Di

Evidentiary research remarks facility in

Take 2:
Snap slickened slice, black pryex cannisters
schlop and shred we read that theremin sound

Racks of tracked and marked masks mill and
twist correlated with arcs and signs
symbols denoting, through complex combination,

the particular shade of leather I can cut from you
the parabola of your folded knee
the bezier surface denoting the subtle deformation of
the crest of your right cheekbone

INBRED basilisk chimeraize in clades, folding inward
exacting fixed precision contortions with cropped
catalysts

ACT in short stutters: GAC,
TAG (you are it for this small body)
CAT(aclysm for thistledown thrumming slowly away)
don't overexert

stripped of body of late I crisp slickly, wet ash
corroborating the snowy descriptions, soaked in a liter
of my favorite vodka

Sequence

Thoroughly and one and two. Faster still there sneaking under helix and
small tributaries aggregating to unsimulated sun-splash

Were simple clusterings folded again? I repeat myself
Were smple clusterings folded again? I have forgotten

Tracked and folded and flashed, hashed, pyrogenetic blast
darwin whipped to flame on the operating table of blender and bug eyed
microscope-ing igor accruing more and folding it blast by blast
under the hood of the thousands and crackling with current lets
big blue deeply drive and pass the splices paste the pieces brightly
back to one

Tin and Trouble

There is thin track wickering lines through city.
Lines through cracking stacking thorn and stumble
once upon once upon once the thin track wickering
and slack track slips and trips fast

A bad poem

Gold spun the Logrus and slipping tripped its lines.
Fashioned pattern pallid points the last sweet tracks
on carotid stunts and making mast the last of new and
moored the making placing pacing drakes to orbit none.

Freeman fashioned most unabashed marking mix with labelled tongue
undermining fortune finding fastened by the clattered strum
last and most the practiced post makes mastered augury undone.

I am cordial ever more and making last the past must be.

By Appointment Only

Yesterday I clapped my hand around the air and
summoned a new sound

Yesterday I crisped the edge of my thumb with match-flame

Yesterday, it was a sullen saturday with all its
marbled sunlight cracking on the faults of my
eye-glasses, I noticed that when the tip of my
tongue touched my taught lip, it made the hum
of a deep reed and smelled like nothing I have known

With the rattle planet

Might you once machine, once machine and crack filament
once machine and crack filament on longitude and latitude
crack filament on fistule and firmament, crack
Apositive.

Haphazard

God Save us! And there is nothing. Drifting we can lose ourselves again. I have loved you. Warbled tongues slowly mutate, grotesque grow until slowing low the sweet refrain once more. I have loved you. Carrion, Morrigan sings and angling most marvelous she smarts the whole host. She classes them with giants and leaves their bones for glue. Fomorian, from me to you. Let us gather up a great host of gaurdian demons to ravage her. Let us cower beneath hedges and hollow barrow graves and soon someday there is another dream of forever and a day. Let us take that dream and, Fomorian, bring their bones to the boneyard where they will whiten and dry.

Mad Jennie

Foreign light marbles her brown stare
In stumble-upon fashion I cluster my fingers
and run them
un-confounded moles tunneling through the mass
her clumped hair

Foreign to mass, shifted cobs and webs locking
where there are dark crops, their curious
same-style seams, coded at every level
and farm fashion
mollifies simple hares in finger form thumping
the coarse ground by her seat on the
crop circle's curve

Shadeways slip down corn alleys and in their
recesses a cat eye cuts the darkness with a
glint - ominous, as her favored mouse glances,
doubts, and is devoured

Cardiff

Milestones on the water, a lily pond pasture for the last coastline

A causeway of whales warbling out on oil slick sea

Damn you, fisherman.  I have stepped from stone to stone on

alder bristled mountain and loved no others but you and yet.

Across the water slipshapes stumble in the waves, bearing

in their bodies the secret of your first and only name.

Cancel my subscription, please

guardlines linked, chink by kinked chink crossing
clutched in gordian splendor, convex code-spiders crawl

link by link

crackback, somatose, the crisp green's gone slack, down tracks
we've walked before infrequent. cashackle, don't fall

more THAN forceps slink, dArkened, to where we prop pluto
and adumbraTe tOrpid ogreS curled in root knot
beneath the calloused tree's many million cancered rhizomes
stretching frenetic for mortuary funds and falling forms
overcome from shatreem, follow now, follow, watch un
crass and martyr slums folding and cracking weakening

link by link

Foil and Fire

Uncurl, shifted crennelate, spark-plug passion 

glowing again.  

Drive, the shaft smooths then cracks, the submerged

piston presses and sheets fold and flutter in

Crack-ed far below the kraken stirs.  An ebon 

fault line filled with suck-stud arms.

Matched with doubled turns, tracks melt

un garden. Four slipped.  Four fell.

Seven Fly the wicked track

Mastered in baram, eng, end, valence swinging moreover

I am another

and again

Show fist and feather, fastened fascinated swift engorgers

pass the sweet dram, drag, carnal lasting on

Core

Myriad in angelsus orestes cave canem I argue with several tongues

with worm-wash and argentium, agni lifted on a silken hammock 

Where?

Latch and frame, the skeleton longitudinally inclined.  Slick trimmings

lined, lined again.  Dha Tri Cathair Cuig.  Ontologically

Jasper

Ideally.

Marked with indifference and aplomb.

Marked with arkadian drifts.

