of interlocking memory
THRUST OUTWARD
the innocent sky of mind unfold
stripped of castled shackled rookeries
the smooth colorless ire become
some purer blood
of machinic doves not wrought
or failing
impossible breaking
a dew of turning
and yet not abolish
the forehead's gem (commedia
the cluster plash of serpent
as laser leaps
to empty
current vertue burthen
elucubrations on the solid solemn turmoil
of this deare old isle
precious innermass
what cargo shall pass we
no garrison known
they are all addresses
settling to pub
or fluent terms regained

Replace

All of the words that have been lost. I want them to come back somehow. I want to fill up the space, the lack, the want of it.

I want to feel the presence of what went before and I want to hold onto that lack and use it as a force. A Marathon. Really, if you could only understand that story for one moment.

Only, it is not a story. It is an everchanging idea. A meandering stream. A coconut shy of words. A fairground merrygoround flared horse nostril affair for me.

I wanted to come back and taste of all the words that were here before. To smell of them, touch of them, grow them, build them up, match them, rehabilitate them, give them medication. Just to, you know, perk them up again. Perk it all up again.

You can never escape the rubber mark of where it once was. Where the pieces went. Fitting it all back together once more. Filling in the missing spaces. Another kind of CLOZE. I remember it all so well. All of it stuck in my head like a clot of brainswell. Lush and verdant. Under the lanes of broken legs. My memories that lie in those bloody clots. Like the made-up songs.

Just wait for it. Wait for it to come and it will come. I assure you of that. It will come, like an Aladdin box. The treasure will surely come and fill me with pearls.

discharge


Monday, November 27, 2006

Fanny by candlelight

i couldn't help but notice, as i passed by your door, that certain items of clothing seem to have varnished themselves to your walls. is that a real mohair jumper from harrods or is it a fake?





words by cocaine jesus

Friday, November 17, 2006

Several Hours

In a stress position. Several hours can seem as a release. It can focus the mind. All is not lost.

Head and face against concrete. Sacking breath and hessian lips.

Two more seconds and it could all be over.

The knees. They are the first to tell of it.

Speak to me of beauty,
And I shall tell you of the smell of hood.

Speak to me of beauty,
And I shall talk to you of muffled screams.

Speak to me of beauty,
And I shall uncannily lift you.

With rope.
With energy.
Without the use of arms.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

simple john


simple john
simpleton
keep you snake skin boots on
in the cold and in the wet
then dry them by the tv set
or if you must when slick with soil
put them with the pots that boil
but careful be when near a flame
that leather boots supple remain
for some tin mines heat can blister
be they boots of miss or mister.


all words copyright of cocaine jesus

Friday, November 03, 2006

discharge (that enigmatic breath porcelain skull)

"he loves him and he dreams him
he smiled him into kisses, so
he bent blind between him
for him all night to whimper
then joining seperate spines"






Porcelain Skull see's things that have never been.
his tongue is morning mist.
his eyes are from a distant place.
he tastes of cork.
.
.
.
speak to the dark angels

Friday, October 27, 2006

Double Bating @The Samaritans



‘This...boy. He’s changing colour. I know he is. It’s just...It’s really bad.’

Changing colour? I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘You’re not supposed to understand!’

‘Would you like to help me understand? I’m listening. Would you like to tell me your name?’

The guy calmed down again. He paused for a long time. ‘Greg. Call me Greg. Greg. It sounds funny said out loud. The tone. Greg.’

‘Tell me what you’re worrying about Greg.’

‘I hate it when they change colour. It makes me do bad things. Things I don’t want to do. You understand, don’t you? You understand?’

‘I’m trying to. Yes. I think so.’



‘Don’t think he’s dead. It’s just that he’s about to turn blue. I can tell this just by looking. He seemed okay, really, he’s here, sleeping and he seemed okay. I thought I might have grown to love him. I did love him. Just a few minutes ago he was red and he was lovely but now... Now he’s turning blue and I can’t let that happen.’

‘He’s turning blue.’

‘Not yet but I can sense it. He’ll be blue by morning but by then it’ll be too late. I can’t see him returning. He said he liked my flat. He said he wants his just like this. I gave him the name of the guy who did this place. We laughed a lot at the name. The guy’s called Randy. The designer, not the boy. I guess he must be only eighteen or nineteen. He’s at College, I think, he said he’s studying Medieval history. The guy who’d here, that is, not the designer. the designer must be forty if he’s a day. He has the loveliest grey eyes. This guy, Paul... He’s got lovely lovely eyes.’

‘How do you feel right now?’

‘I feel like I’m ten years old....NO, I’m joking. He’s lovely. I think I could love him, even his name. Paul. It’s a name of Saints. It’s a name you ought to have above the fireplace.’

I thought
about this for a few beats. ‘What do you want to talk about?’




