6/30/16

Provincetown: Trained staff encourage sampling
as Lt Benji takes fingerprints, a full-time hobby
for Meister beach boy put in charge after age 30.

No evidence yet (or ever). The night is young.
1. I use bigger words than you,
The spring flowers, the moon in autumn —
Classification by evolutionary collisions.

I think I prefer staying all-purpose, best calm, never resolved.


2. Bad news, I was
struck by the French property owner. You know,
plagiarism in quotes.
It’s cold indirection,
but my metabolism really took off, along
with emotions from a huge manuscript
I’m freezing,

‘quote’ Watching text spin like sentience
refined by distance; since
it’s none of the above, this could be for you now.

6/29/16

House airline: The prosecution collapsed
But you hand over your sack of warrants.

Also, your evaluations are in. Jumbo on

Justice, liberty, rule of law...

Time to concentrate on that killer c.v.
It’s about warrants for words, Mate. Future thickets.

It’s so much satori — Enablers will cooperate fully.
For you, a love interest gets calculated —

Back to work .. first it’s

Urgent we go out and get wasted.

The mood then passes from desolating satire to
Constant put-downs you parrot like executive control

— Holding firm in the wilds where fireworks will be slowly ignited
“In the slumbering gaze” parallel kill and be killed, united obliteration

Hypoxia: poor make us sick, The

6/28/16

the Trump brand in poetics = unoriginal genius

Ann Coulter = Marjorie Perloff

6/27/16

Sitting down delivers the good news, stateliness already had its faint say. Now we can text and drive over time and zeta functions falling in hedgerows like a new highway divider along an infinite axis.


One cause is edged with distant buzzing, intervention — you have a touch
the tide by the book makes explicit, the rim and pliant brush of acreage possessed by that touch.

The practice of emotions, a snake tail in quiet we won’t know until eased into a few phrases, foiled by
moments of tact, a delicate balance awaiting silence.

6/26/16

The survey said you’ve made it to the 2nd challenge.


Trixie is my name for the dejected. With regard to static and its ovoid, stasis, in the compulsive battle over an ultimate smiley face, it’s not just who guffawed fast, but who took off with awesome ideas about words.

How can Trix (a lot better) hear the extreme difficulty in separating external compulsion from the experience of desire

Through the door on top of the word?

Trix leaves for finishing school. She’s wearing khakis and a red T-shirt and my new backpack stuffed with graphs. She wants more than a group-regulated ethos for the manufacture of comedy and verse.

The archives are at risk.

6/25/16

The tallest paintings remeasure your height.



Painting ideas.



You had heard maggots eat über-paintings stretched onto canvases of different sizes, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s wasted, emaciated planes, junk and emptiness.


Painting double quotes.

6/24/16

We reach elements within the set where touch management is unleashed. But the scenery is suddenly beyond diagram while the crew is calmed down. There’s a dual nature to anonymity that makes what’s inside disappear, a bright pulling apart at the summitry of escape.

What’s semiology? unless we un-gnarl affects to figure it out?





6/23/16

I was nursed from the beginning. “I need me.” It’s a lovely tirade. (Jack Spicer)

*

That’s good, because I sneaked across those gimme-erotic catalysts. (I don’t remember whose or how.)

I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious provisios, integers-to-be and no buzz to fix.

Waves beat my eyes open when I (am or) was looking ragged but in a studied, not irresponsible way, reading and taking dictation to wrap up sleep.

6/21/16

Bio note:

Larry Fagin works under Jamie MacInnis, Murder Inc.

Back a while, in the 80s, after I lent Fagin $200 and after I broke up with Jamie, Fagin began his obsessive campaign to obstruct my ‘career’ in poetry, spreading wholesale fibs and fables.

Maybe that’s why Anne Waldman has never included me in any enterprise she oversees. And she oversees a lot. There’ll be no NEA for me. Nothing at Naropa. So much power!

Good show, Jamie!


P.S. It was her hair.

I still write poetry and I remember the salad shooter.

Yet I have no regrets. I can’t recall being as excited as I am now.
— Let’s be fair, the partnership was an accident enjoining boosters of equity.

