Division Circuit

Bad Cold

2012-01-13T03:54:00.000-08:00

Standing holding my jacket close to my skin; I didn't like the way I could feel things moving around me. I got lost in some county In our upcoming county fair. We will be hosting a wide variety of talent spilling into our county. WE HAVE got gorgeous folks who love putting swan and polling mogul rotten sour apples these things get to fuck if they want it can't get sacked. I slide back I feel cold air passing through me I am an open passage What carmel apple tantric Massive head injury cut deep into the boney area where lotsa skin and hair and blood get ripped up and you get scalped One purple night i got down on all fours you began to talk to me I danced in the open tumble seeds fiddling with a yo yo Think about how much control I have now think about how much you wanna control now roll the dice on the floor and see what your die cast to control you don't need to roll throw the dice you have if you feel wet be all fists and blow a hole in the center of my soul

The Wizard of Gauze

2011-10-10T10:26:00.000-07:00

Pale completed gets me at night

Puts a quarter to my heart puts a nail in my side

Every lady that he reads gets jumbled in his mind

But they gotta fight a lot and it isn't even right

'Cause when you're making love you're not thinkin' all the time

Her shoulder is full of head as he pleases through his whiskers his socks are in the corner talking to her sisters She takes his arm and folds it like a matchbook and slides it in her pocket like the two of them were spies acting like they're lovers they smoke for hours trying to always whisper and she smiles from the corner of her mouth and he smiles from the other

Every long line is a snake of satisfaction

I hate you crow

Teasing thing

Punch me bag

Got mean eyes

I gotta toss you

Got a weakness for tobacco

Ring around my window

Gotta poke my head into it

Gotta ring my shirt

Got wet shopping now I toss it to my feet

All covered in rain and something to do

Where I thought you might be

When you had more time to walk

I had more time to let myself go

I let myself go when you came flying from my field

I had to let it go

Cause there's black corn necklace

Face pain

Got black face paint

Bunch of spikes and driving rain

That spook came out of our sky

Wanted to wash us up

Saw my fear

Wanted to twist our metal

Wanted to scare me and punish me for hiding

I don't believe in evil things and meanings from word games

I don't want to see a field all ripped up by elements from a conjouror

Nothing makes you happy

Because you're a spasm of friction

Because you're the anxiety of permanent motion prolapsing

A whiskey vine sucking it's own tit

A gavel clasped for eternity by a novice in time

Lenny Deep Cuts

2011-10-08T19:54:00.000-07:00

There is no way you bad dull gaudy knifes
enter into me

There is no way you gotta get stoned gotta

Patch and clipped up facial features will unsnap and tar me for it

They mean to make you get over mix that

Every good dodge drives dead till tiny female rats get out for a

It might be the end. I think I've told my mind every

Bond she go tied to the ground sweat that has all they and where they sat to grow on your lap

she got scared when she got found your moan because when you wanna get cut there was a little hook sticking from her bone she never even had time to dip the spike of a straw a hammer a thing that batters thrust it like a rush

The needle starts talkin' tuff when you told the book you call it's bluff when it give you the chance to double or pass

It has to be every day all the time raining knifes

Every man in a black sack has a piece of meat in his mouth

How many of these sickening totem painted off white

counter man

2011-04-18T14:02:00.001-07:00

Fur coat reeling on a black top feeling
You got a ways to go if you want to find me this evening
I want a little trick to wake me up a little
All the shops stay open
We got to get a gift for Mr right
Mr black tie has a something big to see
We got a boat full of ruff goin on
It's a black top lover
We got to get back out on the street
We got to walk to get there
We have to go and see the boat get docked
Gotta see the door get locked
And the bully get sock
We gotta get the bully goin
But its too late for our counter man

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8

2011-04-18T02:29:00.000-07:00

gold words that clang a chorus of thread

get mortored and metal brittle nuts and tongues going all night

get strangled by peace love and slavery

you so far away disguise in a whole world of wool sacks and sand faces

everyone has tyrant cards up sleeveless shawls waiting for emergency

nothing is right in moon lit fear in clay hotels that generate candle hesitation

nothing being a charge for anything in active

it is a crime to exist

it is a crime of freedom a pilgrimage of pilgrim energy and integrity

we've been placed in direct opposition

we are scrambled sets of atomic innovation

victims of survival in house broken ideologues

shambles of deceased laboratory animals

Hairspray and Fire

2011-04-07T13:43:00.000-07:00

Hi, I'm a member of a new organization specializing in a new breed of electrical socket inputs.
Please feel free to send me any questions or links that could pertain to this message.
Limit your response to 5 section short bursts without extending the intervals
I'm in need of unlocking several of the hubs in the rear of my rambler near the conjoined lobby passage way.
The snake is not a success.
Each time you take a step
You'll find me right behind
Each time you go to sleep I close in right behind
I take the clues of the midnight news and deliver it to your mind
I want to hold a globe that lets me see inside that has every angle that lets me see your DNA

