10/21/19

A true celebrity shows us the assassin is uninvolved on every emotional level — even the one one holds and acts on by serving others, one one’s bosses & ‘ritual’ overvalue.
Sonnet 150:

Power to the powerful. A truism like this reminds me of a simple turn of the ignition, no big deal.. A journey over scrubland back at that bind when you and many were read into data beyond evolutionary limits. All in an identical manner, everyone getting one message while sugar consumption skyrocketed and the news advanced in choppy ‘prose.’
Would you like to ask questions or can the news diagram its strength of skill?
Just cause not raised here directly deducing another head scene to make me love you like the first time. That’s given me warrant (in my mind) ever since love’s regimen bulked up, competing more for powerful excess, more powerful a perspective in every word mentioned or about to be, with all syllables performing as one compass spin for us and others trained in our elite language, giving no cause to hate. True love, O who or what strength gave the lie to sway me as more worthy now to love you more?
Nice beachfront but there are so many 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 ghosty noun phrase —
giving away to how far the modern quill doth come too short,
an eerie surfeiting metamorphosis.
Next, different morning odors, coffee, other pots, taste sets, sweet to complex, some devolving into brawling incidents.. ..can’t make it out, call it leftovers, a Caramel Apple Ranch Cobbler fabricked in aromas of surfboard varieties .. ..
Lilac is a devoted zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it. 
*

10/20/19

I see your idea. Gnarly aviation. 
 
Purity of the surface deed is recorded, perked into light  
 
                          handily.  
 
Public-private property hit on a plan wound up slugged in disguise,  
 
A ‘contract’ on big physics, ghastly on its back.  
There’s envy of political haters’ swimming synchronized,  
                          beyond prayer —   
 
(In or without ebon ink, capitalists itemize all bets.)   
 
One pleasure is borrowing sentences to raise our debits.   
 
All experience is seriously snipped off.. How to wear a summer dress.
Meantime we’ve moved off the mainland. 
No unknown futures present newer phenomena, fenced off. 
It can’t be easy. Dig 
around for numerals and replacements.
We have no perverse incentive to take any more chances as we talk thru our replacement words.  
 
CLEARS THROAT. LAUGHTER. Suave slaughter.
Creature masks are prerequisites, in reprieve at the School of Nobody 
Teaching can’t be taught. You live within practice 

To engage another’s psyche. 
 You’re always wrong to prolong your appeal. 
Sonnet 105: We express idolatry as science. Fair, kind, true. 

Amazing to meet you as well as science, two, all in one. Sum of sums!



Amazing to touch your penumbra, feel influenced by funky themes, o many songs.  Idolatry


Defines pleasure you communicate thru love to last a lifetime. 
Take care, and take your time; 
likewise, inspire small talk between you 

while keeping your sum under surveillance. You
look good together.
I can see your voice, binary to binary autosuggestion.
When it gets dark it happens fast.

We wanted to go to
This point, stabilizing the office — over the ocean
W/out ‘water- or personal-contact.’
1 enclosure without a pulpit, no dogma...
outdoor passages to enter then exit sponsorship
spreading out in self-willful overloads of idiomatic design —

Skilled chattel, de-simplified, or notional contracts
between science and who knew?
Ironic technologies without precedent —
A corporate hold across manners and adaptations, restrained praxis
and hermetic syntax, all noun phrases.
1 enclosure without a pulpit, no dogma...
outdoor passages to enter then exit self sponsorship
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —

Skilled decor, de-simplified, or notional contracts
between science and who knew?
Ironic technologies without precedent —
A corporate hold across manners and adaptations, restrained praxis
and hermetic syntax. Spend more, save more.
The School of Nobody takes 8 lives.  Nobody wins in a debate over no- and not- distinctions: for incorrigible voice matter is always interesting  & moving to work for meaning in two instances of no stages. 

10/19/19

Fungibly discerning not wishing to die holds a semantic randomness, otherwise empty space.

There’s señor that needs you. He has no interest in real physics... I wonder if that’s true — Our thoughts knitted together like mica piling up, shouts ricocheting through voice tracks from the underbrush holding our breath, bounced, kicked and gloved by catalysts.
Falsehood is an actuarial stat, a subjective state and quality of the frieze in progress, not an elevation or height. 
 
