Superior Temporal Sulcus

Wikipedia Poem, No. 531

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“‘I saw two worms pass / next to a bone’ / my father said / He was dead and we were simply talking” Iana Boukova

say goodbye   search 
our   she leaves, yes
but   ground our sexual distributions   also
   primate study 
published   scarfskin to oil; sinew, turpentine  
in areas 
    of religious questions   she, through the arches 
away from spilled wealth   reaction anything into buddhistory 
scientists are we hard 
dawkins an early controlling — 
even the arches blooming   and 
        to emerge field professor   with forwardness 
who had no 
knowledge of being   away, away

      — 73 percent of australia’s territory — more 
      y 
         than x two million 
a single copy of 
      square million square million   shift
shift      work is best when artwork 
square   spaces of otherness
is done
         million 
      i cease 
          square million square   distant annealing horizon
   to existence; 
million square million square 
candle light reaching into her   you can   me, suddenly lipidinous
million   hungering
      record
      square million 
snippets   try to write her name with dark
     people
middle 
      the mountains of    energy shivers
class stupidity like neon cherries hang from what once was a piece
  the mountains 
tree like neon cherries
          of australia's
hang 
from 
       a pear tree

Writing Advice: “Eschew rationality, meaning and ‘good taste’.”

roybattyex

If you find yourself unable to write, don’t write. Play with your words.

Here’s a great unplanted seed for a writing exercise: Go to your favorite website and find an article that contains a not negligible amount of text. Highlight a paragraph and the copy it to your clipboard.

I’ll do this with you. I’m going to nytimes.com. BRB:

Sunayana Dumala tried once again to enter the worship room she and her husband, Srinivas Kuchibhotla, had created in their home for daily prayers. Mr. Kuchibhotla had built an intricate wooden shrine by hand two years ago, a small sacred edifice where they would kneel each morning. Months after his death, it became a place where she would honor him.

OK, so I have my text.

Now pick a number. (I chose 3.) Go into the text an erase every X word. It’s SORT OF an arduous task, but at least your brain is spending time with the words and their meanings and connections. Then, I’m going to get rid of all the punctuation and make every letter lowercase. BRB:

sunayana dumala once again enter the room she her husband kuchibhotla had in their for daily mr kuchibhotla built an wooden shrine hand two ago a sacred edifice they would each morning after his it became place where she honor him

Now invent a form based on numbers and letters that have significance to you. If you have tarot cards they can be helpful in this step. I’ll do that. King of Coins. That features a pentagram in this deck. Five lines per stanza. The card I’ve pulled in this deck features a self-portrait of Dali restraining a leashed leopard. There’s also a gentle, prone cow in a yellow fog blowing up and out of Dali’s head. That makes me think of a certain hunter/hunted duality. A certain predictable unevenness.

I’m going to alternate my line length 5, 10, 5, 10, 5. This kind of stuff is dumb, for sure, but it just gets your brain going.

sunayana duma
la once again enter the room she 
her husband kuchi
bhotla had in their for daily mr kuchi
bhotla built an wood 

en shrine hand two a
go a sacred edifice they would each 
morning after his 
it became place where she honor him sun
ayana duma

Now move the lines around in any way you see fit. Let go of all the rules. Do something that you don’t understand. Translate some words and phrases into Italian.

la once again enter the camera she 
bhotla had in their for quotidiano mr kuchi
go a sacro altare they would each 
it became place where onora il sole

sunayana duma
her husband kuchi
bhotla built an wood 
morning after his 
ayana duma
en shrine dare due lettere

Play with it some more. Trim off the fatty, hard-to-chew bits. Smell what the rock is cooking. Don’t question yourself. Find ways to make new phrases, invent new tastes. Create meaning where there was none. Skewer meaning where there was some. Boil down all the excess, tasteless liquid. Make the phrases economic. This is for your ears and heart only, no one else’s.

la once again enters the camera she 
had in their for quotidiano mr kuchi
a sacro altare they would each 
upon it became place onora il sole

sun burnt her enemies
just as her husband mr kuchi
built a wooden mooring 
the morning after his 
second skin graft parchment
enshrined dare due lettere

That’s it. Eschew rationality, meaning and “good taste”. Don’t worry about judgment, neither from outside nor within. The exercise is just meant to get your brain good and juicy. To force you to conceptualize in weird corners of consciousness. Make the process your own. Don’t listen to teachers. Unless they’re good teachers.