Your desk your mellon your pole spinning fish crust that energizes it is a river of snot
Is it thankful sheet from your dryer hairspray and fire
I gotta a little clue that holds it up for you
If you got a candle wick I will be your candle stick
Spray me with your wet parade I cap you with my leather hat
Because sometime I like to soften that

cold night

2011-04-06T03:21:00.000-07:00

You make a grave and a dwarf punishment
Harold a gold god letter
Blame a stuck feast for lacquer and germ
Boggle a single way to squirm
Glowing light on top of a megastructure
It bleeds on your calf
A gravy sperm brown and acid
Your scab cover in a gold metal ring puss and chalky white castle
Loosely affixed on scaly greasy skin your skin cabin your body lodge
Your body cottage your blood tubes megnetism
Your blood and jaw hammocking haphazard squashed into a potato sack
Bullied out of divinity lust and sculpture sack fleeced
Undone curly cum you clawfoot cub you black lash
Crisp thin leaves white behind my eyes cold fast wind and bare thin stalks
Wisp of reeds without sounding sentimental
It brushes my eyes perimeter

Gear

2011-02-07T19:18:00.000-08:00

They'll be coming for me soon
They will be coming for you too
They catch you while your guard is down
They'll want to take you out around

You will laugh and joke and soon forget
Into the ribs the knife will stick

Where you once had sympathy
All is gone
Where you once had friends
All is gone

any
day
.

Careful

2010-12-05T22:07:00.000-08:00

Everything is coming back
A bunch of this and a bunch of that
I'm getting high with you riding an electric horse
I'm coughing a lot and letting my skin go slack

A million new Ideas getting set for this rage
My eyes go black My eyes go in

Ready to tare a new prize cut into your peach red slime
I'm ready to touch your central nerve
I want to see you twitch and be my gold love ocean
I smell you and want to touch your taste
You taste like flesh and I want to spasm and grow complete
You move me this way and that
You're cast in crimson and black
You're a gallon of ecstasy and I am overflowing

EXAMINE EVERY CUT(TER)

2009-06-10T03:17:00.000-07:00

When I let it go I spoke to the wind
I cut my face and my blood was mixed with sweat
On the bus on the way down town every little girl asked me
"What happened to your face"
I said I cut myself shaving
I was looking in the mirror
On the way to the art store it got so hot
Everybody was skateboarding and a ton of Mexicans on Mexico street
Every bar had a new hard body
The new ninja is auto erotic now it's time to choke the chicken squared
If I had followers we'd battle it out until there was no one left
What dragged me down first was a rock van going on a path near a river while a dog or some of us were miles behind and we had to double back and pick everyone up and hope we made it to the show on time
The thing about guitar rock is
The thing about the whole music mess is
It's the future of war and a big excuse
when the gods circled around man and told him that he was aloud one invisible god that would govern all of the godless souls this god will be named rock and roll
When god had a miracle he circled his car around and picked a man or a women and took him to a stadium to watch a new form of rock and roll called music festival rock where every peasant was aloud one hacky sack and one mambo sock and one liter of beer and one liter to hold up

Soft Difficult Fat Increase

2009-06-10T03:14:00.000-07:00

Okay<

I have a warrant out for my arrest
I was having a wonderful time and some wave of bullshit tweed descended
Okay this flip-o twat with a red rocket a kid with a hollow guitar
A red light goes off in my head
Sustains my erection and my false notion
I paddle the water with my re-float that I strain a bag of cocaine through
THAT I DODGE THE STARS IS TO SAY I SEE THE LIGHT
I don't pay or pray to light like a feeble creature
I am not amused by... listen we human have a higher capacity
Us human are able to pay homage to multiple levels
That great euphoria is an e

That great euphoria is a euphemism for fear twitching in a capsule
Where is her body
Our lace and our vision of goddess
You crave her touch in solitary
Her ripe pure breast
What a women has as a natural utensil
They can be a needle that sews
I was ready for extended
I want to lay right out on the table
She is fruit She is cherry as cherry is gold
She is liquid and makes the river flow the river of blood
I smell her flesh and we die with every season
One day at a time where we burn and freeze the day
I want to die with her
I want to fill her grave

DAVID LYNCH TITS AND ALL WTF???

2009-06-10T03:12:00.000-07:00

I'm getting my new wheel greased
you know
It's time to start the gradual flow

Leather Leather Leather
Glitter Glitter Glitter

It is a scrambled thing new Los Angeles cutter good old fobs and crispin gutter ass he's like god damn I'm hot and wet and lynch leans over and sez hand me white wine spritzer I know because lsd is a 3d lense into the agroaromatic moment cruncher of the new sleeze

DEAR MISTER TWIN PEAKS DAVID LYNCH,

Stellar new art, however... for the new danger mouse record come on and seriously
you have not slackened your eye for your own work gawd why danger mouse<<
THIS FUCKING TWEED???

