9/15/19

One of these days..
I don’t think so ..

9/14/19

This is my 1st stab at tantrics, 
boiling sanguine, sad going through her pinafore of latitudes, so  
vet 
them.  
Perfect, she doesn’t see we’re getting drawing from other traces  
and no matter. 
There’s audible glee not being perennially the other and oppressed;
the oppressed are what we avoid when we can be free

on the outside. A natural voice bouquet smolders
w/ the emancipatory normality of assumed dominance.

In better Prada, a louder voice would distort the status-quo on otherworldly streets:
“Where are we going?” This or that way. I guess
so. Not particularly.
Those who still insist on fighting state power, let alone directly taking it over, are immediately accused of being stuck in the ‘old paradigm’: the task today is to resist state power by withdrawing from its scope, subtracting oneself from it, creating new spaces outside its control.

— Savoj Žižek
A ruse can be your generic object, emerging as sleep.
So you’re still in danger within the same baize corridors

— How do bricks
hang through the duration? (How is the easy-hard part.)
Ruses write themselves.
2: We never came across it here.

Slow, like never before. Yet a thriftless parabola of your face intersects feeling its own pedigree (that was).

Face to shoulders, gestures are precise in your eyes, through them, the viewer’s glass.
There are proud motions throughout — the viewer’s eyes. Warm and cold climbing down a first, second, third hill. Falling lower down — a new lusty mainstream-underground

with deep-sunken eyes — we — some of us — avoid. Of small worth. Will

you recover mine? Renew me? how much? let’s call back
successive coordinates, summed up in fair praise

remembering pleasures of the eyes! neck! and chest!
Yes there..
Muse and scribe know where all glory goes. 
If we’re lucky, principles of mediocrity rule our larger commitments.  

Then both can devise omniscience for a period of guesswork.  
 

Finish a stretch and all glory gets confused. Confused the way   
 
A rusted barge dries off in sun orange. Or   
 

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters..   
  ...pleasure before.. Hey, that your velour vox?  
Omniscience is sham-sanctioned conjecture. Modesty goes off by itself as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a huge family of arrivistes then custodians.  

Ok, this is not Danzig. Clinically proven.  
But theory is something else.
It began as parallel ideas, say a few radio waves up on poles.  
I was saying Harry Partch’s gadgets and impulse intersect  
An immersive ocular apparatus, thumping  
W/ the capacity to recognize infinite series  
As a glow that’s cool and regular. 
 
With dangerous gaps.
Cocktail wieners.
Kids love them!
Peel’em back and throw your knives.
A (s)he-mind’s pill for song and dance is so! long overdue.

9/13/19

A nonreligion of men, a High Service
Sung along both coasts:

Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

The last nonpoem eases the dress code, a bolo tie display on 2 thru 8
For a race of giants (giants are made up pieces of one another in other names).

Love came up short for a few and drove them to forgery. Then shatters.
The taking of whatever works to swat the hand that feeds them,

Sharpening endurance,
Risking focus.
A luscious, noiseless bonding in the very era or epoch of the perpetually alterable 
— a stream of gasses embossing conjoined tattoos. Outside the again-feel of an invisible roll call gathering around neighbors’ AC.   
 
You, all your neighbors are mirror bees. Music up. Am I not one?
Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The opium is waiting, on a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.
11: 1st choice for a sonnet: to solve you for x. If you must, be rude, foolish but coalesce;
An x factor takes up our lives for yours.

We feel bursts of fresh blood, increased by your wisdom and living endowment.

Wait. Later, with or without x... it’s growing cold here, a waning world away...

But so like-minded so fast —
We convert life to folly ..

The world you call yours we make featureless, barren.

