Broken love poem

What does when it can

The uninterrupted push of something hungry has agency over a small

gap in the resisting self

What lets in is not weakness or it is

What decides weakness is a justifiable desire. Or a mispelling

Words can be

turned and in fact it is their strength; the most

effective organism is not strongest but

the most adaptive to change. Best, it

may be best to let in all sharp monsters and honey-eyed sharks to your well of despair. What is afraid of being empty may deprive you of space.

It is more necessary to fill it than to be clean. Here, take my guarded tube. You

have awakened a certain

drive like lifting

of oil through buckets

from wells

or the way that saline is shared between

neighboring cells.

It is a departure in the shape and

structure of a return; with you everything old is new again.

We have you to thank

And at this moment life has lived to form a wet and blacksoaked web of hardened oils into a blanket bare and irresponsible. Light falls across a sky made of bridges

and netted heads of my grandfather's daughters and sons get pushed down hard into the shoulders of their coats. Sliding a softened and heat-held, looked at as reborn- web of fur over my bare skin and

despair quickly is sandwiched by the awareness of time; it becomes morning. Those children are despair; have been heat-held, looked at as reborn- and are fitting desperately into new clothing.

I've chopped for them strawberries and taken away their pet needs from them. I've been told to head out their capital struggle through seeing the way that their eyes are filtering through the present pain. I've been told to write often; told to give and take away, resting on nothing but moving wheels over a heat-held, looked at as blank avenue.

Who will be their gods when i take theirs away. I've begun to allow the reinvention of their purpose and the threatening disappointment to place my hands

to push downward their netted heads into the shoulders of their coats. Breathing backwards across sun-dappled sidewalks I am the necessity of eternal surprise; the fig which is ripe but the fight is now to take it and destroy.

on Swarm

I am interested in the experiential narrative as the imperative and as the subjective. The delicate nature of the human brain makes it susceptible to many types of damage and disease. Topography is the description of such surface shapes and structures. Within one person is a multitude, an interior that braids together disparate structures as they are internalized, changing their shape and its own shape as each shred becomes known. There is no need for falseness or overt direction; outside of depicting emotion, the presentation of delicate facts is effective in relating a unified body of feeling. Schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality. Poetics is a mental disorder characterized by abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality. Reality is the state of things as they actually exist, rather than as they may appear or may be thought to be. Hand-colored vision depicts a place that may be arbitrary through a lens of feeling that may be arbitrary, incorporating a variety of auxiliary language that may be arbitrary. Their painting is despotic and capricious as an unreasonable act of the individual. Agency is given to the prickling and invasive outside as it is filtered through webs of neural tissue and regurgitated. When related together, connected by language, it can be read as prescribed intent. It is my intent to intend. It is my intent to give history to the ultrapersonal and unrelatable.

Acts of creation such as the composition of music, of relationships, of woven thread, of loss, of narratives of a calm and tempered account of my existence so often in close proximity to abnormalities in the perception or expression of reality punctuate my experience of the self as living; to create is to provide proof of existence. These things have all happened to me. If I wish to represent clarity I must henceforward focus not on vitality nor on mortality, promote not reproduction nor reduction, seek not longevity nor brevity. The task is historical, philosophical, even metaphysical in scope. Representation must become the obverse, the opposite of its former self. I study the contemporary history of the developing nations. Famines do not simply represent a point of failure in a system, but rather can be called the final stage in an larger process of the breaking down of social reproduction mechanisms and are indicative of the global food complex’s vulnerability to the socially blind hand of the market, whose favor can only be called by the possibility of the highest return. I am just as likely to reinforce global patterns. I at times attempt through writing to rub my own nose in the shit of the West as it rests on the floor of the South. I invariably attempt to compound the issue, whose many facets do not lend gracefully to an overarching conclusion. It is more pure to give an accurate list than to defend a well-crafted argument, or it is less pure. I have often felt pain due to an overdependence on initial response. It is an investigation into the non-efficacy of the dominant method. It is to further aggravate this problem without uniform, or at least to shake the large hive of bees until the potency of their response can be observed. Interpretation is left to those who wish to destroy and illuminate the arrangement.

church modes

settle back the girl put her
knees keep you weeping
your bones stay within you
and clap









at such times
face flamed with augmented blazonry
it was to avail myself
small head in hand











now valuing his morning
is real but nonexistent in this world
was dropped in dipping
was absolute and sky-light
will, options
I would prefer not to











settle breaks
he does not want to know why


















a deadwall reverie

a parallel life in terms of having walls

food porn

& when

On April 12 i'll be critiqued for the second time this year in workshop. The "manuscript" is coming along- working title is 'Printbook.'

