lately I have been reading (and listening) to a lot of Allen Ginsberg.
From Howl Part II:
What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
Jul 20, 07 5:34 pm ·
·
journey motifs
the expeditious expedition
had flags and colors and birds
and waves of hands
and waves of seas
they embarked with a goal to please
so listen to me sun
the Egyptians, they hailed you
Mercury, he mailed you
wings on his feet
talk about heat
thus the zanny zebra zipped with zest
past the zealous zombie
like a zephyr?
no, a zepplin
and through the fanlight
flies the fanmail
like a pigeon
with a fantail
LA's historic core started with 5 streets
Main Spring Broadway HiLL & Olive
Spring Street was called
Wall Streeet of the West
Main had hotels & train tracks,
& Broadway?
BROADWAY WAS BROADWAY!
EPIC buildings:hotels movie palaces
department stores vaudeville theaters
brick banks & train stations..
Old money families & mavericks
connected railways, real estate
@ the the Subway Terminal Building
the Red Car System Triangle Trolley
Huntington San Fernando Valley
Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
From these first 5 streets
Los Angeles burst at its seams
in all directions...
Wouldn't it be
Grand
to Hope to pick
Flowers
@ Figueroa.
The first suburbs were
Eagle Rock Angelino Heights Edendale
West Adams Eastlake Temple-Beaudry,
take it back to the original pueblo
& Olvera Street
once the 20th Century started
the former lawlessness
of the old West settled
& Cowboys found a home
in Hollywood...
Andreas sent this in to include in the Video-tecture feature, but it may be more appropriate here...
The Architects
Music: Anders/AT THE GATES
Lyrics: Tomas/Anders
Ornaments in silent darkness,
the image of man now torn from its structure
The smell of need,
the dwarfed soul of man
attuned only to flesh
suffering from frustration
Alien to our own spirits
We're naked even in death
The dawn is yet to come
to fill us with knowledge
Pulsating waves of colour,
bleeding off into the black
A whisper of red screams through the night
[Alien to our own spirits
We're naked even in death
The dawn is yet to come
to fill us with knowledge]
The architects and the flesh
[We're going down..eehharghhh.. ?
The architects and the flesh
Ornaments in silent darkness,
the image of man now torn from its structure]
I am that thing
you hate the small
things
adore the depths
of my despair you
proclaim the empty
is worthy of my time
only if you could
if you could
s e e
Four of Nine poems written for my thesis project, "Doubt, Ambiguity and Madness: A Symbolic Journey Through Moby Dick" Each poem is directed and influenced by a particular chapter (Poem title as well) and occasionally text from the chapter has been worked into the poem.
Ambergris
I reached into your decay
The color of princes and plums and
Pulled out perfume.
All this sweetness. All this beauty
Can only be a lie. Or at least not the
Truth.
Your skin is thin and pulled tight across
Your bones like Mickelangelo's translucent tent.
We drank that perfume until God himself cut us off.
Dissected laboratory cats in
Formaldehyde rooms. We were flayed like
Marsyas.
The music was that beautiful.
________________________________________________
The Sermon
Bathwater the temperature of an orphan's
Tears. Must get out soon.
Dust blown off dormant dreams.
What is the shelf life of your soul?
Must get out soon.
Penis floating. Gerricault's Medusa.
A life buoy. A coffin?
(excerpt from Psalm XXVIII)
Death, and the terrors of the grave,
Spread over me their dismal shade.
While floods of high temptations rose.
And made my sinking soul afraid.
Dreams are heavier than water.
Downward like stone fish they
Force their way under the stopper.
Rushing at first through corroded pipes.
Past frogs working miracles.
But over distance, and you can calculate this,
The pressure is reduced and reduced until
Finally somewhere on the other side of the world only
drip
drip
drip
Falling on a chinaman's forehead.
_________________________________________________
The Quadrant
Blinded by clarity.
Caravaggio's conversion on the road to Damascus.
How long was I lying there?
Lacquered Japanese sky
The beauty of relentlessness.
Ask Robespierre about that.
God's throne is splendidly unbearable.
Destiny delivered them to this fertile field
Where History grows.
This is the knuckle on God's hand
Where Valens was overwhelmed and where
The Bulghars saved Christ.
Live in and die in the glass of the smashed Quadrant.
Impotent Science.
God created man with a sneeze.
But he will not utter a sound as to where I will be tomorrow.
I will rely on these scorced eyes.
For all the fire burning in my soul will only end as
Ash.
Truth is a dog.
Even the King of Terrors carries a
White seed.
Massaged into breasts, viscous milk of life.
Linger...
As white as wool the warmest blanket is not enough.
Death's comforter.