Runic, compared to poetry now.

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

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

(Yay..)


Tv interview:
The enigmatic eaten alive by song layouts,
Burying the syllogism for life.
The Meaning of the Bright Side Sketch.*


*The strategy goes on because it’s clear.

6/20/16

The elevated prose idea of August
helps you get through life wellness rooms
circling a moratorium on consumption —
help yourself — June thru July.




Blurb:

You bet monkish materiality does not exist. No dissonance,
no disruption! There are
appearances, such as a vantage baseline and shopping boundaries.

The book covers a lot.
An interesting interview had to be done in depth,
‘staff may be prosecuted,’ toughing this one out.

Still, there’s no lack of linnets and authentic wax.

6/19/16

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 trace.

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 truce..

Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs,
A pragmatics circumvents the will —
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..


I’m backing Mr Trump.

I just unfriended the not-to-confuse option. Thanks for the potluck. Your
hair is what's wrong. Hand it over.

6/18/16



— I haven't slept a wink — Try sleeping pills.

Yeah. 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? — the show 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!

The sleepless love me. It’s phenomenal. This is a nightmare.

You promised me you would get rid of negation!

We were both naked, and you promised

— Naked! — we were never naked.

We could’ve been! Mother. No.

6/17/16



Ted Greenwald, RIP

Bill Berkson, RIP
What I do as a human is take an ordinary subject, senior-itis,
let’s say, or a lamppost, and by urinating on it, over it, I ..



(The ache of summer for a senior is palpable — snorts
of derision dampen my naïve representation of democracy.)

6/16/16

How to hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and pull the trigger, replacing
subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: structure, acquisition, use, media —
no eros in ideas.

Self-conflict and compromise keep popping up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic failure.

If that’s allowed.

Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped to a tree, in the distance, Eroica...

We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown,
The great We of fish, that's what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.

6/15/16

One assumption is tomorrow’s flight will be an extension of how it’s going now.
A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced
Or displayed. It says you’re due an upgrade but there aren’t any.

This introduces the cult of the squish factor. My
Luggage did this to me.
Leaving the beach

— dazzling lethargy doing our cuffs as the wagon sways
with fellowship. Love in the future, a handshake spreads the rain,

flowers, rain,

flowers.

(That's it!

The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we
can walk on with. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our widows.

This is spring history.)

6/14/16

In my illusion

of minimalism
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,
I should say the accretion settled down
and got lost and scattered trying to remember.
BF Skinner watches a boy develop — to spy on sleep when you can’t dream..

parking spaces have a word with you. Children are the future —
keep them distracted.
And
if you lock your room you can’t get anywhere. Ask Caligari. Bright blues in white, a looming sluice through the discomfort zone. Here we go, head din, bones saturated watching out for huge snowy droves of behavior. I feel absurd in his hold still shining through milk-white conditioning. The dirty side of blind scar tissue:

I dress left; way left, Mr. Oracle.

I don’t deserve friends like you.



6/13/16



Note to sender.
*
Before I turn into another parabola of you, yours, I should take myself out and stay out, crabbed, hesitant to set off emotion that might fail. There’re signs you just want to cry — and it’s not a bad smell, just sad or wifty in dimness when I wake up. It all goes well. You and I take off, tho. One by one. Reasons are weather related, paleness this morning and a similar wash of fog coming back, lilac-dark air and offshore atmospheres yesterday, the day before. Winds shifted and I barely pertain, and why should I? It would be contradictory and limitlessly impolite to insist we’ve won in a runoff of longing and gratitude. That you and I are taking time to sift through (even the slightest) parts here would be a datum of coincident poses. I cherish your transitioning to mine, bringing it up to me every day yet I can’t presume what we can’t express, foundering and tongue-tied, handing our fortune over to the 1st letters of the alphabet. You want back in — me too. Keep in touch.