This is a true/false dance question. Fibber Perseus v ‘radium’ Danae (his mom). Which are ya?  
For one draft you as Perseus can place big futures and puts as taller mouthpieces enter the salon rolled ‘into’ B flat major, ‘into’ spools of more of her opposites — Danae’s tendencious pedestrians, 1st- or 2nd-years, sweating lead colors.   
 
Danae can’t help smothering her loved ones. In her wake birds assume instantaneous velocity.
Top of one o’clock — I saw your approaching motion  
my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.  
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh — more observant, with a more observant love. 
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless. No matter. 
It feels like impossible.  
 
Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming  
hands that boss, get it done legally — 
 
parliament  
maneuvers. Explanation intact.
83: Life with Mr Juice came up short — charm
-ing & familiar — unfair tenderness in a paper sack.
Hostess bike spinners & fake license & plate.
A poet’s debt.
I found (or again I thought within silence)
Your eyes are nagging me for more .. admit you miss modern art & text devices.
You miss the first drag. You miss painting

Mr Juice wearing new credentials
as your inner being when others would give life.. as you, like me, have nothing set.
Have you read, poets’ praise & worth get ten percent of their daily
Calories from soda & smoking — sleeping to excess.

Mute poets become hereon slack.
Thereon, as Juice imputes to me, I’m barren as I am dumb.
Anyone can wish for ‘portal trans specificity,’ Me? I replace all the markers to get inside a face. Your face. Your brow sports a few layers of sleep relief, accruing intimacy. Meanwhile we form a new team on portal strategy, yielding larger holds on dispossessed cynicism...
Well, I knew m’lord was a prevaricating, bloodlust child — the writs of Rolfe d’Hampole had warned — unceasing sycophant, his incarnadine shadow spilt down dim stairwells to redden more, divagating before olive branches in nightfall, exhorter of few changes, hardly any.

10/18/19

Dissonance born of necessity, one dialog reflects gritty, blind optimism and violence. 
 
Are you healthy enough for this perfection?   
 

A little off, ok — speaking the usual way subverts expectations.  
Stencils of our doctrine line up behind others 
As good critique pays homage to paying homage, finding its subject.
All experience is seriously correct.. 
But what is?    
How can it if I tell you what I’m?    
 
A blind accident, 
 
I’m in no hurry. A life was charged   
now curled up on the menu.     
 
(Have to go.)     
 
Here I was, preaching to your eyebrows.   
(Cave safely.) 
Strategists at the barricades have been taking icky notes as the weather cooperates,     
  
Where reputations precede character, seeds of apprehension remain.       
  
Who will advocate for peace to empower heavy sleep & exchange?     
For example.   
{most- 
Ly random swagger for the catch —   
Qualified} crew enforce sampling  
Coerced by the life of the owner’s party speaking.
Sonnet 3: 
 
Now is the time.  
Image &  posterity aren’t everything. But they call you back. Same for dying. Let’s stop Pisces & disdain. Face to face, mark self   
-love as no fond option. Unearned. Yet thru clear windows 
April will renew another golden time taking form, 
Beguiling as light flows. “Could you be more specific, my 
Episteme?” April in its prime calls you, repairing you,  
Your ears, your face, fresh forms of golden times remembered.
Cupid is a hired gun who goes anywhere. Cupid’s id? It’s a violent,
explosive culture so we need straight talk.

It’s a gay culture so we need that. We’ve been up
for two centuries fighting overseas.
Head-on war is a mistake (Diane di Prima).
Kites: pinky juicy crisp
Space parlance —

The language predates motto handicraft and canned vibration
Slithery, waxed down toward our bumbled abstentions.

Life is better, a few times
Looking broke with pencil marks across gessoed

Pearls — trance police, a hex video
On top various under-invented heights.
Half of the unknown universes have astrophysicists.
Our prospect ices. Breaking appointments,

Time lapses are at acute angles each winter, no lie.
One improbable is the climate’s finite performance before it veers away.
Switching phones, I look up to the crazy dental intern waiting to take me out.