And James Mercer you say it goes with the tunes and that's the important part stop me if Im wrong but this is a blatant example that we dont follow you

OLD MAN TAKE A LOOK AT YOUR LIFE IM NOT LIKE YOU

DAVID LYNCH TIMES DANGER MOUSE EQUALS what?

nothing because anything times zero equals nothing

WTF

So see here is me with my eyes in the back of my head doing lynch better than lynch
If we want soda pop we drink coke not neuvo bitch

Erotic Slide Zone

2009-06-10T03:08:00.000-07:00

So---------

The ocean is becoming what it's all about again

Jealousy is thus becoming the ocean

I have been stunted on my little horse

Drag races and a few leaves and feathers

Here is the News++++++++++

You've made your withdraw from the blood bank

We're your children and letting the bat out of the bag BEWARE

2009-06-10T03:01:00.000-07:00

Listen to this loud on headphones late at night drunk and stoned

Jealousy "We're having your children" from Mark Treise on Vimeo.

Jealousy "letting the bat out of the bag" from Mark Treise on Vimeo.

Sentenced to Life & Karaoke Hell

2009-06-10T02:44:00.000-07:00

Please listen to my new effort "Sentenced to Life" All the songs are on the Jealousy myspace page. Best experienced through headphones.

Some of these songs you'll realize are "covers" of songs or deconstruction/reconstructions 3 in all...
They are these videos. It's kind of a Karaoke (k) Hell (hole).
thnx to C.manson,G.harrison,Primates eating brains back up dancers

"The Lion Sleeps Tonight" by Jealousy from Mark Treise on Vimeo.

Jealousy w/ Fleetwood Mac "the Chain" from Mark Treise on Vimeo.

Jealousy w/ the Beattles "A day in the life" from Mark Treise on Vimeo.

SEE YOU UNDERGROUND
JLSD

It's discontinued time for you to marvel at...

2008-08-10T12:57:00.000-07:00

Clocks drown gears locked swordfish
The ticking sounds of time have stopped and flounders
A crib of books empty of letters a cod amongst longs
She'll drown you in time and drown you of your sorrow
You are a painted cliff or a rock sculpture
Taking absorbing glue glass fountain office park
Division Circuits of Time
We're screwed up and screwed over
We are trapped under 30 ft. piles of rock
Breathing through a screw driver looking for a potato

Skyscraper thorns quills red means danger weather balloon
Intertwine feminine intention is a slick rubber hatch
How much of mine am I a lover
Comes with an answer dripping from the hatch
She is shakable She puckers at the table
She puts salt on her puss to make it edible
She served court by posing as a gargoyle
Everyone capable is of "making decisions"
We are unbeknownst to decision making factors
An intensely integrated circuit of that-
That divides us whole
That makes us martyrs of unimportant cause
Because of majors and minors
That distract continuum
That create divisions of one
As such that sometimes lead to brilliance
And sometimes creates benign
People who don't drink know plenty of alcoholics

We’re getting shocked all over

2008-08-09T18:02:00.000-07:00

thinking about getting train tracked
my eyes rolled out of my head and underneath a family plains traveler cart
cars on my street go faster and slower explode when they park
I live next to a bar and people come and go real nuts like olives
this designates choices this guitar solo
explains why the lettuce isn't fresh isn't like us it is real expensive
you made a choice you wanted to die by getting rid of your blood
you didn't want to share your blood with the earth
It was in you and you are on it mad at the planet
you wanted a bare refrigerator and you told that joke wrong
you'll never fix your car and your lung is a prune
chasing a young grape and pickles and cucumbers
we ran out of train track and drove the train back
there are nights when she thought she wouldn't lose her temper and
she asked the doctor if she could get him to make her tits bigger
because her new boyfriends fingers were bigger than her ex-boyfriend's
and if she was ever going to get him to mary her she's going to have
to start doing things for him and she thought this was an honest
kind of expressions like running a red light to get to the liquor store before 2am
he'd boasted for a good 30 minutes about understanding pornography
two people meet each other on the train
he decides to walk up to her an see if her tits were real by asking a question
that would also insure he would give her his phone number
so he said
"hey baby give me a call and let me know if your tits are real"
he smiled and gave her his buisness card
it was a number that transfered you to the publishers clearing house
headquarters

