taken from a review my cousin, Sean Lawson, wrote here:
"'First Communion' starts off really glitchy and electronic-y at first, but then it launches into something that makes me want to dance like I’m in the future."
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Flarf All Who May
Kevin and Melissa,
I will address Melissa’s point about Flarf’s failure viz. its very own private descent into chaos first, and then address Kevin’s concerns.
I understand Sewell’s comments as being the desire to be understood and the desire to manipulate the understandable so that it “stretches” its meaning to include everything. Since that which is epic, mythic, monolithic and immensely universal can only be said in one way, we need to stretch what we say to encompass this universal, or at least what we attempt to reach. Though in an attempt to approach this chaos, we risk becoming chaotic too. So through inclusion we become more chaotic, and through exclusion we become more silent, which seems true to me, and obviously to Sewell, and apparently to those in this conversation as well.
I have several objections, the first and second to Sewell’s binary of language, and in regards to language used to potentially manipulate.
When I communicate I wish you to gain the same message I intend to send inasmuch as if I lie my goal is corroded and this counterproductively causes a communication breakdown. You wouldn’t understand what I understand, nor would you be able to respond, since I would be thinking one thing and you'd be responding with another in answering what you assumed I had said. The intention to do this is called doublespeak, and it’s this doublespeak that represents my first objection to the possibility of Sewell’s binary being the only way to understand language.
I want to clarify before continuing that I don’t assume that Flarf or any poetry (school) seeks to intentionally manipulate since I don’t think poetry’s main goal is to communicate in the above manner at all, but rather to convey image and impression, to disrupt cliche, and finally, to put disreputable language on the chopping block. In poetry, if you interpret my (in this case, the writer's) words differently from how I "meant" them, so be it.
So, primarily, the meaning that we look for in prose isn’t delivered in the same way in poetry, and in many cases meaning isn't delivered at all, unless you're missing the subtext. For example, if you read “The Road Less Traveled” as a poem, you realize that the poem is discussing the imagery associated with decisions and choices while telling about a decision the narrator made to take a path that most hadn't taken. On the other hand, if you read “The Road Less Traveled” as having meaning -- since meaning is something we all should only understand as proceeding from authorial command sent directly to readers (praying, and assuming readers don't misconstrue the author's language and since we assume that our prose communicates one thing and one thing only -- then we’d take the words to be only about a narrator lost in the woods and who then chooses a path that isn’t well-worn, which if you’re really lost in the woods is a really stupid choice. If Frost were a journalist, to write an article entitled, "How to Find Your Way Out of the Big Bad Jungle," would be manipulative and misleading but yet he would then be communicating meaning. If Frost wanted to communicate a reality, then he would be manipulating his reader into assuming that he is referring to woods and paths and that he's actually been in the woods rather than what he’s actually referring to, e.g., choosing to leave his wife or to kill himself, or to buy X toothpaste over Y, etc. If he wants to tell us to leave our wives or kill ourselves or buy the sensitive brand paste, but he says something different then Frost is being obtuse and obscures meaning through manipulation (subterfuge as manipulation). So it is this doublespeak, or doubletalk, that in literature might pose a threat to the idea that we’re conflicted between inclusion and exclusion.
[I also object to Sewell's binary simply because life isn't a binary: good/evil, black/white, Yankees/Red Sox aren't really the only options...but this is another discussion]
My third/next objection is to the claim that Flarf fails by becoming too chaotic in it’s own language and is based on a historical objection: we cannot possibly understand Flarf outside of the historical event that shaped it (at least that which made it the flower that most claim to hate currently), 9/11. This isn’t to say that if we haven’t lived through 9/11, we cannot possibly understand Flarf, but rather that for a more thorough understanding of Flarf we need to look at when and why (to the best of our ability, at least) it came about.
In the time period following 9/11, Flarf was seen as largely a reaction to the type of doublespeak that threatened to end Sewell’s binary above. The reason why the post-9/11 political climate threatened to end the inclusion/exclusion conflict is because politics in this era excluded through inclusion and included through exclusion. When you include through exclusion it’s called deceit. A perfect example of how politics deceived the public was by positing a theory, “Bin Laden did it,” and then passively encouraging that theory to spread while failing to provide sufficient evidence. Regardless of the truth, what follows is a vacuum: people assume that Bin Laden did it because “the TV said so,” and that there are “those in government who know the real truth even though we don’t.” The exclusion of truth here by media, government, and just about every talking head from here to Warsaw meant that the public then supplied it’s own interpretation (since we need answers and hate doubt and ambiguity). Flarf acted as one way (not THE way) within the poetry community (if there is one, that is) that poets were moving to counteract this attempt to turn the irrational into the dominant political philosophy (whether this worked is a different story, since as you might expect, not many people in power read poetry…). Flarf's stance seemed to be 1) listen to Bush's bullshit, 2) in disbelief, withdraw from a logical parry of said bullshit, since "if you're not with us you're against us," 3) engage in action whose message might be: your lack of logic means nothing, we know you're being illogical and we're going to create even more uncomfortable messages that expose the soft-authoritarian-cum-aggressive authoritarian bent of the current regime as specious and mere doublespeak, perhaps by flooding academic communities/poetry readings/culture with messages that muddy the regime's message (a message which claims it communicates but that actually doesn't, we should note again). If our message means nothing, more are likely to realize that in this heightened political climate, NO message serves to communicate, but rather to cause confusion, chaos and fear through labeling and sliding definitions of foreign policy, who's good and bad, and to hide the truth, this truth being that solving any problem isn't as easy as invading another country.
As to the accusation that Flarf is merely hipster irony, I ask: is Flarf even ironic? How can anything nonsensical be ironic at the same time? Irony requires understanding. And because Flarf seems to me to be not ironic but circuitous and a way to circumvent understanding (and misunderstanding, in that if there’s no assumed understanding, the expectation to “understand” doesn’t exist; the same works with Flarf's relationship with meaning). And so, Flarf circumvents “meaning,” as all poetry does. What a poem means to me is different from what it means to you. And this should be so, for things would be boring if it were any different.
I just received Rodney Koeneke’s RULES FOR DRINKING FORTIES. Koeneke is a very sharp writer, and I highly admire and recommend his work. Anyhow, I figured I’d best illustrate the problems with searching for meaning by quoting from Koeneke’s book, specifically, the poetic epigraph by Hannah Weiner:
details submit for
who ma
[Here I should note that there's about TAB's worth of space between details and submit that Blogger won't let me format...]
Ok, now: what does this MEAN? Anyone? (And when we're talking meaning here, we mean "what one message is there to be taken from this? What does this communicate?"
How does meaning have anything to do with poetry? How can it, since language is immense and this world is fractured and made up of 6 billion+ different interpretations?
I think the problem here is that we haven’t read enough Flarf, we haven’t read enough poetry, and we’re too lazy to assume that Flarf isn’t just one thing. Flarf is bathos, creepy, eerie, fun, boring, lazy, ironic, pat, provocative, smelly, corny, lame and trite. But this doesn’t mean that all Flarf has all of these characteristics, nor does it mean that all Flarf “poets” (I’m using scare quotes here because most writers of Flarf also write other types and styles of poetry as well) are only these things. To oversimplify and say that all Flarf is irony or hipstery or sucky or meaningless really does a disservice to all poetry, since Flarf is poetry and shares some of other poetic school’s characteristics, it insinuates that the harsh judge of Flarf is also willing to censor other poetry once it becomes “too much.”
I will address Melissa’s point about Flarf’s failure viz. its very own private descent into chaos first, and then address Kevin’s concerns.
I understand Sewell’s comments as being the desire to be understood and the desire to manipulate the understandable so that it “stretches” its meaning to include everything. Since that which is epic, mythic, monolithic and immensely universal can only be said in one way, we need to stretch what we say to encompass this universal, or at least what we attempt to reach. Though in an attempt to approach this chaos, we risk becoming chaotic too. So through inclusion we become more chaotic, and through exclusion we become more silent, which seems true to me, and obviously to Sewell, and apparently to those in this conversation as well.
I have several objections, the first and second to Sewell’s binary of language, and in regards to language used to potentially manipulate.
When I communicate I wish you to gain the same message I intend to send inasmuch as if I lie my goal is corroded and this counterproductively causes a communication breakdown. You wouldn’t understand what I understand, nor would you be able to respond, since I would be thinking one thing and you'd be responding with another in answering what you assumed I had said. The intention to do this is called doublespeak, and it’s this doublespeak that represents my first objection to the possibility of Sewell’s binary being the only way to understand language.
I want to clarify before continuing that I don’t assume that Flarf or any poetry (school) seeks to intentionally manipulate since I don’t think poetry’s main goal is to communicate in the above manner at all, but rather to convey image and impression, to disrupt cliche, and finally, to put disreputable language on the chopping block. In poetry, if you interpret my (in this case, the writer's) words differently from how I "meant" them, so be it.
So, primarily, the meaning that we look for in prose isn’t delivered in the same way in poetry, and in many cases meaning isn't delivered at all, unless you're missing the subtext. For example, if you read “The Road Less Traveled” as a poem, you realize that the poem is discussing the imagery associated with decisions and choices while telling about a decision the narrator made to take a path that most hadn't taken. On the other hand, if you read “The Road Less Traveled” as having meaning -- since meaning is something we all should only understand as proceeding from authorial command sent directly to readers (praying, and assuming readers don't misconstrue the author's language and since we assume that our prose communicates one thing and one thing only -- then we’d take the words to be only about a narrator lost in the woods and who then chooses a path that isn’t well-worn, which if you’re really lost in the woods is a really stupid choice. If Frost were a journalist, to write an article entitled, "How to Find Your Way Out of the Big Bad Jungle," would be manipulative and misleading but yet he would then be communicating meaning. If Frost wanted to communicate a reality, then he would be manipulating his reader into assuming that he is referring to woods and paths and that he's actually been in the woods rather than what he’s actually referring to, e.g., choosing to leave his wife or to kill himself, or to buy X toothpaste over Y, etc. If he wants to tell us to leave our wives or kill ourselves or buy the sensitive brand paste, but he says something different then Frost is being obtuse and obscures meaning through manipulation (subterfuge as manipulation). So it is this doublespeak, or doubletalk, that in literature might pose a threat to the idea that we’re conflicted between inclusion and exclusion.
[I also object to Sewell's binary simply because life isn't a binary: good/evil, black/white, Yankees/Red Sox aren't really the only options...but this is another discussion]
My third/next objection is to the claim that Flarf fails by becoming too chaotic in it’s own language and is based on a historical objection: we cannot possibly understand Flarf outside of the historical event that shaped it (at least that which made it the flower that most claim to hate currently), 9/11. This isn’t to say that if we haven’t lived through 9/11, we cannot possibly understand Flarf, but rather that for a more thorough understanding of Flarf we need to look at when and why (to the best of our ability, at least) it came about.
In the time period following 9/11, Flarf was seen as largely a reaction to the type of doublespeak that threatened to end Sewell’s binary above. The reason why the post-9/11 political climate threatened to end the inclusion/exclusion conflict is because politics in this era excluded through inclusion and included through exclusion. When you include through exclusion it’s called deceit. A perfect example of how politics deceived the public was by positing a theory, “Bin Laden did it,” and then passively encouraging that theory to spread while failing to provide sufficient evidence. Regardless of the truth, what follows is a vacuum: people assume that Bin Laden did it because “the TV said so,” and that there are “those in government who know the real truth even though we don’t.” The exclusion of truth here by media, government, and just about every talking head from here to Warsaw meant that the public then supplied it’s own interpretation (since we need answers and hate doubt and ambiguity). Flarf acted as one way (not THE way) within the poetry community (if there is one, that is) that poets were moving to counteract this attempt to turn the irrational into the dominant political philosophy (whether this worked is a different story, since as you might expect, not many people in power read poetry…). Flarf's stance seemed to be 1) listen to Bush's bullshit, 2) in disbelief, withdraw from a logical parry of said bullshit, since "if you're not with us you're against us," 3) engage in action whose message might be: your lack of logic means nothing, we know you're being illogical and we're going to create even more uncomfortable messages that expose the soft-authoritarian-cum-aggressive authoritarian bent of the current regime as specious and mere doublespeak, perhaps by flooding academic communities/poetry readings/culture with messages that muddy the regime's message (a message which claims it communicates but that actually doesn't, we should note again). If our message means nothing, more are likely to realize that in this heightened political climate, NO message serves to communicate, but rather to cause confusion, chaos and fear through labeling and sliding definitions of foreign policy, who's good and bad, and to hide the truth, this truth being that solving any problem isn't as easy as invading another country.
As to the accusation that Flarf is merely hipster irony, I ask: is Flarf even ironic? How can anything nonsensical be ironic at the same time? Irony requires understanding. And because Flarf seems to me to be not ironic but circuitous and a way to circumvent understanding (and misunderstanding, in that if there’s no assumed understanding, the expectation to “understand” doesn’t exist; the same works with Flarf's relationship with meaning). And so, Flarf circumvents “meaning,” as all poetry does. What a poem means to me is different from what it means to you. And this should be so, for things would be boring if it were any different.
I just received Rodney Koeneke’s RULES FOR DRINKING FORTIES. Koeneke is a very sharp writer, and I highly admire and recommend his work. Anyhow, I figured I’d best illustrate the problems with searching for meaning by quoting from Koeneke’s book, specifically, the poetic epigraph by Hannah Weiner:
details submit for
who ma
[Here I should note that there's about TAB's worth of space between details and submit that Blogger won't let me format...]
Ok, now: what does this MEAN? Anyone? (And when we're talking meaning here, we mean "what one message is there to be taken from this? What does this communicate?"
How does meaning have anything to do with poetry? How can it, since language is immense and this world is fractured and made up of 6 billion+ different interpretations?
I think the problem here is that we haven’t read enough Flarf, we haven’t read enough poetry, and we’re too lazy to assume that Flarf isn’t just one thing. Flarf is bathos, creepy, eerie, fun, boring, lazy, ironic, pat, provocative, smelly, corny, lame and trite. But this doesn’t mean that all Flarf has all of these characteristics, nor does it mean that all Flarf “poets” (I’m using scare quotes here because most writers of Flarf also write other types and styles of poetry as well) are only these things. To oversimplify and say that all Flarf is irony or hipstery or sucky or meaningless really does a disservice to all poetry, since Flarf is poetry and shares some of other poetic school’s characteristics, it insinuates that the harsh judge of Flarf is also willing to censor other poetry once it becomes “too much.”
Friday, April 10, 2009
I had a bad death thing happen to me.