Inky smoke releasing a genocidal collage, living
Thought in waves agitated, reproached, disappeared
In drumming opinions subtracting best practices —
Look for nothing thereby to help harsh times that should cease.
Cold freezing nature, per se, nature will age, perish, decay.
But we keep x in mind, cherished love..
The more you and yours live on .. we are given life back .. what you give.
We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also is I. This is how the toy psyche researches, more conscientiously touching on endearing dual roles in translation — deviating of us to read and reread pain extending to your one body howling and sustained this second time. 

Next, a glistening database ‘of us’ is advanced thru textuality within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace our contempt. 

[...]
The soul (of love) is a theorem, a sweet dying
Desert out of water, a spare dust bunny grinning over interstates
To destroy liquidity.

We begged Mr Soul to go faster and keep at it,
Stick with a superb racket or rocket, rally
For more than shimmering in a mega-lens.

If you can wake that guy up perhaps you should.
Passport:
There is no absolute diva in me. 
Just Power Events, long hidden from 
stewardship & deity stand-ins 
until all of us (The What-If Losers) get to take up 
residence at the commercial registry for happiness,
slaves of commerce.

9/12/19

Tv interview:
I still write poetry. Yet I have no regrets.
I subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
The enigmatic verse syllogism under one rule is eaten alive by song layouts,
that’s the power of bounce over provisos.
Song: If every frontal-ist were interrupted, we’d never get back.

This is an integument first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’

“is” a known pattern of frontal opportunism.) When you’re young
nepotism is also rampant in meaning maybe.
Maybe not as opaque.
Ok. I hear voices in the kitchen. My thoughts freeze in total makeover

as this integument recedes — putting it mockingly — heading back w/ nothing.
Like no premium withholding option holds, we Americans can relax, go cloud up other ideas!

Are you thinking of me? 

I used to believe so, along w/ all the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart opening to our former lives, a win-loss for comic, breezy violinists in quartets w/ silver hats — Superangels w/ their instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge.
I’m a year and a half late. In choosing what rubs me wrong or why I don’t want to be seen with you or apologize for one more ode, can I eat something?
I repeat.
I’ll making an ode to autumn and then winter, coming on, just getting to you. As marriages go it’s not all bad. I owe my bros an apology. (Not you.) My better half too. It’s just an exchange.

Summer!
136: I am nothing. What’s my business? Blind soul systems led me to — O you

— whereas checks to you and receipts are accounted for in secrecy, the password pilfered, your soul knows you’re already admitted...

W/ several newer ideas that would leverage you right there in the pluperfect, had your love held me by my name.

Therein, a civilizing process today to staying purposely
dull, entered into too by spotting it first. It’s
a clear refinement where character offers liberation — my sweet-nothing

for nothing will hold me, nothing
supports our love-suit from underneath. Only you win the job!
You’re my own nothing-boss.
Skepticism is boosted by metonyms. 

Ever since, one’s intellect seeks damages. Time to boost actual ideas.

There’s not one left from an emergent zone for lack of despair. 
Nothing.. even huge finesse augurs repression and destruction of autonomy from institutional fictive icons. 

These icons I believe can’t predict what we’ll face when they take over — hard winds! and there aren’t enough white flags going around to

blanket utterances filling our balloons. 
Their young have gained on the older, those that could, 
Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years — 
They’re real actors, not people. 

9/11/19

Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. toward the end of the beginning. 
The front gate still won’t front.  
 
How do parallels threaten a referent? And which fox drug is best?  
Visuals today are overproduced.  
I produce here Spot the dog.. or now one of his infinite surrogates, whose visible micrograms intrude a moment before emptied of visibility. It seems for a time.
Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.
... the rookie is burning on the outside, your only credits were adamance /
to squelch any dramaturgy from theology, wellbeing and actionable conditions, missing how far you are beaten into their projections.
Diffuse claims from the storm-injured outer sky, yet 
during the break we reached the claims officer. Big 
thick crazy eyebrows, a swelling voice, easier than the rest. 
 
