page one

"dry dock - Superlative Station"

we were on a submarine train, like a chain of sausages in a tube of jelly on our way to Tuba City Beach, AZ. how long had it taken to carve these routes?

those deep-gravity drills they had now, the zero-friction jelly they have. of course, it isn't zero friction, but close enough to boast. and our magneticity, sensitive enough to attract an iron flea off the aluminum nose of a distant dog. and our truth-detection technology, "do you love me?" "yeah." "mip-mop" "you fuckin' liar! i can't believe i gave you my virginity!" a two-head in the bench across the way was saying-saying.

"dry-dock - Storm Drain"

the two-head gets off, fuming-ignoring. the air coming in here smells wet and sugary. i feel like i am inside a piece of hard candy inside of some kid's mouth. i hate cavities, the sub-train starts moving again, 400, 500, 600, who knows how many kmh. you can get all the way around the globe in a little under 24 hours. a select person could make it in 7-10. you can stop under the Pacific Ocean, but there is nothing to do there. this is where they keep the comas and the religious zealots who pray and enjoy the feeling that the entire ocean is pushing them down to hell. when the zealots aren't praising something, they got 'em monitoring the comas, rather monitoring the machines keeping them warm.

"dry-dock - Pacific Coma Ward and Ecclesiastical Society"

a couple of mendicants in hospital scrubs hop up and disembark, smiling at the ceiling. the ocean is a lot of things. to some people it is terrifying churning chaos. to some people it is the first and final womb of man. to some it is a lover, always in the mood, always wet (sex-on-the-beach is a ménage-a-trois). to those mendicants it is all these things, and thus, a god. to comas, it must be more like being a joey in a mama kangaroo's pouch. comas wake up on their own, walk around for a few days and then go back under, sometimes they're stuffed back in. one thing about zealots, they're terrible at learning from people. shouldn't someone be interviewing these waking joeys? is there anything of value in their dreams? being a coma is something like asceticism. most people choose permanent virtual reality, which is rather passive and a waste product of the human engine. so, they thought it practical to put the ascetics and zealots together, but zealots are idiots.

"dry-dock - Western California Island of Pornographic Research"

a couple of scientists disembark, two females, one male. let me tell you something about pornography, it never hurt anyone. i don't mean the actual people in the industry, some of them were whipped to blood or had their buttholes damaged, i mean the consuming public. people got some working knowledge about the human body, maybe used it on each other with varying results. the isolation of California made it possible to paint a picture. access to the island could be controlled, pornographers identified, profiled. eventually, the industry was destroyed and then perfected and reinstated. somewhere in the virtual reality/porno reservations of Kansas, Nebraska and Dakota, a men's choir befouls the wind with a grunted melody.

"dry-dock - San Diego, Continental California"

this is our stop; the sub-train is headed for Cuba. we'll be following the coast to Tuba City Beach by land-train. i am afraid but i also feel invincible today. i wish i was traveling alone.

people who ought to be alone try to team up; that is a mistake compounded when people won't admit that their own instinct to team up was manufactured outside of their head and imported. people can't deal with the permeability of their mind. and then they are more suggestible. then they form a new team to protect them from their other team, then they turn on themselves and their entire mind is suggestions. spiders are alone, lizards, sharks. people are omnivores. the habitat of a person is the mind. a person alone has a healthier ecosystem, a person alone is a microcosm. then come suggestions; the vilest suggestion Love - Love gets into every nook and cranny and destroys the universe. the universe. the universe. the universe. there is one of them and it is you. Love destroys the universe one suggestion at a time. Love is a weed and an addiction. Love makes the world go ‘round, ceaseless, restless, tireless, ravenous.

"now arriving - Tuba City Beach, AZ"

here we are. lots of people getting off here, but luckily, thanks to Bobbin Ramses, there is no Love in Tuba City Beach, AZ or anywhere else.  

okay"okay

formal thing

Pillows in a pill box

Wet with sleep before

trust.
Get vertical.

Oils, dirges in canoes
Bunk-beards

This is a whistling horse
Justifiably so.