Last year with a bad death pounding happened to me. Honestly into an open otter I fell, I found the solution…avoid thinking about the bad doctors giving me obnoxious suggestions. So often the spikes on the tail interfere. Focus on the family and James Dobson and HPV: bad mix. Spiny pine cones eagerly connect the eardrum and doldrums. What usually replaces my thoughts is to what bad death is to hearing from bad doctors. Luckily, I was transformed from a better person into an large Canadian Ice Shelf with heartwarming problems. Destiny now is outscorching a tween’s rounded out tan schedule. With a bad death pounding inside me last year.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Every Year...
The groundhog peeps it's wee head from the hole and says the same thing:
Poetry is dying. Get off my lawn.
Snore.
I'm convinced -- over the heads of Newsweek I'm sure, since they can't understand how the first Internet president "happened" (conjecture on my part) -- that reader's habits are now changing faster than survey goons can invent silly questions. Moreover, in an industry where bleeding leads, it's good business sense to declare deaths of genres each year.
Poetry is dying. Get off my lawn.
Snore.
I'm convinced -- over the heads of Newsweek I'm sure, since they can't understand how the first Internet president "happened" (conjecture on my part) -- that reader's habits are now changing faster than survey goons can invent silly questions. Moreover, in an industry where bleeding leads, it's good business sense to declare deaths of genres each year.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
More Flarf
I'm responding to this here post by Kevin.
Dear Kevin,
You make a lot of assumptions, about poetry, about philosophy and certainly about Flarf here.
The above poem [in your post] isn't flarf: it's more like a copy of what Flarf seems like to someone who doesn't get it.
I should also add that you don't like what you don't like, and no one can argue with that. So a good point to start off a critique of Flarf might be to ask just what it is that you don't like about Flarf and go from there.
But, your characterization of Flarf as plagiarism is a mischaracterization. Considering that poetry has often appropriated, and that some would contest that found poetry leans more toward plagiarism than Flarf, it seems weird to accuse Flarf of plagiarism
For more on what is NOT plagiarism, see here.
You further say this:
Before anyone argues that this “lack of style” ought to be considered a style all its own I’d like to state that such an argument cannot be construed as viable in any sense.
To which I ask, why? Why can't misspellings and mistakes of various kinds be considered style? Let's argue it. Not before, but now. Why can't these be style? Who's to say that they can't?
Another assumption: poetry communicates "meaning."
Another: poetry communicates a linearly grasped idea (plot--> progression-->terminus)= pat idea/statement of "meaning" to reader? Are poems supposed to "mean" things? Is your "meaning" my "meaning"?
Another: Flarf communicates nothing. (Have you ever read "Chicks Dig War" by Drew Gardner?)
Please read “Chicks Dig War” and then come back to your blog and tell me that Flarf communicates nothing, nothing about war, nothing about chicks digging it, nothing about GWAR.
Did I plagiarize?
Dear Kevin,
You make a lot of assumptions, about poetry, about philosophy and certainly about Flarf here.
The above poem [in your post] isn't flarf: it's more like a copy of what Flarf seems like to someone who doesn't get it.
I should also add that you don't like what you don't like, and no one can argue with that. So a good point to start off a critique of Flarf might be to ask just what it is that you don't like about Flarf and go from there.
But, your characterization of Flarf as plagiarism is a mischaracterization. Considering that poetry has often appropriated, and that some would contest that found poetry leans more toward plagiarism than Flarf, it seems weird to accuse Flarf of plagiarism
For more on what is NOT plagiarism, see here.
You further say this:
Before anyone argues that this “lack of style” ought to be considered a style all its own I’d like to state that such an argument cannot be construed as viable in any sense.
To which I ask, why? Why can't misspellings and mistakes of various kinds be considered style? Let's argue it. Not before, but now. Why can't these be style? Who's to say that they can't?
Another assumption: poetry communicates "meaning."
Another: poetry communicates a linearly grasped idea (plot--> progression-->terminus)= pat idea/statement of "meaning" to reader? Are poems supposed to "mean" things? Is your "meaning" my "meaning"?
Another: Flarf communicates nothing. (Have you ever read "Chicks Dig War" by Drew Gardner?)
Please read “Chicks Dig War” and then come back to your blog and tell me that Flarf communicates nothing, nothing about war, nothing about chicks digging it, nothing about GWAR.
Did I plagiarize?
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
The very one that Arnold battles in the jungle
Are the people who reviewed this movie all named
Helen Keller? Can you search the ignominious
Tracts of jungle wrinkle for my nekkid boyish
Frame to come bounding toward you
Vesting you with interest
And a minigun rumbling sending sailors to heaven.
I’m honestly feeling like choosing between better bullets
And being economic is not getting hit
And bleeding that costly anti-freeze Joop cologne KY mix
Over leaves and tropical fauna
Green covering cute and bizarre faces!
Protect these animals
For sacrifice! Don’t bleed
On them! Their goilie furs.
Bleeding rays releasing agro statements
*sigh*
I’m charged up: six men and one woman
Where a lot can happen between the military
And the people the military are chasing.
If the military is chased, smiles exchanged. Encouragement
Rages on gingerly. Rules are involved, cramming
Do you know who I am? I am yakking
Up blood rivers. Yours is putrid backwater
Filled with plastic bottles and hypodermics. And your spine
Will be realigned and loose
And no more sports or driving hard to the hoop.
Not in this sweltering apron
“Just answering to the Messiah”
Our cats are thinking messes”
The things I want tattooed
The 5th element or nine eleven
Helen Keller? Can you search the ignominious
Tracts of jungle wrinkle for my nekkid boyish
Frame to come bounding toward you
Vesting you with interest
And a minigun rumbling sending sailors to heaven.
I’m honestly feeling like choosing between better bullets
And being economic is not getting hit
And bleeding that costly anti-freeze Joop cologne KY mix
Over leaves and tropical fauna
Green covering cute and bizarre faces!
Protect these animals
For sacrifice! Don’t bleed
On them! Their goilie furs.
Bleeding rays releasing agro statements
*sigh*
I’m charged up: six men and one woman
Where a lot can happen between the military
And the people the military are chasing.
If the military is chased, smiles exchanged. Encouragement
Rages on gingerly. Rules are involved, cramming
Do you know who I am? I am yakking
Up blood rivers. Yours is putrid backwater
Filled with plastic bottles and hypodermics. And your spine
Will be realigned and loose
And no more sports or driving hard to the hoop.
Not in this sweltering apron
“Just answering to the Messiah”
Our cats are thinking messes”
The things I want tattooed
The 5th element or nine eleven
Friday, March 27, 2009
More Collapse
In THE HANDBOOK OF POETIC LANGUAGE, Stan Apps discusses poetry as a format of writing that becomes "unsuccessful language" and "meaning is a commodity." In a downturn, money -- and not just the dollar -- loses all value in any communicative/exchangeable value it may have. In a downturn, money becomes poetic. What's interesting about this downturn -- compared with other, non-globalized whimpy whimpy downturns -- is that it won't be just the dollar, but all currencies. We won't only be dealing with a devaluation of one country's currency (Oh, how cute! Old fashioned US Dollars!) but of them all. Currency, as a idea backed by a standard (federal banks, money presses, etc) becomes poetic, or unsuccessful.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Another NY Times-hating moment
"All 2,982 names together, arrayed atop parapets stretching more than 1,500 feet around two great pools, will convey the vastness of the loss."
When the world gives you insincerity ringing in your ears...
...make earrings?
When the world gives you insincerity ringing in your ears...
...make earrings?
someone sent me a poem about rhymes and threatened to go to the police
I think poems should rhyme
I think poems should rhyme
This way, you can memorize
The word I've chosen here
And what nasty idea came into my head
Here and here, also there
Where the line ends, that's a rhyme
Not just end rhyme but bizarro rhyme
Breaking when you least expect
There to be a fracture
Interrupting the line there's rhyme
I believe you should like rhyme
If you don't die
Then you should like rhyme because
It's memorable and you can remember it well
It's a saving fact that poems have
A poem about feelings and absurd rhyming skills
Engineered first to make you laugh
Then making you falling
In love with Ruth Lilly's mustache
What do you rhyme with that? cereal tits?
I ate so much bread I became infected with rhyme
Someone put Be Delicious perfume on their vagina
And that become part of a rhyme too.
Some writers shout their rhymes because they need hearing
Others listen and observe the natural order of the universe
Which has rhyming programmed in it naturally.
For me, the best rhyme is a middle rhyme with not
Too much power taken from delivery.
If you have to incite your poetry crowd
There are too many people at your reading
And this means you need less rhyme.
I know other writers who collect odd words
And attempt to rhyme these words with old fashioned
Words, and they no longer exist! It's fantasy!
Words cannot rhyme with nothing that doesn't exist!
What doesn't rhyme is poetry and political
Messages. Those don't rhyme!
Poetry should never be political. it's just
Talk set to music or some reader's idea
Of what a rhyme should sound like
Not anyone having the slightest inkling
To know what these words sounds make.
So there are many other uses for your poem
Like not being a poem but instead a speech
That you give that confuses people
Because Beowulf was real and you’re not.
And that's the rhyming theory
Expressed easily for you fans of rhyme
Remember that rhyme is simple and you can
Warm up with practice and repetition. begin small
Try writing first a word and then a word that is similar.
That can be a rhyme.
A rhyme can fit into a line.
You don't have to be exact.
I think poems should rhyme
This way, you can memorize
The word I've chosen here
And what nasty idea came into my head
Here and here, also there
Where the line ends, that's a rhyme
Not just end rhyme but bizarro rhyme
Breaking when you least expect
There to be a fracture
Interrupting the line there's rhyme
I believe you should like rhyme
If you don't die
Then you should like rhyme because
It's memorable and you can remember it well
It's a saving fact that poems have
A poem about feelings and absurd rhyming skills
Engineered first to make you laugh
Then making you falling
In love with Ruth Lilly's mustache
What do you rhyme with that? cereal tits?
I ate so much bread I became infected with rhyme
Someone put Be Delicious perfume on their vagina
And that become part of a rhyme too.
Some writers shout their rhymes because they need hearing
Others listen and observe the natural order of the universe
Which has rhyming programmed in it naturally.
For me, the best rhyme is a middle rhyme with not
Too much power taken from delivery.
If you have to incite your poetry crowd
There are too many people at your reading
And this means you need less rhyme.
I know other writers who collect odd words
And attempt to rhyme these words with old fashioned
Words, and they no longer exist! It's fantasy!
Words cannot rhyme with nothing that doesn't exist!
What doesn't rhyme is poetry and political
Messages. Those don't rhyme!
Poetry should never be political. it's just
Talk set to music or some reader's idea
Of what a rhyme should sound like
Not anyone having the slightest inkling
To know what these words sounds make.
So there are many other uses for your poem
Like not being a poem but instead a speech
That you give that confuses people
Because Beowulf was real and you’re not.
And that's the rhyming theory
Expressed easily for you fans of rhyme
Remember that rhyme is simple and you can
Warm up with practice and repetition. begin small
Try writing first a word and then a word that is similar.
That can be a rhyme.
A rhyme can fit into a line.
You don't have to be exact.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
On my end, somewhat speculatively -- probably due to the cold medication -- I've been thinking a lot about collapsitarianism lately, and about the great "what if," if all this fails...if we're thrown into some strange proto-agrarian dystopia (dystopian in that the vast majority do not know how to produce), what next? The sequence is alarming, this kind of change isn't always good. It seems to me that the following is true: Stimulus is the preservation of government and business by both government and business. If these both fail to self-preserve, then you'll have your libertarianism, and a whole lot more.
But -- and here's the trickiness of it -- if both fail, and if money and all fiats fail, then this still doesn't sync with what most are talking about in these collapsitarian circles, namely, that we're screwed, that progress is down the shitter. In a sense, it's a tap of the "restart" button. We'll be faced with a massive re-thinking of value and other tenets we've taken for granted because money has allowed us to take them for granted. Debt and lending have thrown ideas of value and worth into a tailspin. What matters now is what you paid. What you'll pay, who'll pay you and how much. This is a great abstraction and it seems as though its time is up. So regardless of civil liberties guaranteed by a government nullified by empty coffers and emptier promises, as well as voided by collapse as a legislator of ANYTHING moralistic or economic or otherwise, rather what we'll be asking is what to do when money no longer fulfills a barter/commerce agreement.What do you have that will guarantee you a good, hot meal.
But -- and here's the trickiness of it -- if both fail, and if money and all fiats fail, then this still doesn't sync with what most are talking about in these collapsitarian circles, namely, that we're screwed, that progress is down the shitter. In a sense, it's a tap of the "restart" button. We'll be faced with a massive re-thinking of value and other tenets we've taken for granted because money has allowed us to take them for granted. Debt and lending have thrown ideas of value and worth into a tailspin. What matters now is what you paid. What you'll pay, who'll pay you and how much. This is a great abstraction and it seems as though its time is up. So regardless of civil liberties guaranteed by a government nullified by empty coffers and emptier promises, as well as voided by collapse as a legislator of ANYTHING moralistic or economic or otherwise, rather what we'll be asking is what to do when money no longer fulfills a barter/commerce agreement.What do you have that will guarantee you a good, hot meal.
Teeth make your face stink
Controversial iota
Boy gone bad bacteria
I’m not from Atlanta I’m Colorblind
Googled stink tooth
GEEK stink & dogs of march walking
Guess which arrives first?
Big crater object
Australians claim the deadliest creatures proudly
Workshop fleas in Crab Catamount
Your teeth stink? Gaza STINKS!
Boy gone bad bacteria
I’m not from Atlanta I’m Colorblind
Googled stink tooth
GEEK stink & dogs of march walking
Guess which arrives first?
Big crater object
Australians claim the deadliest creatures proudly
Workshop fleas in Crab Catamount
Your teeth stink? Gaza STINKS!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
I'm Going to Clone Myself Then Kill the Clone and Eat it
is a book by Sam Pink, which sounds like a pseudonym, but is actually what results when James Tate, David Markson and Tyler Durden have a baby together.
What I really want to say, though, is that this book is one of those books that gets you thinking, "Shit, I'm not writing enough. I need to PUSH myself." And also, "I'm a wuss for thinking this. I should just write." And also, "I should collage violent acts into poems." Then you realize, "Oh, Pink aleady did that. Hilarious."
Warning: Pink's book contains no violence...
...and pushes the envelope so far (& successfully, I should add) that I've turned again to other work I've written that I've been "stuck" on.