10/17/19

A foolish few of us keep fighting for independence. But bosses are out there. Sure savages, quick with their own designs. Yet I keep running from the bosses above — psycho-analogs, nonverbal monitors of sensory and motor operations standing up to view the repaired wall unit, hearing you read fibrous new copy, pacing in warrior suspense, smelling something burning, watering potted moss, falling asleep. When you listen closely the analogs are meddling, nudging nearer to a verbal core, editing prose, keeping everything tidy; above that, less of a presence, there’s one or more crisis managers descended from a family of ethicists, whom Freudians describe as facets of the superego mostly whizzing by shaking a ‘finger’ up in the brain and mumbling something half-received, half-worked-out for the moment — be tiny, be warned — there are tribal icons above superego facets, and their points of view are even more fleeting, harder to perceive as they’re fossils — given up to us like paste gems and gluey blobs, deliberately dulled into falsehood with real results! 

I wear them indoors.
Defense owns — there seem — accents — these:
reticence such on put days, our
moving and light, puzzling in place
of morning winter smiles .. a chorus

Emerges which on canvas ..
noises w/ filled-in-already silence ..
Sonnet 10: We lodge now (in the presence of physics-oblivion) 
a headless pedagogue hammering out Bo Diddley —  
Sap repairing top figureheads top speed. The murder option centered more per theorem.  
 
Panning back fast to grant your audience more of yourself, your love to bear, your beauty grew  
beloved of many but tampering w/ our own thought experiments.. you love no one? Not him?  
We think not. It’s a regulatory equation = hating him =  
hating yourself feeding on non sequiturs as concepts, only a few 
sticking to what’s un-enclosed in nominal trivia to locate fresh paradox.   
 
For you change your mind repeatedly enslaving English poetry so you can be taught  
(for shame a conspiracy loved by such an impassive number, all of us.. so many..) ..
Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows 
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..  
 
Here I am as genealogies of sophists file off.  

Rebuilding our democracy requires transitive honor tied to esthetics that numb.   
 
I am the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam “I” and “am”..
My own revels and syntheses meet me halfway in assault value.
Is this a document or did I make it up? 
Erasing the new narrative,
Baseline coherence had been a standard, believably denying

Abstraction through sleights of cohesion. Then that,

Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up gut reaction
Standing far off across
Yours, just considering you

In our epoch of fakery..
That’s what I would be attempting — if I were to talk to you
Even for a second so that sleep goes away

To keep from you forever
Nothing, not a thing.
“I’ve got to get back to the city.” Why bother, Buddha imitator? Reeves is guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life. He sneaked his junk across the border just to release his frustration, verbally sneering at no place to go in a natural voice.

10/16/19

Very good, Jack. We were going over some numbers, audience shares, I mean maxims, and...
I would like to voice concern about poetry / critique spiraling out of control...

Look, I’m filling out forms by the nightstand.
The point is I’m not writing anything “garbage-y.”

Not
anymore.

Don’t be silly, Jack. You are daytime poetry.
That’s cruel, Rabbi, very cruel.
Media is clogged with a reductive, neo-fascist message... 
Trump just has to look presidential for a few minutes to emerge [..presidential]. 
Fascism stays underground for as long as it takes. Now here it is — it’s about to play nice. 

Nice or mean fascist views won’t disappear. Unamerican discourse has entered our lives. It’s commonplace in our high schools. 

The time seems backward. There is the example from frog species. Frogs lost teeth in the lower jaw at least 200 million years ago, but whoooa.. lower teeth reappeared in a marsupial tree frog species about 20 million years ago. 
Commune-wide, Kung-Fu’s math disappears like factions of perplexity —

Defining angst beats up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects — 

Internal ‘gears’ regulate caution, rushing in nauseous effects, which are natural for you, to your wordsmithy advantage,

No substitutes for new meanings have been approved. Staring into the candle you start to think, 
This is warm beeswax, hardly a domain for definitions. 
133: My strategy is sweet sleep until we wake.

Who’s calling?
Your friend is coming. Must I abandon myself? then my next self? both appear wounded players, both slaves, both to slavery?

Who can say? Twice or say thrice double crossed and, again, — it’s not enough to torture me alone —
Engrossed, I can hear my friend’s heart groan as if in jail, double crossed — pent up cruelty that’s iterative, baroque:

As if out of time Couperin sprawled with the naked around Antoinette.

But let’s be rigorous now and agree while we’re in prison I am in you. I am yours by force.

