3/18/24

Then. This is a formlet of propositions. Like digital vinyl or handshake web painting. Or prayer warriors that are non-contagious. Then I stumble over the “highbrow posturing” and “chin-stroking art crowd” noted by Nate Harrison. Harrison chronicles how names such as the Winstons whose original drum sequence, the Amen Break, from the 1960s has been copied over decades, sampled by 80s hip hoppers, and those samples diced and re-arranged by jungle-djs in the 90s. By the late 90s, dicing / re-arranging might be pushed to extremes, undanceable “fetishisizations” for chin-strokers — Harrison cites Squarepusher, for instance.

I surely wish you didn’t invite tradespeople over to the house.
What is curious style?

There’s a cool but thoroughly staged oral tradition that’s like trail mix, so rhetorically honey-sealed and narratively palatable anyone with a few years of good high school English has in. Its clear long jumps and pull-ups in tone signify irony and distance about avid prep and galley stainless. The gestalt is to flare up yet relax a while, stay urbanely offhand and sound normal, not superior in any overt way. I’ve been saving a few hours for you. Do hang on. Dig in.
102: You’re the matter at hand merchandized within rotations from green hues perpetual to earth.

You’re asking a lot.

Still our love is new.
Well, most of these “notes” are literal, based on trying to sit down [starting to sing] “Baby, you’re still the matter.”

The access air of inevitability around more advanced codes shattered. I hold my tongue. Shattered seemed inauthentic in a merchandised sense. You are more than a song of sex. You’re holding me, the middle of the throat..

I kiss the air. This.
Over the spring and summer construction advances.
Uncivil also true, summer advances, supreme over the construction.
Everybody goes!
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are joined.

3/17/24

Here’s one’s take on getting back together. It’s one part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)
& aspected by hedges, mostly. To go on shifting subjects
— I whisper to you, falling myself for recovery —
panicked a zillion light seconds soon — too late thinking literally
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
chants, conflicts w/ breakfast, proverbial laughs, even laughs:

Nobody totally killed it. The bonuses were not reneged-on. It’s
not that large an irony tho the freehold repaired to is offered only in over there or ‘thereabouts’ patterns...
It’s up to future officials to unpack Zen’s base ironies. Where are they now, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to supplies flowing out since they make love too much — so and because every irony wants to stay on a comfort-slope, to live well too, too well and staying relaxed can lull you into a slippery tranquility. 

This’s Zen-not-Zen up to when?
76: In flight, the framework is told on telling. 
How can verse expend tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to try to answer that & help the rain stop falling on our wet skin.   
I know the framework around my notes craves attention, that’s why I always write to you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new birth.
 
Fuse the way they
Continue as light rain clears. My argument.
A poem is.. 
Does it matter a few minutes ago I learnt to write (if not well).  
To tap on the keys and wander out above our welcome in a retrospective..   
 
Again there’s no title because nowhere  
Are my thoughts so hidden in use.  
 
It’s a contraption. But that’s required.

3/16/24

My soul’s on break, thinking in a style of leased boats,  Obsequious, sharpened, very
 
Few motifs — the wash of light might be exaggerated.  
I need you to wander on (some language aerie).  
At least our calls’re in the area...  
‘holding each other open’ formatting our interpretive devices to 
Moan on the boat surface.  
 
There may be many areas...
Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up nonphysical servings
standing off
from having hay fever as a backdrop — nothing
hidden, nothing.
We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. There you are! Nothing
to explain ignition inside a more collaborative framework.. 

Adoring you as a full service enterprise assumes a moral politics where clouds of electrons follow us into a manner of simple orbit.
80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology wracks up a revitalizing boundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I feint when I wrote this. Situationists use the shallowest fare and re-chart it onto subterranean literature. When I write about you, I’m in worthless sympathy, humbled and worse, tongue-tied while I try a couple of poses —Ha — there are great benefits spent by proud, broad-minded recruits afloat, ocean wide! Wouldn’t you know they are in an infinite series in the history of fame and naval bavardage. (Or from another angle they are the series — teasers as well as the teased but goodly proud, cast away.) Ha.
Back home we have Romulus and Remus. Appetite and style — 
these guys work the night shift thru classicism, romanticism too. Appetite  
includes style but style directs taste, other pretenses of appetite.  
A she wolf looks after style.   
 
I never use that word now. 

3/15/24

Wool flowers
Are harsh.

Ducks flying down
Splash some roots..
They are flattened grey
Popping on mauve

As kennel light
fences the barks

Yet impassioned so
Nowhere

Wind-
In-tent-flap sounds.

I count 9 windows in the dark.
Here.
The tallest paintings remeasure your height.