Michael Nyman - Mozart

discharge (beautiful raven in dark places)

"And another part of your soul is placed in ink.
Yet you fight again to stand
With dreams of fullfillment and love and trust,
Yet part of you always wonders...
Always questions."






Raven arrives with a hubris of black feathers
and a pestilence of petticoats.
She is the colour of night.
She is the stuff of cobwebs.
Her words are of the pulse
and the heart beat.
She tastes of chrome.

.
.
.
speak tothe dark angels

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

The Tarik Batu of Sumba

This eye, this mien, mein. It’s hyle a speakling from a brook-lang. That Cili padi membrane that thought me felicitous things, tangs, forgettable stains, a signal of sundered business. I don’t want to be a flagellate, even to the onion of a hod-leagued bugle. I, Richard Spruce, with Pan Hu in my jade lantern mouth parts. Disassemble this phantasm in the flavor of our startled dog-milking shedus (Svapaka-shedu). I remaindered my tricks and what they carnapshush'd. Even spadix aren’t free-living. Our life against the midnight lawns: poor Philip Quarll on the Isla de Memoriales. I’m walking through this wail of hair to confront my senate of chortling amoebic cineastes, my careless Yonas who once smelled Kamboja weapon worship.

Monday, October 23, 2006

going underground

I took the meaning from his lips as though a water diviner scratching in the raw earth.
Dry and crusty but irrefutable in the light of the statements that preceded and followed.
I knew, as the morning broke the day like yolk spilling from an egg, that the shit was gonna hit the fan. And when it did it would sure as hell fly my way.
Dog bones and tired old newspapers littered the gutter whilst the rain whipped down and the wind blew a callous calling note.
How the hell did he always get to be so right?
Insight?
Intuition?
Maybe just being in the right place at the wrong time was his secret. If so, then it was a secret I did not want to get to know better. I mean, there are some girls who will do a man a favour but you wouldn’t take them home to meet your parents would you?
The sun rose a little higher as if to escape from the filth that mankind pumped out and sent its way. Almost as though it knew that humanity was a dire contagion that might spread and eclipses its glorious glow.
Fat chance.
We can’t even get back to the moon without blowing up a continent.
How the hell had he been so right?
I took the papers and shoved them into my brief case and then I shuffled off to find the tube.
There is always safety in numbers I thought.


" Horror underground
London Underground train crashed at Moorgate station, killing 43 and injuring many more.
The train, arriving from Drayton Park, was packed with commuters when it overshot the platform and ploughed into a dead-end tunnel.

The intense heat and twisted wreckage meant the last passenger was not rescued until late in the evening."





words by cocaine jesus

Saturday, October 21, 2006

discharge (that handsome mammal killer luca)






killer luca is an artist.
killer luca loves snails.
killer luca painted "two men fucking".
killer luca tastes of ozone.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Lapis Lazuli

I am abdicating my role as King,
The fading blue,
Of my lapis lazuli,
Is a sign of time passing.

It is only rare that I am azure now.

Only when you polish the,
Edges of my silicate,
Am I simply pure and rare.
Vases, bowls, bottles and beads,
Are envious,
As I give in to time.
For I am only semi-precious to you now.

Not as I once was,
Opaque and pure.

I once passed through Afghanistan,
And onto here,
Only to be torn from your neck in rage.

Now only Lares and Penates,
Can see me home.

I have no general reality,
And emeralds hold me in scorn,
In their Elysian fields,
Arguing me away,
In their casuistry,
Although the amethyst,
Holds me in much,
Higher esteem.

Not so,
Transparent.

As I recede into the night,
I feel I am more precious.

I argue away,
Ambiguous words,
Taunting my secret life,
I am having an affair with the air,
Only tiny breaths,
Know my secret blue.

My expressions,
Linear style.
Grates against the,
Cantos and oratorios,
Of my heart.

I long to let it all flood out,
My life with words,
In a menstrual flow,
But I hide where it is safe.
In mere whimsy.

Tomorrow,
I shall push back the shards,
Of my tomb,
Rip out sequoia,
Leaving great gouts and gashes,
Of language in my hands.

I shall be a great sperm whale,
Amongst spears.
Crashing, reeling and hooting,
Out my last song.

I have given such,
Un-ending kindness,
All of myself is gone,
Under control and clasps,
The great head of my core,
Is about to erupt.
Be ready for my furnace.

My rhombic sulphur will choke you.

In my purest form,
I am a shattering star.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Even

Even in the morning,
Even after that,
The smiles are still fake.

You know,
Even the fake smiles,
Are fake now.

Trickery,
Mockery,
Lies,
Even the faked, fake smiles are fake!