Where the snow lies against dried buttresses of salt.

Marked with indfference and aplomb, ideally.

Goldenrod

In orbits there the skies.  One deep circumference slimming

to tracked silver filigree.  And there the skies shifting again.

One moment ago, I distracted a simpleton with a song of fish and falling mana.

Fremen folds, cloaks and dry trenches washed with wind.  Wicked Crafter,

cut me another fletched bolt, another etched plate.  Blood and silicon.

One moment ago, I caught hold of the cold and gave it to her curled body.

Mild Mistress

Washing back again our last drink of fanned flame.  Fortune was silk.  Something fastened under missive silt.  This writ on wandering spreads.  Understone.  Fasten eight. Long lines stretched, stacked, sliding or stinging or striding on fan deck.  Understone.  Old age marble, ash, pyrite and black glass, the smell of sulphur.  On dream scans of tension, lines fastened.  

Thud-un-thud fall.  During sold seconds.  Paid in portions of kashmir and leather.

Fold-under.  Fasten eight cracked padlock.  

Murmur summing fortune and filling fantastic.  Laurence on smooth sand.  Laurence

on shifting sand.  Laurence leather in his hand his back his shift-smoothed back crested

with welts and shivered with sweat and shimmered heat and where, Laurence?  Murmur

more

Track-ant-ack.  Fastidious.  Under marbled skies an glare glints and glooms.  Fold it.  Fold it 

again.

Borderlines

hedges drawn drim-dram latchings for latchings for arm ram trim trostles

failed follow. Wold and dram.  dragging dim dober... dana  falling fast and

one slip

For nothing there is nothing, for nothing there is nothing.  Thrax, latch drips

down then slant summarily smoothing shortened seemings. argue again this

dripsss

Older Things Than These

Cold and color.  My thoughts murmured over each syllable as I wrote them.  Cold and color, the color of my breath on the cold air - not white, but pale blues and greys and little glints of green.  The cold of arctic air slurring my breath and slowing my tongue.  I wrote cold verses on the brittle breadth of my parchment.  I got tired, after a while, and stared through the growing patterns of ghostlight on the edges of my vision.  The darkness crystallized slowly at my eye-edge.  Slowly creeping, the eddies of blur and black shift inward.  Unme.  Later, I discovered that though blind I lived.  Some slow scratch of pencil on paper caught at the edges of my creaking mind.  My hand.  With seeping terror I moved my left to my right.  I crept my leathered gloves, stiff in frost, up from the still moving pencil grip, above the numbed wrist, higher, and in a blur to the raw flesh and bone, the point of frozen severance where my still writing hand lay disconnected.  In the dark I folded slowly, my shock completing the numb, my numb smoothing my broken skin, my broken skin bunching again to dark crevices of perfect pain into which great swathes of me sank - pieces I could not reclaim.  

Crass and cormarine: these colors fade and

shift with age.  Folded likely ways and made

to break bask with early rays, plays of sun

undone

Cormorant and creme: my recipe, unloaded

drunk daft formulaically impressed

under sweet slopings

sweet slopings

called again.

Grasp

Along chosen paths rifled winds 

turbulesce echoingly

draftways lunged up among

draped laundry

lingerie disturbed in the press of air knot numbulance 

The crisped edges of an over-pressed pant leg grate

on raw brick

Caol Illa

Knock-tooth, the guardian of the gate languid, perhaps couchant
His marbled thighs shift in the shade-play under flapped flags
flagging mortems license postulant. Knock-tooth, unperturbed

Halsted & Diversey

Muffled untroubled torrents trip the lights
red red green
and now washing away in stunted streams
rolled lines laughing darkly
the sky dreams a snarl of morning
foliage flimsy and for small stutters of
brack breath: the last winds foiled
in the crush of the streets

Core lines

Filing in, filling shacked, blacked, bordered with marks of marble
long rolling laterals, shifted slowly. Arched tension, bridges of
cut iron ten thousand degrees of rotation, torque, flimsy things on

Arbiter, what is this you shout so sonorously. Ponderous. Plodding.

Snipped under lines of sturgeon. Snipped under cannon fire. The sharp
rat tat of flipping wire. Boatswain, what have you done?

Lance the soil. The lot sings tar songs. slow night murmurs
Gwen, vivacious warbles with it smoothing now slowing
sweet orbits arranged in strides the length of cannon echoes
repeated in tongues; a round.
Table that thought, mixed into new nones. Final fright and lost
How cannily he sings, his tongue locked in step with the evening
shivering outward her tune tasks the air where once solemn
ministers rounded. Carmine and Leather. Softly now.
Dearest neck, why do you fade so pale

last dream of gordian

Draftlines slink, urban sounds raftering from undone dream through lashes
still twined with sleep / I am waiting with storied slenderlings laxing broadly
folded in curved articles of string

Foundry smoke drifts under, Lasts for more, colder, whisped smoothly in
flimsy rhizomes. warbled, a soot robin. marked overland limping /She
orders from the side menu when they look over quiet strands

Grasp thin spinarettes between warped

For some slipped drinks

Snapdragon.

She called to me across the in

On the backwash I buzzed, rifled

Cordelion dreams. A dandelion stretched
in rifled roughland

Where in dreaming do stretched roughlands
snap

She called to me under

Well, I've been away for quite some time but it seems as if I can't quite shake the writing bug. I guess this means I'll be resuming blog posts. Sorry to all for the long hiatus; it was mostly caused by being busy and settling into a work routine. I'm as settled as I'm going to get so I'll be seeing you around in the coming weeks.