6/12/16

Production through retrieval and communal ethos are distinctive features of the medieval era. It’s not unironic in the least digital data assembly enables our return to those kinds of production and ethos. Work produced now is parallel along almost incalculable dimensions. And if most of that work is still authored, we can posit the mushrooming of art production (including poetry) over a relative short time will totalize individual product into a kind of arguably 2nd-tier relevance (with a few nonconceptual exceptions, of course).
Go, go, go!
Oh, my God. This twistee’s blind as a bat.
Doctor, what a surprise. Are you having lunch here?
Well, I would if it’s that simple.
I wish it were that simple.
— The test results have come back — And?
And I’m afraid the results are very disturbing.
It seems Jack has a rare case...
of brake fluid.
— Bran fluid. Bran flavor
Brain fever — Say it!
Brain fever — Yes. Life was hard..
Brain fever. Or what we call at The Tech...
At the current rate ...
his brain will laterally explore...
Literally explode — Exactly.
— within the next three houses — Hours.
Yes. It will literally explode within the next three hours.
I would suggest leaving the restraint.
— The restaurant — Restaurant.
Yes.
His brain will actually explode?
Yes. I’ve seen it happen — Check!
It’s a dread ful...
thing.
A poem is a picture.



Define a language with no kids.

6/11/16

Denis the Menace grew up over last summer. I now have a boyfriend. We’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over, so it continues. I’m first and last bored with superordination and thought about having no chapter delineations, just paragraph breaks.

*

I’ve lots of parts going in, a series of vignettes, monologues, whatever comes w/ writer’s block undiagnosed. An intersection of an un-demarcated self, motion in patterns, math as therapy and fear of validation. And another thing is a screenplay called Standing Alone, My Back to You about a homeless guitar sampler befriended by a yachtsman who hides from the world. They head off exploring Taoism so there’s a lot of take-out food. For a documentary short it's a bracing swim. The guys bond fast and the plot revolves around eating, watching tv, taking long walks, suffering — all of which figure in my earlier career, another pattern I didn’t even realize!

6/10/16

It’s up to future officials to unpack Zen’s base ironies. Where are they, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to

get 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, staying relaxed can lull you into a slippery tranquility.

That’s Zen-not-Zen up to now.
Lament:

Prose enters a poem. It has a work permit. That’s why
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors.

The poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;
Bourgeois think war unjust when there’s no one to wage it. Hey



There are no middle class essayists. Yet, we can rubber any room —

My advice for exploring ideas, stick to the sentence.

To go along continue needing riches.
Thanks for writing.

6/9/16

Welcome back.
I don’t want any more lying.

No pretending...
no deception.

And I need time.
— Can you understand? — Completely.

Wait! Wait!
I’m carrying your child.

I didn’t sleep with you!
But please, pwease bewieve me!

This is what strong, trusting meant.
— I told you — Well, I’m apologizing.

Congratulations.
Thank you —
                   The emptiness that was

one fine day...

                   A mercury-brimmed scree

insubstantial in the unexpectedness

to dawn ‘disappeared’

into the leg o’mutton of oblivion :

You behind the seen evaporating..

— we owe you nothing

                   falling out w/
your idea of daylight and sexual theater on the same sheer precipice..

every day becoming ordinary knowledge

of parallel ebullience

                   waiting to come to round up
stuff sprouting from half-sleep,

steadfast in geometry to grant the horizon the whole body.

6/8/16



Nothing is such in all cases. This brings on what works mostly. Life is short and good grooming drives you all over. No victims.

We grabbed that as a ladder we wouldn’t forget —

A moment soon to stare out the window, a lamp over my shoulder to herald the swindle in wind farming. Craning one’s mien goes on in this vein, time passes — comments from nonreaders, movies, lies — freedom takes off at many a midpoint. It’s personal, e.r. managers tell me. It’s almost impossible to write enflamed birdsong and comb back your hair at the same time.. Can you do that?

Light with a spooky edge

To sound like your own critic.

6/7/16

*

book list = cast

tribal identity = subjective state

the underground = trance

career trajectory = finding America
The transmission ran:You owe us a letter, smilin’ Jack..

One awaits silence, its light a sole unity, best

brought over, many times over

the course of orchards thru lattice

tracing down-draughts helplessly at ease,

separate pieces ignited with fog —



In short, mid-super

memorized treetops

plumbing calm fields

of mind-boggling quiet,

stronger now for loss of plant life.