I need to risk more, I think. Once I have a looksee over some "stuck" pieces, I'll let you know someday what exactly I mean by "risking more" and just what type of "risk" I'm talking about.
Now I'm going to read into this conceptually, and while I'm unsure that Pink would want this, if he doesn't like it he can go floss with my G-string on fire...
One thing that sticks out in my mind is Spicer's idea of serial work, and how Pink taps into this vein, writing what could easily have been two books (168 pages) that draws heavily on one theme. But where other attempts of others writers to write "twee" into socially unacceptable themes haven't worked, Pinks tract on violence works very well indeed. I'm not sure why, but I think it has to do with the book's final poem about "beating a dead horse." Pink beats well, and to sustain this kind of hilarity for 168 pages without seeming too cute or clever is an accomplishment.
What I really want to say, though, is that this book is one of those books that gets you thinking, "Shit, I'm not writing enough. I need to PUSH myself." And also, "I'm a wuss for thinking this. I should just write." And also, "I should collage violent acts into poems." Then you realize, "Oh, Pink aleady did that. Hilarious."
Warning: Pink's book contains no violence...
...and pushes the envelope so far (& successfully, I should add) that I've turned again to other work I've written that I've been "stuck" on.
I need to risk more, I think. Once I have a looksee over some "stuck" pieces, I'll let you know someday what exactly I mean by "risking more" and just what type of "risk" I'm talking about.
Now I'm going to read into this conceptually, and while I'm unsure that Pink would want this, if he doesn't like it he can go floss with my G-string on fire...
One thing that sticks out in my mind is Spicer's idea of serial work, and how Pink taps into this vein, writing what could easily have been two books (168 pages) that draws heavily on one theme. But where other attempts of others writers to write "twee" into socially unacceptable themes haven't worked, Pinks tract on violence works very well indeed. I'm not sure why, but I think it has to do with the book's final poem about "beating a dead horse." Pink beats well, and to sustain this kind of hilarity for 168 pages without seeming too cute or clever is an accomplishment.
Modern Poetry
What if there were
an oven
inside of another oven
so that when you turned one on
you thought: hey, this oven is burning
and you could smell what an oven is cooking
which would be oven
inside of another oven
and you would get the wrong idea
which says that men can't cook
when the oven is so distinctly male
it hurts.
You then decide to sell the oven and eat out
more often, inviting guests over
when you're gone
so they starve with no oven.
only last minute deciding
to call the delivery number with the guy
showing up too late (flat tire or chain fell off,
I don't know) and not saving any guest
on the way home, you're really tired
and you pull a hamstring
slowing your return to an otherwise empty
house full of dead guests
not taking up too much room because they're skinny
from death.
The oven is gone
For 20 bucks they picked it up
Don't stop me
really being two ovens
and delivered it to where the work of two ovens
is required to not feed guests
but you don't have enough room in your place
tho now you do with skinnier guests
which is what you always wanted from friends
a gift that fits inside an oven
where men cook.
an oven
inside of another oven
so that when you turned one on
you thought: hey, this oven is burning
and you could smell what an oven is cooking
which would be oven
inside of another oven
and you would get the wrong idea
which says that men can't cook
when the oven is so distinctly male
it hurts.
You then decide to sell the oven and eat out
more often, inviting guests over
when you're gone
so they starve with no oven.
only last minute deciding
to call the delivery number with the guy
showing up too late (flat tire or chain fell off,
I don't know) and not saving any guest
on the way home, you're really tired
and you pull a hamstring
slowing your return to an otherwise empty
house full of dead guests
not taking up too much room because they're skinny
from death.
The oven is gone
For 20 bucks they picked it up
Don't stop me
really being two ovens
and delivered it to where the work of two ovens
is required to not feed guests
but you don't have enough room in your place
tho now you do with skinnier guests
which is what you always wanted from friends
a gift that fits inside an oven
where men cook.
Rosa National Parks
You are taking the bus
Which is what carries you when you pay
To places you cannot get walking
And if you choose to refuse
Payment, the blue man group will sacrifice you
My heart runs like a broken tire after you:
Soon it will be set aflame and we know how that smells
Actually I look like my dad
Before a thousand hornets
Moved into my mouth with their house, stung my taste
And your mother gave a piece to a chain-smoker bird
I gave peace to that chain smoker
With the Iron Maiden rock genocide tour honesty
For father hornet
In hiding on the bus from the secret police of buses
In hiding we learn who our germs are.
In hiding in the gearshift you called female
Omigod, do you bite?
Which is what carries you when you pay
To places you cannot get walking
And if you choose to refuse
Payment, the blue man group will sacrifice you
My heart runs like a broken tire after you:
Soon it will be set aflame and we know how that smells
Actually I look like my dad
Before a thousand hornets
Moved into my mouth with their house, stung my taste
And your mother gave a piece to a chain-smoker bird
I gave peace to that chain smoker
With the Iron Maiden rock genocide tour honesty
For father hornet
In hiding on the bus from the secret police of buses
In hiding we learn who our germs are.
In hiding in the gearshift you called female
Omigod, do you bite?
Monday, March 16, 2009
The National Tourism Board of Aruba is Listening to Your Needs
Aruba is a small island with beautiful faces.
There faces are made of expressions.
Growing angry in Aruba creates a new land.
Link hands to create a new government!
Our expressions have caused land to form
Great white arching body
And opening mouth shark farts
Tee time is near indigestion
Eating of organic fleshes increases golf game
Increases stride increases your stretching ability
To encase a shark in a small pool for observation
Of the type of early warning shark feed Aruba faces
New forms of beautiful expressionless adventures in an aquarium
Can you see your face recharged and reflected
In the joy brought during the whale watch
We spotted the rare hump with a mirror
The promising mandible held on so firmly
As if terrified by the joy of Aruba
A whale could see
Long far off, part of the admission. Distance is his strength
Forces out wide smiling reasons to come to our island.
There faces are made of expressions.
Growing angry in Aruba creates a new land.
Link hands to create a new government!
Our expressions have caused land to form
Great white arching body
And opening mouth shark farts
Tee time is near indigestion
Eating of organic fleshes increases golf game
Increases stride increases your stretching ability
To encase a shark in a small pool for observation
Of the type of early warning shark feed Aruba faces
New forms of beautiful expressionless adventures in an aquarium
Can you see your face recharged and reflected
In the joy brought during the whale watch
We spotted the rare hump with a mirror
The promising mandible held on so firmly
As if terrified by the joy of Aruba
A whale could see
Long far off, part of the admission. Distance is his strength
Forces out wide smiling reasons to come to our island.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Saloonday Bluhddy Saloonday
Supersaver special : buy one large coke for 1.56
And with five dollars get 3.44 back.
And with five dollars get 3.44 back.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Cold. Brrr
Everybody around me is sick with cold
I am sick with a cold
Is this because I haven't been outside in years?
My mouth is sick with cold
It's Missile on me
Mouth, You're Not Going Out Month
That way you'll get sick
And I got this way from my extended family
I'm told I sound bold
Whenever I'm afflicted with cold
Everyone around me is sick
And contaminated my water
With various chemicals unfit for bodies
Gorillas are in my mouth now
Lounging in the mist of my sick
Moving my tongue and slapping
Madly against my molars
This just in from the cold jungles of my sick
I am sick with a cold
Is this because I haven't been outside in years?
My mouth is sick with cold
It's Missile on me
Mouth, You're Not Going Out Month
That way you'll get sick
And I got this way from my extended family
I'm told I sound bold
Whenever I'm afflicted with cold
Everyone around me is sick
And contaminated my water
With various chemicals unfit for bodies
Gorillas are in my mouth now
Lounging in the mist of my sick
Moving my tongue and slapping
Madly against my molars
This just in from the cold jungles of my sick
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Gran Flarfismo
I
El pelo y la selva de guantes terribles
Se pone feo al atardecer
Me cago en todas las noches
Donde no me cago, todo
Piel de gallina
Tu pelo huele a carro nuevo
Lleno de huevos
El gran gato pelo tosca
Trabaja el peluqueria
En el sur donde el pelo es más tenso
Por la falta de acondicionador
Es más pelo
Que el pelo con manicure gratis
Que el pelo con vaqueros
II
¿Que voy a hacer con mi pelo
Esta noche. Necesito que el pelo sea adicional
Para sorprender mis nietos. Y gratis.
III
Me gusta mover tu pelo?
Como la selva con el hombre encima
Tu pelo no sabe votar porque no tiene derechos
Debajo de la selva
Dejada sin pelo
Va en busca de su verdadero pelo
Ya que el pelo es joven y no merece
Crecer en una familia de babosos.
Tampoco es dueño
De nadie. Como el dueño de tu pelo
Ha hecho pedazos de pelo de un verdadero obra de arte
La selva es el olor
Más mágico y útil para el ser
Humano, tambien la
Virgen de la perfecta bicicleta.
Me gusta poner tu pelo encima de todos
Como un lente de proteína
Quiero chocolate primo.
El pelo y la selva de guantes terribles
Se pone feo al atardecer
Me cago en todas las noches
Donde no me cago, todo
Piel de gallina
Tu pelo huele a carro nuevo
Lleno de huevos
El gran gato pelo tosca
Trabaja el peluqueria
En el sur donde el pelo es más tenso
Por la falta de acondicionador
Es más pelo
Que el pelo con manicure gratis
Que el pelo con vaqueros
II
¿Que voy a hacer con mi pelo
Esta noche. Necesito que el pelo sea adicional
Para sorprender mis nietos. Y gratis.
III
Me gusta mover tu pelo?
Como la selva con el hombre encima
Tu pelo no sabe votar porque no tiene derechos
Debajo de la selva
Dejada sin pelo
Va en busca de su verdadero pelo
Ya que el pelo es joven y no merece
Crecer en una familia de babosos.
Tampoco es dueño
De nadie. Como el dueño de tu pelo
Ha hecho pedazos de pelo de un verdadero obra de arte
La selva es el olor
Más mágico y útil para el ser
Humano, tambien la
Virgen de la perfecta bicicleta.
Me gusta poner tu pelo encima de todos
Como un lente de proteína
Quiero chocolate primo.
3rd Wheel
In Spanish, to say someone is the fifth wheel, they're called the "violinist." This necessary figure -- she who provides the music by which "the two" dine, flirt, romanticize -- renders this "leftover" person's awkwardness useful in much more tactful terms than in English, where a third wheel turns the configuration into a trike.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Friday, March 06, 2009
Body Rock (Preface)
Rock your body
Make it the hardest it’s ever been
Right before you achieve maximum
Hardness, force it into shape.
Let it all out, go and enjoy your hard rock
Body pressing against all sides.
A body so hard with bursts
Energy will request your body visit energy seminars
Of hard bursting bodies yours is the most rocking
Rocking your body to avoid bursting
Is the way to achieve maximum solid
Hardness, let go to enjoy your hard rock
Body pressing against all sides
You have now achieved a hardness we only dream of
Rocking your body along to identify with The Rosy Crucifixion.
Many onlookers will pay attribution.
A body that covets attention
Can be yours.
Others might have tried, some with success
But a rock hard gruesome body is the lowest
Common denominator under the stress of heaviness
As long as you force yourself absolutely
Into a healthy routine
You’ll be bothered until you achieve the body
The source of all your dreams
About the body you will use
To reply with what’s yours
You can’t imagine results
Before you subject yourself to cruelty
There’s a new body there
Down by the creek constantly exercising
Make it the hardest it’s ever been
Right before you achieve maximum
Hardness, force it into shape.
Let it all out, go and enjoy your hard rock
Body pressing against all sides.
A body so hard with bursts
Energy will request your body visit energy seminars
Of hard bursting bodies yours is the most rocking
Rocking your body to avoid bursting
Is the way to achieve maximum solid
Hardness, let go to enjoy your hard rock
Body pressing against all sides
You have now achieved a hardness we only dream of
Rocking your body along to identify with The Rosy Crucifixion.
Many onlookers will pay attribution.
A body that covets attention
Can be yours.
Others might have tried, some with success
But a rock hard gruesome body is the lowest
Common denominator under the stress of heaviness
As long as you force yourself absolutely
Into a healthy routine
You’ll be bothered until you achieve the body
The source of all your dreams
About the body you will use
To reply with what’s yours
You can’t imagine results
Before you subject yourself to cruelty
There’s a new body there
Down by the creek constantly exercising
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
inside my eyes
I can’t escape my eyes
Darkness has seemed to overcome my looking
Everything in this room is foggy.
I am in a Steven Wonder song.
I am in a disco
Each person above my bed moves chairs
I feel I’m stuck in songs with a bed
Because there’s no real reason for me to be sick
Except something crawled wrong into my eyes.
I cannot delay inside my eyes
Whose own insides ask for delay
So many objects my eye’s insides see
FAST! I have a headache very big
Relying on enormous to fulfill that adjective
My headache is the most sincere expression
Of the feeling stuck in my eyes.
I feel like household industrial strength cleaners
Before it was made illegal
I had hope Wednesday would come sooner
Because my eyes escape that day.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Idiot Logic
No wonder this paper is going under.
"The golf world idolizes Tiger Woods, sure, but duffers will still be heaving 9-irons into ponds long after Woods plays his last major. Poetry can’t be as confident about its own durability."
Um, why is it that poets need greatness? Why won't poets write after Ashbery?
Oh, because David Orr says so. Gee.
No point in arguing.
"The golf world idolizes Tiger Woods, sure, but duffers will still be heaving 9-irons into ponds long after Woods plays his last major. Poetry can’t be as confident about its own durability."
Um, why is it that poets need greatness? Why won't poets write after Ashbery?
Oh, because David Orr says so. Gee.
No point in arguing.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
No no no
Below is a poem compiled from the oblique and directly prohibitive language (88 words/43 instances in three pages) from a memo summarizing our latest employee meeting.
Please be
Should be
Should be
NOT
Must
Must be
Please ask
Expected
Did not retain
Cancellations
Reduced
The only means
Requested
Stay
Please remember
Strictly
Is expected
We ask
Not compensate
De-motivating
Can not substitute
Must start
Must be
Do not wait
Please arrange
No longer
Tolerated
Please refer
Strictly prohibited
Please reserve
A teacher’s duty
Please make
Is to be
Is to be
Must be reserved
No exceptions
Is to be
Is to be
Must be reviewed
Must be submitted
Permissible ONLY
Strictly prohibited
No exceptions
Please be
Should be
Should be
NOT
Must
Must be
Please ask
Expected
Did not retain
Cancellations
Reduced
The only means
Requested
Stay
Please remember
Strictly
Is expected
We ask
Not compensate
De-motivating
Can not substitute
Must start
Must be
Do not wait
Please arrange
No longer
Tolerated
Please refer
Strictly prohibited
Please reserve
A teacher’s duty
Please make
Is to be
Is to be
Must be reserved
No exceptions
Is to be
Is to be
Must be reviewed
Must be submitted
Permissible ONLY
Strictly prohibited
No exceptions
I've Removed Followers For Several Reasons
Is just jockeying for popularity...plus, it was big
and stupid looking. I'm not signing in to nothin', blogger.