My head needs to release some steam I can't have all this heat in my head

Nothing Jams

2008-08-09T18:01:00.000-07:00

Goes striagth t i m cllear a s a falcon a falconer that man weho has yahwaiae cocin bird on his tassled trowers brid snort san bit and flys free. not a free land land no more this section is mark ed for them and that one os for ys merica is geitttinf merciles ans a bottemless packagede of peaches i realsiecexed and exabstract easy live is marked foar mor no more fear

kinda a ball of hate that taps on my own shoulder and I don't want to own that
I can be clear as a crystal liver and like a river lay it all out for you

I'm just sick and tired of being so talented and unused
I'm like free never ending blood for the people that need it so bad

We know what it's like my light

we're the lamps the thrive while the sun sleeps
we make it beautiful

you make me alive
i love you

Can you see what leper sees

2008-08-09T18:00:00.000-07:00

They've made a call
To my cell
They dialed disease
I had to answer
You know when you see all a tree's branches and leaves blow off in a hurricane
And infected feels like a mistake and it's not
I am motion sickness, moving sickness
There are scorpions in my chest shadow boxing
I'm the dull bell's dull ringing tone
My head gets all the pressure and doesn't get it
My voice is hobbled and limps on a limp dick
I can smell every season in my fever
Every season I have been ill
I am homeless lying in my bed weighed to it by stone and mortar
I am unfamiliar and apprehensive
Fragile and cold
All of my tasks that lie before me are roads for disease to travel freely
I'm a cat caught mouse toyed with before beheaded
My blood flows like a mountain stream clear and chilled
My head is thick and my mind is numb
I speak through my nose silently

Hundreds slid into my bedroom walls and started working on me, prodding me, provoking me.
I flinched and squirmed to all their advances.
I could not figure out why they were here.
I was petrified and thought that I could die from fear. I could be the fear of death.
Like a king's robe. I could be earth's trees, fish scales or an orange's skin.
Or could I be death in fear? The pulp of it.
The molten lava and the fangs. Was I turning on myself?
I could only tell the force in multiples but I knew it was unity.
I will always know that my silence will be planned.
That what lies before me is a trampled trail.
We are governed by forces.
Herded by that which is not cognitive.
Pushed by knowing by those and that that doesn't know.
That big full emptiness and everything else.

LIza is the best thing I KNOW

2008-08-09T17:59:00.002-07:00

PURE HEAVEN
LIQUID VOICE HEAVEN AND MERCURY
LIZA IS A GODDESS
SHE SINGS AND I WEEP
HER BEAUTY GOES
LIZA IS THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER KNOWN
EVERYTHING ELSE PALES
THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS WHAT I LIVE FOR
LIZA THORN
HEAVEN ON EARTH
SHE IS A GENIUS
LIKE ALL THE OTHERS
SHE IS THE LIGHT CASTING LIGHT

LIZA IS ROCK AND ROLL
AND ROCK AND ROLL IS ALL THERE IS
THERE IS ROCK AND ROLL AND YUPPIE SKUM

LIZA IS A WALKING SATUE
SHE IS OUR IDEAL OF WOMEN

SHE IS WHAT YOU CANT BE

SHE IS SKIN

LIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZALIZA LIZA LIZA

THE BEST THING EVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREVEREV

Hello Garbage

2008-08-09T17:59:00.001-07:00

Guess what word friends you're chastisers
You tear tendon my heart skin cough chicken death
Warning bell huge siren
Flanked lacerations tearing into me
Cutting into me
Flat sheet rain hedge hill grove state U air water is a water tunnel to walk through
I'm just sick of life 'cause I'm cast out of it
PALE with my thick lips that want to chew our pulp maelstrom
Honey I sweeten for you
I'm the sweetest damn thing and so are you

Children I used to be content
You become the growing man beware
Who is is frozen there
Just doesn't know
What I mean is your dumb brain doesn't get it or thinks it is smart enough to grasp it
Listen this is what what happens:
1. You become an enriched doctor who is constantly parading
a. doctor cap
b. bad breath
BAD BOASTER
Doctors boast and make ya feel like shit and you know why? because people punish eachother from all walks of life you know why????????????? because no one knows how to express themselves shit heads cause you get caught up in all the machinery and it's going to get you down you know why???? that high horse is a bitch and you're tricking your goddamnselves the rithum of africa understands, the river excetra EX SET TRA we fucked up the goddamned society and it it is sad and I have a human emotion that drips like a faucet sink

FUCK YOU

Unrealistic pt. 1

2008-08-09T17:58:00.001-07:00

Well I really am trying to get through it. Past a frozen frustration. Past a lot of signs that scream stop or go another way. But, no alternative routes are purposed. What could I do? Where could I go? How could I change?

I was given these fingers and these eyes. I have thousands of days to strain and wear them out. I am using my body. My body is an instrument and a manipulatable object. I'm a coaster sponge and a spreader and seed caster. I am the disease the infected and transmutation.