Ciao,

Rory

Return

Orbits fast and slimming slash their darkened paths through brightsky scopes.

Lifting they correlate, laughing they perpetuate annotate thistledown bows of snow.

Warbled once, this song I am always singing.

More

Lorries. Method under some draught. Laxidaisy. Folding wantings.
I am not quite sure where you are going.

Funnel fast, lifted and stacked into dr
if tunnels sung under lapsed shards
morbid and mentally indulged, flame-broiled

Garden drank fast and lifted up its foundry

Fortune fins, lapsed martin, minked
dunes of latitude
for many years we have marked superposition
I
Suppose landing. Suppose finned morbidity.

Fish shapes torque.

There is twisted sanguinity and darkly undercores drip.

Fantastic as mortuary stones. Stones which once held manifest
Artisans shape, shifting hands slicken the surface, face facsimile
Laft, Laft again with cracked carbon lace, with diamond drapes
argonauts lisping up to treasure. Frau Frau. Addendums, orbits.

Fundament, if this is a

one old dog

Crave in slink systems. Shrieked. Crested. The Wold simpers under.

chair, table, lamp

Fuck this, I can't seem to write poems write now

Tonight I wrote Ten Poems

I wrote ten poems because none of them were quite right.

Eventually, I didn't want them to be.

Carefully he placed the nail against the cool ceramic. His coffee cup clattered.

With a hammer he hit his hand hard.

With a hammer he hit his hand hard.

Later, he sipped his coffee. His fingers trembling satisfactorily.

slippage

My foot hurt all of yesterday, but I didn't tell anyone.

I wanted to tell them today.

I had a glass of wine, and brought my guitar upstairs

Where I played it for some time, quietly. It was late at night, you see.

Slowly time passed.

Afterwards, I could not remember when the slick tips of my fingers had cracked
the last of their callouses. The long wear sheared them down till I could
feel the strings hum to the bone.

marbles

there is a red one.

a perched oscine

keystop.

fillings cracked again.

clatter.

Sorry sir, we'll have to drill.



Yes sir, rest, the nurse will be with you shortly.

These are hard prompts

Write a lo-fi poem.

write a vintage poem

Write a trip-hop poem.

Write a poem that splinters and fractures.

Write a painfully shy poem.

Write a MadLib poem.

Write an apprehensive poem.

Write a poem that deals with modern issues in antiquated language or style.
Alternatively, write a poem that deals with old/antiquated material with very
modern language or style.

Write a splintered poem.

write a poem that never takes an easy path.

write a skint poem

write a poem that is "the opposite of poetry".

write a "background" poem or a poem that doesn't call attention to itself.

I am tired of writing poems

I am tired of writing poems.

I am tired of corrupted snarls of cold language, writhed into aphasia, morbidly meaningful.

O

Mandate:

I have constructed for you a quotidian structure. Liftlike, shiftily, you kite with me.

I have established this labyrinth and from it extrapolate the universe. Boldly I impose upon you.

a long draft slips formidably down God's thorax.

Narrow. Window. Frames.

With sweet languor smoke unfurls; unsteady ground slips flatly. Here an open grave bears jeweled fruit amidst musk. Slow maggots make a morbid groan down the esophagus of the for now exeunt.

Fox-prints scatter the snow, a red brush uncurls leaving embers of fur coiled amidst the white.

Warble unrounded, fissures of tongue, mountains of marbled tension, Davidic intensity.

In the cracked fields of Carthage, young wolves fondly sing "ring around the rosy"

Narrow Window Frames

Languid smoulder, shifty slant.
Under-guarded. Groaning unfinally.

Craftily, Cleverly, think and uncurl slowly.

Warble unrounded, fissures of tongue, mountains
of marbled tension, Davidic intensity.

Salted, fondled roundly under the corner of another

By Joseph Berger

When he has heard Stanley Kowaiski bellow "Stella!" over the years in assorted productions of "A
Streetcar Named Desire," Tom Oppenheim has wondered whether Tennessee Williams chose the name as an insider's bouquet to Mr. Oppenheim's grandmother Stella Adler, the teacher who instructed the definitive Stanley, Marlon Brando, in her version of the Method.

wn e s hrd Stnley Koaiski bo "Sta!" ovr th years in ase prductions of "Stretcr Nam Desire," T Oppeneim has ondd whhr Tennesee William chos th nme s a insidr's buque to Mr. ppei's grndmohr Stl Adlr, teacher who insructd h definiiv Stey, Ml Brado, in h versin of Method.

A Love Poem

In Arlington, sleepless, a fetid Mortimer, grasp-ing
license as "Baffled in Inquiry" with a screen-stammer
of Times New Roman fluttered to AIM, out-mouthed, "For
you, my darling, I would be blocked forever"

This notion would haunt him, years later. And from
his stretched vocal's reproduce this, a curdled splash of senti-
ment, yet curving around the edges in the

crass

currency of the lymphoma carefully confining him to the
edges of his hospital bed. His heart crusted the web with its
languishments, trying to find her screen name again.

Vexed with wittled stone

Stonrever. Last of the limpet springs.

Oubliet, antagonism in the shape of a wilted tongue.

Graftily situated.

Moreover, upon clinical analysis we find whisper ways
of rhythm undermining listed drifts. Impotently exorcised.