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Next of Resolve, Mati

http://www.phaneronoemikon.org/images/matikno.jpg


mate with obsolete forms of meat
mate' mate'
bleeding from leech bytes matico

cerealurgy lumpen gland gasses dog starcosm fists
the hand-carved melon vagina looking for a prize

16 tiny figurines with glass stingers barbed with forked tongues

tiki gleeky intergrowth in galena which forms sick
Widmanstätten-like structures

glossarianing the matross
composition of fireworks and cartridges

baboon bombinate
sima, utrum chimera in vacuo
bombinans possit come

vainly or fantastically conce
n traited
chimneying and furnacing the

ge, yclepit Chimera Gyas
with felloun fard furth b
is a holocephalian

one of the devils best boys
of Beasts and Men Made up of p
of the Rosie Crosse, Their Cha
ydra's, and Chimera's dire
dulge every chimera in politics,
every frenzy in r

metaphorol
I'm getting a certain amount of light
on the central figures in the problem—what
journalists like to call
the protagonists is ambiguity
between this sense and sense

abducted
accepted
acorn
active
ad libitum
advocation
advowson
affected
affiche
affiliate

Fortune's Fool,
The Air-Drawn picture of

April cometh
two sets of forked fingers
middle fingers on inner eyebrows
index fingers to the ends
thumbs cupping chin

the rest

a knotty desymmetree

Monday, October 16, 2006

Sleight of Hand

“It is just sleight of hand.” She said.
The cards snipped like scissors.
Clip
Clip
Clip
“It gets them every time” she smiled.
The sharp practise of a card hustler with well oiled wrists and nimble fingers had an allure that he found irresistible.
They sat around the coffee table in his hotel room.
She dealt the cards and he poured the drinks.
The clock chimed eight thirty.
“I need the toilet.” She said, giggling.
“Through there, on your right.”
She scooped her self up and moved out of sight.
He took a phial from his pocket and poured it into her glass stirring it quickly with a bic pen.
She came back into the room adjusting her skirt with quick hands and smiling at him.
“Said I wouldn’t be long didn’t I?”
“Drink up.” he said pushing the glass toward her.
“It is just sleight of hand.”
The minutes passed with a watchful eye.
The minutes fogged with a cloying tacky taste.
Memories shattered into broken pieces.
Carpet.
Glass.
Underwear.
Sliding.
Slip, slip slipping.
Fractured moments through a Vaseline smeared looking glass.
When he awoke his wallet and watch and credit cards had gone, as had his mobile phone.
All that remained was a playing card.
A joker.
Written on the card…
It is just sleight of hand.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Day of Glow

I would want to uncover you in order to find out the very truth of what is inside you.

I shall climb into your mouth and get sucked down into your lung-depths.
I shall rip out tiny sheaths of gut-fronds.
I shall take up conversations with the salivary amylase of spit.

I want all the nasty parts.
I want all the blood of you.

All that entrails entail. I am prepared to go through lower duodenum ways just to find you. And only you. And only you.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Through Eros to Thanatos

Thorough investigations into the error of our ways found the following fault-detox error:

1. Her skin was not white enough when he met her.
2. Her face did not fit the white-horse style that he expected of her.
3. She was not funny enough.
4. One of her calf muscles resembled a banana, which was off-putting. Or, so she thought.
5. One of her milk glands was showing.

All in all, she was a disappointment.

Off she trotted, into the Shire-horse streets. Cloppety clop. She would hang around Soho Square. Under that little Tudor Home of one.

Inside, there is a chair made of Oak. She creeps inside to observe a game of Euchre. Two steady hands enfold her. Ah, I've found you....ah.

1. Your skin is white enough, so white it smears like clotted cream.
2. You are riding the tangled mane of a mare.
3. You are in wonderful humour.
4. Your calf muscle is delicate and tastes of pear. Or, so he said.
5. Mmmm. Lovely. Lovely. Surely lovely, my, my, my...

All in all, she was a joyful find.

Different perceptions create endless possibilities.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

(M=2%+9)

metal hibernates to a fluxus of migrating mulags that are driven,
or so i am told,
toward a velocity of motile evolution like that sullen sudden sodden feeling of dried fish



words by cocaine jesus

Monday, October 02, 2006

Feral House | Titles | Kulchur | Seven Addictions and Five Professions of Anita Berber



Feral House | Titles | Kulchur | Seven Addictions and Five Professions of Anita Berber

Shaman Kidney Stones



"...might also have been the last, as far as any of us were concerned but then at Hinton St George there was a house entirely in Green Screen, like the movies, yeah? So that soon you went in there then every step could've been your own version of the abyss or a submarine landing or a Jamelia Bond pillow cushion design - remember her? excellent somatosensory awareness and depth perception for a one-eyed girl - which gave the impression, with the right amount of Renideer Piss Moonshine, brewed from Shaman kidney stones and horn, could set your entrails right into the midst; I'm talking pure poetry, made glad with tidings but tempered with the edge of the grasslands into an altogether less urban setting. You'll laugh but, back then, we really believed that the world wasn't ending at all but beginning. I know, I know... but you beloeved it too Esther, I can see it written in your eyes."