Planet Earth has been coined Taoist hell. Coinage ringed with grassy estates where men with money like you and the c.o. can tiptoe or fall further. If you invite me... Tag, you’re it, absorbed in my desire to sleep with anybody great.
67: Smarts don’t matter. You had a wealth of smarts. Advantage achieved?
I’m laying myself off. Shall I? (Not that I’m smart.) I’m imitating an exchequer, an evolutionist of avarice — loose ends everywhere giving wind upright advantage and an inflection point — long since moot — wherefore roses in shadow seem false, laced to society. For this is where wind and other loosenesses keep their youth only on the gain side, impious beauty and true presence forward.

And that goes for the lively sun shining with its indirect blush-to-blood over the street, bankrupting grownups.
There are statements of facts
And those of law. Their truth
Levels go down or soar — depends on
Outer linear order and your age.

Each generation gets torched in the pass, those that would,


Externalizing struggle beyond their years. (Like the renaissance.)

Today we’re feeling besieged, a little called out
In the meaning of no revolution now.
Our models are you & everything I can live by w/out being 
sequestered or charged for shortcomings,  
ballooning in harmony around some parts of sky  
 
I understand as profuse clouds. Understand as take in.  
Huh? Is it fire? Up in the glow  
the moon made indispensable for smearing light  
travels down in a tiered border-like scrawl. 
 
Adaptability in any event is hardly effortless. 
I add ellipses.
The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
a saga you (any of us) can pump off & on — so on

coming then coming clean, another part of closeness.
Later, new police!
[talk of paranoia...]

9/10/19

A few minutes ago there were bright blue shadows.
The quartet’s on a formal mission; higher
up, the mission’s part scribble / disassociation.
I can hear Johnny shoveling the drive
as a voiceover to operate prophesies of doom humanely,
stacking pessimistic ideas like alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
No prayer in all directions.
I picked up in a flier my soul is a hypothesis. A fish out of water surfing coastal states to destroy his wiggly self. Since we live in new enterprises and ecologies, you and I begged him to learn to swim further and stick with a sublimely cute topic, to rally for more than this textual ceramic holding a spray of looking glass.
If you swallow your ego luxury is great. I say no 
with my eyes shut.  
No meditation spanning the surface of the woods, no  
massage. No smell of wood. So there’s nothing to resent.  
 
How does it resume?
57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what can I do? 
I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued other interests  
 
all at once. Time’s precious, 
save I feel and still show absence of movement from the inside,  
absence upon hours — a sour dare to expend ...  
and to question my jealousy — 
So it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth and service.  
I dare not think of desire diffused at any cost to render your mouth a world-without-end, a sobbing, precious mess.  
 
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be amiss, I think no ill. Adieu.
“A solid base” cited in the last run of artificial snow, foaming dissent — I do not have licenses to bring in blood.

It’ll be there where I leave it — under an emblem for downward spikes in bonhomie —

while in bed the U.S. landscape descends from clarity.

The collapse torques with a disaster channel on, volume up. Our market shares in backpacking services and shippable goods.
The jungle is quiet... too quiet. (Theseus)
Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping in net neutrality w/in the gloom of purgatorio as perceptions of different possibilities blow town including the best halo effects and feelings. They’ll come back. 

It’s nice finally to put a class of face to the humiliating covered breathing.  Today, every day open censorship is going to be there,  filtered, unfiltered as long as it takes.
                        ...speech is streaked w/ extra
sensory blather —

9/9/19

— I haven’t slept a wink — Try sleeping pills. 
Yah. Well, that’s a good idea.   
 
I know I’ve been deceitful, but I had my reasons. Maybe they were dumb reasons, but they were reasons.  
 
I never said I was the best man in the world.  
 
Give me a little credit, will you, credit for being someone...  
 
who tried to love you the only way he knew how.  
 
I know that speech  
 
— You do? — pantaloons last August...  
 
when Devon meets Bolt’s empyrean nephew.  
Oh, God.  
— Get out — Please try to understand.  
 
— No need to use that language.   
 