The white seed has died. White breasts shrivel
Donatello's Mary Magdalene.
Life is vapor forming animal circus clouds.
Truth is a white dog.
Strangled to perfection and
Becoming now our messenger.
Delivering all of our lies to God.
An existential enfilade extends indefinitely down the corridors
of time, past the many doors I did not open.
Each slams shut, one by one, leaving me stranded on this pedestal
of times lost where the epitaph
among the tombs reads, “Here stands one who faced the time,
and lost.” Nothing more remains
in this lost French castle. Nothing can touch him now: for better or
worse, richer or poor, after the accusations of the twisted space
left him washed up on these strange shores, half dead, yearning
for Ithaca, but curious about the strange house on the enchanted isle.
Prospero lead the way down the allée of lindens after the rising sun
strikes a blow to the statue, and hits off a fragment of porphyry or
dislodges a crystalline eye of beryl or onyx. Beryl or onyx,
beryl or onyx incants the wash of the waves on the beach at dawn,
while the Moon sets to a flourish upon the virginals: each setting -
now here, now there, - a different angle for the scruples of the dead
prince. Think closely upon these injunctions at the magic hour, and do
not leave the house until the danger is passed: this will guarantee your
safety before the violet hour. Only then will the ships come to take away
the body, and break the spell at dawn. The hooded necromancer will
leave your gardens, haunting your sleep, disturbing the servants for
fortune of breakfast of tangerines and iced tea or jasmine wine
till the nightingale ends his song.
Jul 23, 07 3:44 am ·
·
excerpt from G (1985)
They say there is a land with no thumbs.
It is called Octal.
Pentecostal 2.
Further reaches than AGG.
And in passing (like on highways)
The Salvation Shrine of the Vernacular.
::a planar orbit still;
flat tested in a post-submission arrival of pre-processed entity data
= 45.267;23::
A fundamental lesson (multiverse first grade stuff).
The Non-Planar Orbit, (advanced studies).
The white background days are giving place to other things now.
multiverse is multivirtual
multiverse is often found in poetry squared
multiverse is also like multi verse squared, U NO
from (1984.09.12) #10: The toggle switch that executes the multiverse and cancels the universe.
from (1984.09.23 happy birthday abracadabra) #16:
Welcome aboard you movie stars of the MULTIVERSE.
from ( 1984.10.22) #34:
It is that time to design travel in/for the MULTIVERSE.
from (1984.11.21 happy birthday Quondam) #47:
Since I invented the multiverse I guess I should spend six days making it what it is.
from (1984.11.22) #50:
(i.e. the moment you are most likely to fall in either direction in2 the Multiverse)
.
.
. O souls of the Multiverse, how is that man, that creature of but a lower power of ten, one who consumes all but to produce waste: where in the bangs of TIME will the flesh of thought see with THE EYES CLEARLY?
from (1984.11.25) #52:
How fortunate to be creating myths of tomorrow a.k.a. Book of the Multiverse.
from (1984.11.26) #53:
She collects old ionographs of MV lev -(x,y) 7df5s (z) 10{rvo}: MULTIVERSE level Punic Carthage after first apogee VI settlement.
from (1984.12.29) #56:
- when you start to look at the MULTIVERSE, U C it in glimpses.
from (1984.12.29) #57:
Design the void and give it a Sachlichkeit shape. Are those roman/chinese senators/eyes-guys waiting to debate gosh the other{(s) in the MULTIVERSE}? the time goes by and the flowers came back and then the outs.
.
.
.
So there are the MULTIVERSES ** powers in U
from (1985.01.13) #66:
Two eyes and me the finder of multipeople - CITIZENS OF THE MULTIVESE Sing something, the tune's time has come.
and from (1985.03.06) #77:
Every minute is time - every time is moving - all in the same direction they say - They don't know the MULTIVERSE YET!!!!!!
There once was a guy called Old V,
Who desperately needed to pee,
The distraction was growing,
And he soon became knowing,
That from Archinect he must flee.
- by Roger Connah . from his 1998 Welcome to the Hotel Architecture.
The Science of the Singular
Rise , put poetry in the philosophy it will never become
Put Architecture into the public fear of its own future.
The Superimpositionists practice announcing themselves:
They rehearse their entrance, occupying the grand paradox
With scarcely a different credit card. Laminates, the scoff!
Merely Global Positioning Systems they carry around with them ;
But without the ocean, they read only how we cannot proceed.
A gentle Repitition . No Bucket and Spade for this.
The Superimpositionists play ball. The cricket sweaters have a
green
And violet V-neck . Trimmed. The knee pads will take thier fall in language
The T-shirts slogans will invent another biodata for Architecture's
corpse.