From: An Altercation With ReadyMoons: sheeping and shopping in mid 21st Century Somerset by Augustine Williams. Heristag Books Ltd. Oslo.

Fursaxa - Ursa Minor

gentle hurried backdoor man
tooling inner masturbation
fucks a plenty in the head
none so pretty as to come

Sunday, October 01, 2006

9,500-year-old decorated skulls found in Syria - Yahoo! News

9,500-year-old decorated skulls found in Syria - Yahoo! News

Engineering Knowledge in the Age of the Semantic Web

Marta is playing an Argentinian
tango on the piano. Wanda and Piero
are dancing.



Endonasal Endoscopic Skull Base Surgery takes place
atop the Bird of Paradise Metatheater whose benefactorial
product of all positive integers is less than or equal to
Enrico Dandolo's Byzantine squinches and pendentives,
which seen as ancient, powerful beings following a reaction,
become an intrinsic part of Enrico Cavacchioli, whose languor,
structured as a burattini e i baracca took the non-obvious form
of a succession of corbeled stalactites liquifying over a folle
rosetta of roe, bucking the metabolismos of stoic stoikheiona,
the lambent lament which pongs between immortality and farce.

Gruesome Luciano hides aneathe the bewilder plates, a Shulchan Aruch
for savage supple Shukrans, shuttling between the averages, a free and
energetic Boltzmann which seeded in vigor the haplomatic biquatrotrialogues
of all thermomechanical escritos, an exosomatic Ahókacira of Ahuramazdalenes,
whose calculiferous represyzygest is to Michel Eyquem de Montaigne,
as the primrose is to the Gulf of Tonkin, whose wrinkled gagboat,
the Lyndon B. Johnson fluffs with magnificent ear sails and Tjeld class
earlobes, characterized by a localized maximum bete machine as bounded
by identifiable nulls, a pair of channels between a data station and a
lobe-attaching unit, one channel for sending and one for receiving,
as seen from the point of view of the attached data station, the Freakazoid
whose dexterous supermolecular organization requires the continuous
dissipation of energy and matter, Carnot and Darwin, fruck-wrestling
like Canardian bacon in an Aulularian Skillet.

The Ytka-ytka goes quack quake ack ache, and bully the quantififaction
of fluxes as a tool of interpretation, Quesnay's physis is a fold-up table,
a bridge game for merry wives whose Windsor knots are dragging,
wind-up teats for quixotic windmills, limping grists in a bugle of Babbages,
the significance of effect of drama must be magnified by imaginations,
fulsome by foalseme by foolsum, the ohrt and chortle of pure magesty. . .

Saturday, September 30, 2006

The Empire of the Crow

and the dark angels held a party to celebrate the dawning of the empire of the crow and to the party each of them brought a gift...


doriandra a cactus with a prickly skin and the scent of decadence


cocaine jesus a bottle labelled provocation


inkblot a bruised heart wrapped in razor wire


stickleback2, elegant celluloid


raven a cloth wrapped in menstrual blood that contains dark secrets


porcelain skull a mirror of skewed perspectives


killer luca, promiscuity in flesh with blush red lips


having delivered to you their exacting gifts it would be rude not to accept them would it not?



.
.
.
visit the dark angels

Friday, September 29, 2006

Where is my love?
Where is my courage?
Where is my yearning?
Where is my beauty?
Where is my rainbow?
Where is my secret?
Where is my rapture?
Where is my passion?

Why not me?

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Idiot Blogger as Idiot Art

listen, you inefficent piece of software...I AM A MEMBER OF WRITERS AGAINST TERRORISM and therefore i am able to put on that site just what the hell i like.
-----Original Message-----From: noreply@googlegroups.comTo: utilityfishshed@aol.comSent: Wed, 27 Sep 2006 9.08AMSubject: Posting error: Writers Against Terrorism
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margin: 0px;
font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, Sans-Serif;
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ozymandiazthey say that the pen is mightier than the sword. not sure i buy that. words can hurt and inflame and possibly make a point but can they make people change?well the bible and the koran are nothing but a set of words written down by men and revered by 54% of the worlds population so maybe words can make a difference. --Posted by Cocaine Jesus to
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ozymandiaz>>>they say that the pen is mightier than the sword. not sure i buy that. words can hurt and inflame and possibly make a point but can they make people change?well the bible and the koran are nothing but a set of words written down by men and revered by 54% of the worlds population so maybe words can make a difference. --Posted by Cocaine Jesus to
Writers Against Terrorism at 9/27/2006 01:44:41 PM