All over the airwaves
You hear the ghost guitars
You see the chariots drag ass

A beam of pasta
Wriggles from the eye of the sun
Angel hair scorpion tail

Buffering zodiac
Hand clap
Han-andha Cl-nd-appp-cl-aaap.ha

Old he-fur wiry
Militant not at all cute
Dubious and land-lubbing

Pragmatic starfish
Slowly consumes the entire
Bottom of the sea
Which is slowly collapsing

An animal on the phone
Is a tired beast
Tired of its beastliness
And just ugly to its health

Fixing stares
Spiral death stayers
To go one direction only
And cutting off supply of food

Stay-go, sore-asses --
!Spiny napes in war
Clobbered in the heart
With wads of mud and fist

Hirsute sculls
Complex ripples climbing
Up the walls with hooves
Clip-cl0p 134storyBldg

Opinionated ladders
to avoid completely
Vertically mute under headdress
"She" addresses cross and
Parched in a sauna

Looking to disagree
Stomach and Quiet
Looking for loops...
Eyes to run line through
To bind disparate hearts

An old man on a young river
An old woman poses in the mouth
Of a teen-aged shark
In a new part of the ocean;
A glacier has committed suicide.

A race from top to bottom
Corkscrew on a hydraulic kangaroo
A race from bottom to buried
Through spectrums of revelation
Drip, drip, drip

Closer to the magnetic core
Fear of fear of fear of fear of
But attraction/ defiant --
Foolhardy certain and fated
And gusts of keen amnesia

Eyes swimming and splashing
4 Together in a perimeter
Tumultuous ratios/scope of field
Running headlong into headlong.
Remembering what's eventual

out of white

Out. Of white
A brain full of ???s
Out of ink
More
More massless than then. That
Masslessness st-
Uck to masslessness.
You remember me, light
Lightly as ever
Buoyant on coincidental
Daydreams
A bit wetter night dreams
Is clingy tissue
But you remember me dry
Like ash
Pure as ash too
Purified
With heavy hands, seems like.
Fists tight around nothing.
And loose on the wheel
Driving away
Everything
Driving away from everything
If anything is tight
And not already
stuffed between fingers
Strength
Strength of grip
Of fingers gravity
What else?
Inconsequential breadcrumb border

But

Sitting on a fire
wants to combine

j w-c

Judgy whale-clouds, horns bend into fingers in drinks -- longwhite straws...
Gyrocational blandness. Data-pledging all night on the cold line; Hit up for shake after.
Made juice of just a bit of tusk
Male curvature of a glowing tumor
Very sanctimonious.
Girly boyy
Vegegetableble recipes for 4 oñions, a spider's stomach and forehead powder
After the shine music, splinters
And after that, fingrrtip caverns
And then, words that feed on themselves

new ommy ropes

o,,
omith old ones
u ©an†
maybe means now

rotating in to take a sweat
swat at yor head

gorillas the size of planets
on hooks in the freeze

that's yoour plan
plainly
to organize a front
against the wind?

to Eat the challengers
or maim
to maim and run
them

to orga9s a back against the wave?
is yyoyr plan?
to burn dryly
burning whatwho?

sides top bottom
against the
all against
against the
all again again again again
gallows

theyre all gone

hey hello hell

hay

hellecho

hay-hay

naïveté as weapon

against want hump

chisel a face out of thought

out-thought

children-like clouds

uf durt

who friends are

made of dancing blood

feathers

forever feathero

fatherosenseasickness

father hero eros rose sense seasickness

naturally

or coming out of dixy dust

foe ever in lock

hot got breath

sinus pressir

a slob in ruined knock knick knox

a war of clam chimp

ƒoe weather om 

road colored road

jism blankets

mixed in table cloths for guests

celebrar coxc©

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©onty\rrolll

©ontrol

©ont®ol

©on†®ol

©°n†®ol

press here

for sounds

constipatio furnotues

huxk
Ωyou odd if that was id
a violet wafy, hinging on a weird floatilla
a Ísß favorite sun
in the onion bun
a way over heat
candid repeat

Ç¥korroes, o'klok
¯¿¯ maybe your hat is missing
guns
¨Á¨ˆÁˇ‰‰‰‰
smoley face
i
$›>NYCE
nyce people with eyes that claws

people with claws that eyes don't want
below the surface of the mouth

phone hand yes?
from dream land
did you have to answer?