We must preceed, we can't proceed. We will Proceed!
Having heard it before doesn't matter. Architecture takes us
Into the Millenniel Ballroom where a dome is planned;
Architecture now has a theisis but misses the story .
In a monotone the world takes shape again and misses the
Point of its talent. Speech is slurred, then recorded.
Architecture is dyslectic , a stranger to its own theories.
The Authenticity of jargon needs the trigger to invert itself into
The Jargon of Authenticity
Only then , the Superimpositionists day , is it possible
To go for a haircut.
What ? the Barber says. A plain card this"
Christophe or Phillipe. Haircuts by Appointment at Railways
Stations
Or Air Terminals. There but for the trimming, go I .
Disclocating and then swerving form the scalp
In another wya to end the topos of heterogeneity
Gel ? Christophe interrupts.
The Topos of Heterogeneity ! That's what I said,
The Superimpositionist tries to get in on the act
Whilst Cristophe massages teh architectural skull as if
Rehearsing a sherry trifle
One of those Irreconcilables breaks in .
What now? Isn't this thie next millenium allready ?
Why all this cake and eat it undecideability?
Why can't we slip into a supplement of difference
Become artificiel and take of the rhetoric of labour itself?
Outside, the Infants have taken over,
They redefine collage
Like the quicker skaters who race with the dogs
The blood out in the cathedral piazza now dry .
That which does not exist,
Calls us slowly from the Ballroom to the Garden
Rose petals now on the plate infer the warming lamp
Tanning nature. Architecture asks, pleads, begs to become
More than an event of itself where traipsing
Room after room gives way to sequence.
Finally in the lobby we recall, one and all,
Our anthologies under our arms: You can exit any time you like
But you can never leave The Hotel Architecture.
You need only light up le cricket that belongs to the B-team
To find the coffin lid well and truly shut .
Only a little gas left , then out with this Architecture.
But who belives in it?
And no reason for anyone to do so .
The building now a labyrinth to itself;
Digital entry controls have the advantage of turning around
The Hotel so that each morning, inaware of the tilting world
The SUperimpositionists and the Parachutists
Set out from entirely different points of departure
Each morning , they begin again in a different Hotel
With time getting alittle nearer the Press COnference and
The Awards Ceremony . No one gets there but the promise
remains.
Each morning, all the architects retuning to Go
Whithout passing the swimming pool!
Oh Fortuna! World Architecture
Wondrously free from its wishfull legacy .
It is me that stutters noe, sponge dipped in neon,
Two pebbles tun and turnabout
Knocking on the window, trying to find my way
In order to stay lost.
Sod it, to the last root plunging out
The trees set up their Resistance enclaves
Polar and Beech,Elm and Birch take off
,Raybanned
Oak the General picks out a splinter
from his side, he picks it out
Flicks it Pluto's way, comes back icepopsticle
Pine commands, setting out picktooth style
agaisnt the candy sun, weak assed, far away
Its a revolution, the hares set up
intelligence units in their burrows
Bouncing gossip off their tennis racket ears
The Swiss have agreed to break out of
orbital, they have
sent their forces,
Cheese and Chocolate
to Mars. Things change,
parents were sent a note.
Its a revolution.
Pictures spit out a hoard
red eyed grinning
Leprosy amidst the tables
and didn't you know that
Office workers could jump into
their coffee brew
Sensing a change the way
you catch the flu
--On the Labial Front--
Venus pursues his girls,desiring,
,faster, thistles in his soles
Anemone-chain whispers that spring
,congregate in charm rings,
erect temples, and where he falls,
,Cratermouth, his girls petal around
Scavenging, red mouthed pulsating
the bat courting lulls of dusk,
corebound.
area
around
alienation
allows
alternatives
and
alleviates
all
action
by
bodies
bothered
by
bothering
boys
below
bellicose
brunettes
blustered
by
buttresses
canted
canned
candycanes
caressed
callused
cores
dearest
dark
days
desire
discourses
daily
Pollution
All around
Sometimes up
And sometimes down
But always around.
Pollution, are you coming to my town?
Or am I coming to yours?
We're on different buses, pollution
But we're both using petrol
Bombs.
is there no relief
winter
from freezer burned
flowers
frightful presence
fragrance
the odor black
hair
long hiding me
strings
decorate the light
morning
You wore your purple dress
I put on my dancing shoes
A night like all the rest
I didn’t have a clue
I picked you up at ten
And to a fault you were quiet
I didn’t know it then
That I was off your diet
You said you needed time to think for yourself
While all the time you're thinking ‘bout somebody else
Now I can tell by the look on your face
That someone else has taken my place
What’s his name?
What’s his name?