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i am not. i think ALL organised religion is to the detriment of mankind even though there are many good people who follow their faiths in a positive fashion. --Posted by Cocaine Jesus to
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i am not. i think ALL organised religion is to the detriment of mankind even though there are many good people who follow their faiths in a positive fashion. --Posted by Cocaine Jesus to
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in a nutshell organised relgion sucks. not always the followers of any particular faith but the office that controls that faith. for example the papal offices with their homophobic and sexist bias. also the higher offices of islam which, as far as i can see is so alike to christianity that they could be the same faith, is also sexist and homophobic. the trouble with ALL such extreme faiths is that all it takes is for one lunatic to get into power and BABOOM... all hell breaks loose. imagine, for example, if o Bush, or one of his supporters, took the catholic/christian creed to its final and fatalistic finale of armagedon. mankind destroyed and the christ returns. there are some out there who long for that day. all it would take is for them to pre-empt if with a few well aimed missiles. --Posted by Cocaine Jesus to
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in a nutshell organised relgion sucks. not always the followers of any particular faith but the office that controls that faith. for example the papal offices with their homophobic and sexist bias. also the higher offices of islam which, as far as i can see is so alike to christianity that they could be the same faith, is also sexist and homophobic. the trouble with ALL such extreme faiths is that all it takes is for one lunatic to get into power and BABOOM... all hell breaks loose. imagine, for example, if o Bush, or one of his supporters, took the catholic/christian creed to its final and fatalistic finale of armagedon. mankind destroyed and the christ returns. there are some out there who long for that day. all it would take is for them to pre-empt if with a few well aimed missiles. --Posted by Cocaine Jesus to
Writers Against Terrorism at 9/26/2006 02:11:50 PM

Monday, September 25, 2006

Sunday, September 24, 2006

melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks issue 5

The fifth issue of melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks is online now, featuring work by:

Amy King - Ana Bozicevic-Bowling - Brian Howe - Brian Lucas - Craig Perez - Danielle Pafunda - Jana Putrle Srdic - Janet Holmes - Jill Jones - Jen Hofer - Lisa Fishman - Elisa Gabbert - Novica Tadic - Bruce Covey - TA Noonan

Art by C.E. Laine and Ira Joel Haber


melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks is an online bi-weekly journal of poetry and curious bits, co-edited by Andrew Lundwall and Francois Luong.

http://mtd.celaine.com/

Friday, September 22, 2006

Ageless Industrial Chillum Cello Bathroom Siva

after Stan Apps' _Hurt By Rumors_



~"unconditional reality"~

means

~"just wiggle the handle"~


1.

The Prajipatis are eating Casesar salad.
This is what they said:

O Saints of
Industrial Bathrooms who
move like Rishi Cattle in the Mind
of Siva

mu mu mu (goes the Sacred Bathroom Traffic)

Siva just sitting
loading the Chillum
listening to the Cello of the Ageless Clouds
of his Bluest Skintones

in my Chest is an Industrial Bathroom Universe
my Breath is the Everlasting Popstar
of Pure Destruction

Rish Bathroom Cattle are Bluest Tidy Bowl
when the Cello Toilets Flush
the Face of Siva, a Pseudo-Siva
who is just band stickers

Thai Muslim Pellets eating Popstars
in Industrial Bathroom Rishis


2.

The Snake of Siva
is a city whose industrial bathrooms
play Spike Jones
because of Muslim Generals
are eaten by Popstar Rishi Cattle

No Daddy No!
the infant Krishna
is floating in my toilet!

Jim Morrison is a lost little girl
in the Industrial Bathroom Labyrinth
of Siva's Chillum of Blue Skintones

for now we will call her General Alice
in Muslim Bathroomland

You're lost little girl
in the stampede of Rishi cattle

smoke the Chillumcommode
little girl
and breathe the rishi pellets
eating popstar bathroom cellos

there's a mulch of dead communists
for a halo toilet ring
in your industrial bathroom mind
Siva

take another hit
sweet chillum Siva

Saivite fascists have beautiful
facial tattoos
they have death's head lingams
on their spicy epaulet tonsil pallettes


3.

this is the sound of industrial toilet cellos
this is the sound of Alice whose head is muslim hookah pillar
full of cattle rishi generals

Sri Siva's firm yet gentle Chillum guidance
will stimulate your powers of industrial bathroom

The "total access" club is offering FREE programs,
deep discounts, and VIP treatment
to eternal destruction

This anger came out in the form of an energy
from Siva's third eye which is used as a surveillance
camera in industrial popstar bathrooms

to combine complementary qualities in a single ambiguous figure
is really a political expression
of Insane Grotesque Wisdom
the lead singer of Muslim Rishi Cattle

who gargles with poison meat genius
in his posh 3rd world industrial bathroom lingam

before connecting his chillum
to the internet is
Generally Siva
just sitting
loading the chillum
listening to the cello of the ageless clouds
of his bluest skintones

in the industrial cellobowl
one can see the arduous journey of the chelaturd
on its way to the dark ashrama
of Muslim Hookahs

meglomania (ghosts on the margin 2 -series one) a sudden burp

meglomania (ghosts on the margin 2 -series one)