While staying near the surface I'll scurry my muck and my perception. I'll try and think about a one foot pigeon till I walk past a one foot veteran to buy pain killers from him. I'll think about him peering from a shadow with a shiv trying to kill me, while I feel her breast on my sleeve, while I think about her chest, how it's compelling. While she's away I'll feel my pain being killed, how that means that my pain has shifted space for muscles relaxed and muscle relaxing activities can inhabit me. Like to be relaxed and stoned and do it anyways. It's getting in touch immediately. Having something to do. Every young punk fucks-up because he wants something to do. Wants to feel.

Sterility is contemplating luck and opportunity. Like fishing for a fish that's already been caught. You can try and get what you think but, it's not going to be what you thought.

hold on man

Wanting and Waiting

2008-08-09T17:57:00.002-07:00

Well, I guess Liza's plane took off about 2 hours ago. She left here around 1045. The first hour I think I was in kinda shock. I wanted to try and sleep some more, but couldn't. It's much too hot. It's always too hot when my situation is most futile. It has to really feel like the summer for my blues to really sink in. The second hour I was motivated and determined to set in and be productive. I thought "If I'm going to have all this space and free time while Liza is away I might as well use it to be very industrious". So, I rearranged the room a little and worked on recording for about an hour and half. That's when the fear and anxiety started to sink in. Should I drink a beer? Should I take some morphine? I can't talk to Liza because she's 30,000 feet above the earth. I cleared the room up a little bit, but Liza won't be coming home tonight and not tomorrow and over and over. She is flying to New York. I got a phone call from Amanda who is in Minneapolis. She made me feel more at ease. I also started drinking a beer. Amanda told me to hang out with Jonny who is back in town from Chicago. I said " Well sure but Jonny doesn't have tits and ass" and Amanda said something like "I didn't know you were like that, needing tits and ass all the time" and I've been smoking a lot of pot or cigarettes or yelling or something and I've partially lost my voice, so, when I talk it squeaks and I figured how ever I would answer if whether or not I needed tits and ass all the time, if I could get it, would sound silly so I said nothing, you know.

My daily rootine m-f from when I wake up to noon (my routine pt1)

2008-08-09T17:57:00.001-07:00

730am hit snooze for maybe fifteen minutes
747am get up maybe eat or shower or update Ipod
810am smoke a couple bowls of weed try and find keys
835am get to chocolate shop put on music
843am mark takes trays off chocolate smell chocolate eat a couple pieces of chocolate
900am draw a shot of espresso eat a power bar or maybe bagel/oatmeal etc..
910am send out texts make call check e-mail (cellphone time)
917am maybe pretend to do something in stock room and use restroom
928am make my hair look weird take off hat sunglasses put on work shirt
930am-12pm Send out loads of texts, make boxes of chocolates for white trash euro trash trash etc rude or sensible people yadadada yawn...talk to coworkers about zombies or other coworkers or about going out or seeing mia or cat power or listen to the new tokyo motorcycle club or talk about some chick this guy is kinda into over and over and over it has its moments (smoking pot helps SO much!) going to the mall everyday is a great way to be surrounded by a bunch of strangers It's also a real safe bet for a place to go to have real mundane conversations about something you want to buy with a guy that has to humor you because he is getting paid to placate you because he probably owes somebody money or has just graduated college and you haven't gotten placed somewhere that you deserve based on your credentials but THE MARKET IS SATURATED YOU MISERABLE FUCKERS! Market St is saturated with a lot of miserable motherfuckers and I can't sort out all the different derelicts from all walks of life conjoined with their company of nowhere nothingness sucking us all headlong into it WHO ARE WE TRYING TO SAVE AND WHY???

In the Nightmare Version of Dreams

2008-08-09T17:56:00.003-07:00

Getting all hacked up by confetti holograms
In a conical stream
Like a lariat tights and stalking
A wall perforated with holes
Screams disco ball strobe lights
Walking hermaphrodite hairspray fire escape
Old horse murder victim road away on
Day and night
Night and Day
Chopping up frenzy
Bloodshot eye shadow stalker
Angry lot attendant
Bent over lover falling down a stairless staircase
Or a ramp or whatever
Hammering a chisel head
Sitting on a chain link fence
Mid lake in Mid sentence in Mid nowhere
To squander
To lay to rest
To heavenly hold and bare chest
Wreath of bright red berries
Holster for arrow
Carving skin off a skull
And playing an organ under bright lights
Brightly played notes like bloody tears on a bloody window
Dripping with a gallon of horse blood
Smeared by an angry farmer or one of his fucked up children
Fresh from slaughter on any given Sunday
It will be there mosaic and phosphorescent
Like a blood nativity scene
From a bloody Elizabethan nightmare scene
Like a screen of blood clogging wind flow
Through a net of tide together holes evenly divided
Like matchbook matches or a bag of bags
Or book's pages bound by machine
Broken silence broken by the sound of silence broken
Anybody can drown in any body of water
Can anybody be saved from being bloody murdered on any given Sunday
By an angry father or one of his fucked up children
Angry at being fathered in the first place he fucked a hermaphrodite
In a frenzy
Falling down holster
Bent over being fucked
Bleed sheep's blood
Hammering a chisel head
Bloody tears on a bloody window pane
Strangled by a drunk cowboy's lariat
In the Nightmare Version of Dreams