I mean I'm glad you're reading but do I need to know
And now is when you know that I realize you enjoy me
Blog creators,return your text box highlighted cut n' paste field
Back into your inside competition among social networking obsessed self.
and stupid looking. I'm not signing in to nothin', blogger.
I mean I'm glad you're reading but do I need to know
And now is when you know that I realize you enjoy me
Blog creators,return your text box highlighted cut n' paste field
Back into your inside competition among social networking obsessed self.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Apps/Estefan Reading Recollection (not a review)
I thought since I wasn’t able to stay until the end of last night’s reading at the Poetry Project that I’d write a small recollection (not a review).
Kareem Estefan went first. Let’s begin with comparisons (not always a good idea, but here one that will fit to bring readers up to speed): If Kareem is the newscast read through a lens of FCKChicken10101 obeying the healthy elevator muzak chomped into the textbox of “ViciousPrincess,” then Apps was channeling Jimmy Swaggart in bathos undergarments. Stan’s aim toward a Flarf bathed in bathos (sorry, pun; but not a review) is interesting and makes me want to kiss swams with hairbands.
Kareem’s poem(s) had a ABA trajectory of newscaster (reality)-->chatroom names conversing in a gelatin of hilarious name-dropping, juxtaposition and all-around sugar coated, “oh those flarfists are co-opting the voices of the underclass” goodness-->newscaster voice.
This is over-simplification. But it was amusing and greatly enjoyed. I was enjoyed, particularly (though not solely) because it didn’t grow old. Estefan possessed a seemingly preternatural ability to keep the audience snug, then snap it off. Lick-a-stick gets old faster than this stuff.
Stan’s reading was mainly from PRINCESS OF THE WORLD IN LOVE and GOD’S LIVESTOCK POLICY, both which I highly recommend. He has developed a good handle on the plainspoken-Bible-salesman-attempting-to-explain-KISS-at-an-Elderly-Care-Facility. But those, as he says, are his “religious pieces.”
Kareem Estefan went first. Let’s begin with comparisons (not always a good idea, but here one that will fit to bring readers up to speed): If Kareem is the newscast read through a lens of FCKChicken10101 obeying the healthy elevator muzak chomped into the textbox of “ViciousPrincess,” then Apps was channeling Jimmy Swaggart in bathos undergarments. Stan’s aim toward a Flarf bathed in bathos (sorry, pun; but not a review) is interesting and makes me want to kiss swams with hairbands.
Kareem’s poem(s) had a ABA trajectory of newscaster (reality)-->chatroom names conversing in a gelatin of hilarious name-dropping, juxtaposition and all-around sugar coated, “oh those flarfists are co-opting the voices of the underclass” goodness-->newscaster voice.
This is over-simplification. But it was amusing and greatly enjoyed. I was enjoyed, particularly (though not solely) because it didn’t grow old. Estefan possessed a seemingly preternatural ability to keep the audience snug, then snap it off. Lick-a-stick gets old faster than this stuff.
Stan’s reading was mainly from PRINCESS OF THE WORLD IN LOVE and GOD’S LIVESTOCK POLICY, both which I highly recommend. He has developed a good handle on the plainspoken-Bible-salesman-attempting-to-explain-KISS-at-an-Elderly-Care-Facility. But those, as he says, are his “religious pieces.”
Linux is like a wigwam, no windows, no hippies
Birdy birdy in the sky dropped a poopy in my eye, I'm just happy that cows can't fly because I'd ride u sitting, I'd ride u lying. If u were a bird I'd ride you freecycling. And when ur dead and long forgotten I'll punch the ground and cry like a big bird. DO NOT PRESS ANY KEY This is: -Virus- Phone Locked Phone Locked Phone Locked Phone Locked Phone Locked Hehe! NERVioS? 5 differences between Turkish and ET: ET Hello I am a virus and I am your brain right now..... sorry I will leave, I can't find a brain. Elvis is dead and I don't feel so little birdy in the sky,Mommy, Mommy! Can I wear a bra now? I'm 16.. Shut up, Albert, How to keep an idiot entertained *press down* ................... .................... How to keep an idiot entertained *press up* Go Back To List
Birdy birdy in the sky dropped a poopy in my eye, I'm just happy that cows can't fly because I'd ride u sitting, I'd ride u lying. If u were a bird I'd ride you freecycling. And when ur dead and long forgotten I'll punch the ground and cry like a big bird. DO NOT PRESS ANY KEY This is: -Virus- Phone Locked Phone Locked Phone Locked Phone Locked Phone Locked Hehe! NERVioS? 5 differences between Turkish and ET: ET Hello I am a virus and I am your brain right now..... sorry I will leave, I can't find a brain. Elvis is dead and I don't feel so little birdy in the sky,Mommy, Mommy! Can I wear a bra now? I'm 16.. Shut up, Albert, How to keep an idiot entertained *press down* ................... .................... How to keep an idiot entertained *press up* Go Back To List
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Employment of Fungicide
Employment, saturating
Nature with intense emotions
Immensity took care of cooking
Emotive in reactionaries vacation
Emotions with intense employment
Fantasy word
Standing outside the trees
Spray proficiently
Never moves from her spot
Invisible force
Consumed for employment
Until the dance lets out
Into gristle wrestling
Bug murders
Doc eat doc.
Friday, February 20, 2009
I've always enjoyed this immensely
no really
immense enjoy
I mean immensity enjoys
reality employs
real life enjoyment
conjoined reality
reality makes sense
most sense you can grasp
in a pavilion sense: players
aligned, feet together
they can't stand one another
But they’re selling and happy
I've always employed this immensely
I want to employ you immensely.
no really
immense enjoy
theory: employment offers
found again, born again
done again enjoy your employment
after twice rushed to the emergency
I've always enjoyed this immensely
real life employment
practice standing together employing
spread out over the fairground
dropped endorsements for enjoyment
I've really employed this immensely, too.
I've really employed you immensely.
I found you to be quite employable
because of some practices you’ve enjoyed
the best my spruced up office offers
to new graduates in our melatonin depravation studies
you were employed in quite nicely. Then.
But now you seem to enjoy immensely
When you were found stapling ideas into your Self
I thought you were done with the itchy
Why would you want to be made of metal and unemployable?
I guess immensely took care of that curry.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
The Sum of All Predators
the whole predator thing is really cheesy
it's about time it OWNED its cheese.
8:56 PM Bryan: it kinda started to with the vs alien thing, right?
me: right.
8:57 PM i mean, the first one was from the 80s
Bryan: did u see those? i kinda was entertained by the first one in the snow. but i was sad the hot guy died.
me: i've seen them all.
i have this recurring dream with the predator
i've had a predator dream at least a dozen times.
the first movie had arnold in it.
classic. super cheesy..macho bullshit with guns entertaining.
the second one had danny glover..but it sucked.
was Alien vs. Predator ohhhhh
followed by A v. P Requiem.
which was kind of dumb.
so they stopped the alien vs predator match up?
not sure.
i guess.
the last one ended with a "teaser" that there would be another..
and it hinted at the past being the location for the next predator movie.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Grouping Polity
[I'm still mulling these ideas over... -rd]
The Internet’s charms are no short list; the Internet provides advantages to most people, and steals the identities of those who disagree. The majority of Internet users are in love because easy access means fast results. Sad to say though, what the Internet doesn’t do is mediate difference all that well because the Internet renders individualizing effort impossible.
Say, for example, that you’re a Wiki Editor with a penchant for editing: editing is YOUR business and you shake your editing like a Polaroid. You do it damn well. You edit, and you do it without getting credit. In fact, it’s not the non-credit getting environment that is the problem; getting credit or not doesn’t matter to you. What is problematic, from everything to the (in)accuracy of Google to the intimacy of Wiki Editors everywhere is the invisible borderline drawn – and visible only to you – between your work and the work of other (perhaps inferior, perhaps not) editors.
Since there are no borders between individual effort, the Internet is forced to group all Wiki editors as equals and all Keyword copywriters as equals; but they are not equals. And as consumers of this information we might never know why they aren’t equal and where that equality ends and another begins. Sure, some have degrees, some love their jobs. Some do it because they need work. Perhaps they all do it well, and we can tell. But how and why that labor is lumped together and the very division of these labors is invisible.
I want to restate that I’m not arguing about the division of labor nor recognition for your what you do and whom you do it with, but rather I find it disconcerting that there are borders where we perceive none, and the problems of invisible borders that we perceive as being non-existent borders can affect us in real life. An area where this frequently happens is – to use an already overused example – in comment boxes.
The comment box is democratic: all comment, all espouse, all may respond. But what if we perceive no border – and thus no variation – between what is written and what said comment’s author actually believes. Most reply that sincerity drives whether we associate these two: we assume that we always write what we say. But what about when we don’t? What about when we want to discuss, or have explained, or clarify our stance, or have another stance clarified, etc? Borders aren’t so clear, and they’re less clear when we don’t see them.
So what, Ryan. Big effing deal. Well, big effing deal maybe, but the differences we can’t see aren’t addressed: the rankings of Google only tell what’s most popular, not what’s best; but more importantly they don’t tell who created what’s best, or if indeed what’s best was the work of one person or many. I find this particularly relevant to student research, where students might waste hours reading a page editing by one raving loon, or vice versa. Obviously, different editors exist. It’s problematic when we don’t know where and why, or how those decisions are made.
The Internet’s charms are no short list; the Internet provides advantages to most people, and steals the identities of those who disagree. The majority of Internet users are in love because easy access means fast results. Sad to say though, what the Internet doesn’t do is mediate difference all that well because the Internet renders individualizing effort impossible.
Say, for example, that you’re a Wiki Editor with a penchant for editing: editing is YOUR business and you shake your editing like a Polaroid. You do it damn well. You edit, and you do it without getting credit. In fact, it’s not the non-credit getting environment that is the problem; getting credit or not doesn’t matter to you. What is problematic, from everything to the (in)accuracy of Google to the intimacy of Wiki Editors everywhere is the invisible borderline drawn – and visible only to you – between your work and the work of other (perhaps inferior, perhaps not) editors.
Since there are no borders between individual effort, the Internet is forced to group all Wiki editors as equals and all Keyword copywriters as equals; but they are not equals. And as consumers of this information we might never know why they aren’t equal and where that equality ends and another begins. Sure, some have degrees, some love their jobs. Some do it because they need work. Perhaps they all do it well, and we can tell. But how and why that labor is lumped together and the very division of these labors is invisible.
I want to restate that I’m not arguing about the division of labor nor recognition for your what you do and whom you do it with, but rather I find it disconcerting that there are borders where we perceive none, and the problems of invisible borders that we perceive as being non-existent borders can affect us in real life. An area where this frequently happens is – to use an already overused example – in comment boxes.
The comment box is democratic: all comment, all espouse, all may respond. But what if we perceive no border – and thus no variation – between what is written and what said comment’s author actually believes. Most reply that sincerity drives whether we associate these two: we assume that we always write what we say. But what about when we don’t? What about when we want to discuss, or have explained, or clarify our stance, or have another stance clarified, etc? Borders aren’t so clear, and they’re less clear when we don’t see them.
So what, Ryan. Big effing deal. Well, big effing deal maybe, but the differences we can’t see aren’t addressed: the rankings of Google only tell what’s most popular, not what’s best; but more importantly they don’t tell who created what’s best, or if indeed what’s best was the work of one person or many. I find this particularly relevant to student research, where students might waste hours reading a page editing by one raving loon, or vice versa. Obviously, different editors exist. It’s problematic when we don’t know where and why, or how those decisions are made.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Idols
Paula offers her ring to her adoring fan. After a few gasps of air being released quickly, this fan – whose name is Tatiana – moves forward to take the promised item. Paula puts the ring slowly on Tatiana’s finger. More air is being let out. Cold air decreases seepage but increases deflation. Tatiana now cries and runs from the room, holding her face, letting out more air.
Re: Tatiana del Toro
There will be people like this who care for your hypothetical children some day and whose secret wish is to wear Paula's ring. More than anything, they hunger for the ring, quest for it. Such people might take your blood pressure, drive you to the airport, hold the ladder while you're high up reaching for something, or tell you what may be the worst news of your life. They will do so with a deep sense of empathy, their eyes taking the shape of the appropriate emotion so as to signal that they too, experience deeply. But beware, for when they get home, girls like this with banshee whines will deeply move them. They will call them "inspiring" and "charming," they will seek these paragons of achievement as friends, wandering into the farthest reaches of print and digital media. This should deeply concern us all.
Re: Tatiana del Toro
There will be people like this who care for your hypothetical children some day and whose secret wish is to wear Paula's ring. More than anything, they hunger for the ring, quest for it. Such people might take your blood pressure, drive you to the airport, hold the ladder while you're high up reaching for something, or tell you what may be the worst news of your life. They will do so with a deep sense of empathy, their eyes taking the shape of the appropriate emotion so as to signal that they too, experience deeply. But beware, for when they get home, girls like this with banshee whines will deeply move them. They will call them "inspiring" and "charming," they will seek these paragons of achievement as friends, wandering into the farthest reaches of print and digital media. This should deeply concern us all.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
the journal special
I enjoyed Montevideo, but probably would've really tackled
some psycho killer beavers have no class
The Cold Splash of Reality a side of sizzle
upon the starling jetty
liked it more had I had time to explore
outside of the old city, mired in bad feeds with misspelling.
Moreover, it's better to know folks
comfy charm that "tornados" like myself miss
naming the greatest meanderer after myself the history of
I found some poetry there
Buenos Aires was extensive, and we walked extensively.
We also stopped in for amazing meat reunion
I kept a travel journal, you canread it
but unfriendly mostly
I'll let you know when feasibility happens.
Whereas the greater specifics rule cajun
some psycho killer beavers have no class
The Cold Splash of Reality a side of sizzle
upon the starling jetty
liked it more had I had time to explore
outside of the old city, mired in bad feeds with misspelling.
Moreover, it's better to know folks
comfy charm that "tornados" like myself miss
naming the greatest meanderer after myself the history of
I found some poetry there
Buenos Aires was extensive, and we walked extensively.
