Friday, October 31, 2014


The Blob.

I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating gaping yawns in fair use praxis, and there’s a connection to the same eggy lights-out factory, an eyesore we dreamed up or could dream up. Inside there’s no agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying in the dark, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their orientation, mining the richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dawn to midday, they think: so many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into aqueous shimmer! One we’ve been party to. Party is one of a few words. It felt so good to close down a wide sector of the critical imagination, ethos, and move nowhere collectively, a function of a huge leftist irony aggregation org.

That misspelling in brief is Fidelio, and from there I can move forward and back to connect times with ideas and people that encompass my naïve expertise.

Thursday, October 30, 2014


Rationed compliments ensue in secret and bloat under rush-formatted steam,
Accounting disappears like factions of perplexity, contextual effects (procedures) —

Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Travel well.

Tuesday, October 28, 2014


A big heart susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet the others halfway, slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know in the aftermath of a hiatus, letting it die down.

Smelling adages jazzes a decimal of our pablum.

Where should I hurt?

Once and be done. A few more



fix the climate really fast with glass and shining wands

like my nickel-coated lots of dick. 



A marionette’s defiance is as defensive



As ours but you feel tall and

inflatable as you cascade into a blank, mechanistic corp.

Monday, October 27, 2014


Ads before news of comfortable, determinant
Males gaining business insight by the numbers are
A given. Someday I’ll have a pomegranate thermostat;
It’s not torture unless it causes organ failure.

No shortcuts. Nope. The perverted best part was
how I occupied your emotional life, the highest in Japan.
The guardian part made this a better world with a splash
of blood on my shirt. It’s for you, Jack.

Friday, October 24, 2014


The composed freakout is in wide release. Filthy inside, one protagonist is making waves as an analyst for a nonprofit, deep money, fancy beer, soda.

Who is that high def doily legs in an itinerant color of childish poetry?

I’m expecting something. I’ve been expecting you. How much more if something happened?

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


A gaze from a subscriber who won’t consider
it’s such nice work, the jug
with its schema proliferating one fable
between acts of kindness, tragic themes
of incitements or was it just empty?

I’m still not finished, you pay.
We call soliloquy theoretical fado
since there’s no one else speaking.
The jug she’s extending is not audible —

it’s just a backstory in a way
sulking inside a thought of a room
with the hygienic view forward, a term
that cannot be considered in terms
until my spinal column heats up, thinking of you.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014


My Panker.

It ranks among the most beautiful in Holstein.

My Panker is distant, a Kleinod from Episode Nine, only three km from the country Futternapf.

The ropery managed there.

Borders and shading sharpen a Trakehner, as well over 1500 hectares agricultural surface’re worked over.

However you find steeds of Panker only. (The machines are accommodated on neighbouring property, Schmelzbad, which attained sad celebrity in the last witch burn.)

Beside Panker observation tower, from which one can see in good weather the far over Baltic Sea to Danemark, the Forestry House Hessen Stone lies.

In former times foresters got their Aufbesserungen with its sailors for a Senkrecht. From that foresters with sailors Hessen Stone grew.

Today one can eat excellently and jazz friends here come also.

Monday, October 20, 2014


Like dozens of others spin
ning into effect, I will never make chicken
soup for you, I never make
chicken soup but if you needed me
to I would.

You come before vegetarian salvation.
I will never make
that either.

Friday, October 17, 2014




Stunning, new chaps:

CALCINATIO by Kimberly Lyons
GOLD STARS WET HEARTS by John Godfrey
DON’T GO HOME WITH YOUR HEART ON by Alli Warren
ONE-LINERS by Vincent Katz
I HAD EVERY INTENTION by Michael Gottleib.

Covers by Tom Burckhardt. Read more:

http://www.fauxpress.com



Thursday, October 16, 2014


To be disciplined on our new motion furniture
requires drill, “...comfort is a habit of empire.”
Start over. Abruptly
per Chronicles of Goo,
I’m knocking nonprofessionals
off, throwing knives, wrecking them
from the inside, slicing up!

A he-mind’s pill for breathing is long overdue.

And we’re back on one conjoined vertigo seat, now
reading and writing without an attorney.
“That’s how the paint sails” within taxonomies, overheated,
a mind occupied, just so, musks in the field and so forth.

The bus door was gone.