Beri-beri wasn't all that bad

Mothballs, Marbles, Long Necked Nags, A roll of duct tape, black ink

Adjourned on all sides

liltstuck. Staccatoed. Pigeon Toed underincentive.

Abdicated libidanide, cyanide, striveways, driveways.

Domestically we unwrap

each careful word lingering along n-heptane links strains pitches. Sound-spider

will weave a dream-catcher into a thick rhizome, strictly spreading its Orwells until Graphically we are all kept

Fashioned with my clattering hand

Corpulescent tumbles. Visceral probings. Insectlike your long probiscus stretches
the eternities to my trembling centerpiece. Hum, sizzle internals, vacuum tubes en-
raptured orbiting long ellipses, electron snarls. Dribble up, slick percolation, the dra-
gnet gnat fleshing in marbled mysticism. This is the sphere. This is the deep sight.
Furtive, spasmodic, lifted crispings. Riven, mystic slips. I am warped into these long
drechways. Folded coded, drammed. Obelisk to my topography. Tabbed into the
slick structures under which my dark machine rumbles slowly into buzzlife. Fortunate
in ascii aesthetic. Graft algorithmically. Grip slip. Annotated limberings spark on many
screens.

Thrashling Borders

Wiftracks.

Leven bread basked.

Shiftly we more. Shiftly we masticulate, wastrel wimpers.
Formidable lashings. Inverted lengths.

Tell me this: were you ever once without that dramiat?

Arrow lines lip. Slip lifted. Here sit we, waiting. Ford.
Drive to the baskway, shift back ward things down.
Leftly, miserate, canine crisping. Wait slowly and be well.

To Zachris: Landing

Landing

I look out over the dark stillness of hte lake as I do every night. Above me the stars sit, stagnant again. Over the smoldering of Mt. Perun, I watch the electric lights of the landing field waiting, like me, for space-time to fall. Waiting, in their electric way, for you.

You are late, Zachris. You are always late, but this is the longest it has been. I hear from you so seldom, even over the transmitter. Faster than light travel, you say, makes keeping in touch almost impossible but I wonder if you are not, perhaps, escaping me. I try to keep in the same time-line as you, going to the spinners to keep myself young, losing so much time wandering through relative space, doing research. Still, it doesn't help; nothing is perfect. You come back, as you sometimes do, and I find we have aged slightly differently. Your birthday has moved a few months, you are a year older than I expected; these things are difficult for us.
I throw stones across the water as I wait, watch them eventually fall. Some skip more than ten times before they sink.

The sky brightens, distracting me - your ship finally coming down. It plummets too quickly. I see the signal tower flash as your course changes, watch the waves crest and break over the bow of your ship in its fierce surface violation. Already, I am running to the evac-mech, thanking the stars for the training, for the watch. The metal of the suit closes its cold energy about me. I dive into the water, my body braced. I dive to your ship. My sheathed fingers claw the ash from your sarcophagus. I find hte seam then, grab the lock on it and swim upward with sweeping strokes. Urgent sounds are blaring in my head, sounds that mean you might be dying or are dead. The sirens pummel my ears with the dying sound, the wail. I pull your finned sarcophagus to the surface. It parts the waters, leaves its dark wake. A word play shifts unbidden through my head, and I contemplate the cruelty of gallows humor.

The waves of my passing break against the shore at the Dover slate mill. I leap, my mechanical self lifting high out of the water to the land. With metal sheathed fingers I tear at the seam. I tear open your sarcophagus and watch it spit you forth, watch your screaming face, the agony of new oxygen in your lungs.

Later, I love you, shudder with pleasure as I grip the place where your shoulder has grown a hump of hard metal and soft flesh, the place where the computer supplements the self. You stand, and I watch you hunch your back, and cradle your arm, touch the metal of your fingers, the fingers that had once been perfect, been pure flesh. I cry, watching you shiver, your back hunched over your deformity (hunched with your deformity). I too shiver, naked against the night, my back cold where it rests on the feet of hte machine which had saved your life.

"I am done with the stars," you say after some time. I sit silent, hiding my cautious pleasure, letting you think out loud. "I miss the smell of earth, of growing things." After a time you continue, "We can still work for the smeltery. The botany lab is open, and I can work metal to earn our keep."

"Yes, Zachris. It will be good to have you here." I caress the evac-mech's corrugated toe, and lean back into the softness of the lakeshore. Sleep envelopes us, sleep and the warmth of a past day's dawn, still trapped in the sand by the dark water lapping.

* * *

There are days we lounge in our gardens. Your skin is rough from the heat of the metal; the steel of your fingertips sometimes glows as you twist and shape the brilliant ore. The hair of your chest gradually bleaches blonde from the long days in the sun.

"Zachris," I savor the sound. these are good days, where you work the sheets of metal into fine tools, and we grow such things in our garden. The Daude machine cackles as it brings metal up from the earth; its swift pistons and clattering tracks provide a rhythm for our hours of work. Our world is one of music and rhythm, the smell of growing things, and the smell of heated metal.

Dark Matter

So, I've been working on this sci-fi short story loosely based on a few of Aase Berg's poems from her book Materia Mork, which one of my professors translated in the collection Remainland. It's called To Zachris and over the next few weeks I'll be making occasional To Zachris posts (subtitled according to the section). Anyway, comments would be appreciated since I'm much less confident and comfortable in the realm of prose. Ciaozers,

Rory

Writing From Class

In Poetry today we wrote poems to several songs. Here are the results.