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Never Forget

I went panopticamping last weekend. I thought about sleeping in a tent, but ultimately stayed in a panopticabin. Good times were had, though panopticabbage was not. I thought about it actually, and you either panoptican or panoptican't have a good time camping. There is no middle ground. After I returned home, I panopticalled my buddy Gus. He panopticartwheeled at the mention of the enjoyable time I had. That's a pretty ridiculous thing to do though, so I hung up the phone and hailed a panopticab (standard procedure). I told the driver, "Take me to the panopicaca!" He complied and I was there. But I forgot why I was there and decided I'd rather go back home and watch some panopticable. But before I could get back in the yellow panopticadillac... well, it left. At this point, with no reason for being here and no ride home, the only thing I could think to do was drugs. So I did drugs. It made me all panoticaddywhompus. Plus, I had already shot up some panopticaffeiene. Tomorrow, I will declare my night a bad one. But right now, it kicks some major panopticake.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

sHE tO BuTTeR mE


i asked her to butter me
but she wouldn't responD
i tolD her she could liCk me clean
and i woUld use my wand
but she just wasn't ready
for A boat ride by the sea
so i gaVe her cigar muncHies
and bruised HEr young teepee.



words by cocaine jesus

tadpiyed

you see it could be like this but then again maybe forever is just a tad ambitious.
the hair from her head fell like a steeplejack freefalling down a chimney stack. the railway lines crossed her flesh like a dream tattoo.
vaseline fresh and squeaky clean.
she couldn't deny it and he wouldn't confide in me enough to fake a plastic card full of certain amounts of hokum.
but i knew a man who shouldn't but would if asked hard enough and i had a certain amount of resolve that would go neatly soft into green glass bottles.
so i guess, conversations run in circles and this one was going nowhere.


wprds and drpstod by cocaine jesus HHHH


holy moly

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Siobhan Donaghy's Transitional Phrasing



Later, in an odd calibration intended as a rebuke but softened by doe-eyed expressionism, Siobhan fought off all the EMI suitors and opened up a new can of wurms.

"Girl dun gut" etc only, this time, the faint embryonic clothes-horse that followed her dutifully (face like a scorched child) spoke up:

"I'll live for longer if you love me."

And this changed her mind for the split-second they needed to sow more weeds into the fillers and start spiking the ballads with off-centre pall-bearing Greek hype.

Siobhan thought longer.

"They'll make a whine out of all of you," they heard her say as she skipped a beat onto the conference table and then belted out her new demixture.

"I... heard something that didn't sound... right," mumbled one of them, his face already greasy from smearing £50 notes across his cheeks and eyes.

She spotted the flaw, managed it. Breaths caught a little; tuberculosis temporarily tickled it's way through the room and down the halls, getting in the throats of one of the T-girls, specially brought in to fend off the Haters and The Hives.

Siobhan held firm, refused to cave and went immediately into the Scorpion Attack Position, awaiting orders from above.

Allhellbrokeloose.

Siobhan Donaghy - Ghosts


A Yousssendit Sssurproduction via Zeon

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

preamble fax factor 2


• GROUP I ( G1 ) / Old FM Transmission time : Approx. 6 MIN.
• GROUP II ( G2 ) Transmission time : Approx. 3 MIN.
• GROUP III ( G3 ) Transmission time : Less then 1 MIN.
• GROUP IV ( G4 ) Transmission time : Approx. 10 SEC.
The operation
of a fax machine is strictly specified by the International Telegraph and Telephone Consultative Committee called "CCITT". This committee sets the standards for all fax equipment thereby allowing different manufactures and faxes in different countries to communicate with each other.
• GROUP
I ( G1 ) / Old FM Transmission time : Approx. 6 MIN.
• GROUP II ( G2 ) Transmission time : Approx. 3 MIN.
• GROUP III ( G3 ) Transmission time : Less then 1 MIN.
• GROUP IV ( G4 ) Transmission time : Approx. 10 SEC.
The operation of a fax machine is strictly specified by the International Telegraph and Telephone Consultative Committee
called "CCITT". This committee sets the standards for all fax equipment thereby allowing different manufactures and faxes in different countries to communicate with each other.
Structure of Binary SignalsStructure
of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary SignalsStructure of Binary Signals
PREAMBLE
signal
PREAMBLE signal
PREAMBLE signal
sequence sculpture by cocaine jesus

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Petrarchified

The wave in its lack of offerings is complete
I must remember things like this as they appear
Unintentional pebbly snaps to something clear
In sodium suspension drifts and gripping feet
Marsupial lines through ruderality of street
When stars present themselves as cordially near
Shine me in and perhaps I too shall disappear
Relaxed in company with iron smell’s retreat
Tiny or immense or invisibility
Growing into sight through patio-slat and fence
How is it you can walk as a mind in high flight?
The clink in your ear as small as the puzzling sea
The racking up of dog and car desires grown dense
It is known not to talk if what is seen is right.