We also stopped in for amazing meat reunion
I kept a travel journal, you canread it
but unfriendly mostly
I'll let you know when feasibility happens.
Whereas the greater specifics rule cajun
The UNDERASS
I’m so glad I read people smarter than me
Explodes! Blow up doll! Hair circles!
We have ached in hair circles
Now we live
Bolivia deserves meat,
Then we die
I’m pretty sure requiring chafed skin is not a test
Of manhood any roadside form
Can tell what roofies have been for some reason
I’m sometimes homosexual dream
Barf. Denver?
Relaxation.
I can feel myself changing….
Be able to zoom in on the other side of a valley and frame
Dancing. Gay framing?
Some dancers don’t like too much dancing.
How about term limit
Truckers. Perfect. Let’s take speech together.
I’ll be C and you burn easily.
I’m recurring homosexual basement
Odor, colorless?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
How Trent retains Buddha’s lunch funds while preserving Brand Allegiance
I chide you from the squishy lap of Trent Reznor.
Squishy remains clammy, but sanctuary
My assistant, Video, does the cleaning
Cleanliness is next to the security guards legs
Limping, but about spring
Isn’t time when Amy Tan was a gargoyle?
I don’t care who rattles my johns, as long
as I am fucking john in my garage
Working two jobs and kidness
I found myself in a leased yugo
Grab the hatchback knew that Izzy (Stradlin)
Fingered me under the gargoyle bottomless pit
Of celebrity hate
Talc, test sheets and swirlies
Sex with an honest tan does a nation blossom
Porching it rocking on my cymbals to Bill Me.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Sermons and Poetry
Stop sermonizing about what "poetry's" goal must be. Please stop.
But list “felatio betterment goals”
Having to do with earth’s misconstrued poetry
Poetry in a giant sermon lacy spaghetti
Pink on the inside and gulp giant
My ears hurt with fluid. I am now only sermonizing
This is the fluid you get in church:
Guest Sermon by Father Bioflavonoid
The fluid of not listening
The fluid of Sonny Liston
Corners the belch of no understanding
God throws drugs at stars at night followed by what else? More sermons
The fluid that understanding simply does not agree
And you have a final choice procedure
Which sermon has fluids you side with?
The fluid of rejection, as in "her rejection of me was fluid"
The fluid of rejection, as in I am feeling like rejecting those salmons
On the wall with sermons and songs
And Ode to crack Maradona, crack skills, crack MS WORD registration patch
And my rejection runs loamy into a waiting tandem bike
There are fluids you can play with: bitch magnet
Underarmpit attraction sealant found in fluid
Fluids shouldn't hide: Beatle Mania
Betelgeuse, there are fluids that are hyped
Fluids that are left out
The fluid of left out loser dust particles grows in its Lukeness
It's very obvious what fluid means.
We are filled in by sermons.
You must stop preaching because of policies
Don't post twice in the box about (boring)
Don't post twice in the box about (insidious)
But no one fluid wants to hear them.
Please stop sermons about mung innocence.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Cast Difficult
We require your attentiveness
Thanks due our choosy attending
Due to busily accepting
We require your presence duty
It is requiring how we
Attend being mandatory
That we chose to busy a path around
Required attend mandatory like you
Obligatory in maximizing
Effect require a presence you
Busy year head no choice
But we prefer mandatory
Our obligation is choosy
Reunion maximized
Effort a cooling busy
We find obligatory is choosy
Mandatory reunion we maximize
Requiring all in attendance
Attendance prefer choosy
Choosy maximized
Maximized we choice obligate
Crucial requires improved
Busy attendance requires prefer
Fruitful attendance improves pressure
Obligatory in path presence max
Mandatory reunion busy no choice
Thanks due our choosy attending
Due to busily accepting
We require your presence duty
It is requiring how we
Attend being mandatory
That we chose to busy a path around
Required attend mandatory like you
Obligatory in maximizing
Effect require a presence you
Busy year head no choice
But we prefer mandatory
Our obligation is choosy
Reunion maximized
Effort a cooling busy
We find obligatory is choosy
Mandatory reunion we maximize
Requiring all in attendance
Attendance prefer choosy
Choosy maximized
Maximized we choice obligate
Crucial requires improved
Busy attendance requires prefer
Fruitful attendance improves pressure
Obligatory in path presence max
Mandatory reunion busy no choice
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Monday, February 02, 2009
Annandale Dream Gazette
...is where I have a new piece (and yes, it was a dream I had...the night before last). It's very strange that The Predator remains a recurring dream of mine. I don't want to know what this means.
ADG is a very interesting site; great work there to read. It's odd knowing that people dream in creativity!
ADG is a very interesting site; great work there to read. It's odd knowing that people dream in creativity!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Info Ration Mini Review
info ration by Stan AppsMy review
rating: 5 of 5 stars
INFO RATION mimics the clauses it uses as fodder: it equally distributes on all caps and thrusts, rationing byte by byte to pique; and yet it differs from our centrifugal news culture by doing what that culture can't: fill us in.
View all my reviews.
You are my Snuggie
I’m going to drown you in Snuggie
Wrap you in counterfeit Kung Fu posters
Brown bag, shit inside: Snuggie
With arms, octopus insertion
The operation cannot exist without you
Graveyard Snuggie, popcorn watching
The unearthing we were spellbound
Out of Snuggie material
Snuggie shooting some specie of goo
Snuggie sexbirds fly Snuggie to Brazil
The new airline that takes your spermcount lower
Snuggie ways snug from insects
These cream colored bugs wearing flannel
Don’t know shit about Snuggie
The queen bee insecticide Snuggie brews
Stinky air underneath armpit licking preferred
Snuggie gets the idea to farm
And back to the agrarian Snuggie contruction we go.
I'm going to drown on you in Snuggie
You will invent the loom in Snuggie
I swear, horses about words remade Snuggie
Weaving and trotting in Countryside English
Like a huge spraycan read to move in next to you
With spaces for arms
That's right, Snuggie can care for you
Gets the vote for you
Makes dinner for you
Drowns for you, and you return the favor
Killing dozens in a draped outline new enough Snuggie
Soon you'll be replaced by Snuggie outsiders
With representative cult carvings in nine lives
These characters will rack together cats
And make Snuggie out of these cats
And meowing will keep you safe in the biting cold
Where you can move your hands to the remote
And not worry about the blanket being removed
Friday, January 30, 2009
Etiological Substances in the Serial
I've often thought that the problems of narrative are that each image is so predictably leading to the next that it leaves me bored. With A BORDER LOOKS LIKE MAKING LOVE...I wanted to inflect this role differently. My idea was to "bend" narrative and description both -- wormhole? -- making each conform to certain images and act in discord with other images. It's now your role to scream, "That's not what that means..." That's why a donkey ass town is still funnier, or more relevant to say, than to use any type of simile and the crowd "gets" that, but doesn't remark because of the structure of a poetry reading. To boo or show dislike is dismissive, but contributes in its own way. So now we hear more "this is what I'm supposed to hear when I get ready to hear a poem." Therefore, poem.
Simply put, I tend to shy away from the idea that a poem should sound and read like a poem, but nor should it be so unlike a poem that existence becomes a question of stubble. And remove it easily. What is unlike what you expect can be dissolved into background. Personally, it's much more challenging -- and therefore alienating artistically from an audience -- to attempt to co-opt images and tones of address that aren't poetic, yet to occupy the middle space of nullity and pneu-nomenclature, taking this nullity and using it again, to name. To invent without screaming or camouflage. My idea of language in my poems runs on this idea, mainly. I find that overstatement, irony, crassness, tactlessness, scientific tone (much like reader #2 did when he "imitated" wikipedia but WITHOUT the overacting doing a silly voice on stage, as in the voice shouldn't be TOO silly but not droll enough to be assumed that we are again outside of the poem of the poem) as well as a dalliance in the inept, unplanned, low-fi underproduced manner of other art forms all help to understate the very "poemness" of a poem.
Re: longevity, I've come to enjoy series of poems on a fixed theme or using similar titles because of the binding without imitation of format or any type of linear narrative, and the avoidance of the too-forceful, "this poem begins the series, this poem ends it."
Simply put, I tend to shy away from the idea that a poem should sound and read like a poem, but nor should it be so unlike a poem that existence becomes a question of stubble. And remove it easily. What is unlike what you expect can be dissolved into background. Personally, it's much more challenging -- and therefore alienating artistically from an audience -- to attempt to co-opt images and tones of address that aren't poetic, yet to occupy the middle space of nullity and pneu-nomenclature, taking this nullity and using it again, to name. To invent without screaming or camouflage. My idea of language in my poems runs on this idea, mainly. I find that overstatement, irony, crassness, tactlessness, scientific tone (much like reader #2 did when he "imitated" wikipedia but WITHOUT the overacting doing a silly voice on stage, as in the voice shouldn't be TOO silly but not droll enough to be assumed that we are again outside of the poem of the poem) as well as a dalliance in the inept, unplanned, low-fi underproduced manner of other art forms all help to understate the very "poemness" of a poem.
Re: longevity, I've come to enjoy series of poems on a fixed theme or using similar titles because of the binding without imitation of format or any type of linear narrative, and the avoidance of the too-forceful, "this poem begins the series, this poem ends it."
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Like at New York PA Border
This is a revised version of a poem that appeared in my latest chapbook, A BORDER LOOKS LIKE MAKING LOVE, OR, WHEN THAT LITTLE MOMENT HAPPENS AND YOU ARE SURE, A BORDER
Everyone crossing the New York-PA border fucks a donkey.
I sucked farts out of my girlfriend’s donkey with an ass at New York-PA border town
Apologize:
The donkey mounts the women
The animal is clearly drugged.
There are drugs in this donkey.
There are drugs on this border.
Apologize: What does the donkey show? Any revelation about human nature?
The air is cleaner on the New York-PA border, but only in far off ass parts
Where they hold meetings to keep it that way.
It is important please to not interrupt border clean air act meeting inappropriate.
I came I saw I chugged alcohol (totally rip off) stolen from the breasts of borders
Only in New York!
Also in New York-PA border.
Everyone crossing the New York-PA border fucks a donkey.
I sucked farts out of my girlfriend’s donkey with an ass at New York-PA border town
Apologize:
The donkey mounts the women
The animal is clearly drugged.
There are drugs in this donkey.
There are drugs on this border.
Apologize: What does the donkey show? Any revelation about human nature?
The air is cleaner on the New York-PA border, but only in far off ass parts
Where they hold meetings to keep it that way.
It is important please to not interrupt border clean air act meeting inappropriate.
I came I saw I chugged alcohol (totally rip off) stolen from the breasts of borders
Only in New York!
Also in New York-PA border.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
untitled
I punch with my love into your face
Heart shaped fists
Shorn by a community of sheep
I roll into your village one day
With a steamroller of pure hugs
And if the maker of these hugs
Has rotten meanings
Correct recounts of rotten dirty love
My steamroller with plush love corrects
My pinch (are you awake?)
Can make a tantric workload pour better
And proud of mechanical love
I have unearthed
The newly designed
Love rocket
Collect your muscular playthings
War shaping affection
Are they in regular ordered love punches
So what everybody get love juice in
That punch
Japan’s allure is much milder
A stranglehold of heart feathers –
Heart feathers just are feathers
Belonging to the heart –
This occurs in most modest wrestling.
Heart shaped fists
Shorn by a community of sheep
I roll into your village one day
With a steamroller of pure hugs
And if the maker of these hugs
Has rotten meanings
Correct recounts of rotten dirty love
My steamroller with plush love corrects
My pinch (are you awake?)
Can make a tantric workload pour better
And proud of mechanical love
I have unearthed
The newly designed
Love rocket
Collect your muscular playthings
War shaping affection
Are they in regular ordered love punches
So what everybody get love juice in
That punch
Japan’s allure is much milder
A stranglehold of heart feathers –
Heart feathers just are feathers
Belonging to the heart –
This occurs in most modest wrestling.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
do you mean business? Or, can you help it getting busy?
Do you mean smart and twangy business
bustling with people
somewhere a monkey trained
to do a human´s joy
business?
perplexity
any business with this schwag?
you might choose a better version
a smarting and unasked for business
is my business smarts of unasking for
your undoing?
your business undoing
boiling down to the bare basic
fundamentals all businesses
are aware of before becoming business
what about the business of others
other´s business smarts
is their intelligence found
is it the business of intelligence
what about tangy business that lingers
is your business clean
up in business, literally in his business
I mean actually instrumentally changed the business
do you keep your business clean
and do you keep whatever your business straight
what about orderly?
does it keep?
What business do you mean exactly?
Do you keep the business of others
orders in your twangy bangy bus of business
or mere straight business of sex
busts, is all business a
bust if possible
what´s your business, Seafarer
but the business of the sea
and mine the business of me?
sea´s business
business, especially other´s, can be a possible bust
others might not clean their business
it therefore busts
maintain their clean business so active
or implement their business properly
bustling with people
somewhere a monkey trained
to do a human´s joy
business?
perplexity
any business with this schwag?
you might choose a better version
a smarting and unasked for business
is my business smarts of unasking for
your undoing?
your business undoing
boiling down to the bare basic
fundamentals all businesses
are aware of before becoming business
what about the business of others
other´s business smarts
is their intelligence found
is it the business of intelligence
what about tangy business that lingers
is your business clean
up in business, literally in his business
I mean actually instrumentally changed the business
do you keep your business clean
and do you keep whatever your business straight
what about orderly?
does it keep?
What business do you mean exactly?
Do you keep the business of others
orders in your twangy bangy bus of business
or mere straight business of sex
busts, is all business a
bust if possible
what´s your business, Seafarer
but the business of the sea
and mine the business of me?
sea´s business
business, especially other´s, can be a possible bust
others might not clean their business
it therefore busts
maintain their clean business so active
or implement their business properly
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Bs. As.
Alex and I are in Buenos Aires for the next couple of weeks. I´ll be keeping a journal, of sorts, and plan on logging some of the more interesting...
to come.
to come.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Quiz Answers
All lines are taken, in order, from one student's reading quiz responses.
Shoreman
not smart because the class they were in.
like not talking on the street
Black men date with white girl
white people don't respect on black people, like
when they on the line and white people skip
on line
talk about the braid
talk about the Harlem that white people live here too
If the black people be too good,
white people will stand on top of them
I feel it is very effective because he talk
about the dailey situation in life and I
saw those kinds of happen sometime
All three narrators are come from black culture.