Roads (Portishead)

drip, cold dreams simper
lift
cold, wistful simpers stick regardless
oort
the clouds walking shadows through

Folded in and out in drastic constellations
correlations worshiping the vastness of each
small infinity, the language warps along
event horizons, black burbles, underskins

oh
crisp starlets engender
oh
faulty thimbles let in thick nettle pricks
piercing my firmament un-

shapely slenderings orbit in tight disarray
mock gowns gasp with slickening
open trays, regardless, of what they say



Build God, Then We'll Talk: Panic at the Disco

formaldehyde: I am three little piggies
drinking dasnickalates ribald colds and argued wristway sinks

Shed:
Shuck:
Cordial drink:

Let this orbit excellent shiftways, corrug, corrug, corrug
ate this breach, basted brinklings walk walk
curvature of earth marks this
unsatisfactory sunrise
makes this
dribble dance

Intimate sordidity thoughtless slinkering formal
hyde and jekyl shifting their unthoughtof arguments
into slick new conscientiousness
slinking in parkways in thundertones and
graspways
shifting in devatante ligaments, boneways
rebuilding lost sanguinity


Panic - The Smiths

I wonder to myself
Scraggle shrinks suburban ordials
Lastly, this:

Mephistopholes was a friendly ghost, but I could never from him
get the time of thicket, or the measure of this drifting filament


Shankill Butchers

Don't, Don't mind the guggle mouth
the trickle mouth milk
gout lipped by the shank, the new mouth drawn
harsh liquid drawn
across maw flesh gasping gushes of
know
gasping gushes of gurgle
gasping of kosher
cutlings, giblets, cut away
thin thrashings feebling out and rivered
down into thickening pools of clot
Picking fingers
Plucking

away



Guaranteed - Eddie Vedder

So I can breathe: clotleries, shifted snufts of oxy
So I can breathe: gravitas, heavy lungfuls
The far mercury cloud shivers, folding turbulences into
thick slick rain, washing with the temperate rise and fall
fistules from heaven to earth



Ghosts I - Nine Inch Nails

Formulated irrigation. Bubble up.
Brass. Bass lithography, shifted sign.

Warble on shrieked carpet.
Linger lisping.

Tour trumps with wind, shifted on coldplays, argonauts
stalking over a field of teeth.

I decline, I am crafted from salt.

I -



At the Zoo

Flat cat scuttles
Bacterian drafts
I argue slumps under orders from thick bristle boars
the Giraffes seem rather sincere
Goblets loft and lift drop and drink out timidly

Review: A Passage To India

I had to read E. M. Forster's A Passage to India for my British Indian Literature class, and I must say it's phenomenal. Certainly among the best books I've recently read. The language from start to finish is pretty much perfect. Of the sky over Chandrapore, the fictional city of Forster's Indian setting, he writes: "The sky too has its changes, but they are less marked than those of the vegetation and the river. Clouds map it up at times, but it is normally a dome of blending tints, and the main tint is blue. By day the blue will pale down into white where it touches the white of the land, after sunset it has a new circumference - orange, melting upwards into tenderest purple. But the core of blue persists, and so it is by night. Then the stars hang like lamps from the immense vault. The distance between the vault and them is as nothing to the distance behind them, and that farther distance, though beyond colour, last freed itself from blue.
The sky settles everything - not only climates and seasons but when the earth shall be beautiful. By herself she can do little - only feeble outbursts of flowers. But when the sky chooses, glory can rain into the Chandrapore bazaars or a benediction pass from horizon to horizon. The sky can do this because it is so strong and so enormous. Strength comes from the sun, in fused in it daily; size from the prostrate earth. No mountains infringe on the curve. League after league the earth lies flat, heaves a little, is flat again. Only in the south, where a group of fists and fingers are thrust up through soil is the endless expanse interrupted. Theses fists and fingers are the Marabar hills, containing the extraordinary caves." This descriptive deluge rides up in swells throughout the text, but is not the text itself. Unlike Hardy, whose descriptive heights carry on their wave-crests the peaks of his personal insights, Forster's human vision mixes well with a more colloquial style and permits him (with seamless transition) to shift from speech to thought to styled scenic depiction. This balance he quite thoroughly achieves, and no small detail disappears in the mixing. The symbolic language he achieves in his descriptive peaks he he recasts in his dialogues and interior-monologues and in all of this I was well pleased. The motives of the book are likewise excellent, a careful exploration of the points of friction in British India. His view refuses to be simple-minded, he carries up the complexities of the Indian factionalism, its unified conflict with the British, and presents a world of types, avatars of types, and complicators of types. His small infinities, twists of depth which permit unravelling and interpretation only so far as the mysteries they mist around, baffle attempts to categorize (and thereby reconquer) the India he presents. His pantheon of characters stress one another along surprising lines, Aziz, Fielding, Godbole and the presiding spirit of Mrs. Moore all mottle together along strange lines which need not fit expectation, follow the desires of the optimistic (or sadistic) reader, or mark anything other than an entirely real but intensely symbolic and ideological passage to, through, and from India.