Monday, September 11, 2006

For my dear friend Jack, you stole $500 from me, didn't you?

liubite by rodinu


When your boss is driving you to work in the morning, you needn't worry about being late. The car will crash and you will hit your head against an invading telephone pole, temporarily losing your short-term memory. What are the rules to the game again?

Jack: This isn't a game.

Jason: Oh I disagree.

Jack: Unfortunately you can't. It's against the rules.

We have this disagreement often. Jack says it isn't a game, I plant thousands of trees around the base of his house in disagreement. In 80 years, when the pure fusion nuclear weapon is finally used in an attempt (unsuccessful) to curb overpopulation, Jack will be stuck in his house because of all those trees. The humor of the situation will be very similar to when a fire really does break out in the theatre and kills everyone except for that crazy cat. Wow that cat is crazy.

Jack: It's true, that cat is crazy.

Jason: Drat! I was trying to tell a lie Jack.

Jack: You are true.

five minutes by nikolai prusakov


Despite these disagreements, Jack and I are the best of friends. I have vivid memories of a speech he gave at some event. We were receiving awards for doing something good, or maybe it was a sentencing, and Jack was asked in parting to share a few words. He looked up at that man with the robe and said this and that about life, or maybe it was about where we got the pound of marijuana, and in closing remarked that, "My friend Jason is a great [something and something else and something else yet]... and that is how we got it." I can't remember the middle part but I'm sure it was all very nice. Afterward, I joined him at a party. It was a full house and everyone was so happy to see us. I embraced Jack and thanked him for the kind words. He said something in response and I responded to his response and we went back and forth like that for a while responding and responding. Three days later, we left the party. It was a swell exit. I was struck as I departed by all the metal bars in this party home. Why should there be so many? The owner of the home had terrible taste. I was also struck by a telephone pole in the head. That's the third and final time a telephone pole would attack me. This is because of some wonderful advice Jack gave me.

Jack: Next time you think you can outrun a horse, think again.

Jason: Indeed!

The truth is, I tried to outrun the horse for one simple reason: a rare, two-for-one angioplasty sale at Twin Cities Angioplasty. It's nearly indescribable, the effects of angioplasty on one's psyche. I told Jack about it once. I said, "Jack, if you're feeling a bit down I have one suggestion for you: angioplasty. It'll turn you from blue to red. The red is blood but don't you worry, that'll go away eventually." Indeed, the world is a better place because of angioplasty from Twin Cities Angioplasty.

16th by karalov

dragon eyes




dragon eyes seize you. dragon eyes sees you. in a box. in your underwear. the crimes you trip. the railway stair. that idiot dance. the seafront stall. that kiss with tongues. the shopping mall.
dragon eyes got you. dragon eyes spot you. on the cobblestreet. slick with rain. subway haste. oncoming train. alive with interest. arrive with tyres. chewing gum footfall. gleaming spires.
dragon eyes meets you. dragon eyes greets you. a celluloid trap. a silver disc. the broken bottle. that sudden risk. football crowds. mums with prams. wreckless youth. a phalanx of trams.
dragon eyes takes you. dragon eyes makes you. a tower of glass. a power of past. a flower of steel. gasoline stale. chrome reveal. rainbow pale. dragon eyes thrills you. dragon eyes kills you. petroleum haze. traffic cone. neon glaze. broken phone. a bustle of taxis. a rustle of cash. a hustle of taxes. smell of trash. dragon eyes beats you. dragon eyes defeats you. in your car. in your bath. in your garden. and on the path. on your TV. on your text. on your PC. in your sex.



words by cocaine jesus

using inspiration from Don Vliet, Dada and a dash of Burroughs. the idea was to use a surrealistic approach and mix it with Burroughs cut and paste style and then add a Dadaistic flourish. this would then give each snippet of words a hammer blow impact to convey the theme and message. alternatively this is just another set of pretentious twaddle for a bunch of pretentious post-modernist intellectuals glory bound for change and art (with a capital F)

Sunday, September 10, 2006

syzygy |ˈsizijē| |ˌsɪz1dʒi| |ˌsɪzɪdʒi|

syzygy |ˈsizijē| |ˌsɪz1dʒi| |ˌsɪzɪdʒi|
noun ( pl. -gies) Astronomy
a conjunction or opposition, esp. of the moon with the sun : the planets were aligned in syzygy.
• a pair of connected or corresponding things : animus and anima represent a supreme pair of opposites, the syzygy.
ORIGIN early 17th cent.: via late Latin from Greek suzugia, from suzugos ‘yoked, paired,’ from sun- ‘with, together’ + the stem of zeugnunai ‘to yoke.’

corporeal 3

Saturday, September 09, 2006

five minute xanadu

five minute xanadu
after dali - 090706



powered by ODEO


there's something north from here -
it's a long thing and i can't get it.
which sucks so i am bored - the south is fine
in the winter. i never thought you talked
funny either. just never whispered. over me.
which is something i rely upon.
so if this is a confessional fine.
i kept saying hello to everyone.
it was very burdensome in terms of my stress -
so i made some phone calls and now will be highly
more involved - a long time ago - going fast enough to
catch you - out of your black velvets and pardon me
for how your face twists twists ever so over canvases.