Shoreman
not smart because the class they were in.
like not talking on the street
Black men date with white girl
white people don't respect on black people, like
when they on the line and white people skip
on line
talk about the braid
talk about the Harlem that white people live here too
If the black people be too good,
white people will stand on top of them
I feel it is very effective because he talk
about the dailey situation in life and I
saw those kinds of happen sometime
All three narrators are come from black culture.
Spanish Film/ película española
que si el queso y el jamon se quieren entre si, a veces es posible que el jamon quiera jamon, el queso queso, jamon jamon. Todos los quesos al queso, y el jamon, al jamon.
Valga la redundancia
Todos se quieren en queso, entre quesos se quieren, los estafadores quesaron, que rico quesaron con la familia un queso rico, rico será; un queso humilde, humilde será.
Hola todos! ¿Tienen hora? Un saludo a las mujeres, mujeres saludadas, saludable como me gusta, me gusta salud, salud es gustable, una estable mujer.
¿Has querido el queso? ¿El queso te quiere o te sientes como si el queso no te cayera bien? ¿Como si no te amara?
¿Cómo tu te estás sentando al no ser amado por un ser queso? Debes bailar con él.
Me da amargura. Me da vergüenza. Me da pena. Me da acidez. Me da alergia. Me da algo. Me da no se que, queso avergonzado. Me da cosa. Me da chicha, chicha me dijiste. Me da gastritis. Me da cólera. Me dio de todo. Todo me da de todo.
Valga la redundancia
Todos se quieren en queso, entre quesos se quieren, los estafadores quesaron, que rico quesaron con la familia un queso rico, rico será; un queso humilde, humilde será.
Hola todos! ¿Tienen hora? Un saludo a las mujeres, mujeres saludadas, saludable como me gusta, me gusta salud, salud es gustable, una estable mujer.
¿Has querido el queso? ¿El queso te quiere o te sientes como si el queso no te cayera bien? ¿Como si no te amara?
¿Cómo tu te estás sentando al no ser amado por un ser queso? Debes bailar con él.
Me da amargura. Me da vergüenza. Me da pena. Me da acidez. Me da alergia. Me da algo. Me da no se que, queso avergonzado. Me da cosa. Me da chicha, chicha me dijiste. Me da gastritis. Me da cólera. Me dio de todo. Todo me da de todo.
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Birth of the Spoon
In Pembroke Pines, a giant spoon welcomes visitors entering the town. The spoon is welcoming, and we welcome how the town has implemented use of the not-so-apparent necessity to illustrate true hospitality. Since the spoon’s enormous metallic appearance, radio in Pembroke Pines is looking at twice as many listeners.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Anthology of Hell
I’m sick of the ghost anthology it makes my life hell
When I google myself and find only things I don’t write
Because the ghost is taking up space, gasps Who wrote this?
Place where our dead poems see viewers puke for first time!
I will tell you when I was a child
I was the emperor of nudity
But I am without nudity because I’m in that anthology
Where all the rich poon hangs out
No one wants to be nude and vulnerable
In a room filled with the richest poon.
When I google myself and find only things I don’t write
Because the ghost is taking up space, gasps Who wrote this?
Place where our dead poems see viewers puke for first time!
I will tell you when I was a child
I was the emperor of nudity
But I am without nudity because I’m in that anthology
Where all the rich poon hangs out
No one wants to be nude and vulnerable
In a room filled with the richest poon.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Guns Commit Murders
I
Rather easily people don’t kill suns
It's unspoken rules about people sun relations
Responsible for the majority of our stuffing
They just burn you and take no notice
We are on the cusp of a no-accountability label war
And we line up for the concert with expectorant
THERE are a million different faces THERE
We’re taking off clothing and putting ourselves in
Easy to slip on product wear
Along with my mothereffing effervescent wafers
We are half-expecting to address planetary indifference
Today, and what comes close
To tomorrow’s cooking
Sore in the mouth, people’s asses
Suns killer guns commit
These people’s names to memory rather easily
You’d learn to write better
You’d be less distracted Hobbits, armed
And not having paid full admission
And wanting THERE to be different faces THERE.
THESE LITTLE BASTARDS HAVE COME FOR MY IDEAS on guns
I don’t have any earthly concept of how guns function
EXCEPTION! You can gets others to do what you want
Because you’re a supervisor and I’m a motherfucker.
Isolation one of the pros of inequality in the world.
Rather easily people don’t kill suns
It's unspoken rules about people sun relations
Responsible for the majority of our stuffing
They just burn you and take no notice
We are on the cusp of a no-accountability label war
And we line up for the concert with expectorant
THERE are a million different faces THERE
We’re taking off clothing and putting ourselves in
Easy to slip on product wear
Along with my mothereffing effervescent wafers
We are half-expecting to address planetary indifference
Today, and what comes close
To tomorrow’s cooking
Sore in the mouth, people’s asses
Suns killer guns commit
These people’s names to memory rather easily
You’d learn to write better
You’d be less distracted Hobbits, armed
And not having paid full admission
And wanting THERE to be different faces THERE.
THESE LITTLE BASTARDS HAVE COME FOR MY IDEAS on guns
I don’t have any earthly concept of how guns function
EXCEPTION! You can gets others to do what you want
Because you’re a supervisor and I’m a motherfucker.
Isolation one of the pros of inequality in the world.
Monday, December 15, 2008
My face says power
Realigning your direction
A moment of introspection
This will lead you to act.
You will feel the center of power
This risk pulls you into temptation mode
Specialized shortcuts are meant to assist you
And looking on the bright side the long cuts
You will get a few openings, but sauce belongs on the thicker
Reasons to collaborate are to further your power drive.
I have reasons to pull over your delinquent margarine
Squeeze bottle master, you have owned power congrats!
Now feel the strength in my assuming grip
See the reflected beauty off the promontory nose
The chin Kelsey Grammar envies
Power is hidden in each spectacle my face induces
Distraction is the key to laden thinkpads
My face controls are best kept with shortcuts.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
new meaninglessness fight
What do you think it is about you
That angers you about small things?
The small things are really meaningless
But sometimes the small adds up
Then one big meaningless thing is made
And to fight that big meaningless
You have to gather your strength
Into a big meaningless thing fighter
And this fight is won somewhat skillfully
But no one will offer you credit
Because we, as occupiers of this meaningless area
Are seen as fully equipped with dealing
Out and in all the meaningless big thing fights
That we’re dealt and we don’t die later.
When we eventually die, it’s often
A result not of the meaningless big things
But of the minute flaws we overlook
We take the true killers for granted
And they are everywhere while we are fighting meaningless
Small lumped into big events and things
That angers you about small things?
The small things are really meaningless
But sometimes the small adds up
Then one big meaningless thing is made
And to fight that big meaningless
You have to gather your strength
Into a big meaningless thing fighter
And this fight is won somewhat skillfully
But no one will offer you credit
Because we, as occupiers of this meaningless area
Are seen as fully equipped with dealing
Out and in all the meaningless big thing fights
That we’re dealt and we don’t die later.
When we eventually die, it’s often
A result not of the meaningless big things
But of the minute flaws we overlook
We take the true killers for granted
And they are everywhere while we are fighting meaningless
Small lumped into big events and things
Friday, December 12, 2008
Flarf (again!)
Response to this:
Flarf is a tendency, and urge. Just as the 'uncreative' turns sublime or unhinges to point to something different (or to itself), the overworking flarf seeks leans toward a particularly different entrophy -- though still point to itself -- where words flame themselves, no longer an honored "recipient" of a chatroom screed (just like "no longer an issue of the NY Sunday Times). Conceptual writing follows the trend in the opposite direction. The intent is the same: get something to say something different (whether by contextually placing the entire work within a different frame, like DAY, or by taking results from ANY search and putting them into something like THE ANGER SCALE...
So, there is no winter.
In 100 years, flarf will be recontextualizing "seminal flarf texts" to mean something insulting and "not o.k." again, it will win and lose "fans," (the sport analogies born of the above-linked post are odd and unsettling) and we'll be reading L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E at political rallies. CRINGE!
Flarf is a tendency, and urge. Just as the 'uncreative' turns sublime or unhinges to point to something different (or to itself), the overworking flarf seeks leans toward a particularly different entrophy -- though still point to itself -- where words flame themselves, no longer an honored "recipient" of a chatroom screed (just like "no longer an issue of the NY Sunday Times). Conceptual writing follows the trend in the opposite direction. The intent is the same: get something to say something different (whether by contextually placing the entire work within a different frame, like DAY, or by taking results from ANY search and putting them into something like THE ANGER SCALE...
So, there is no winter.
In 100 years, flarf will be recontextualizing "seminal flarf texts" to mean something insulting and "not o.k." again, it will win and lose "fans," (the sport analogies born of the above-linked post are odd and unsettling) and we'll be reading L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E at political rallies. CRINGE!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Commonly Confused Words
Taken from RULES OF THUMB (Silverman, Hughes, Wienbroer), page 3).
Most people do not accept criticism gracefully.
Everybody except the piano player stopped playing.
Even nonprescription drugs can affect us in significant ways.
Scientists have studied the effects of aspirin on heart disease.
Frank Gehry chooses pliable materials for his architecture.
Napoleon chose officers based on their ability rather than on their family connections.
His conscience was clear.
Found Poem
Note: Taken, in order, from all sample sentences used to illustrate verb agreement rules, page 53, RULES OF THUMB (Silverman, Hughes, and Wienbroer, 2008).
The bird and the bee make music together.
My great aunt and my grandfather argue incessantly.
The drummer, not the other musicians, sets the rhythm.
Two causes for the collapse of their business were
employee apathy and management dishonesty.
One of the guests was a sleepwalker.
Each of us owns a Wurlitzer jukebox.
The use of legal drugs has escalated.
There was one reason for the cover-up.
There were three reasons for the cover-up.
Everyone except the twins was laughing.
Somebody always overheats the copying machine.
My family does not eat crowder peas.
In some states the jury elects the foreman.
A thousand dollars is a lot of money to carry around.
Dating two people is tricky.
The bird and the bee make music together.
My great aunt and my grandfather argue incessantly.
The drummer, not the other musicians, sets the rhythm.
Two causes for the collapse of their business were
employee apathy and management dishonesty.
One of the guests was a sleepwalker.
Each of us owns a Wurlitzer jukebox.
The use of legal drugs has escalated.
There was one reason for the cover-up.
There were three reasons for the cover-up.
Everyone except the twins was laughing.
Somebody always overheats the copying machine.
My family does not eat crowder peas.
In some states the jury elects the foreman.
A thousand dollars is a lot of money to carry around.
Dating two people is tricky.
Saturday, December 06, 2008
I'm not legit in my own neighborhood
It’s difficult to describe
But I’m a quarter part of the solution.
You see, I voted for the responsible gimme
I was tired of waking up to pounding rock
Even my headache seemed to be saying,
“Go out and vote to no longer have rock”
Rock is formidable but wieldy and timeless
We put off the rock by giving it negative reviews
Like the dye job Frampton is alive in that movie
Where we’re all told to vote for rock because the rock channels sponsors the vote
I would be alive if I voted
I used to enjoy that rock channel
But now they are saying if I don’t vote, silly songs will divide and conquer
Now the channel plays silly songs with no value
And we have lost the ability to familiarize
Value to me is playdough you can give to children to eat
But at least most kids are pondering voting seriously
It makes me want to strangle myself slowly with dull objects
Does anyone in my neighborhood have dull objects or a strangulation
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
A Border Looks Like Making Love
Is available here....
Support The Greying Ghost, their work is excellent and of most supreme quality.
Support The Greying Ghost, their work is excellent and of most supreme quality.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Planet Chat
To my brother, Patrick
well, yes. the planet and naming it "ours" idea is an idea
like whoever gets there first
it becomes there.
the grammar in that is terrible.
like columbus, arriving
and calling this place "new york"
thus making it new york
even though it's clearly not new york, but some place
to someone else. “and how we have named planets
that are billions of light years away from us
even though we will probably never reach them”
not even knowing what are planets are made of
or what kind of music they like there.
but I was also thinking about this idea as an educator...
people learn the english that I teach them. Interesting!
so if I decide to describe something a certain way, they're going to believe that.
it's a bit scary, when you think about it.
well, yes. the planet and naming it "ours" idea is an idea
like whoever gets there first
it becomes there.
the grammar in that is terrible.
like columbus, arriving
and calling this place "new york"
thus making it new york
even though it's clearly not new york, but some place
to someone else. “and how we have named planets
that are billions of light years away from us
even though we will probably never reach them”
not even knowing what are planets are made of
or what kind of music they like there.
but I was also thinking about this idea as an educator...
people learn the english that I teach them. Interesting!
so if I decide to describe something a certain way, they're going to believe that.
it's a bit scary, when you think about it.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Residence in the Treehut
What’s happening to the crème filing: Fact that parting stands and sits. So quickly machinations of funerals. Departure. A loss for sight. Underground commuter rail. Eek out. Moment’s chocolate. Translucence bails. Broken into a momentous rhumba. Returns to the juicer. Counts more other fingers. The decision of storms, baguettes and newspapers of morning flights in the new bright. Terminal. It’s the second you, defibrillatorless. A sword swallower with life. And wants to fight.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
A terrible attempt at Children's Writing
Ted $$$ had a job a railroad submarine
She sprayed the leather twice
And the Metal…kleen
Aye, spleen? Can’t be seen.
Doctors’ find envy and paint it green?
When voting, the spleen of Ted resembles submarine
We once all voted green
Elephant Ted blends with garden furnishings
Camouflaged, wanting a degree in economics
But is mildly Chthonic
And has a trunk up on it
But practice a u-turn with the car –
U? Are we buckled? Yes we are –
Crashes and begets his elbow scar:
How’d my arm bend that way? No way
“Impossibilitay!” Ted sprays
Gatorade on the tusk blade,
I’m ½ Maylay
Part English, part protectionism inlay.
The army wants Ted
But Ted treads gratefully, now sed,
What’s sed, I’m dead…not tired, but well bred
If only I found a rhyme for exit strategy.
Slatternly? Oh drat Phyllis Schlafly?
Are you getting ready to try Communlisp?
This clisp, Clasp, don’t budge,
Sit still, cowering over fruit berry remix you cannot resist?
I’m the second boy grip for never been kist.
Sunkissed! You can’t be that dissed!
