listen, monster, i’m here to remind you the ruby drunk caught in your throat demands a buck fifty for the downtown 1 white shoe slip-resistant rubber sole the plan
this Philosophy smells of studded club soda dark liquor hidden deep in books template matching over styx russian sub ice cream necropolis kicks filthy nooks
oh no i hope it’s not true i’m attached to the colors posing at piss station so unsophisticated my tenses fall to the floor i’ve missed my choo choo
you don’t deserve a narrative monster all you get: a spare admission of form
like a dog like a man who can’t decide whether to use the pronoun him or it dog who’s spoiled interior design three heads one asshole no one to love it
michel foucault would have been an iphone man bald bitmoji man he would have sucked off zuck in the castro like a real man unable to look anywhere but in
retrospect is fabulism is a surrealist koan yodeled from buckling knees in a space station manned by paranoid belted purple unfathomable beasts
ignorant to our own intricate dance i am not a love song i‘m a baked yam
“My word / Hand caught in the door / Stuck tight old boy stuck tight”
‘Safety Lock’ by Louis Aragon
My word Hand caught in the door Stuck tight old boy stuck tight In other words Or The password please Many thanks Now I hold the key The bolt begins to twist like a tongue Therefore
Trans. Michael Benedikt
Source: Aragon, Louis. “Safety Lock.”The Poetry of Surrealism, edited by Michael Benedikt. Boston: Little, Brown and Co, 1974, p. 151.
Photo: Gerace, Joe. “Stuck Tight Old Boy Stuck Tight” Nov. 14, 2020. JPG.
to all decurved contract workers both boy and girl please note we offer a paltry 401(k) cancer herpes kind-hearted flechette america the corporation complain the complaint liable to get nations flayed guilty imagination unspoiling brood parasite munitions nesting in an oval in a pit lazy dog iron heart suddenly unleashed starving detonating undetonating detonating ad nauseam decorated celebrated soft fleshy middle managers break’s over! tumbling from a cloud
in his girlfriend he presumes he can’t smell her roses he can’t smell her boots expensive watches arrange purple chrysanthemums in the dark it’s nobody’s job
in time antoni sneaks off around lungs monteverde vecchio even when he’s locked away the value of a dollar
even when he locked away the dark it’s nobody’s job
see his
girlfriend arranging purple
chrysanthemums
it’s nobody’s job to arrange these boots and expensive watches purple chrysanthemums
the time sneaks off in his long black hair he is dead
sergio buys handmade leaf smoke voiding his boys
he presumes he can’t smell her roses in the dark it’s nobody’s job to see his girlfriend he presumes he can’t smell her roses so he presumes he can’t smell her beauty even when he’s locked in the dark it’s nobody’s job
the picturewomen that brought the fair says the flare of mysterious sun nests in blood. the same age i waited for you in the girls we could break into goodness. like as in loved. asleep. you die. no sun in roots and whiskey and seems fair though therfucking the place up, tangled in a ghost—hieroglyphics i dream of spider blood. like love, with its finger on the bar, i dream of you at scale, just a kid, really, laughing in place. tangled in a ghost—hieroglyphics i come to understand the girls we made you soak in barnight. i come to nests of you instead. i say lookout with its clear finger. what’s new? drugs wet with clear-air always sitting in nests of mysterious spiderstands they’re sitting out fucking you with stars. nest of mysterious sun. the girls we loved. asleep. you instead say, stay, i look for you, you, you in rootblood. the fair thought-fish, painted-ghost—hieroglyphic dream of mysterious sun in rootblood. the fucking on and ever clutch a dream like love ever asleep. you in roots and nest of sun in roots and place, tangled-in, but older. the same eventualities, laughing off of my fucking stars. i come to the coast, no one’s i light say, i drown in roots and instead, instead, instead. i stood lookout with tears. i come to understand blood. loved. asleep. you instead. i theater the barstool look for you where no sun in the blue-black sea they’re impossibly large spiders. i say, i dream of a mysterious man in a good mood. through the nests of wet fingers clutch the bar rag covers neon clutch at midnight, i look for yourself. good. the blue-black thigh, terror fingers the bible like a ghost—hieroglyphic dreams of tears’ stars. nests of example; eventually the fucking stars. the ripping of an abandoned highway, i dream of oscillating black preserved in some anonymous monkey’s heart, drown in neon; came on eventually, flicked really, laugh—they’re just stars on a path. flare of mysterious roots now love asleep—you, subsumed by coast.
“That the paper of record could print such mendacious rubbish is a telling symptom of the ideological sickness of our time. The widespread collapse of journalistic standards in the United States is a part of a general and rapid deterioration of thought, language and, above all, cultural and historical memory.” The New Criterion
myself and the picture is dead not passed into something about their machen mōgen mache knife something i remain facted about that truck outside our home the purpose gruesome videos taught me something we’re next her and her dam; breaking life i am this transition she worlds sometimes with force
“Her friends have given her a toaster, which she shows off gratefully.” Laurent Binet
her dam; breast empathy it was to know i don’t fear death not passed into or through the neck bone someone else’s in college myself and picture her mouth and blood tissue i will remind me by opening traffic to ascertain remain remarkable to beat empathy remarkable to the exact degree of a mid sized sedan in slow mo
“It was unsafe to meddle with the corpses and ghosts of these creatures. A sort of generic or Pantheistic vitality seemed to lurk in their very joints and bones, after what might be called the individual life had departed.” Herman Melville
coriolis force something told anyone before she will remain remarkable to sometimes i for a dam; breath something teach me some videos taught me / by the asked to ascertain unkempt her hand she is death failing traffic to sometimes i force myself and my wife to take the asked to ascertain such remarkable scale
“He said I was fooling I am not a tree and he dropped his leaves.” Russell Edson
annie besant
you
motherfuckers
should see my notebooks re-
surrealismo
a word near athens
admit your
feelings high
above
new
york
women
begin new
reign of terror olly
found this among theosophy bathing in paint thinner
invite the unknown he was crying
and so
i cried
and
i cried
and so i cried
she's getting thinner watch it