What’s his name?
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
It happens all the time
I love you
I love you
I like you
She's changed her mind
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
She starts to feel that way
You used to leave her
Breathless
Now you leave her with nothing to say
You never said it
Not even to this day
You made sure I read it
But you never signed your name
Now you tell your friends
How I left you in haste
But you don’t tell them
'bout this after taste
Now I can tell by the look on your face
That someone else has taken my place
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
It happens all the time
I love you
I love you
I like you
She's changed her mind
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
She starts to feel that way
You used to leave her
Breathless
Now you leave her with nothing to say
situate the sound of sunday's in the sad season
and equate them to a real life dusk and dawn dancing daydream.
lift up the concrete frame, around with
glass panes, the last shade. and crawl up the ladder
to your golden yellow god
let the diamond fall up from the ground
sharp edges, see through shirts, glowing in the dark
they waste with last nights meal for some financing
and that's all that ever grows here; nothing but the same
to your golden yellow god
the last words written
sown in big black stitches
long traced out over
birthday shoes straps
front red painted wood
pointed together in shadow
these scars formed
though movement resists
overgrown flesh
with no tenderness
Jan 28, 08 5:01 pm ·
·
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archinect poem off
create new stories
never to tell a soul the world is listening
for the time of trouble awaits those who notice
everything for nothings sake
be
begin
being
benign
in the wake of foul howlers
who, oh so always camouflaged in their confidence
truth be told i lied
often and created many a story
to veil my strongly
locked tender subjects
revealed to only
those never much interested in time
spaces controlled by operable memory platform soups
cursed yesteryear gossip gong goggles
to see
wrapped in wide smile eyes
* too bad it didn't work right. i had some concrete in that poem but archinect's system doesn't work right to use the white space
lately I have been reading (and listening) to a lot of Allen Ginsberg.
From Howl Part II:
What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
journey motifs
the expeditious expedition
had flags and colors and birds
and waves of hands
and waves of seas
they embarked with a goal to please
so listen to me sun
the Egyptians, they hailed you
Mercury, he mailed you
wings on his feet
talk about heat
thus the zanny zebra zipped with zest
past the zealous zombie
like a zephyr?
no, a zepplin
and through the fanlight
flies the fanmail
like a pigeon
with a fantail
not mine, but...
DOWNTOWN LA'S Historic Core
by MikeThePoet
LA's historic core started with 5 streets
Main Spring Broadway HiLL & Olive
Spring Street was called
Wall Streeet of the West
Main had hotels & train tracks,
& Broadway?
BROADWAY WAS BROADWAY!
EPIC buildings:hotels movie palaces
department stores vaudeville theaters
brick banks & train stations..
Old money families & mavericks
connected railways, real estate
@ the the Subway Terminal Building
the Red Car System Triangle Trolley
Huntington San Fernando Valley
Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
From these first 5 streets
Los Angeles burst at its seams
in all directions...
Wouldn't it be
Grand
to Hope to pick
Flowers
@ Figueroa.
The first suburbs were
Eagle Rock Angelino Heights Edendale
West Adams Eastlake Temple-Beaudry,
take it back to the original pueblo
& Olvera Street
once the 20th Century started
the former lawlessness
of the old West settled
& Cowboys found a home
in Hollywood...
The Architects
Music: Anders/AT THE GATES
Lyrics: Tomas/Anders
Ornaments in silent darkness,
the image of man now torn from its structure
The smell of need,
the dwarfed soul of man
attuned only to flesh
suffering from frustration
Alien to our own spirits
We're naked even in death
The dawn is yet to come
to fill us with knowledge
Pulsating waves of colour,
bleeding off into the black
A whisper of red screams through the night
[Alien to our own spirits
We're naked even in death
The dawn is yet to come
to fill us with knowledge]
The architects and the flesh
[We're going down..eehharghhh.. ?
The architects and the flesh
Ornaments in silent darkness,
the image of man now torn from its structure]
oh architecture, how I love thee...let me count the ways
vision airy
what's this in my cup I see?
why it's just a novel tea
what's that there on yonder hill?
why it's just a gallant tree
[i really suck but here goes...]
I am
I am that thing
you hate the small
things
adore the depths
of my despair you
proclaim the empty
is worthy of my time
only if you could
if you could
s e e
how dark the light
is from the bottom
Four of Nine poems written for my thesis project, "Doubt, Ambiguity and Madness: A Symbolic Journey Through Moby Dick" Each poem is directed and influenced by a particular chapter (Poem title as well) and occasionally text from the chapter has been worked into the poem.
Ambergris
I reached into your decay
The color of princes and plums and
Pulled out perfume.