Black Flowers

2008-08-09T17:56:00.001-07:00

Inside an endless tunnel

forever on her scent
like the first smell
and you love her for every night
she lays damp
and you lay strict
erect in your desire to place her in precious jewel everlasting
you know of her orgasm
the light that is her curled in you
stuck in your brow
and in your sprawling foreverness
flowers curving outward
putting legs and your dick and your body hard
making a machine pure of love and grace
her body the moaner
her body the cool orgasm
that fills my life
that makes me complete in feeling
we intwined in love and exclusive detatchment
that is us put together
and I love you my love
the hardest rock
and the softest most fragrent flower
that smells of life
that looks of it
the intricate beauty
the best I have ever had
liza my love
my liza
my love

You are dedicated to the fire

2008-08-09T17:55:00.001-07:00

So your dear johns are scraps
ready to light a fire
So you say good night
at the closing of a door that marks off a field
So your spinning wheel is a sensor that triggers a reaction
that every time it goes around you are alerted
YOU KNOW YOU ARE IN DANGER AND IN SPITE OF THAT FACT YOU TOW THE DANGEROUS
YOU ARE THE ELECTRIC
YOU ARE THE BOMB
We are the catalyst cringing from it and cowering a damn awful long time knowing it
Smoking grass and losing touch
We wanted to be sifted like a big batch a flour
We are the gunny sacks drifting in a bin of overstock
We are locks of lamb hid drifting in a family week long tow of substance
Our eyes are muddle
Our big sensory shaft glowing in orgasmic effulgence is encumbered by hoards of dribble
Wipe it away sucker
Get off my brow
We drink the wine of fields going down further down
We are the pollenated seeds adrift in particle streams detached
We love the breeze and we love the way the wind feels on our skin
We wanna be free
We want the exigence the nirvana and the loaded reverberations forever
Cause we damn well deserve it
We are the kind child
the Poet sons and daughters
we are the new sex and the new dawn ready to feel
we grow and we always will
I LOVE YOU MY CHILDREN
GROW INSIDE MY WILES

Drug Sores

2008-08-09T17:54:00.003-07:00

Blood oweled eyed bloodshot
Up all night and scream through windows and crowds
Speaking lecher lips
And speaking the trade
You haunt and you howl
Sheets of green and white
Debutant flaccid man
Flaccid male is a flaccid thing
Night light pornography
Bloody nose and broken legs
No shovel to bury all the shabby treasure
Moved around in cages regardless
Of traffic lights
Or who's in town
Displacing routine and orientation
Who's down and who's mean
We can't share ourselves with ourselves
We are uneven meter hypnotized animal creature
Animal eater and fang finger
Gutted cubed shredded serrated
Impaled and run up
Done up like a dead man
With Zoo eyes
Showered with lures
Played like an anvil
She said:
"I'm fucked till I'm dead from being fucked"
And he said lies
And she said lies
Tangled in their lives
Like two shipwrecked flies

YOU CAN'T STOP THAT WIND FROM BLOWIN' 'ROUND
LIKE YOU CAN'T STOP THAT SUN FROM GOIN DOWN
AND IF YOU DON'T SWIM YOU'RE GONNA DROWN
LIKE A CLOWN THAT PAINTED ON HIS FROWN
LIKE A DEAD MAN YOU'RE ALL ABOUT THE GROUND
AND LIKE A BLIND MAN YOU'RE ALL ABOUT THE SOUND

Atone ajar phobia beetle jar stone
Thin lean head cold curtain
Clock tower shadow cold humble speak lite
Soft vines with soft thorn tide around soft female ankle
Static hourglass time
Sitting in folding chair
Shaking furiously excited
Shaking shocked and charged
Ripples on windless lake grow large on
Frail flawless sand shore
Her neon-light hospital sensual seance
Pants hush lustful kisses
Worn around neckless white breath
Tired shadow rigid in nothingness's space
His lashes she tastes isn't all that she wants
The road in his face
The ground in his eyes
His broken nose
His bloody mouth
His total pain wants mud and rock
Slutty embrace and gravel mouth
Sand in her eyes Sand in her loin
To travel alone unguided guarded
To feel and moan in total release
To cherish and hold
To live and cease and past to deliver herself empty
And total churches deserted
Are churches collapse