Wasted numbers ondrown, wist

Quiet, eist liom, entrail tracks elong
ate the sacred number smarts with tracked
torpidities Where within withall

Classified in unthinking absolutions
Marked laceration trains

Chugged trump-bottle blasted glass
blown backhammer seminal slowings
Inundate inhale extricated from artisanic
dervish turns

Saratoga Springs

Water whimpers up under rock bed breaks.
Breaks work wet withers, horseback browns.
Browned with Eskimo sun, sympathetic shrivel.
Shriveled raisin skins stammer out their last steam-breaths.
Breaths worked wetly, wasting under didactic corona.
In the creeping iris twists an eyeworm, slow fistula forming in its crawled path.

Prompts Once More

1. Write a poem that "tackles contemporary mass culture head on."

2. Write a conceptual poem.

3. Write a poem that is "emotionally dead and monotonous, but in a good way."

4. Write a poem that moves by a process of transformation (rather than say narrative).

5. Write a poem meant for performance.

Courtesy Johanness Gorannson

Happy Easter

Happy Everyone. God Bless.

Journal

As a project for my poetry writing class we were asked to create a journal (a publication space for poems and (potentially) other creative output). The result of my efforts can be found here. I liked it so much I may end up doing it again from time to time. Anyway, happy easter to every creature.

clipped, fickle, this thick thistle chill

Journal

So, I have to do a journal for my poetry writing class. It'll be a collection of various poems (6 of my own and 5 of other people's I think) and I think I'm going to use my poetic harshness program to give the whole thing unity. The idea, I think, will be to have the poem-graphs (aesthetograms) as entryways into the poems. The table of contents will be untitled, instead it will have texture graphs of the title (or perhaps the least granular texture graph of the entire poem). You sort of pick the poem you want to see based on the look of it, I think that'd be fun. This idea of aesthetographic conceptualization of written word could influence the thought in all sorts of ways. For instance, I could try to fill a given issue of the journal with poems of certain average values, or try to replicate a landscape, or do multi-leveled comparisons between poems. I don't even know what I mean by all that, but it sounds cool. Anyway, the basic idea is that you could use different aesthetographic machines (of which the harshness program is just one) to shape the poems in a journal and draw interest to certain aspects of them. What's more, you could literally draw those aspects.

A poetic constellation might be interesting. I just thought of this so forgive the rough segue. Basically, you graph each word of a poem on two axis, harshness for one (because i've already developed a system for calculating phonetic harshness (albeit a crude one)) and, i don't know, length of words. Then you could sort of plot the path which a given poem wanders. This is a poor example because it wont supply a plot which moves by small increments (which would make the constellations interesting), but then again it might be an interesting exercise to attempt to produce small incremental jumps in a poem according to this constellation graphing.

Categorized Aesthetic

So in light of my recent exploration of technical tools for evaluating the soundscapes of poetry I've decided to begin an ongoing discussion in a topic I'm calling categorized aesthetics. Basically, the area of inquiry is methodologies by which someone can mechanically determine (to a certain degree) some aspect of the aesthetics of a piece. I'm particularly interested in generating a graphical representation of these determinations. The harshness program is an (extremely elementary) example of a aesthetograph. My hope is that I'll be able to produce a series of similar programs (in type), each charting a different aspect of aestheticism. I think the next thing I'm going to try to do is measure alliteration. Similarly simple programs might evaluate consonant or vowel density (related to the harshness problem). One can imagine a graph which is an overlay of the outputs of several such aesthetographic machines. This would not only be visually interesting (as a representation of sound in a visual manner) but also potentially useful in criticism by enabling someone to extract readily by intuitive visual means the sound structure of a given poem. In order to do the proper amount of layering I'm going to have to learn a little about generating graphs with java, but I think it'd be a worthwhile endeavor and probably produce extraordinarily interesting results.

Elderberry Blues

Walked back down tripped found and gone

Left back browned drowned doubt and drawn

Fortune favors, lost labours, minimizes the doubt and crazes

I don't quite

understand

the leftover slight of hand

Grasp back smart rack left long down and round

I'm tracked worn black crafted blasted down

Grippers gators, entrance errors, going round and facing faster

I can't simple

drift-dimple

where the sun shades sand

Fistulations and all those other inconveniences

Left lane:

Warbled rivers range and dopplerize. Caveat: willow winds attest to marbling in the intellectual sphere.

Right lane:

Fortunate allusions restructure, mitigate, untertwine. Whinge and fissure, prolonged embolic breaths.

Whetted on the back of my cracked hand

Ta

Argued and illuminated. Thinkgressions marked on slim soil. narrow land. an arrowed hand
lists under its feathered burden.

Bron

Dark sounds surveillance symbols lingering in fallow fields of leather. Sordid corvee, conscription
on the order of

Orm

Ore abounds and whispers sounds of grey galvanization. Thumped, thudded, a ruse of little tendency. Whetted on the back of my cracked hand.

I have no idea why I just wrote this

owing to the long arbitration process we have not yet been able to comment on
your outstanding patent. Please forgive the inopportune interruptions to your review,
they are the result of a great deal of litigation surrounding the processing of work
which does not quickly move through the arbitration process. Ta bron orm.

Not Quite

gallow wings fletch themselves with
mourning foliage

I am not crying

gallow wings unfurl under lowing

Soft Poem

Elderberry boogie

soot trees sway under
soot trees sway and twist under
soot trees under way sway and twist
tree soot sunders yaws and twists
orbital entrails overcome me

Collection

Here are the poems I've written in january and february, minus the crap. It's still not finished, but it's much more finished. Comments would be welcome (including stuff like "you should delete that poem, it sucks" or "you should change the order in which these poems are presented" or "fuck yourself and die"). Check. Thankee. G'night. (PS. editing this is what I've been doing instead of posting lately.)