All this sweetness. All this beauty
Can only be a lie. Or at least not the
Truth.
Your skin is thin and pulled tight across
Your bones like Mickelangelo's translucent tent.
We drank that perfume until God himself cut us off.
Dissected laboratory cats in
Formaldehyde rooms. We were flayed like
Marsyas.
The music was that beautiful.
________________________________________________
The Sermon
Bathwater the temperature of an orphan's
Tears. Must get out soon.
Dust blown off dormant dreams.
What is the shelf life of your soul?
Must get out soon.
Penis floating. Gerricault's Medusa.
A life buoy. A coffin?
(excerpt from Psalm XXVIII)
Death, and the terrors of the grave,
Spread over me their dismal shade.
While floods of high temptations rose.
And made my sinking soul afraid.
Dreams are heavier than water.
Downward like stone fish they
Force their way under the stopper.
Rushing at first through corroded pipes.
Past frogs working miracles.
But over distance, and you can calculate this,
The pressure is reduced and reduced until
Finally somewhere on the other side of the world only
drip
drip
drip
Falling on a chinaman's forehead.
_________________________________________________
The Quadrant
Blinded by clarity.
Caravaggio's conversion on the road to Damascus.
How long was I lying there?
Lacquered Japanese sky
The beauty of relentlessness.
Ask Robespierre about that.
God's throne is splendidly unbearable.
Destiny delivered them to this fertile field
Where History grows.
This is the knuckle on God's hand
Where Valens was overwhelmed and where
The Bulghars saved Christ.
Live in and die in the glass of the smashed Quadrant.
Impotent Science.
God created man with a sneeze.
But he will not utter a sound as to where I will be tomorrow.
I will rely on these scorced eyes.
For all the fire burning in my soul will only end as
Ash.
____________________________________________________
The Whiteness of The Whale
Truth is a dog.
Even the King of Terrors carries a
White seed.
Massaged into breasts, viscous milk of life.
Linger...
As white as wool the warmest blanket is not enough.
Death's comforter.
The white seed has died. White breasts shrivel
Donatello's Mary Magdalene.
Life is vapor forming animal circus clouds.
Truth is a white dog.
Strangled to perfection and
Becoming now our messenger.
Delivering all of our lies to God.
QR-
ginsberg never gets old.
(here goes nothing: me making a fool of myself..)
An existential enfilade extends indefinitely down the corridors
of time, past the many doors I did not open.
Each slams shut, one by one, leaving me stranded on this pedestal
of times lost where the epitaph
among the tombs reads, “Here stands one who faced the time,
and lost.” Nothing more remains
in this lost French castle. Nothing can touch him now: for better or
worse, richer or poor, after the accusations of the twisted space
left him washed up on these strange shores, half dead, yearning
for Ithaca, but curious about the strange house on the enchanted isle.
Prospero lead the way down the allée of lindens after the rising sun
strikes a blow to the statue, and hits off a fragment of porphyry or
dislodges a crystalline eye of beryl or onyx. Beryl or onyx,
beryl or onyx incants the wash of the waves on the beach at dawn,
while the Moon sets to a flourish upon the virginals: each setting -
now here, now there, - a different angle for the scruples of the dead
prince. Think closely upon these injunctions at the magic hour, and do
not leave the house until the danger is passed: this will guarantee your
safety before the violet hour. Only then will the ships come to take away
the body, and break the spell at dawn. The hooded necromancer will
leave your gardens, haunting your sleep, disturbing the servants for
fortune of breakfast of tangerines and iced tea or jasmine wine
till the nightingale ends his song.
excerpt from G (1985)
They say there is a land with no thumbs.
It is called Octal.
Pentecostal 2.
Further reaches than AGG.
And in passing (like on highways)
The Salvation Shrine of the Vernacular.
::a planar orbit still;
flat tested in a post-submission arrival of pre-processed entity data
= 45.267;23::
A fundamental lesson (multiverse first grade stuff).
The Non-Planar Orbit, (advanced studies).
The white background days are giving place to other things now.
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Ezra Pound
oh..just wait for it...towards the end
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-1052348986884545789&q=saul+williams+coded+language&total=14&start=0&num=10&so=0&type=search&plindex=4
that sh*t still gives me chills, years after first hearing it
if that gives you chills listen to ezra pound...
Concrete flows to lay waste to motion
ions orbiting, spin cool release
ease the pain burrowed in form
or move close to spy the jutting wing
in great sweeping arcs passion falls
all wings & fleshfusedbone, molten, liquified by conceit, petrified by
pride
design their cradle for them
those
concrete flows laying waste to motion
inspired by archinect &
Charles Simic, the new US poet laureate
pump pump pump pump pump
pump pump pump pump pump pump pump
pump pump pumping chicks
- Steve Garvey
in a rare incomplete state.
keys lids acid and speed
i can get you anything you need
-Gunn
...splayed like an asterisk in the dreary sentence of 14th street.