Get out! Now!
Lightning over fogs of drizzle. Over ravines. Knower and the known, all branches, all matter — 
A sweet industrial morsel went for all three doors assuming no threshold ahead where materiality can’t exist. No dissonance, no interruption.   
 
Three ways could also be the middle   
 
as Buddha and Buddhists are different things.
Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The opium is waiting, on a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.
Ah, you’re driving me to a convenience stop — I don’t care. 
Push-pull can be effortless if I tell you how we’re doing.  
There’s a piece of karate, a fragile backspace we erase, and how there’s turbulence... and something else more active, piquant. Your push reaches a point where time management is unleashed.  
 
This is one way to point.  
 
We live next to a place with water views. I continue feeling deprived sometimes.  
 
But ocean sniffing is never private, I gasp before the beach driving home, high tide a big data glob crashing to earth.. that night after the super moon — diodes in crimson, finding a soft spot for anyone’s look-see, another beach in a long line magnified ashore, twisty, revived!
73: One will die; one will see all sunsets fade to ashes. 
But I’m leaving the night choir behind. Awake making love with you at day’s end where yellow leaves still shake blowing past bare boughs and dusk, glowing, seeming content, consumed, consuming to expire.   
 
Death is a nominal fallacy like black twilight now: To love you as if that’s true... and stronger — that’s my late take away. I don’t understand cold fire this time of year even in the west, where the sweet birds sing, and by and by sang back, etc. 
Rush to earnest sentiment and keep me there, do me up.
Only four exceptions: I wasn’t speaking to you.
I was speaking to strong, sustained interests of Oil Inc.
Oh, and incidentally, I can’t keep working with you
Looking over my shoulder. Don’t be afraid,
I just kick back and relax, the year will be half over.
Summer .. if I could let myself be completely a nano reading.

I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also
Heavy pollen, nothing! I should add I’m writing on borrowed-spores.
I haven’t done tranquility either! — not even a feeding..

Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs,
A pragmatics circumvents the will —
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..
This is my first chance in three dimensions.
Others seem to throw theirs away.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers. Keep trying — there’ll be a pop-up quiz.

9/8/19

After homesickness, there’s new inebriation &
One way to degrade-ultimately-destroy the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration & fortune to hide.
Warning: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early performance; both are adolescent in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how cave and landscape can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. That opium waterfall is waiting, on a bender. What comes first is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.
A lone maple against the light has breadth and the dark thin substance of shot up shadow; this is a guarantee
as local time is disguised among skimpy swags and willowish leaves as living structures aspected as abstract in the ‘inner’ harbor of salt glare, cut from coastal space.

Space (within) doesn’t know you’re looking... doing nothing, watching you looking.

Space’s slowed us down to furnace the pace

for full positions in another trace or matter. Earlier or later
we feel snooty, strange, blue-eyed —

it’s about meeting people in a way.
51: In motion, no excuses — war is unjust when there is only one side to wage it.
Gleaned from what war is, my desire keeps pace.

I’ll be an angel investor in spontaneity, no need but love, for love.
This is strictly, deliriously our business, self-realized adventure
losing daily battles, no excuses.

What time do you get off work in poetry? Should I know?
Speeding up when swift extremity can seem but slow

I hastened to run toward you
as though mounted on the wind before even starting ..
Stan the man, a legend;
it’s “OK” Stan explains,
we’re all Buddha’s fault.
He isn’t kidding.

More than a god, a three-in-one, a god’s pup
fills in quantum entities on a not-
fully-occupied terrain, terrain, I repeat, “on
pause.” This is spacetime —
Whew — you think of puppy paws
as your head fills up with the stickiest
most adorable pup gifs breeding
celestial dissonance as street lights hum

and flicker

as ......

as well as

emotions
Stan aims to lay claim to and
defend as his own.
Soon.
Bursting out of your head while you hike thru grasses: All this acreage owned by prosaic dabblers, a-theoretical factual folk. Broken, misunderstood. 
It’s different evening on and children on fire hit back.  
 
