Thursday, October 26, 2006


The advantage between a cake decorator and a facade in the latest in mouse research. 1/2 cup of spongy cervical gear with the load patterns into your Facade, Proximinal Jowel, and Mom Factory (or worse, a flat tire), then keep it struggling underwater with the academics. But you don't just have the same problems as me... YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Cranky in Human Capoteville

Dear Shalimar...otamar lambquest...nishi nishermo, where are you? Did you fly off into the electric baloon salesman's smile? the ink? I will leave you a Tomaz Salamun poem for your troubles.


By the way of all spheres,
on steep rocks overgrown with segments of color,
covered with chalk that children have broken,
we watch fragments
that keep rising,
compressed as if under the weight of water,
their slow takeoff: a signpost,
white curtains raised.

There is no hardship in breathing
precisely here, in this circle,
no hardship in breathing,
and also onward, ahead, it seems
as if balance is built in, unbreakable;
each time widening caves,
widening and narrowing,
like the activity of an unknown (unimaginable)
respiratory system, magnified under a microscope.

Invalid are nostalgia, night, melancholy,
laughter falling as snow,
everything parallel, everything there that can be
reached from here, all “the way” in between.

We are watching the reactions to this condition,
slowly, step by step, the outer leaves of the artichoke
float away.
We can imprint optional memories of notions.

There was a circle.
There was one just because we could not
use it.

Whatever the notion, they are all concentrically
disposed, far and near.
A freckle that was once an elevator
is a priori a ray, secured by intangibility.
Initiation is incredibly slow work,
similar to the turning of summer, winter, and stars.

Is this about how we have eaten?
Did we make a meal each time?

Enough so that in the process a tiny crack is left
and everything regenerates incredibly fast, and therefore now is.

You who keep a diary of growth and victims,
Maybe many of them can read it,
light falls around,
only here of course nothing falls, it gets out.
The center, the source of energy watched by us
during this procedure, is empty. The cosmos makes the locus vanish,
eats it up. Energy, not consciousness, jumps across, (is)
in the negative. Therefore everything is in something,
what roughly, because of a notion, can be described
as a grain of sand, all space the remainder,
like dust after sawing wood.

On one cubic micron there are endless
galaxies, and each this enormous
space, nights, moons, suns, with constellations
that confound us, compressing our membrane.
The intergalactic and, of course, these
‘injected’ communications, too, are only oppression.

Along this window, in this window
there are innumerable other civilizations,
innumerable other cosmological systems.
Thus suffering does not matter,
layers do.
This is what I show here.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Best Nest (Next Nest)

In this nest are the plans. They've been torn up but are better for it. They must be followed. I have managed to decipher the following from them:

Eschatology or scatolo. Sand in the diaper or staple my p[iper to the waiting room inside my multi-chambered bear. The bear? Yes, that old ursa bear brown and cinammon, crunching its way through the mountainside, roughage people, berries, and the ooooweeeee of certain unmentioable hiking fanatics (Larry). Eat the lawmaker. And you are my brothers.

Take my bag away cuz here I'm going to stay, with the rest of the plants. This here Mastrchomp beareatenursachompkid has decided it would be best if lawyers decided the fate of each of our sibflings. I dont really care, but it would be nice to find someone to take care of my brothers and their weightlifting retardation scales. And you are my brothers.

Who labelled whitey white rice white? Who labelled me a bag thrown from the forementioned tree, and hate guy, and slave robber, and mating chamber for thirsty soy sauce eggs. People. Lawyers. The only thing worse than a lawyer joke is smiling ones way through a jury ordeal by pleading Bear! Handlebear, mandlebear!, my brothers.

Thursday, October 12, 2006


Its time to foreclose on our lastest venture: Goodwill. People! Say it with me: Goodwill! Long have the days passed when we would wish our brother on the street goodwill, the passions of the long-dejected plebians stewing in their remorselessly sown fertilization of their own malcontent. In ideal times, these good folk would walk shoulder to shoulder with our beasts, opening gates, bantering and other priceless vocations. And yet, there was one thing we shared: Goodwill.

Monday, October 09, 2006

And Erstwhile Melthorse

The Barista finger I marvinned out of the way has come back and taken over my busy busy me lifestlye. Sitting with you in that exotic museum cafe on that rainy day in Tokyo. First the hammock chairs, then the girl who despised us for being "ice creamu" lickers of the highest magnitude. Lets get ourselves involved in the grapes for a while, sandwich bob.

I wished we'd had more time on the playout, to rib cotton jumpsuits and crable the sizzling witness to the Elongated Clay penis? The pictures are fantastic. I in a radar flavored jumpsuit, slabs of monk meat souffled with a cranapple cooling pie. Felled trees playing the Gray Snyder horse head and horsehappy values and erstwhile melthorse.

A swaying trees? A Gu Cheng mightmouse on the New Zealand railroad kick finger. The damage has been done, no less. I moved my kids out into old time bobs hatemachine, and then my muscle flew out and sandiched a raisin bran commercial? Gu Cheng my ass?

How was the rave out in woodland? Are you a day trader? A headdress hunter? 34 hours in the middle of a spycake? Oh wo begone solid food blanket, here is a poem I am working on....