-Doughty
...Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning...
-Sandburg
seeing "multiverse" in this very thread 2 weeks ago
seeing "multiverse" in today's archinect news
multiverse is multivirtual
multiverse is often found in poetry squared
multiverse is also like multi verse squared, U NO
from (1984.09.12) #10:
The toggle switch that executes the multiverse and cancels the universe.
from (1984.09.23 happy birthday abracadabra) #16:
Welcome aboard you movie stars of the MULTIVERSE.
from ( 1984.10.22) #34:
It is that time to design travel in/for the MULTIVERSE.
from (1984.11.21 happy birthday Quondam) #47:
Since I invented the multiverse I guess I should spend six days making it what it is.
from (1984.11.22) #50:
(i.e. the moment you are most likely to fall in either direction in2 the Multiverse)
.
.
.
O souls of the Multiverse, how is that man, that creature of but a lower power of ten, one who consumes all but to produce waste: where in the bangs of TIME will the flesh of thought see with THE EYES CLEARLY?
from (1984.11.25) #52:
How fortunate to be creating myths of tomorrow a.k.a. Book of the Multiverse.
from (1984.11.26) #53:
She collects old ionographs of MV lev -(x,y) 7df5s (z) 10{rvo}: MULTIVERSE level Punic Carthage after first apogee VI settlement.
from (1984.12.29) #56:
- when you start to look at the MULTIVERSE, U C it in glimpses.
from (1984.12.29) #57:
Design the void and give it a Sachlichkeit shape. Are those roman/chinese senators/eyes-guys waiting to debate gosh the other{(s) in the MULTIVERSE}? the time goes by and the flowers came back and then the outs.
.
.
.
So there are the MULTIVERSES ** powers in U
from (1985.01.13) #66:
Two eyes and me the finder of multipeople - CITIZENS OF THE MULTIVESE Sing something, the tune's time has come.
and from (1985.03.06) #77:
Every minute is time - every time is moving - all in the same direction they say - They don't know the MULTIVERSE YET!!!!!!
only sounds like prophet tearing
Yo brindo por Rosa
La puta mas sabrosa
There once was a guy called Old V,
Who desperately needed to pee,
The distraction was growing,
And he soon became knowing,
That from Archinect he must flee.
*aaah* that's better
- by Roger Connah . from his 1998 Welcome to the Hotel Architecture.
The Science of the Singular
Rise , put poetry in the philosophy it will never become
Put Architecture into the public fear of its own future.
The Superimpositionists practice announcing themselves:
They rehearse their entrance, occupying the grand paradox
With scarcely a different credit card. Laminates, the scoff!
Merely Global Positioning Systems they carry around with them ;
But without the ocean, they read only how we cannot proceed.
A gentle Repitition . No Bucket and Spade for this.
The Superimpositionists play ball. The cricket sweaters have a
green
And violet V-neck . Trimmed. The knee pads will take thier fall in language
The T-shirts slogans will invent another biodata for Architecture's
corpse.
We must preceed, we can't proceed. We will Proceed!
Having heard it before doesn't matter. Architecture takes us
Into the Millenniel Ballroom where a dome is planned;
Architecture now has a theisis but misses the story .
In a monotone the world takes shape again and misses the
Point of its talent. Speech is slurred, then recorded.
Architecture is dyslectic , a stranger to its own theories.
The Authenticity of jargon needs the trigger to invert itself into
The Jargon of Authenticity
Only then , the Superimpositionists day , is it possible
To go for a haircut.
What ? the Barber says. A plain card this"
Christophe or Phillipe. Haircuts by Appointment at Railways
Stations
Or Air Terminals. There but for the trimming, go I .
Disclocating and then swerving form the scalp
In another wya to end the topos of heterogeneity
Gel ? Christophe interrupts.
The Topos of Heterogeneity ! That's what I said,
The Superimpositionist tries to get in on the act
Whilst Cristophe massages teh architectural skull as if
Rehearsing a sherry trifle
One of those Irreconcilables breaks in .
What now? Isn't this thie next millenium allready ?
Why all this cake and eat it undecideability?
Why can't we slip into a supplement of difference
Become artificiel and take of the rhetoric of labour itself?
Outside, the Infants have taken over,
They redefine collage
Like the quicker skaters who race with the dogs
The blood out in the cathedral piazza now dry .