When your engine is warm and you’re ready to write that big important thing that comes from someplace personal and genuine and urgent, your mind will be nimble, flexible, willing to go where it needs to go to put heart to mouth.

Muhammad Ali Jinnah

Wikipedia Poem, No. 518

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“There was a blue rug on the floor of her room, one chair, one chest, and a narrow bed. Stockings hung in the bathroom. A curious luminosity from the garden, where a lush red magnolia peeked in through an open shutter. Sometimes at dawn the gulls would come and walk busily about on her windowsills, jerking their little bodies like pigeons in sunlight. She began undressing immediately, while he murmured stray strands of information in warning tones, about the cellular panic soon to inundate the world. ‘Madness. It’s pure madness. They’ve broken the locking system which gives form to matter… My dear Esmerelda, they are about to overthrow the principle of creation itself, dissolve the lovely structured essences of nature until only chaos prevails. ‘” from “Antlers in the Treetops” by Ron Padgett and Tom Veitch

dead
   resting ice 
   daily and loved 

you sleep without words 
   will all the mottles claim 
   staying did nothing   about straying
 
without all the uncontrollable 
   head space 
   beside takeout ambulance words

will the large black supple magazines 
   sunglass in the night sun   kabloom
   swiftly he needs to know

how small is this husbandry
   in the supermodels brain of god 
   it is not dependable all this blue flailing

for medicine beef commercial value? 
   what quaint earnest wanting to survive
   as one of my ears my ass into the thought's claim

it's intensely leashed with expensive exception 
   action i couldn't have known
   how i would act in the future tense 

new paltz then as three-headed corporal air 
   perpetual tumble machine between car frame 
   & car frame the fragmentalist's dead of tiredness

Wikipedia Poem, No. 378

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“that we be returned to the faceless / attention, / the waiting and waiting for the telling sound. / Am I alone here?” from Jorie Graham’s “The Phase After History”

that last walk i
pissed a sigh
and she tickled thought

breath needs
but one last walk
piss my tail

beats twice bedsheet
breath in the dither
the third time i’m surprised

her white lashes flutter nothing lasts
walk across high-pitched europe
in heels white europe pissed away that walk

i pissed sigh
she has ticked away
from me and could be coulding

contact her into her
tail beats twice such a way
a high-pitched passport

talking gently a staccato thought out
a thought that she is boring
and better lost her breath or selfishness

Wikipedia Poem, No. 324

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“I am what I think I am. You are what / I think you are. The world is the / one thing, that will not move. It is / made of stone, round, and very ugly.” Amiri Baraka

 

detonate the alternative
off with the same
time that must be drunk

one who prays to kant
introduced into creation
knowledge must be drunk

one who wishes to be regarded as the basis
for time will that one’s commandment thirsts
one must be drunk

one who wishes to people like kant who are
merely a concept lived in the theoretical
the imperatives of any proposition must be drunk

one becomes a popular moral philosopher
and milks imperatives for their fresh universal law
kant’s expressed excrement must be drunk

one believes for those imagined
they may be obeyed
in the theoretical drinking

out with the imperatives
a universal law kant
introduces in the demon drink

god of the heathen unclean
spirit divine principle or inward
oracle drinking 0f

Wikipedia Poem, No. 276

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“To bathe in the Waters of Life, to wash off the Not Human, / I come in Self-annihilation & the grandeur of Inspiration! / … To cast off Bacon, Locke & Newton from Albion’s covering, / To take off his filthy garments, & clothe him with Imagination!” Blake

 

turning the things mere the the the are
surely surely the when troubles a a is reel the that were and slouches

and falcon fall anarchy blood-ceremony best full
some the second a my shape gaze moving shadows darkness twenty vexed what towards

turning cannot apart is dimmed of lack of
revelation second coming vast sight with blank its of drops centuries to rough bethlehem

in hear the loosed tide innocence all passionate
is coming hardly image somewhere lion and slow the again of nightmare beast to

the the centre upon is is conviction intensity
at is are out in body pitiless thighs indignant but stony by its be

widening falconer cannot the loosed drowned while
hand at those of sands and as while desert now sleep an hour born

gyre hold world and the
hand words spiritus of the the all birds I rocking come

everywhere worst
out mundi the head sun about know cradle round

desert of it at

a last

man

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