Teamwork. Again, our people are what make us great.  
 
And if that’s everything for now, we’ll switch to loving and losing and loving.  
Fresh air, still excessive quanta — a geyser in a box-set of boxes in bigger sets you can't see?  
 
Enticing but nothing so second nature as theater, sleight of hand, 
good posture and strategic intellectual constructs.
My last gay bar,
crayoning hearts and drunken smiley faces,
pledging boundless love, packing up my belongings,
You be the new C.E.O.

9/7/19

It would be a challenge to simplify winning as in a new car or suffering injury, 
Starving how?    

You’re at the door    

As I thought of you.    

Now a delay for    

More. 
— Let’s be fair, the partnership was an accident enjoining boosters of equity.
Runic, compared to language proceedings now.

It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.

Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy discourse until only style prevails.

(Yay..)
The soul (of love) is a theorem, a sweet fading desert
Growth out of water, a gawky dust bunny grinning over the interstate
Working up a vacuum to destroy liquidity.

We begged Mr Soul to hop faster and keep at it,
Stick with a superb racket or rocket, rally
For more than shimmering in a mega-lens.

If you can wake that guy up perhaps you should.
41: An abstract, pretty temptation below gentle laughter: Ay,
Beauty for your years .. Ah me.

Ah blizzard.

Together, you and I follow a twofold point of wooing / forced absence, but I’m not that far from following your lead and therefore assailed. Youth is tantamount to body snatching, another point. Tempting but false equivalence even there: we chide the other’s choice — where this follows I cannot lead, leaving me in a riot of liberty where you are.
Upstairs message, parts of it. We call it yeah 
Parentheses (w/ monocle) to explore;  
The 4-D printer’s, they have many followers, you on it?  
As one’s eyes reset  
Focus time to question more.  
                              Anything to take from the a-argument  
For leading us to pleasant complacency...
Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. the end of the beginning. 
The front gate still won’t front.  
 
How do parallels threaten a referent? Which fox drug is best?  
Visuals today are overproduced.  
Spot the dog.. or now his surrogate intruding a moment before he’s emptied of matter.  
Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.
(I gave up appeasing you.)

9/6/19

We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also is I. This is how the toy psyche researches more conscientiously touching on endearing dual roles in an algorithmic translation — deviating of us to read and reread pain extending to your one body and infinite ceilings, howling sustained this second time. 

Next, a glistening database ‘of us’ advances thru raw materiality. The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace our contempt. 

[...]
Savant and scribe know where all glory goes. 
If we’re lucky, principles of mediocrity rule our larger commitments.  
Then both can devise a poem for a period of guesswork.  
 

Finish a stretch and my theory gets confused. Confused the way   
 
A rusted barge dries off in sun orange. Or   
 

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters..   
 
Ok, this is not Danzig. Clinically proven.  
But theory is something else.
En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply, our lot’s in a hurry.  Can we cut to the scary part?  No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual, sparkled amid meanderings that are ordered appearances going dormant or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
53: A substance note:
Suspend suspension of all illusion — 

All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed. 

You have some part shadow
as long as a 
-utomatism maintains a
counterfeit value evolving spring and summer shades a
-mounting to zero autumn after your beauty, a 
constant show and a 
variable now. You always have some part.

You appear in every august shape we know.
0) nothing horrible, just horrible 
 
1) both perceptions of opposites leveraged simultaneously  
2) meaning not one and more original than none  
3) causing internal illogic along w/  
4) passing out on an ashen chaise to bring you back to your senses, shouting   
 
5) I love your idea and I repent only to appease you   
 
6) adages first thought / never think lose both death and life
Violence resolutions have been approved, schematicized for good and  remuted as gossip to evade a “mating strategy” to partner our  heirs’ viewing planks. O Headwaiters..