Here's the latest installment, entitled 'What is the chart create

& when.'

Structure corrupts. Like time so plenteous. Like snowed & food. Like the bulk of reneged cancellations. Like fruitful & time. Like seen luck & destined. Like flirtatious & foresight. Sight to scene & wings collapse. Like brimful & hot & a high-pitched believe. Like developing links & a close-cut head. The disposal of secrets sang comrade. Like question & pushing. Like what one ends up wanting to be. Place corrupts & a legend of Good Women. Like when schedule reveals. Like renaissance & a new need. Indulgences lessly create. Like the Pardoner is a traveler of crying. Like crying is a traveler of thinking. Like whistling, soft & known & various. Much like birds.

& when

it has less of a face than does daytime; a quite hum’s a seesaw and it lifts its hand from off of its neck, to think; it puts the bottle back not to favor;

hats keep your heads in my friends are here they all of them sing

two sharps relate three scratches/ see sharps minor/ take away two down days/ you can hear now how it is blank here, and the rhythm is good/ our relatives have positions and names, look down and learn quilting, and the rhythm is sad/ look at the light collection of ice, they’ve probably been cooking in the cold world since before we began/ there is no before we begin//

sing with me our major key/

we have restored our tonic memory/

those two wont go for walks again//

it’s a sort of a new growth when you set yourself up to forget to go to bed/ Lift lifts devil in a sky so brown with heels of fleeting fancies “a

diamond tear-tier waits,”

tremulous in the eye of the cloud dropping

A speculator in land;

Her chief delight lay in good manners.

If someone struck it a handsbreadth wide

As an A with an ornament. Provided with

Green beads to mark certain ridden lines

Overspread strands. She work pack fashion

A piece to bag or pillowcase

I believe so close we are seized & found

All discharge does. Don’t push through not oh not well. Press back purple. Shafted lace, design. We and shared weft are oft left to see north plowing. We are left under and downing tape. Stick to the last. Oh mister sun, so, sinister golden sun

Won’t you shine down on me I’ve lost the gatelock. We’ve been seen as a guesswork friendship, patchy. Stripe. Soumak. Rya knot. Stone— Black out the day its body looks like a head with eight long gentle

cures

A fat person will help you to eat your lunch.

A young man may make you breakfast. Wide out the day our feats are scale based

seized upon. Our neck not wrapped up in tensile cures. Pervade the south mark rapt and safe. Traps in line stack pressure,

case.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Also, sculpture. Thomas Saraceno, Alan Watts, Cornelia Parker.

post-language language/ language language

Ron Silliman, a large and legendary figure in the field of conceptual writing, keeps a fantastic and frequently updated blog detailing current events in the world of contemporary literature and art. It's pretty sick.
He recently linked to a news piece on the University of Texas's recent acquisition of David Foster Wallace's surviving notes and personal writings. If you've not heard of David Foster Wallace, you simply must, because he largely completed and surpassed the contemporary relevance of what can be called Post-modernism.
Anyway, they have his personal dictionary and compiled a list of the words that he underlined. They include such gems as

dis·ti·chous:

–adjective

1.

Botany. arranged alternately in two vertical rows on opposite sides of an axis, as leaves.

2.

Zoology. divided into two parts.

and

cete:

–noun

a number of badgers together.

as well as my favorite,

leg·a·tee:

–noun

a person to whom a legacy is bequeathed.

and many others.
Abagail Adams, my new thrash/spaz/hardcore project, had its fourth practice tonight. We've been writing a new song every practice, and it takes about an hour and always comes out very productive. Lots of moving around in these newest ones. I'll post recordings the very day that they exist. Hopefully that day will be very soon. I recently came across photos from the York PA music scene that i was a part of when i was fifteen. Reminds me of original things.

-Fixed my bike today. It was the first warm day in a while and i rode around 5 or 6 miles in the streets today. It's a pressing and visceral charm that my sweat cannot ignore.