And I keep you in my heart on guard of you and for all that is in me.
A new problem set: 
Work through naïve discourse —  
 
Keep methods observable as mayhem —  
Call this ‘transactional’ waking action  
Unlocking — on sight of you — my feeling from the start, the only unmoving part.
Shopping sprees are migratory patterns. 

They get disrupted but like age and defeat they don’t let up.

10/15/19

We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. Miss you.. There you are! What’s the matter?

To explain leverage inside a more collaborative framework..  there is the physical sound of a frame along with the framework. What’s matter..

we’re adoring you reflecting our status wanting a moral politics where leverage follows its bliss

(returning to duty)..
What is known is types of metonymy. 
Outside branches of instrumental research,   
 
poetry, a subset of epistemology, entails voicing new speech from old — 

Knowitall.  
Even blindfolded, we see paradox smirching curvatures in space, observed in continuous motion: Air puffs dart away, streamlined and compressed, aiming fast — but never landing — 
 
I’m scared. Good night to catch up on a poem or two that don’t matter, unfinished odes to Zeno as we circumvent Euclidian voice commands, remaking spatial morality into chance agency, no vision, no dash, only having to know.
A nonreligion of eternal cold, a High Service
Sung along both coasts:
Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

The last nonpoem eases down 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.
76: In flight, the framework is told on telling. 
How can varsity spend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost.   
I know the frame craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new birth.
 
Fuse the way they
Continue. My argument.
More breaking news, I was 
unfriended by an intellectual property owner. You know,  
plagiarism done in loose quotes.  
It’s cold indirection (sangfroid),  
but my metabolism really took off, along  
with emotions from a huge songbook  
I’m freezing,  
 
‘quote’ watching text spin like sentience  
refined by distance; since  
it’s none of the above ‘end quote.’ This could be for you now.
Mere research reports what’s on our minds. 
Why not reflect it in text?  
Your data show one lie can never be replaced by another  
It contains.

10/14/19

Longhand example:

Anguish over a panel about reasoning and not writing anything down, angst in its emptied refraction dancing on a taillight for syntactical beings (in a sentence) on a muddy sidewalk.
So that’s one.
Variations: High cognition animating your new bankcard 
Observing very little ethical cohesion. For oomph  
The gloves come off ..   
 
Modifiers in chips note each commitment of yours on a riddle gauge, new units mutate oozing w/ data until you stop.  
 

Finish a stretch and the state gets confused.   
 
Citing a theory of state w/ universal grammar,  
Your card de-activated.
Doomsday Door A or B? Let’s start with an idea that makes us think differently about its components. If you or I have an idea to process a text or, broader, an artifact of value — a central concern subject to critical and conceptual analysis is, how does the processed result change thinking about the process? In other words, does the artifact generate inquiry into both (a) the who, how, when, why it came about and (b) the utility of its replication or adaptation into future results?
146: I’m talking to you in American. 
 
The Savior is missing. No more dying then? Not going to lie, I watched us dream economics weeding and painting over a radius, destabilizing temperaments like worms eating up the itty soul. A body loss. Looters and rhombus-gatherers, all doing well respectively — great work for rebel power, cuts straight through the soul’s restructure creating more chopping patterns to abandon as dross.   
The chips mounted as background to soundtracks muting key words. The large cost’s about time, so short a lease, epic sums on slender, empty glosses. The 21st century walkway and humane instrumentation are redone for open combat. (It might be feminists like us are on genome probation.)     
 
Is this that world’s decision theory now? Don’t know. Not going to lie. (Ideologues often get stuck on the last line.) 
I like it when pros of song dig in and flail. 
That about covers it.  
( It’s that emotional core between personal and pro.)
Becoming free is a moving and intimate aria. (Like “Summertime.”) I got joy. I got sun.  


Gotta run, pros.
Often my partner sits in a fortress, deliberately passive-aggressive like any fool.
I’m kidding. Even alone.  

In our farewell, as I see it, our descendants build a museum to spy
on
us & others. They look great — stomping out corners. That’s their

moonlight, indispensable today for smearing glows


down walls that follow a trajectory
aimed at each atom of both of us in maroon cords.
Baking is a big puzzlement of natural selection. The audience rises.
Never enough zest or sprouts. Propose a dozen synonyms.