∆˙ÔÓÒ
hut
hot krongle
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music 4 airports

eight twenty five two thousand fourteen
i am an airplain fifteen hundred hours and forty five minutes across soon i'll be in a city by a gland a "recyclable" stamp on my forehead a pretty fox-animal blowing sweet warm wind up the back of my legs i am a digital sailor i am a lost beast i am a misplaced saint to a towering inferno that is feeding on the guts of a sacred monument whose signs were left by the deceased and never deciphered by a living person a dead tongue i am the palm of a goodbye-waving hand i am the fist of a millionaire clutching a throbbing pencil aching to burst policy onto a document. i am permanent transient blowing away at the behest of almost any mouth concealing a knife or cache of laser pills. it could be said that i am a rubric but more accurately i am the phenomenon of light filtered through diamonds, a pile of small diamonds. the amount of time required to produce a diamond and stereoscopic sensory flow. but 2-dimensional now feels more like, whether it is or not, was/will wow overlay, looks like seeing, like looking with relaxed eyes, not flexed grip at light not heavy but tight like reality is and loose like memory is... loose or insubstantial? full like sensation is, whether was or will, compelling and glisteny made of animals and desserts molded to resemble them. mad at Mars for tarrying in Cancer. mad at the salesman with the alternative pitch and the glad goose you introduced yourself to before boarding the plane. planing the board in shop class
eight twenty six two thousand fourteen sixteen hundred hours and two minutes in one plain are plan or pain in error laps in ire deep grabbing strokes hand-loads of aether, remember?
pull tire why is the cigarette bent? chemical danger in tubes at least get it straight. someone would hide face in the exaggerated flap of a 28' moth only good for exposing the deprived roots of an ornate agreement. and a dog would lead them out to the smell of gangrenous double-talk. cross streets and meaty early handshakes that seem metallic; hands intrusive paws resembling religious weapons, smiles that caw a reverberant caw across an empty urban shaft.
an echo that may be eventuality's mocking sneer bouncing off each tile each tooth like an antique piano under the cold eye of a seasoned archer PING strings pop and it is time to drink again to history, a long draw all the way, windingly, to the bottom of the shadow in the flask.
nakedly, in a glass nest a hard angular set-up for you. a place of worship if people still do that or is the glare of the mind on the back of the eye too blinding? not so much irreverence but lack of time... not so much hurriedness but an imposition of flow... not so much a lack of cool but a distortion
time place and a need for meaning when there is no need for meaning or a substituting of meaning in the place of time. if meaning could slow down or fly when you're having fun, if time could get you through a poetry reading wouldn't we all have finished school a lot sooner?
learning about changing or... being taught how to stay the same... by a corpse with a mouthpiece, a necktie and a stiff paddle. FWAP FWAP FWAP if that isn't motivation then dig a hole in the ocean and stay dry.

an almond is a lot more like a rock than a mouse is

the sun bakes
my turkey black

my friend
in a thick sweater
electric knives
in a locked cabinet
and giblets giblets giblets giblets giblets

z. when i go out
z. drowsy
z. my toes are cold
i. because i am going to die
p. too

when i sit down
in a wooden box
when they pour wine over my head
look at the bumps all over my body

do you think i am healthier for you?
what did your father say?

pieces of an orchid
cut into flexible segments
vibrating in hands.z.hands.z.hands.z.
an orchestra
or a corked corpuscle
a blunderbuss full of blouse buttons

a piglet picking up pitchforks with a pitchfork

a friend

and a rude woman golfer's divots
heavens forbid we've ice in our culottes
on such a warm day
a shrinking nimbus
a shark with an alcoholic brother
doing time for eating
the ring off a decomposing finger
in the sun
everyone was watching

E.E. Cummings

from No Thanks 1935

23
he does not have to feel because he thinks
(the thoughts of others,be it understood)
he does not have to think because he knows
(that anything bad is which you think good)

because he knows,he cannot understand
(why Jones don't pay me what he knows he owes)
because he cannot understand,he drinks
(and he drinks and he drinks and he drinks and)

not bald. (Coughs.) Two pale slippery small eyes

balanced upon one broken babypout
(pretty teeth wander into which and out
of) Live, dost Thou contain a marvel than
this death named Smith less strange?

Married and lies

afraid; aggressive and:American

Raw Thug music is like a magic baby moving through a world of the abrasive exteriors of people's walls 

so a . s w   o   ce yo  ts   i w s  felnssss
on s l  a   h w ut ru  oe  t   a     eigssss

stuff about time

Who cares what the hand of fate is doing?