That which does not exist,
Calls us slowly from the Ballroom to the Garden
Rose petals now on the plate infer the warming lamp
Tanning nature. Architecture asks, pleads, begs to become
More than an event of itself where traipsing
Room after room gives way to sequence.
Finally in the lobby we recall, one and all,
Our anthologies under our arms: You can exit any time you like
But you can never leave The Hotel Architecture.
You need only light up le cricket that belongs to the B-team
To find the coffin lid well and truly shut .
Only a little gas left , then out with this Architecture.
But who belives in it?
And no reason for anyone to do so .
The building now a labyrinth to itself;
Digital entry controls have the advantage of turning around
The Hotel so that each morning, inaware of the tilting world
The SUperimpositionists and the Parachutists
Set out from entirely different points of departure
Each morning , they begin again in a different Hotel
With time getting alittle nearer the Press COnference and
The Awards Ceremony . No one gets there but the promise
remains.
Each morning, all the architects retuning to Go
Whithout passing the swimming pool!
Oh Fortuna! World Architecture
Wondrously free from its wishfull legacy .
It is me that stutters noe, sponge dipped in neon,
Two pebbles tun and turnabout
Knocking on the window, trying to find my way
In order to stay lost.
this is from my junk emails, call it a sonnet...
dissonant Alabama chicken
nor minced dramatically
foundations sequential diabetic
Pompeii
Fortescue blunderbuss Derbyshire
proportionment pilfer furrowed
inertness tampering finalizing
rocketing
affluence repulsion terminations
expertly economy allotment
blasé lists abstracted
graying
swirled opium roundly
continual claiming teeth
wild graced subject
disparage
pattering funeral localities
welds undress peruser
reinstated chastises overhauling
apothegm
glazing buildups distinguishable
razors Prenticing Greeks
irrigated torturing Fritz
screenplay
muscles estimations intangibles
traffic susceptible Newell
precluding blow misers
worth
equity dreamy broaden shouters profusion
reliable bisques voluntary basting artistic
commune frostbite photon deserters bights
sample envious grubs profession droll
micro educational impeached
tatter stiffness mockup
photocopiers beastly Marlene
voiding
munching esquires insular
tract surrounds Neva
precipitously blotted misery
worth’s
footsteps bleacher DeMorgan
profiteer phoned Frisia
indentation synonymously Fess
rind
Watanabe psychoses stark
draftsman demythologize whistler
associates interpolations upturning
filenames
bid sonata world
haying Gates blows
committed Oderberg Battelle
jam
rebuttal indents nutrient
arsenal agree refugees
Sisyphean deals quadruple
boyfriend
costly vexing blasphemous
Majorca Konrad crossers
emigration regiments congress
obliquely
Procyon Hermite moistness
alcoholism workings publish
scholastic contributors portmanteau
beets
aviators Kline innocuously
commutativity discontinued prospector
cheerleader Missy shallow
proportion
shanties dealing consulate
turnings advisees hoarder
theoreticians emigrants Lundberg
hip
freeings sinew sates
Kamikaze morn adulterated
instigating swung Bolshoi
admitting
barnstorm learned intransitive
conjuncts dodgers quarantining
claws mounts significant
quacks
disconcert quizzed possession
gnawing interplay thrower
formalize satisfy adulating
thorns
concatenations pancake Newfoundland
envelop grandma snarl
drownings Pullman unary
Smithfield
Remy cobweb capacitor
subcultures valuable fractions
spectrograms deforest intensifier
forsaken
which gums freezers
bicarbonate cloakroom nodal
babied interlinks purity
Nguyen
ebbing relevances puncher
heat knead unavoidable
glow Shiva annoyer
twittering
dwell rehearser prunes
Hatfield kidding twirled
give shears anemometry
tulips
bitch MacMahon kings
created elicit reemphasize
concurrent noticing soul
recycle
battler Lesbian Ionian
constellations Doubleday quote
clogs mumbled singingly
queries
assertion jerseys including
clobbers destructively prepositions
carving mending screens
predominates
wrecking healthiest gayer
bluest committeewomen odder
Bates jacketed ransoms
observations
enlightened retyped rawly
horseshoe lettering usefulness
gum Slavic armload
unsurprising
i was very bored in the office and:
Sod it, to the last root plunging out
The trees set up their Resistance enclaves
Polar and Beech,Elm and Birch take off
,Raybanned
Oak the General picks out a splinter
from his side, he picks it out
Flicks it Pluto's way, comes back icepopsticle
Pine commands, setting out picktooth style
agaisnt the candy sun, weak assed, far away
Its a revolution, the hares set up
intelligence units in their burrows
Bouncing gossip off their tennis racket ears
The Swiss have agreed to break out of
orbital, they have
sent their forces,
Cheese and Chocolate
to Mars. Things change,
parents were sent a note.