Babylon Round

Earnest labels elaborate

build in treble tongues

eclipse the rebel twinnings

error gongs

Fallen liquors adumbrate

clear a cuckold lung

fishup on arid dammings

follow songs

Guarded liners fascinate

drip down ladder rungs

gallop with wastrel rimmings

golem wrongs

Cordially We Request Your Assistance

Mark the place in the

new markup language

Mark the place where

we under cut the linguiscape

Too straightforward unmouths

read out the catacomb of tongues mark

genealogies of salt sums and roman

payments made

centurion centuries marched

marked march upon march of years where

april never once grimaced a great war

spring

smarts and drunks trunk their gathered

cold

smart tacks lifted

inflicted

wounds that only this language knows

the final gap of

Harsh lines this elegant machine spins

hard sparks and with brute mechanic

marks a path through future flurries and

on

Smooth swan shapes, the curvature of

clouded desire and drake dreams slip

soft structures shifting smoothly

snow brushed

Here we think of something less manageable, the acreage of desire.

What trappings must we then consider? Let us calmly evaluate,

deriving establishments and eroneous echoes. Find me

unflattered. Follow down the sychophantic trips of tongue.

The textsured effluence undermines us. Watching weaves irrigate

the unfounded desires of flesh and simply evaluated leave the

underquotient finality.

Flippant toggles hold together the arguments of cloth and cold,

worship briskly at fingertips, film of water and skated simplicity.

Disengage the outlaw similes that water down.

Disengage the long shore pipes of plastic preference.

Disengage the meaning of these emblematic instruction sets.

Disengage the meaning of these emblematic instruction sets.

Lab trumpets formulate

this response. Know with stiff certainty the marsh-water proclamation of driftwood calculus, waiting only

coordinate-systems away.

Imperfect mapping contorts along beetle brows gesturing at

shift-sand continuities and limits approaching

anything but evening rain and

tide swept shins

Strangistortivating

under unbalanced

Buddhas

Fallow Cities Lay in Florid Decadence

Where ellipses waved in the long grass

glass shimmers under ordinances evoked

by impassioned cannon

smooth worked arguments, sanded away

under epoxy undulations thoroughly

shifting this cold and ungrammatical construction

departed orientals make flippant breaks

subtle languishments forward backtraces

establish close rapports and nod in

copulation

Feral Shinfish Awkwardly Engaged

Arguably we finish our statements with some prejudice.

This is understandable, being a biproduct of our excellence, the

shinfish markings which muddle and force an awkward exchange.

Engaged with fixed pixelations and corralled embolisms furtive

cuts elapse the damming encrusted with arborial efforts and

exoskeleton similes.

Folded Plates

fin-mouts iasc about undertows toes and

fsck the clean file founds the market mounds

where

aah, slip back breaks these folded plates

these ceramic shells for shells for shells for games

under which of when put me by

castle break, hassle, jostle, snake the last make

margins, make fold fins that iasc about the

task set for this idiot machine

clean, yourself

clean this made of magnet minnows

swimming upended embolism, magnamism

brisk baffles electric with eel spun

wire tongues clean yourself

put back this order pot this kettle of

curbside spatter, tongue clatter

clean, yourself defrag flag emblem mag

net liom mask makes the last I'm

Found on a Red Checked Table Cloth Last Wednesday

Father,

The elbows of the ground are bending now.

The slipstream earth bowls down. Berry red

boils down, the firebed.

I am not crying. Shifted salt is merely finding

salt lines in my suede shoes. Topographical

etchings mark my rise and fall.

Loosely the marks of map burn away, under

my lens-light. Sharp glass cuts the fission air.

Fire flirts under the political oracle, smoke.

Somewhere oceans are receding, peeling

under this new mountains pretentions. Peak

tops jut, cut. Scalpels mark red lines in some

fecund cadaver. Its hundred thousand maggot

children crest like sea foam round the flecked

face of the knife.

I have seen you for the first time, as she bleeds

out around my hunch-form.

(ashamed of its death gaze)

Musk murmurs catalepsy until dusk clouds grow pinions

and take heavy flight

Lap. Bask. - Dogs filing under burdened skies and trying

on each others slys

Baffelapse, eyes wide forward dead crow rooster anosmic

Basilisk, shy under pertinent styes

How we learned to dance like this

Metronome blocks talk. They talk about

where they were when you were where

they are.

Swinging back and forth through their

rhythmic temporal necessities

Burrow animals, moles and badgers

brush dark dust in your rolling slouch

slump in time with

august bodies, may rollings, simple

textures

slump shuffle the awkward eclipse of

circling limbs and

shuntgrins

april climbs the live

wires

slipped through mole-holes

through power lines

If Undefined

#ifndef

#define

There is a grey mouth.

There is a dark tongue.

Small wire snares fill the blank screen's innards.

Watchwords pull mindful drawstrings.

Eclipsed sequences establish concurrency.

Slink,

Linguiscapes.

Casual clutter lines the dialog halls, but somewhere reserve words encapsulate the icons of current events.

There is a drake mouth -

A maw from which mammonic rhetoric lisps in flame tongues across flickering shoji,

A cavemouth murmur that corresponds in mason signs until the vestigial smarting elapses.