Yellow bucket chair
Sunflower black and white
Seeds negatives copper wire circular stone grey
Freckled videotape
Pink lipstick night club bar empty
Glass beer foam dirty
Full ash trays
Invisible sweat covered glass
Dirty empty refrigerator
Egg timer hands point thirty seconds
Bulls eye arrow target
Wine bottles cigarette pack red wallpaper
Postcards thumbtacked posters
Beer can beer slogans
Rusting light fixture
Dumpster sidewalk manuscript
Brick walls
Stiletto food bags junk
Sports car black and white striped awning
Glossy bras
Felt lace cotton ball plastic wrappers
Disease people
Drug sores chipped cannon ball silver tape light bulbs
Pocket lighters fishing hooks guillotine bubble gum
Wallet condoms coke bags cameras sunglasses
Tanning beds lottery balls
Soft red blood mouth
Trickle stream blood
Wrinkled worn cloths
Shirts jeans
Dented car hood
Blood beds
Thawed ice

Featherless birds

2008-08-09T17:54:00.001-07:00

Plain crashed debris was found in a ten mile radius
A kid told about his grandfather who had no mouth
Looked like a blood sucking insect
What ever they're hooked on
What makes their bodies twitch
Their need
Their need makes them go
is their fuel

Rabid blood suckers
Necks exposed
Talked about a vampire
Talked about a leach
Pale bodies slouched on a chair
Somebody is looking for drugs
Somebody is looking for something to drink
Somebody is looking for something to fuck
Sun is relentless
Makes us wanna drink and hide from it
Some of us want its rays
and it owns us
cause we got the thinnest skin
we pale in radiation
and freeze

Our nervous system makes us nervous
Our understanding is something we can't understand
And how we teach each other
How we desire to grow
How we try to mold and assimilate to each others discoveries
It is fear and excitement
It is hiding and revealing
It is a narcotic
That furious intensity
That humble reserve
That malnutrition and over stimulus

Fear I gotta sleep
I love you Liza
gravitate me home...

Gold Tender Skull

2008-08-09T17:53:00.001-07:00

Gold Tender Skull

You break me outta prison
Lavender ya undeserved
Rolls from hills
Catches and drenched
is mist goes so quick
you lustfull gorgeous
pine baby
lover baby
you're so gorgeous
and drown and feathers
and outrageous
torn about
your skin
prism
suckin' poison out sockets
sweetest life ever to have lived
and given it all back
Liza Thorn you crack my cheeks
with your wet mouth
my mouth is a sponge
signals curve of torture
of your spine
full of wealth and heroism
you teach me that
that blind or better is no worse than some
gone is 'em
gone away
you're curled up
soft and substance that weighs
you're my duty
my presence and my arms
my stamina and golden wing

Garage Sale Solipsism

2008-08-09T17:52:00.001-07:00

Here we go!

Grey eyes? Where are you? Sanitation?

Dear Frambois,

You spoke to me about the possibility of maybe coming down to the court house with $50 for bail money which I can’t really understand because that dollar amount seems rather low. What is it that you actually did? Stole a gum ball? As I write you I’m aimlessly flipping through the television stations. Did you know that nothing on TV has managed to capture my attention for weeks? I find my self having to be engaged in several different activities when I try to be satisfied by one.

Maybe nothing for. Maybe Everything.

Dear Frambois,

I’m in the kitchen. I can’t seem to find my new knife. Every time I buy avacados I lose something like a watch, a shoe, my knife etc... That’s why I always just get that pre-made guac from Henry Harvester. I knew a guy who would always run his produce in the dishwasher. He wouldn’t put any soap in or anything, but he would lay in the carrots, the beats and the squash. Man it’s hot out side. I could sleep for days...

The kid is a killer and I’m into it. He killed a nurse and he killed a nun. He killed a cock and doe and a finch. I knew this kid who was a killer. He killed a koala and he killed a lady in a hallway. He went to a fancy ball and he killed a countess and a frog. I new a kid with grey hair and grey eyes and he only ate ice and he’d lay out in a shady place. The kid with razer blades and hand gernades who finger fucked and bowling pins.

No matter where you’re at or who you’re with drinking beer is cheap and easy. I have a hurdle to get over. It’s short in the front and long in the middle. I have an opening in my health. Jagged teeth or "tooth man" the man with a golden sheath of wheat has a ribbon on his arm. Lady says that beer is not for sale. She is merely a hose that sprays when she speaks. Liquor stores are the neon sign coast guard and the man was in the coast guard and was stationed in the middle east and was like "Oh man that’s not what I mean". Another man not as tall as him had a fifth of gin in him and spoke like he had a baby in his mouth and a hammer in his hand and he said something like "boy oh boy this is not what I mean to say at all!" and Finally an old lady that has an old car and an old way of thinking took two hours in a video store looking for the best movie they had and she was quoted as saying "little boy you are a grown man now!" And I had like six or seven beers and I wasn’t much to talk to nearing the end and if I remember what I said correctly it was something like "dad is at it again!"