You miss it? No, class dismissed.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
In Need of Expansion
Sometimes the Bunny is stressed. Yes, sometimes it is stress that gets the bunny before the vet. When the vet gets the bunny, s/he pets the bunny to calm the bunny. At a remove the bunny appears selfless, Lincolnesque. The bunny then does what we call "relinquishing," whereby it moves toward a corner and gives us treats. Though this behavior is seen as improvement, it should not be encouraged in vain. In order to not fall pretty urgently in awe/love/aww cuteness with such a wayward, twee creature, we must allow the vet to pet the bunny OUT of the corner. This can be disconcerting, as I'm sure you can imagine. The bunny will not, in its initial stages, like this. Nor will there be bristling enough to challenge notions held previously pertaining to how bunnies defend. The dog wouldn't either. Think about it.
Hence, sometimes the bunny is stressed, and rightfully so. Urine kits, or "Strips" as they are known in more decorative circles, display and eyeful to anyone wishing their bunny not relinquish. Best of luck in your urine kit search.
Hence, sometimes the bunny is stressed, and rightfully so. Urine kits, or "Strips" as they are known in more decorative circles, display and eyeful to anyone wishing their bunny not relinquish. Best of luck in your urine kit search.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Crazy (racist) fashionistas
{Editors note: To The man who obviously doesn't know much at all....Stop emailing me backchannel with your weird racist screeds.]
To wit:
@Ryan
The Sartorialist is photographing what he likes white this white that. Apparently he likes white tall skinny skeleton women and when it comes down to men he is more diverse (white, cream, off-white, eggshell white, creamout white, harlequin white, white nanny, WHIATE!). For me that is all legitimized (white) because it is his blog and indeed “if you do not like it, leave it.” –George Bush
Then you start ranting on about non-white, white that. SO I took a look at your profile and indeed you are from the US of A as I thought (white). My (white) God, you people are so fuckin overwhite sensitive and politically correct it makes me sick in my whiteness. It makes me even realize (British spelling, you white ignoramus US of A’er) I do not have to argue with you anymore, because I’m white and you’re white and because you will never understand my point of view.
He is not a white pioneer because he doesn’t kill anyone with white influenza and he stands in his own right not to choose for that. You should become the pioneer and that particular area - speaking about gap in the market -.
Here's the work of this genius, over at some blog about my plane's peanuts have bigger balls than your plane's peanuts
To wit:
@Ryan
The Sartorialist is photographing what he likes white this white that. Apparently he likes white tall skinny skeleton women and when it comes down to men he is more diverse (white, cream, off-white, eggshell white, creamout white, harlequin white, white nanny, WHIATE!). For me that is all legitimized (white) because it is his blog and indeed “if you do not like it, leave it.” –George Bush
Then you start ranting on about non-white, white that. SO I took a look at your profile and indeed you are from the US of A as I thought (white). My (white) God, you people are so fuckin overwhite sensitive and politically correct it makes me sick in my whiteness. It makes me even realize (British spelling, you white ignoramus US of A’er) I do not have to argue with you anymore, because I’m white and you’re white and because you will never understand my point of view.
He is not a white pioneer because he doesn’t kill anyone with white influenza and he stands in his own right not to choose for that. You should become the pioneer and that particular area - speaking about gap in the market -.
Here's the work of this genius, over at some blog about my plane's peanuts have bigger balls than your plane's peanuts
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Pontiac, Mo
To much obscenity is around today
Put out, airing a bigger set of lips
To prepare for those bad words
They have targets for their cursing, the usual
Market crisis, palimony, orthodontic doubt
Where victory is draining my gums
Because I can't find a decent dental plan
And I blame the young.
And venture into their seats.
Young girls have been treating their period vulgar.
A loss of a sacred sacrificial distinction,
Distance themselves
Their mouths actually ask for detergent. Or find replacements. Personally,
Forget girls, I blame the young of all shapes and sizes, who’d puff
Their chests into a rubber human to break high scores
Because you’ll need power before power needs you.
Multiple throwing arms full and I can toss more barrels
Aggression into meaningful ramifications
Identified as owl, ox, donkey and sheep, chemically. It’s worth
Every cent to not negotiate. I won’t wear that cap. It’s a “migrate or get loaded” cap
Because we feel limp on video, and alcohol on video is pretzel.
I feel I echo the young who to blame American families for ass plunged
And fatal ass spelunking. That familiar, familial, personal gossip of blame
I target the young. I’m very consistently boning this doctor frequency
I have a picture of Dakota and it’s worthwhile.
I have a picture of tommy gun. It’s worthwhile.
I have a picture of the Manhattan Experiment and it’s worthwhile.
Put out, airing a bigger set of lips
To prepare for those bad words
They have targets for their cursing, the usual
Market crisis, palimony, orthodontic doubt
Where victory is draining my gums
Because I can't find a decent dental plan
And I blame the young.
And venture into their seats.
Young girls have been treating their period vulgar.
A loss of a sacred sacrificial distinction,
Distance themselves
Their mouths actually ask for detergent. Or find replacements. Personally,
Forget girls, I blame the young of all shapes and sizes, who’d puff
Their chests into a rubber human to break high scores
Because you’ll need power before power needs you.
Multiple throwing arms full and I can toss more barrels
Aggression into meaningful ramifications
Identified as owl, ox, donkey and sheep, chemically. It’s worth
Every cent to not negotiate. I won’t wear that cap. It’s a “migrate or get loaded” cap
Because we feel limp on video, and alcohol on video is pretzel.
I feel I echo the young who to blame American families for ass plunged
And fatal ass spelunking. That familiar, familial, personal gossip of blame
I target the young. I’m very consistently boning this doctor frequency
I have a picture of Dakota and it’s worthwhile.
I have a picture of tommy gun. It’s worthwhile.
I have a picture of the Manhattan Experiment and it’s worthwhile.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
A short story I might be working on?
Running shouldn’t be made part of a daily routine due to weather. Like, just you get up with a leaky faucet. Chipper children. The boat launch. A ragged dog ignores the regulation of traffic because breakfast is most important, today. Spent all night barking, sore mouth doesn’t improve in seven days. The doctor calls it brackish.
Ragged again, sunlight grapple a niche in all tangled fabric. I’m warming. Grab my rod and reel, approaching the rail. Fish biting nice in numbers. Little fishy mouths mute for little music bits. Cultures of the past considered this form of purity to allow the fish to address small amounts of dirty humans to cure diseases in fish populations. Consider it a blessing removing your dry skin cells. The bed for dander.
Water of such an ending. Retaking the human, that recollection. Squids mirror, Italian take out. Kung pow eyes up from inside white boxes mixed in with the froth on spin.
Ragged again, sunlight grapple a niche in all tangled fabric. I’m warming. Grab my rod and reel, approaching the rail. Fish biting nice in numbers. Little fishy mouths mute for little music bits. Cultures of the past considered this form of purity to allow the fish to address small amounts of dirty humans to cure diseases in fish populations. Consider it a blessing removing your dry skin cells. The bed for dander.
Water of such an ending. Retaking the human, that recollection. Squids mirror, Italian take out. Kung pow eyes up from inside white boxes mixed in with the froth on spin.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Impasse Updated
Part of where my questioning has really worked is the last area for questions, in the life of each pair of pants I own.
Part of where my questioning has concerned itself has been with how to cut cheese.
Stan Apps talks fitfully about sarcasm and irony, sincerity and subtlety, as well as the duplicitous nature of being subtle.
Then I wanted to rewrite this poem I've been working on called "Humiliatingly Close Prose":
How the turtle will relieve your pain.
Anyone who gives this more than one star watches movies like Castaway.
You need to hold danger to see danger in long-term pain.
What smells like uncomfortable is truthfully pain.
My dream: Shit your tonsils. Who can hurt more?
I’m dropping the pain. Don’t you feel a tiny bit sorry for moldy voldy?
What you feel is fucking pain.
Where I can escape and thrill in the chase like Hugo's dead dog, Tiny URL.
The pain so tiny I have treat pain in tiny patients video.
Controlled sugar suckling behind it. And go far away out of pain’s way, Spock.
A mother, two kids, six reasons to leave, and a ticket to heaven.
If heaven is a rocking chair loaded with explosions
Sprawling pain has made a bed in a forest from far away.
Since this painful garbage has parked in our lozenge, we spoil.
There isn’t a way to speak about beach reclamation without paining the turtles.
I wanted to be entertainment, not to be painfully propaganda.
Good fortune is ruined by reliable weekly pickup taking pain-causing agents far away:
Where they can escape with diverse funds by grasping your country’s flaws and real pain
Something bad in your head, like my hands have known fear so, later.
Part of where my questioning has concerned itself has been with how to cut cheese.
Stan Apps talks fitfully about sarcasm and irony, sincerity and subtlety, as well as the duplicitous nature of being subtle.
Then I wanted to rewrite this poem I've been working on called "Humiliatingly Close Prose":
How the turtle will relieve your pain.
Anyone who gives this more than one star watches movies like Castaway.
You need to hold danger to see danger in long-term pain.
What smells like uncomfortable is truthfully pain.
My dream: Shit your tonsils. Who can hurt more?
I’m dropping the pain. Don’t you feel a tiny bit sorry for moldy voldy?
What you feel is fucking pain.
Where I can escape and thrill in the chase like Hugo's dead dog, Tiny URL.
The pain so tiny I have treat pain in tiny patients video.
Controlled sugar suckling behind it. And go far away out of pain’s way, Spock.
A mother, two kids, six reasons to leave, and a ticket to heaven.
If heaven is a rocking chair loaded with explosions
Sprawling pain has made a bed in a forest from far away.
Since this painful garbage has parked in our lozenge, we spoil.
There isn’t a way to speak about beach reclamation without paining the turtles.
I wanted to be entertainment, not to be painfully propaganda.
Good fortune is ruined by reliable weekly pickup taking pain-causing agents far away:
Where they can escape with diverse funds by grasping your country’s flaws and real pain
Something bad in your head, like my hands have known fear so, later.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Impasse and Musings
I feel like I've hit a wall with my writing.
I feel like I'm repeating myself in my work.
I feel like I'm too impatient. Impatient for what?!
Is there anything the matter with any of this?
I feel that in the wake of recent events, writing's dynamic has changed for me, even the way I see words on the page and the funny things those words do to me.
Just read David Markson's, SPRINGER'S PROGRESS.
Here's a copy of what I said to the box at Goodreads:
Amazing. Sticky: it'll leave you thinking in glottal snippets, and laughing through betxits and twists, tantrums of Springer. You might ask, "how many ways can Markson say something..." Answer? Rubs it out: legion.
This book affects.
Make no mistake. Humbled I am in the face of this quivering magnificence.
What do you do when you feel humbled by everything you read?
Hmmm...crisis?
I feel like I'm repeating myself in my work.
I feel like I'm too impatient. Impatient for what?!
Is there anything the matter with any of this?
I feel that in the wake of recent events, writing's dynamic has changed for me, even the way I see words on the page and the funny things those words do to me.
Just read David Markson's, SPRINGER'S PROGRESS.
Here's a copy of what I said to the box at Goodreads:
Amazing. Sticky: it'll leave you thinking in glottal snippets, and laughing through betxits and twists, tantrums of Springer. You might ask, "how many ways can Markson say something..." Answer? Rubs it out: legion.
This book affects.
Make no mistake. Humbled I am in the face of this quivering magnificence.
What do you do when you feel humbled by everything you read?
Hmmm...crisis?
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
consolation station
I want to say dead heart
Is it beatingless heart?
English plz?
Cold throat. Monuments
Dude I remember that sight
Banana logo
Minnesota has grown a beating heart in a jar
The viewpoint rotates
Awash in riches and gas
Geek baby for free
The doctor burst with his findings
Holy frak! Take proper actions
When a person needs consoling
Is it beatingless heart?
English plz?
Cold throat. Monuments
Dude I remember that sight
Banana logo
Minnesota has grown a beating heart in a jar
The viewpoint rotates
Awash in riches and gas
Geek baby for free
The doctor burst with his findings
Holy frak! Take proper actions
When a person needs consoling
Monday, November 03, 2008
Ishtarish
As much wants
The bull to
Ground every
Last matador
Gut doughy face worms
Pull pork race card detaches
Whatever pigmented samurai;
Dipping into the line as if
String binds
Friday, October 31, 2008
Humiliatingly Close
Let’s begin by grasping your country. You need to hold danger to see danger in long-term pain reduction and suffering, becoming what smells like uncomfortable. An avenue to follow properly elects the strongest. My dream: Shit your tonsils. Who can hurt more?
I’m dropping the pain on you. The pain quotidien slams from far away. Where I can escape and thrill in the chase like Hugo's dead dog. The pain so big I have to leave to punch a hole in this idea for what controls behind it. And go far away out of pain’s way.
Since this painful garbagetruck has parked in our lozenge. There isn’t a way to speak without pain. Good fortune is unlikely with reliable weekly pickup taking pain-causing agents far away: Where they can escape with my diverse funds by grasping your country’s flaws and showing up real pain something bad, like my hands have known fear so, later.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Overtranslation
-Thanks to JP for suggesting I blog about this.
Overtranslation is an extension of the literal in a translator’s target language that influences or determines reading of and translation choices made in relation to the source language. Overtranslation isn’t a literal translation because it serves as a bridge might; readers understand that a translator is present, and that a sense of humor exists between two texts that is evidence of a process – not a mechanical transfer — and that this process is anything but automatic: There are human hands involved.
Overtranslation is so named because it seeks to fill a gap between meta-translation and trot versions of a text. The translation is sometimes literal because the literalness of the translation points to a living and breathing translator – a person who made a choice with each word rather than ignorant consultation of reference books – and this difference gives (or gives away) identity to the translator. Rather than just negating the existence of a person occupying the office of copying into another language, overtranslation reveals the translator’s native language to the reader by what type of literal choices are made. The reader is also left with a package of questions, the least of which has anything to do with the primacy, or authority, of the accuracy of the text. What’s more, in some cases overtranslation might opt for the opposite of the more accurate word in order to allude to something else (see below).
The only example that I'm going to write about now (see next paragraph) would be taking the phrase: “No te voy a dejar, nunca.” Translated this might read, “I won’t leave you, ever.” (more emphasis) Or “I won’t ever leave you.” (less emphasis). But it very well could read “I won’t ever quit you.” Or “I’m not going to quit you, ever.” The statement is the same even if the exact wording has been changed. Overtranslation denies the existence of one text/one idea/mot juste that we must adhere to when choosing which words to use. In the above case, an overtranslation might risk alluding to Brokeback Mountain. Or, if that’s the point, the translator might rather prefer to make this allusion. So, overtranslation is a choice that reveals certain personal (sometimes historical) and referential behaviors of the translator and refutes the idea that there is one text, one translation.