~lds06

We All Have One--I think!

  Posted by Picasa

the wryness of x's

Friday, September 08, 2006

syzygy

In mathematics, a syzygy is a relation between the generators of a module. All such relations form what is called the 'first syzygy module'. The relations between generators of the first syzygy module form the second syzygy module, and in general, the relations among the generators of the n-th syzygy module form the (n+1)-th syzygy module

The Russian theologian/philosopher Vladimir Solovyov used the word "syzygy" to signify "unity-friendship-community," used as either an adjective or a noun. A pair of connected or correlative things. A couple or pair of opposites

In psychology, Carl Jung used the term "syzygy" to denote an archetypal pairing of contrasexual opposites, which symbolized the communication of the conscious and unconscious minds. The conjunction of two organisms without the loss of identity

Poetry
The combination of two metrical feet into a single unit, similar to an elision.
Consonantal or phonetic syzygy is also similar to the effect of alliteration, where one consonant is used repeated throughout a passage, but not necessarily at the beginning of each word
gnosticism
A syzygy is a divine active-passive, male-female pair of aeons, complementary to one another rather than oppositional; in their totality they comprise the divine realm of the Pleroma, and in themselves characterise aspects of the unknowable Gnostic God. The term is most common in Valentinianism
In astronomy, a syzygy is the alignment of three celestial bodies in the same gravitational system along a straight line. The word is usually used in context with the Sun, Earth, and the Moon or a planet, where the latter is in conjunction or opposition. Solar and lunar eclipses occur at times of syzygy, as do transits and occultations. The term is also applied to each instance of New Moon or Full Moon when Sun and Moon are in conjunction or opposition, even though they are not precisely on one line with the Earth.
The word is often loosely used to describe interesting configurations of planets in general. For example, situations when all the planets are on the same side of the Sun, as occurred on March 10, 1982, are sometimes called 'syzygies', although they are not necessarily found along a straight line

silver bullets

silver bullets fly beyond the grazing eye fast as a memory beyond the pale beyond the pail into a pile of logs that hide mutant frogs with ghostly eyes and industrial machine parts that glow glass and grow grass and reduce the past to barren fridge digits that green flicker on flickering green screens to the touch of a mortal infants finger tip to star glitter like worlds that gather dust amd musty thoughts that fast fade rifle fast with silver bullets

Thursday, September 07, 2006

$


unanimated loose ummu

obstruction hubur

ki... offspring, muggins,
racquet.

compass scatter undiscovereds.

Mothwoman [Stage 2 and 3]

[2]
Larva: zeroed while using telepathy to phone home, emergence, born to biologically transmutate:: grow head--a radial effect of climbing hills, pray atoms are thirsting some kind space described above as kinetic. Above my head, surprise of lower worlds so minute, rigid terrain:: speaks absurdity of existence by the shape’s orientation so puss-like, throbbing, will harden not what is used to bone.


[3]
Pupa: scratches repeatedly with nature, touch--for itself--saves this? I wonder what it’s like to get nothing out of a casing, thumb-out the idea what, where there’s a free oddity so common it is commonoddity, influential in cocoon’s plumping.
PLEASE HELP AND VISIT THIS SITE AND PUT YOUR NAME ON THE PETITION.


BRING BACK TRANSIENCE

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Limbs


...in the end he realised that his limbs were not his own, thought for a second about changing them (but breething blood was never a hobby catered for at the Chemistry Shops) so decided to tape them to his torso, like a crumpled star.

This Heat - 24 track loop


courtesy of The Wire

MaxDiff

holy hell

Scale the maximum difference between and beyond
Point A: a choice &
Point B: because &
Point C: seabass &
Point D: delicious!

Different scales of maximum and minimum suggest
& confirm
& perform
& negate
& conform
all at the same time!

Scale differences account for maximum heterogeneity
or hyperactivity
or holy roman emperors
or homosexual cheese
or huge gigantic large!

Yes it's true. Follow these simple steps and you too can be a
(st)
(a/t
a)t/
/a(t
a(t/
/at)
)a/t
(at/
a/t(
/a)t
a/t)
/at(
)at/
(ician!)