Painting ideas.



You had heard critics for hire eat accelerated paintings stretched onto canvases of different sides, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s a full view emaciated into planes of junk, splendor, restoring emptiness.
Painting double quotes. 
31: You remind me of lovers gone. A morning crew, weathermen
Waving arms in endearing hidden patterns over their forecasts —
This was their 1st stab at tantrics, due many now.
They merited love trophies — yours alone now, all yours.
You have all of mine.

My tears buried viewing you. They’re inside you,
Removed, disguised as glare hung from all-in loving you.
Walking thru panes of sunlight —
how many hours are we talking?

Fog over my hair.
Big-eyed instincts?

Nothing new. A feeling continues you write until you drop ...
a feeling from in here buried below all the animation.

The half that’s not familiar but we’d like to pull off,
replacing that half with stripping down, not talking.

Speaking of you, with you, I like walking, being
charmed and not worrying about what passes through me.
You, me, of course, are an expansive subset of charm, trinkets I believe.

3/14/24

You and I go over the graphemes. I also was thinking it’s hard for us to get foreign sports equipment or a new license without indices of suspicion and objurgating.
If you agree, I’m happiest procrastinating. We’ll have a pleasant sencha. It strengthens our attention for doing so little.

Random influences could fill in our cancelled checks. Filling in on stretched hills, cute and cuter butterflies having at butterflies, why?
I’ve been on a nihilism binge; this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time on a crazed errand-stream to a structuralist’s degree. 
 
I won’t cry when it becomes...   
 
Greyhound hurling on seesaw but feels fine,  
Any footage balances when pushed, so it’s  
Bingeing is no ot so entertaining or serene. A maelstrom lights  
Up the foreground, no questions asked.  
Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites.  
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a hairy fox. 
I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..  
 
Being scared is a tradeoff, my trade. In the din hostility shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. It’s a good thing for stopping messengers’ tears as the door to nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all it contains, all I could have told you.
126: Don’t talk with your mouth full, fair one. Process self-disrupts into phrases and withering thought substitutes, fickle subcomponents and stiff, gnomic atmospheres to bring all accoutrement to terms, wanting, not waning, to grow! Hold on, hold your lovers there, minutes in pleasure or more! And go on, keep to your purpose, even in power, lovelier.
The tallest paintings remeasure your height.


Painting ideas.



You had heard critics for hire eat accelerated paintings stretched onto canvases of different sides, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s a full view emaciated into planes of junk, splendor, restoring emptiness.
Painting double quotes. 
Vainly but not fast in never induce italics: 
We gave at the Office.  
 
This is hardly ever for the 1st time  
disappearing in molecules like other words, just modulations ago.
Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis 
according to types of daring.  
 
Don’t smolder, show us.

3/13/24

Leave everything : down, self.
Prune leave less, some more:
our night still external, vanished cloud
odor..

Leave everything :
while we go uprooting.

I have to take you —
months & years
with the slow ones.
I’m not afraid of showing the much simpler, formless inexact I wave and dissipate into highly animate raw munition. My hands are supposed to cohere in what I cull from hearsay. Raising one hand exudes only passion, which if you allow I agree with, with intertwined wilderness — raising two, always a wretched misdeal.
59: Sonnets are ok, nothing new — going backwards here — 
 
Let’s vote Labour —  
an ostentatious luncheon in ‘old world’ pensiveness,  
beguiling etiquitte, self-admiring praise.  
I might say more, fool my brain, the one mended by you and your composed image but
I stay in character.  
 
More sure — we’re easily freaked by what antique words 
dig up and how re-inventions get composed, still we have to keep our wits about us
— looking back under whose  
 
thumb? And am I yours?
I can’t get into specifics,
because it’s nonverbal, a compromise.
I know I’m next, flapping my arms in front of me.

Maybe I’m afraid of being abducted.

At the top it’s shrew pink and all mapped out. So I’m ready.

3/12/24

Falsehood is an actuarial stat, just one anto
-nyms assimilate since you haven’t countered anything to colleagues wearing thar reflection, giving in, doing nothing with shades over your face...
Once a Marxist, now I’m a Darwinian. 
To let cleverness exceed incident levels   
 
we had a taxonomic relationship.   
 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax.   
 