10/13/19

So I put my name in. Just one. Am I fit for the scenario? The next one. Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. Instead of my goals, I found so much of what you say unique, but our data are adulterated. Both sexes. Barns and shrubs. You’re driving me nuts. 
The gestalt is to look and act urbanely offhand, sound normal, asymmetrically curt. 

In the change-up scenario everything is repurposed for conceptual deflation.  
Psychotropic bios in a pair are commonly diagnosed as parallel discourse stratagems.  
 
One concentrates on the next available genes that spread widely, 
Until one goes broke; summarily I am screwed. Were 
I to center on perception (whether beauty or wit), I’d sustain losses only out of
irony.
This tune’s one constant is 
 

a laptop lies naked on my chest.  
Dibs on the effect of my discourse, clammy & pink  

on the brink of aspects vanished in air.  
 

Ideas rather than ‘aspects’ conquer errors 
of the moment lost 
 

more to transports of desire — an ill that’s not  
 
an ill — a gaze upon the sun that leads precisely to a dare, 

not a death sentence.
13: Son, father, if we were ourselves
we’d bear up against cold instincts..  So
                              hard  
to put back in the valise, bare love. We pirated the code.   
 
I can’t say we do it willingly (dueling storm gusts). In honor? None! 
 
No fuller determination, love, you are no longer than your life in full.
Others like you, mere semblances, hold to a lease.  
Who lets it out says so. 
 
While you give me sweet forms of love against the fall,  
against coming death and barren winter, my love. O you
 
You know we ‘should prepare’ 
For none but ourselves eternally in love.  
Criticism “must take a wider horizon of use.” But my notes are lost, colonized with off-rhymes; my lexicon of rhetorical “skirts” wrapped around a few “legs.” 
 
Between a minimum and maximum, 
Buddha retires in expired turmoil. His daybed is in the new office alcove with murals of doves dropping out. His critique has no name; it’s all about listening.
We sometimes need fresh lexicon set for the mind-body problem, words to determine their own behavior, items like primality and cuboidal, glints of jazz, a glorious set.

10/12/19

Psalm: make me sorry with the music. 
 
Nothing is unimportant. Neither the bray of birds nor their sweet after play. Send for Fr Pierre.  
He lives in harm’s way. Sit on his face. “A pure transit of showdowns.”
’Recursive perception‘ — 
For your birthday (bleak as mine, too, fixing drinks) I came straight from the agency, this text’s agility welded to the dirty platform on which I wrote “Potential as Pretext in Recursive Perception and Inaction,” which seemed all I wanted to think of, nonambiguously. 

It was everything. All pre-happened and post-decided.
Anchored in the bay I need to remind myself 
Larry Kearney rhymed all with skull, internally. P Inman’s  
Echelon hairnet shifted putty, thumb-nailed into  
An agreement to let us in. Skull with putty.  
Urgent, dizzy, it all comes down to earth.  
 
The more you put your fingers in it, on it, on earth, you know retouches, colorations return as audible signs of evidence-based reproof to make fitter (more adhesive) decisions for correct behavior.
Sonnet 119: Software permeates adolescent philosophy. This madder hell points to asphalt perimeters, why error messages commit to wretched structures (applying fears to hopes)
:
:
building up un-manacled distraction so amor in the head is amazing, far greater, madder fever!
:
:
Some ways syzygy rounds this off in latinate — evil still made better — for amnesia’s fixed width, blessed never, rebuked to our heart’s content!
:
:
And ruined we kept losing, true, losing you .. spent, shaken tame.
Attention.

As you advance, there are four surveillance cultures from which to plagiarize a response, while materials become more complex, building on what’s been put on the record.

Is that all you’re having for dinner?

One will need a clearer message for individual agency. There’s no humor in discretion. Winin your hair makes us sick.
We can provide hacks for frenetic formality. And when you come to a three-syllable term you don’t know, you can just reference your dad’s manual to nab the one-syllable crib.
violet mist. This is a prison theme bar. 
There is evidence.  
 
Losers = worshippers of their detractors.  
 
We drink to your mistakes.
Early nesting process stuff. Ketchupy
The coast is never clear, fat boy...   
 
A whole new side to nuts & lightening bolts, narrow & hollow in the center,  
along with holding on 100% — inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper,  
clearly in the nick of it, spoiling for everyone.