#endif

Lipsong Tonguetrip

I'm a troubadour lip

midship -

fast last past mast broken

cast this row unraking slaking deep

thirst

Shipped drip

cast the whip on dolphin backs

the waves crack for me

Updraft birds cackle smartly

Updraft birds impede and slip

Updraft birds embrace the shipstream

stiff upper

grip this lipsong tonguetrip

Bone marrow twist marrow

wheel barrow we'll borrow this under

smooth skies tomorrow we'll

collapse

Fawk talk the slick hawk of my

intellect is goshawk west ways

where there underclass crass mice

slice sweet prairie eyes to

wanderlust us

Must brush the back back

tour the track where simple symbols

engorge embrace I trace my

whole line down to one

fine pin thin things all

come together muddle fuddle

slip the tongue the quantum bubble

pops to waveform foam

soma stone this undertone

this copper drone

cancels doubt

ribbed rout. Persian rugs,

political drugs exclaim

inhalant sympathies that fail to

moan the octave

under tone, undertow

Marrow makes me fallen fakes me

out and tracks the backs bubble

bun fun where hair sprung lets

fade out, run rout, cast out

I'm done

q0yqw8q

Etched with sharp shards,

flint knife grates in hasty furrows

marks its place and tracks tracks

that twist and scrape the secret simple name

Glass flows slowly - time tugs, contorts

and lengthens, lowers the watchword

the crisp ice of fallen frost forms in webs

catches on lingering letter's ledges

Finally faded, the thick bottom bulge of

many centuries sitting shows a single twisted

syllable, writhed to aphasia

LIFT

Back up, Step up, Hup Hup up

grip the lack of the limp stump stop

com down calm down clam up

thrup fill bag gone, gack, fact

There is no time that will exactly replicate the lost moments of today.

We are emblematically emphatically lost, but cannot go our own way.

Shiftback flap-stack meth

odicate drip-date markings

stalkings slippings flippings

frenetic clippings tripping

car alarms

Primary Key

There found they him

his Rory was a

wistful wash the

long twists of his

hair undone the

carmichael cost

almost nothing, just

a promise

His absent art showed

conspicuously round

undecorated walls

I do not remember or forget.

Knowledge knocked, etched,

edged round doors

and managed itself away

of him, Rory, I unknow

I will reserve judgement for the time being.

Slowly I am falling back to sleep,

And in a few moments will be finally

underwater guitar, where you could play

yourself perfect surfing weather, or another

tsunami, depending on how much

you liked Nirvana.

One day I would smile at you and consider

carefully the absenteeism implicit in congregational

homogeneity, and you would probably be baffled.

Thinking this sort of thing seems to distract.

Perhaps another sortie into punctuation, spelling, capitalization

Another guitar thing would be to find the perfect equation

for deriving, from chord mutings punctuation. I would use

this technique to programmatically derive the exact musical

texture of the Declaration of Independence.

I suspect that this tool would discourage conventional musicians

who were likewise attempting to derive its precise and unamibiguous

texture

But I would not mind the sitar; it has tones we have not

properly accounted for.

If played under water it might conjure a mystic cycle of sea urchins

or spike your drink

or call my brother late at night

and ask him whether he's ever had sex

Spearmint Tongues

Block-water

at strange pressures

purses, steams cold

they too

Saint Mary burbling in slight waters

Spoken

Whistle wisps uncurl and film the sudden cool

I keep shark leather underskin

Argument lisps and listens with submerged splashing

Unmade the wash

Drank the filament

And permitted the light to consume my undertongue

Shifts of collar light marked the fin shapes and curled my tucked

probiscus beneath glow worm gills

I have but one last ell

of eloquence left

Dunn Irrigables Flow Swiftly to Me

Tripped on lines

the fast thinking thuds

and stumbles over its

overwheeling feet

and falls to simple

slushing stuttered stop

stagnant

still pond gathers

its soiled serpents

its failing flies

its dark clouds and muck-moss

land fills slowly

those gaps which cannot run

to clean sea

and cluttered

word ways

dam shifted stanzas

today

On the lips of a sweet skimway there stands

He is human enough, measuring with tongue

the length and breadth of some rational planet

Reading the land as the earth grows thin,

near the edge, by heaven and hell this thin

soil, not much stratified, disturbed

Salivary shapes murk the thin isotopes

of his teeth, enamel geography,

from the crushed bicuspid they extract

a place of paleolithic origin

where you are from, human

(thin) enough

Thoroughly Waiting in Absense

Thunderous epigraphs allowing

what was wondered for so long as

which

Follow low the dervish spins the

arrow row in fence hedge grow

Creeping reel simply evening

Awkwardly embrace, kiss,

fall back down again

Mandarin grins rim our courtyard

where the shadows postulate upon

our true natures, discuss our relation

to the cloth-thick night

Disjointed sounds, I listen to your lips

Disjointed sounds, I listen to your lips

I. Under meager skies wistwood sm-igeons mock and twist and tongue and beak engrace engorge a fragile race of undertonnage smiles.

II. Under cryogenic rivers lurefish deploy lightning lamps and would have gapmaw slander on all their corpses.

III. Elegiac gasps loose undulations by which the sympathetic magic of remembrance and recovery might be furthered.

IV. Deviant scuttlefish misalign, thwart cosmopolitan principalities of flying fish from their airborn eruptions, consumptions.

V. Gull food. Quiphemeral memorial. Solipsis.