[A recent example of overtranslation: I'm currently reading Horacio Castellanos Moya's book, EL ARMA EN EL HOMBRE. Translated this would read something like "Arms and the man" or "Arms in/and Man." or aha! "The Weapon in Man." (This last is my preferred choice for a translation.) But since I can't help noticing el arma/alarma, I would overtranslate this title (were I given the chance) as "Man All Arms." Cheesy yes, indeed, but just another little something I love about connecting the translation with the source material. So sue me.]
Overtranslation is an extension of the literal in a translator’s target language that influences or determines reading of and translation choices made in relation to the source language. Overtranslation isn’t a literal translation because it serves as a bridge might; readers understand that a translator is present, and that a sense of humor exists between two texts that is evidence of a process – not a mechanical transfer — and that this process is anything but automatic: There are human hands involved.
Overtranslation is so named because it seeks to fill a gap between meta-translation and trot versions of a text. The translation is sometimes literal because the literalness of the translation points to a living and breathing translator – a person who made a choice with each word rather than ignorant consultation of reference books – and this difference gives (or gives away) identity to the translator. Rather than just negating the existence of a person occupying the office of copying into another language, overtranslation reveals the translator’s native language to the reader by what type of literal choices are made. The reader is also left with a package of questions, the least of which has anything to do with the primacy, or authority, of the accuracy of the text. What’s more, in some cases overtranslation might opt for the opposite of the more accurate word in order to allude to something else (see below).
The only example that I'm going to write about now (see next paragraph) would be taking the phrase: “No te voy a dejar, nunca.” Translated this might read, “I won’t leave you, ever.” (more emphasis) Or “I won’t ever leave you.” (less emphasis). But it very well could read “I won’t ever quit you.” Or “I’m not going to quit you, ever.” The statement is the same even if the exact wording has been changed. Overtranslation denies the existence of one text/one idea/mot juste that we must adhere to when choosing which words to use. In the above case, an overtranslation might risk alluding to Brokeback Mountain. Or, if that’s the point, the translator might rather prefer to make this allusion. So, overtranslation is a choice that reveals certain personal (sometimes historical) and referential behaviors of the translator and refutes the idea that there is one text, one translation.
[A recent example of overtranslation: I'm currently reading Horacio Castellanos Moya's book, EL ARMA EN EL HOMBRE. Translated this would read something like "Arms and the man" or "Arms in/and Man." or aha! "The Weapon in Man." (This last is my preferred choice for a translation.) But since I can't help noticing el arma/alarma, I would overtranslate this title (were I given the chance) as "Man All Arms." Cheesy yes, indeed, but just another little something I love about connecting the translation with the source material. So sue me.]
Friday, October 24, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
What are the characteristics of a good neighbor? Use reasons and examples to support your response.
Most people would see no reason to argue that a good neighbor is many characteristics in harmony. Two of those which are vital to living successfully with others in a relationship include respect and understanding. There are really several reasons why respect and understanding are integral to any neighborly relationship; I plan on listing them.
Respect is a quality we all want and few receive. At times there are shortages and comedians without respect yell that they get none of it. Rockets shoot from their eyes. We are forced to respect them with quality weapons. After respect is hard-fought receipt, similar to saving a large sum of money to buy your favorite dress and finally realizing that you've owned that dress all along, tucked into dark corners of your living situation. Now new objects are appearing that you spend your money on. So respect emerges from the idea that keeping this money will bring a fortune you can manage in the future. Then your worry will be less and you will be worry-free. A respectful good neighbor will not invade your quiet unwontedly. She will knock on your door in a decent outfit, careful not to disturb the music you play. She will also not make harsh demands or ask too much when she runs out of ingredients, and will gladly sacrifice watching your pet if you decide that traveling the life you seek.
If you look seldom for comfort, I’m sure a shoulder to cry on would exist when you found this reason to be in the company of your neighbor. Your understanding is needed to ensure abuse is rarely occurring, and your neighbor needs to grasp your idea of understanding, too. I’m lonely and it’s the middle of the night I do not ask for comfort from local places, I go to a neighbor. They would have to be good, though.
These are these qualities making up what a good neighbor is. Respect and understanding of space and when to invade our privacy if we need help.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Disguise into Rushdie Pumpkin
I want a nice big juicy fatwa
A squeezed gleason to whatsa matta?
You wasn’t allowed to fatwa squat on my pompadour
Growing up my parents would master splinter my ninja me.
Now I know it’s a farsa fatwa.
It wasn’t me
Like a ceremony, but with strangers doing it for free
Buying fake armlength jewelry like Bruce Lee
Who hates on hot bods but a fatwa.
A roundhouse kick works like piazza plotz
Bodies aren’t cool. We kill to be unseen with them.
Our liking deeds too much could mean fatwa.
I want a nice sweaty caddy slumming fatwa
A twin city sprinkle candy apple matzo
Something only provided by voluptuous mountains
Lactating on your latte Volvo driving vacation, chatty Creature!
Move to the country, sissy and wrap your mouth around this fatwa,
And you’ll never bratwurst this love hearse badly the worst again.
There’s a bump on my dick wrapped in a fatwa
A fatwa results in splatter: infectious?
Once one person’s team now the whole town juicy with fatwa
Blanketing the broken hills not drugs it’s Romper Fatwa
Places aren’t that enormous, but want chief big spew fatwa dick to bathe them.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
shows noon on his watch
Beaucarmen shows noon on his watch. I’m getting groceries. Sure, I want to wait, but not until we marry. Can show the date not being interested in fakes of anything, Beaucarmen might sing Allentown in the shower solo. Doing this risks the ruin of his tan line. Difficult to catch the bus without boasting a timepiece, the bearded time traveling only disciple capable of a Class-D license sees the display, spits out. These contenders. Tricky slider windows of pull-in, push down. The last day with graded papers into it goes shrubs. But those final drafts.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Predator Thanks the Academy
How can Predator
Leave his virus stone unturned
He loves critically.
No one can break metal heat
Finding cramping cringeworthy
Desperate men soon need help
Healthy iguana
On villains in Anime
Swollen ankles support her
Long necked sea ID’s China
Oh Iguana Predator
Without syllabus
I can never miss the train
Oh Predator! Lunch Money
Trade two halfsies for Jonesy
Poisonous Lethal Frogs: A Difficulty of Acceptance
When asked next time what you’d rather befriend, Poisonous
Should be amended to your proficiency.
Poisonous? Why lethal? Because frogs wonder about periodic relationships.
They research for definition, to stand out in front of the projector and notice
Yes, I am a magnate. My shadow
Frequent membership for exercise must
You must choose to work a thing like the gluteal ligament
That poisonous lethal frogs need, after letting themselves go
They are no longer radical.
If flabby frogs have newly renewed leases
One poisonous frog is just as terrifying a personality
As famous for poisonous frogs we all know
And learn about when discussion turns to poisonous frogs.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
10 percent of your outfit
for Stan Apps
Belts are a part of our everyday regimen. Without a fastened belt, people’d remind you to hey fasten your belt! You’re NOT dressed. And they’d be right: you aren’t fully clothed if one of your belts is left unfastened.
Today I went for a swim and dressed again as I left the pool. When I forgot to do up my belt as I left I was undressed
I was told by one of the employees I was undressed.
He said, “I wouldn’t want to go out like that if I were you.” And I replied, “No, indeed. You wouldn’t do that.”
Belts are a part of our everyday regimen. Without a fastened belt, people’d remind you to hey fasten your belt! You’re NOT dressed. And they’d be right: you aren’t fully clothed if one of your belts is left unfastened.
Today I went for a swim and dressed again as I left the pool. When I forgot to do up my belt as I left I was undressed
I was told by one of the employees I was undressed.
He said, “I wouldn’t want to go out like that if I were you.” And I replied, “No, indeed. You wouldn’t do that.”
Monday, October 06, 2008
Sometimes Predator Becomes Temper-Losing Predator
Alas, maybe there is laughter from a faraway object
These flight crews I control
You’re sitting on
I'm going to Cancun! Drugs!
My headphones cannot change my side
I cannot be seen
Gaze as this scene and attempt to describe
What earth they’re doing
What is this picture doing or going towards?
I have zillions of photos from vacation
(Predator suit, bikini, nothing on, Predator nice
Single malt Predator slut.
Predator hung over Predator
Smoking *cool* Predator mom pic
Predator sunset)
All have my face in them.
I have an accent and a military shirt! Hugs-a-zillion!
I can see you understand my travels
Now comprehend my fist. Predator fist.
I'm going to blow up
With a Nail Salon!
Friday, October 03, 2008
Patterns & Narrative
Right about now, I'm going to generalize a bit:
I'm noticing (you guessed it) a pattern --several actually-- that has developed in relation to debate/election coverage that reveals three separate, though simultaneously occurring, narratives about politics in the US. All are targeted at separate audiences but no audience seems truly unique to one alone. They are all three media-based and -centered: print, TV and Internet journalism.
Narrative one is what I'll call the "newspaper narrative." Largely bombastic and full of yellowish bells and whistles ("Pit Bull Palin Takes a Chomp Out of McCain," this being a shorter paraphrase of a headline I just now saw on the subway). Newspaper narratives (think Daily News) pander to a quick reader, a person with no time for the fine print, the flip-flopping, the heavy details. They want Page Six and they want it now! This is the fan club for readers who think the Obama/Osama rhyme is, or ever was, funny. This is somewhat class based, and certainly anyone can obtain a newspaper. As a result, the attempts at fake neo-con/republican populism abound. There is no attempt to hide the political persuasion of the writer. Some skew right, others left. Most do it poorly.
Narrative two is the TV narrative. Slightly more astute, it at least gives the uninformed viewer an idea of objective reporting without any objectivity whatsoever. "Fair and balanced" is only one example of this, the most widespread being the iconic loud-mouth screaming a monologue into the camera with very little acknowledgment of a rebuttal. Since the actual television is more expensive than the newspaper, it evens out by dumbing down the narrative. Snippets and soundbites are manufactured to easily proffer to the viewers, most in a semi-sedated state of relaxation that they're not caught in traffic. (When caught in traffic, these listeners take advantage of TV's sister narrative, radio, also monopolized.)
Narrative three is the Internet-generated narrative. Containing all the populist pomp of the newspaper and none of the editorial filters, the Internet is rife with views from people whom the reader largely has never heard of. Nevertheless, because of the velocity of communication and "fact-checking" that can occur while Internet surfing (click link, click link, click link), the narrative tends to be cleaner, more polished. Add to this the tendency of most bloggers to be upstarts with above average intelligence and know-how. Many have taught themselves programming and Internet publishing, many inter-link with sites of interest, and many dictate what becomes news (hatred aside for many, think Drudge) and what stories die.
What I find most interesting (though, admittedly, I find all of it interesting, hence this entry) is not that these narratives exist, nor that there are people who buy into each -- perhaps dismissing the others -- but that no one notices this happening. Why? And can the cause be attributed simply to market demands and manipulation?
Do we believe any of these narratives? Should we?
I'm noticing (you guessed it) a pattern --several actually-- that has developed in relation to debate/election coverage that reveals three separate, though simultaneously occurring, narratives about politics in the US. All are targeted at separate audiences but no audience seems truly unique to one alone. They are all three media-based and -centered: print, TV and Internet journalism.
Narrative one is what I'll call the "newspaper narrative." Largely bombastic and full of yellowish bells and whistles ("Pit Bull Palin Takes a Chomp Out of McCain," this being a shorter paraphrase of a headline I just now saw on the subway). Newspaper narratives (think Daily News) pander to a quick reader, a person with no time for the fine print, the flip-flopping, the heavy details. They want Page Six and they want it now! This is the fan club for readers who think the Obama/Osama rhyme is, or ever was, funny. This is somewhat class based, and certainly anyone can obtain a newspaper. As a result, the attempts at fake neo-con/republican populism abound. There is no attempt to hide the political persuasion of the writer. Some skew right, others left. Most do it poorly.
Narrative two is the TV narrative. Slightly more astute, it at least gives the uninformed viewer an idea of objective reporting without any objectivity whatsoever. "Fair and balanced" is only one example of this, the most widespread being the iconic loud-mouth screaming a monologue into the camera with very little acknowledgment of a rebuttal. Since the actual television is more expensive than the newspaper, it evens out by dumbing down the narrative. Snippets and soundbites are manufactured to easily proffer to the viewers, most in a semi-sedated state of relaxation that they're not caught in traffic. (When caught in traffic, these listeners take advantage of TV's sister narrative, radio, also monopolized.)
Narrative three is the Internet-generated narrative. Containing all the populist pomp of the newspaper and none of the editorial filters, the Internet is rife with views from people whom the reader largely has never heard of. Nevertheless, because of the velocity of communication and "fact-checking" that can occur while Internet surfing (click link, click link, click link), the narrative tends to be cleaner, more polished. Add to this the tendency of most bloggers to be upstarts with above average intelligence and know-how. Many have taught themselves programming and Internet publishing, many inter-link with sites of interest, and many dictate what becomes news (hatred aside for many, think Drudge) and what stories die.
What I find most interesting (though, admittedly, I find all of it interesting, hence this entry) is not that these narratives exist, nor that there are people who buy into each -- perhaps dismissing the others -- but that no one notices this happening. Why? And can the cause be attributed simply to market demands and manipulation?
Do we believe any of these narratives? Should we?
from work
double aught
semi powerful
men
hunting bears
hunting
moving along
without kills
with hugs
save.
with hugs are necessary
with hugs saving wildlife with hugs
semi powerful
men
hunting bears
hunting
moving along
without kills
with hugs
save.
with hugs are necessary
with hugs saving wildlife with hugs
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
I wanted to vote for Palin
Because she owns her debates
And because she’s hot off the charts
Of the yum scale (1 to 5)
She won the gold in Turkey.
Surely you will find her
Sprinkling flowers on the graves of dead soldiers
The places where dead soldiers lie
Turns into an amusement park
Palin brings cookies from a recipe she owns
I know Palin owns her man.
I’m getting an A in this subject
Basically I wanted to vote Palin
Because she owns pregnancy.
And she can tell us what to do in emergency.
Because she owns her debates
And because she’s hot off the charts
Of the yum scale (1 to 5)
She won the gold in Turkey.
Surely you will find her
Sprinkling flowers on the graves of dead soldiers
The places where dead soldiers lie
Turns into an amusement park
Palin brings cookies from a recipe she owns
I know Palin owns her man.
I’m getting an A in this subject
Basically I wanted to vote Palin
Because she owns pregnancy.
And she can tell us what to do in emergency.
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