For while in it, the fingers are invisible but felt ghosts

Whispering and pinching on necks

Prodding the habitual clusters in the brains

Slamming doors in the night

The arm of fate lying heavy and dead

As a bag of sand

Across my calloused hymen

These are things I will never get to remember

Branches of my self pruned

So that I may grow strong in a line

With a twist or two of free will for aesthetic sensibility

Yes, the hand of fate is the extremity of a gardener

Perhaps the clippings of you constitute dreams and death?

Moderate minister to get new colors courage

Accumulating a range of living actual laters

Strings to now vascular karmic hermitage

Open the broad side the edge the crack in the pillow

And wedge your hair in transmit via drainage

What time did in you


this road goes under the ocean
between Oakland California and Aukland New Zeland
and all roads are one road-time

in a far field...
where your car can't go-
when your shoes fall apart
you are out of time
space is antagonistic to 
industrialized rubber?

time is right here always
but we don't have to be

time is a fire and 
intelligence is its fuel

keep time 
keep time 
keep it 
keep it 
keep 
keep...
keep it where?
in a space?

out of time and into the space 
where everyone keeps their time
shards of time 
lodged in discarded hearts
evidence of new hearts 
made of local mud and plastic
and call the geo-genesis "Roots"
progress
regress
egress
digress
dysgress
congress

M

When I first noticed you and you were orange

You were so pretty

I didn’t want to look at you or notice you anymore

Or think of you or adapt to your color

 

Then the next time you were orange

You were so beautiful that it was ok

You were so beautiful

That is was safe to talk to you

And walk beside you

And that is what is beautiful about your walk

It is a creative walk

Like you are chasing life

-as opposed to the people who are running from it-

And there is nothing in your way

Because every thing that crosses your path belongs to you

Because you make these things beautiful

By regarding them

Giving them the opportunity to be beautiful

Proximity

When you are nearby, I begin to lose my mind-

which is good because the mind is a temporary fix built to be shed

When I start to shed it, it doesn’t weigh anything

Ego says our minds should feel heavy when we lay them down

Ego wants the burden of our mind to be a burden on the world

But I find the sensation to be more like smoke

Even more so like a comet’s tail.

Beauty explodes my mind

I cannot operate in my old manner when you are near

But my old manner was fear

When you are near I feel out of control

And all I can do is admit to myself over and

over again that I never had any control.

It is as if the power has gone out and, accepting,

I don’t feel inclined to try and get the lights back on ASAP.

I sit in the dark with you

I want to know what makes you smile

Because when you smile I am not afraid of anything

I try to be beautiful

Because I am allowed to be now that I am not afraid.

I thought I already knew how

I try to figure out if I was right, still not sure

It doesn’t matter

Trying to be beautiful means I am trying to be alive

sanity?

when i am around people, i feel like i have to shake them up, drag them into reality

or just avoid their spirit altogether

i feel like if we are going to coexist i will have to out-insane them

by holding up a mirror, saying every real thing in my mind out loud

i am not a fear-motivated person

and it seems rare to not be motivated by fear

and men and women are very different when motivated by something besides fear,
something like purpose

and when fear is not the motivator, men and women can be as different as can be and it is not a problem at all because they can see each other and see the usefulness of each other

but when men and women are just trying to escape their fear, they are both fighting for the same tiny tiny safe space and see each other as rivals and enemies and shit gets real bad. lovers can share the safe space for a while, but then one or the other will get extra scared and take more and the other person will just be out there afraid and alone

i dont know what can could should happen

and i don't even care

and it feels 

GOOOOOOOOOD

to not care one bit

what any of this means

it's happening

that's all

i'm already here

how to tell a bobcat from a tomcat

were you planning on revealing your plan? planning on it no; was i planning on reveling? reveling on a plane or worrying a piano? no i'm purposefully relevant. no, i'm washing the plants; wishes it was wednesday. wink if you wake up flying. walking flu so pale and worthless. weren't you pairing nests with piranhas? that wasn't the plan. when will you want to fess up? why waste revelations on plain faces? was i whistling? in patterns... in favorite poses...

Morning

saying a lot in the morning 
by staying
bells will be playing - far away

lights uncurl without warning
pockets of night
consumed in bites

flee the museum of deforming
envy and envy
charging motionlessly

fur on your cheek warming
as it were
enter the sun's foyer

sleep between storming
the water is deep
keep what you can keep