Some wind, just above freezing, the cat’s tongue is puffy and disheveled.
72: When love is missing, shame is worth nothing. .
You devise virtuous lies (love, dear) .. I picked that up, false, smug, cute. .
a braid of welts around your neck. .
My name is buried where my body is. .
the body I pray you love.. ..
.
I’ve just noticed you haven’t praised me, nothing, Gabby. .
Let’s pronounce your true love untrue. Make it count. .
Tho even in this I fear sarcasm.
Frame: A diminished mood will be buoyed by scatterings of photos and books, many unread. Cast more atextual sources our way as fodder for your new faculties for text, new ontological components for bringing up temp and humidity composing, as well as subprocesses harder to isolate and observe as they flood into short term memory. Keep the feed in balance for two (or three, as many as you like). Liberal arts breaks further from esthetic scholasticism, inventing new suppositions for research and intimacy. After government, wiry empirical jolts, semblances that comprise enmeshments in a readymade mood and control structure parallel to voc ed for poetics; appliance hint: metronome.

3/11/24

Forever all night. 
Look around, what’s background?   
Barely perceptible lightning over fog. 
Homology then prudence. Peck v immolation. 
No questions asked, we work the lower jaw 
for the same carbons to put this together as refuge.     
 
Meanwhile nothing else came up.    
 
You’ll need a new camping saw and hood scoop.   
I’ll invade your space then leave later,   
lately not feeling calm over you but crazy.
I’m for a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is that indirect.) 

I’m also out on the deep end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like influenza. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like an avalanche that drops acid over the pre-cognitive machine age. 
70: I don’t blame you. Much.
Alone in your ‘kingdom’ flying backwards. You’re facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow, cankers along with buds look prime outside and you’re still passing thru, unstained by ambush, adhering neatly to nothing, just passing. Yet suspects’ approval always ornaments tacit impurities of state. Heaven’s sweet hush.

Who are they who might envy you? Slanderers, even wooers — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to me, shatter me, touch.
Bathing in wishful enjambement, naked duty —
and ‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to children who blur the terrain,
a patterned enclosure: our caller, composer, shouts,

Let’s search for reason in nature’s chaos...
No one belts out a coda like this, pulsating — it’s wonderful.

A rationalized miracle.

3/10/24

Combustion and dust spores filling avenues between half truths.

We delete any plagiarism still missing
— but up to now they have fewer words for it.
Fielding skepticism makes money harder to borrow. Clenching-tight,
I’m in another century where hoax passes for coming near.

Wigs pick up, driftwood gets epigrammatic, upsides unrelated, pale,
immaculate. The sky has its style, subject for close attention. It’s said.

Paying attention is a field call to valuing the future. And the future notices who attends.

But it does not impinge on the field.
Nice beachfront but there are fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! — another noun phrase.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.
123: Lament — I defy you and your truth —

I trust only timetables born of our desire. Nothing novel. Nothing strange.

Our continual haste, our poor retention, our brief dates give me the butterflies and more butterflies chasing more..no lie —
as 10 to the 10th more wind up as polygamists barnstorming thru
a winging-it hemisphere where I can never forget you. Not you!
Experience is impulsive, according to unrigorous physics out-evolving pretexts for concealment with no plausibility in the future of the past.   

No such work experience for a pay grade gaining access only to weather bombs in a manifold vacuum. No instructions      

Would be taking you on and over and winning without willing to keep or junk your composition.      

Final orders are that vicarious. I thought no way, no ultimatums to rephrase, no immoral aspirations — nothing but work slathered with work!

3/9/24

— The world becomes flat falling across 

  The telling (of)   

  (Instances of)   

  Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic   

  Streaks and — weird! — high wails of titanic fog, sifting down from   

  Rain ceilings (off)   

  The snow. The snowing. The across (falling),   

  It is (falling) across   
Morton Feldman.
— The world becomes flat falling across 

  The telling (of)   

  (Instances of)   

  Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic   

  Streaks and — weird! — high wails of titanic fog, sifting down from   

  Rain ceilings (off)   

  The snow. The snowing. The across (falling),   

  It is (falling) across   
Morton Feldman.
Feeling is feeling. It’s official.
Then it’s repetitive, suggesting emotion has gone too far 
& some at all levels will be disclosed, then not spoken of, 
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting 
our lives together & whittling wry self management into grift. 
101: It gave me hiccups when our best senses cooled down — praising silence long truant, still overdue. No amends. Beauty needs no pen or pencil.

Both our senses I reference, truth and beauty, in primary season.

And I’m back intermixing, fixing and lifting text, you in the foreground with answered memories. (“Make answer, Muse..” take everything.. need nothing.)

We grabbed the narrator (we couldn’t rule him out), staying blithe in twin columns.
Once a Marxist, now I’m a Darwinian. 
To let cleverness exceed incident levels   
 
we had a taxonomic relationship.   
 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax.   
 
Some wind, just above freezing, the cat’s tongue is puffy and disheveled.