Frogs are still up to voodoo [l'occulte français] —

At the edge, distance, entrenched applause.

You DID write, dearest.

6/6/16

Baby Wateau —

The empty sale is falling and I’m on the move (or we are). Early or late, the sky’s not falling as point of fact. I’m flowing like a dancer / stripper in a spiral. Another point in fact, harder to verify. Gravationally, Picasso’s greatest came early, Cezanne’s late. These data still matter, in a manner — I’ve found someone else, deeper in, a thinly veiled version of me.

The flow is hard to describe — a man, a higher up, goes blind. Perfect for the fall. My baby traps me.

6/5/16

Overdrafts — bankrupt —

                    inmost, the

selfmade part of the gulp

postcarding the mountains

                    unfinished you
— plain as nebulae

I thought of you today

the middle of a square

expression you could address


Illustrator. Killer. I’m otherwise a coffee head. Question..

Have we ever done anything but toy with the weather? Oh, who knows? Oh, Ladytron. You know, you seem so fake-excited in your periphery, staying inside a soft radical anathemic vapor, loosely

Demolished. Ergo your discourse comes down as animated routines. No personality.
Going back, favoring the objective

Boy-girl, you’re in a chess game.
I’m going to castle you. We are..

Shall I mark you as another ambition
in an illustrator’s incident layers —

Having what you’re having, sorting the dots’

Congeries of texture? I turned and we asked again.
(It felt unwise.)

6/4/16

O Jesus

A severe honey glow

crowning his shoulders — groomed

disgust in his walk, his mystic theater

perhaps addressing us, the radiant

pull at his mom’s sleeve

emptied of the given moment
Beneath poplars booked in pairs, attaining quote
Adulthood by field, stream thru summer,
Phone calls made by a folded end quote blanket,
Trench turmoil, do you want to bet?
Hard for them, much more flying our likenesses in,
Braving white, soft green, a sickening thud.



Voices in funnels, a trickle down of their futurity,
Dropping your sights — now rising
— the fastest way to earn points. And yet
We’re surrounded, opening
Sparkles of glad diatribe, to pay your way
Forward, a debit resonance after returning —

We’re nothing their voices bell without words.

Make a difference, make an offer. Gloves mutate.

6/3/16




A friend writes, assurance from dharma augments & extends our altercations to qualify absence :

if

working against deadline we accelerate these limits, ok —

my stupid mind has a point, & I see it

& were we mannerists, we’d describe this as Absence from This.

A wall of calm — also This : The cross-hatching that allowed ancestors to exchange some traits for others... has just about run out of steam, my profane friend interjects, & has left us wondering, once more what there is about our plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.

That turns a wall of calm over to science for good, greed, forgiveness & clumps of renaissance & their round robin prototypes that sell it to the visual cortex, motivated by small sums of justice; the sums of justice are small, crammed with moral emotions & pillow talk, luxuries that bind — ushering in more non-urgencies of grueling yet quickened aversion over entropy.

6/2/16

Style is a digestive structure in zoology.

By the way, every worm thinks this-is-so-cool. / Every owner of a worm subject to restitution

even as most tax experts evoke cuddliness bred in mute colors.. I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.

I live and wait in a container house near the city.

Dog Zen is nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to a disc. I won’t do it, nah, many thanks.

I work in comp and garden, that do? .. I’ll grieve later on, turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass in an r v to drown out the dog track.



Nah

6/1/16



The sky is in the air, a hue of golf balls.
This is discounted, for historical justice.

Our supply chain deals fatalism whose allegory
can shape and twist any desire, except a ready
-made means to change the supplier that feeds us.
I love needing what tv does, colonizing until the wheels fall off.

Nearly sunset in coconut milk. Skinny ‘eventude’ brings on fluttering waves of populist rage and dishonest dogs. Tv dogs taught to come, fetch, force it down. Chips smaller. All in favor held under pressure. (An unreliable clique. Bad posse.)

I’m channel surfing in the cranberry state where immigrants mix well w/ bohemians, gays, subjectivity for a life entrenched w/ decoration, feet first. I’m asleep now. It feels great here. We’re on tv.