Its a revolution.
Pictures spit out a hoard
red eyed grinning
Leprosy amidst the tables
and didn't you know that
Office workers could jump into
their coffee brew
Sensing a change the way
you catch the flu
--On the Labial Front--
Venus pursues his girls,desiring,
,faster, thistles in his soles
Anemone-chain whispers that spring
,congregate in charm rings,
erect temples, and where he falls,
,Cratermouth, his girls petal around
Scavenging, red mouthed pulsating
the bat courting lulls of dusk,
corebound.
i am Icarus decending
ruminating
but not at all confused
i am a russian doll
containing ten thousand lives
each of decreasing size
take me back to Virginia
the soft rain
the leaves as soft as skin
to myself soft and low
i will hum
songs i have always known
30 seconds to find you
area
around
alienation
allows
alternatives
and
alleviates
all
action
by
bodies
bothered
by
bothering
boys
below
bellicose
brunettes
blustered
by
buttresses
canted
canned
candycanes
caressed
callused
cores
dearest
dark
days
desire
discourses
daily
what a missing piece
Elemental
Green, Blue and Red
I die and then float away...
Where to, who knows?
I can guess but will answer incorrectly.
Purple
Royal color. Worn by man.
Worm-like over your skin.
Nature-Nurture. Once upon a time.
Built
The Earth. Consciousness, a building.
All require a foundation.
Even if it is built of sand...
Pollution
All around
Sometimes up
And sometimes down
But always around.
Pollution, are you coming to my town?
Or am I coming to yours?
We're on different buses, pollution
But we're both using petrol
Bombs.
Pollution (BOMB) - by Ben Elton
I build,
but someday hope to actually create,
and in that eventual manifestation of the dream
I will have ruined it.
All ideas are linked to the self,
physical form compromises the best of memeories.
forbidden colors
colorless
our conversations
u-turned in rear-view
mirrors together
reflecting absence stares
knowing not other's otherness
tone deaf speakers hear
nothing delivered from
microphone whispers
blank pages turn
words long embraced
under your arm
traced in black
forbidden are images
without color
code unknown
is there no relief
winter
from freezer burned
flowers
frightful presence
fragrance
the odor black
hair
long hiding me
strings
decorate the light
morning
okay here goes:
You wore your purple dress
I put on my dancing shoes
A night like all the rest
I didn’t have a clue
I picked you up at ten
And to a fault you were quiet
I didn’t know it then
That I was off your diet
You said you needed time to think for yourself
While all the time you're thinking ‘bout somebody else
Now I can tell by the look on your face
That someone else has taken my place
What’s his name?
What’s his name?
What’s his name?
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
It happens all the time
I love you
I love you
I like you
She's changed her mind
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
She starts to feel that way
You used to leave her
Breathless
Now you leave her with nothing to say
You never said it
Not even to this day
You made sure I read it
But you never signed your name
Now you tell your friends
How I left you in haste
But you don’t tell them
'bout this after taste
Now I can tell by the look on your face
That someone else has taken my place
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
It happens all the time
I love you
I love you
I like you
She's changed her mind
Restless
[Restless, Restless]
She starts to feel that way
You used to leave her
Breathless
Now you leave her with nothing to say
i'm speechless after hearing George Watsky at greenbuild slam his poem 'carry the one' - the first poem here ...
situate the sound of sunday's in the sad season
and equate them to a real life dusk and dawn dancing daydream.
lift up the concrete frame, around with
glass panes, the last shade. and crawl up the ladder
to your golden yellow god
let the diamond fall up from the ground
sharp edges, see through shirts, glowing in the dark
they waste with last nights meal for some financing
and that's all that ever grows here; nothing but the same
to your golden yellow god
no strays
right, stray cat
don't deviate-nor-elevate position
right, note-to-self delete time add-history-wait
all-the-while spent wandering no-mystery-heretofore now
right, no goodbye follow-up day-dreams cover-story
forty-days-to-night passenger stage-set-up participant
right, slight-of-hand knacker-knockers-know-no-boundaries maskeder-chief light-bright-fantasy-sign dim-down-dumbers
left, smacks-the-hand keyboarding-write slender-hand-body blur-flurry-fury beauty you are now-never-to-do much
left, me-wait-me-for arrange to cow-tied-tongue brush
little-to-know less-year-than-now toward imposed silence
left, look-stare-character-translate knowledge
never understood-stand-place closeness
left, here
super spleen
the last words written
sown in big black stitches
long traced out over
birthday shoes straps
front red painted wood
pointed together in shadow
these scars formed
though movement resists
overgrown flesh
with no tenderness
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