If you ever meet my brother he might have a picture in his hand of something like a fox or a hunting owl. He’ll have a bugle and enough food to roam for a few days. He will be there for you.

I am death in fear

2008-08-09T17:50:00.002-07:00

heaven is a hound’s gasp
and I don’t believe in any of it at all
and your bodies’ rigorous routine
taking steps you make for it
like I have to do it or else
And we’re dead
but we gotta do it
and the gold man blew up and
later something else
caught ablaze and San Francisco’s burning
And our dead beat fuck head friend has gotta
LEAVE
and I know why
cause we all do at some time
you know and you gotta go
well I love ya for it
Patrik Sand Burg or whatevr------------

You can do anything!!!!!

2008-08-09T17:50:00.001-07:00

Today I successfully conquered one of my biggest hurdles and actualized my dreams. I became self actualized. A product of myself. Cast in my own environment. I became my dream wrapped inside my dream. Surround by my love. Alive in a golden universe. Surround by gold and love. Forever. For eternity.
I have always wanted to play in the subways. I love the streets. I am a street walker. A street person. I am the city. I love sound and chaos. I love the passage of millions of bodies through vast networks of infastructure. I love the human machine. The city organism. I love to pump with the concrete. To be the golden child of the industrial revolution. I am a musician. I am a tool of sound. Today. Finally. I went down in San Francisco’s bellows with a guitar (that I don’t know how to play) and I played. I ripped at the strings for 45mn and when I came back out into the sun, into the light, I had four dollars. Four dollars that I earned. I earned by playing the sound of confusion. Of the organic estranged. By being the friction the golden and the light. Today I became. I was born. Now I am free.
And I have Liza. And a wonderful home. And I am the rainbow of gizm smeared on the prison walls.
Believe it baby,
mark

SERVING THEM STICKS

2008-08-09T17:49:00.001-07:00

We spoke midnight grey haze
Scissors cut carbon copies double our original images
Sex and feeler organs sucking and blotching free standing vapor trails
Red hues and purples double images pixel and ice cube water ripples
Town houses turn million mirrors waltz and flutter woven together
We sweat and genital twinkle goose bumps and flinching head cocking
You must sit and take a break echoes break...break...break
Brain cut coconut milk ears pouring
Flash number four streaks digital clock elevator number skittles out
Hits bravery top hat blobby latino sweat monger chicks
Pounding drums deep deep deep below our hotel
DEAD TVS hymn sounds static puma scratches baboon cheek
Scream ricochets erratic pattern funnel drain pipe and loudspeaker
Drug disease midnight street walkers moan and talk fragments
Filters garbage-food strung-out mulched fowl human sewage
"Gonna capture you" echoes "you... you... you..."

"I’ve rarely read of devils or of gods. I’m no religion trotter. Haphazardly I’ve witnessed my ability to create and destroy what one would conceive of as higher powers. There is a strong attraction and desire to the unknown. The unknown however is nothing"

Pavement shimmers windshield glass rain reflective stone
Black snake’s scales and skin contract and tiny parasites traverse
Pilot fish glide underbelly ocean grows snakes tooth poison swell
Pulsing skinless veins LOVE tracks swallowing entire head mouth
Squeezing body drop nail water bucket {splash} {splash}
Panting metamorphosis and symbiotic orgasm letting
Cold night wind rushing finger ajar push-window drapes fluttering
Wine bottle raised engulfing plunging cock deep echoes centuries and sex
Blood unites and divides lovers wild lives
Cum yields cultivates and contaminates
Skin dives erotic dancer mirror walls and ceiling front row stripper show
Basement freaks poled freezing snow and vomit and glass
Laugh and curtain call hands hands feel and peer through night obscured
Dead downtown liquid sex dropper liquified sleaze and slums pulse disease
DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG
Searching zombie mutant dead human hunts body destruction and cell mutation
SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX
"want’s to fuck and get fucked and be fucked fucked and fucked"
DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG
Prisoners desire drugs and pussy die drug prisoner prisoner imprisoned lives
SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX
Dead cunt facade fuzz sleeping beat and trashed disease plays recedes
DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG
Clocks spin counterclockwise cocks flaccid drips drained
SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX
Floors and walls and frightened spinning windows and rain pouring
DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX
Clouds purged dark and clouded rain pours and dead drown washed away
DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX DRUG SEX

Equinox Anticipation Investigators Etc...

2008-08-09T17:47:00.002-07:00

It's espionage season
Everyone is looking and prying trying to figure out what is being obscured
People need exposure and to be exposed
We have no natural environment
We conceal and reveal
Layer on Layers
Fold within Folds
Grey is a flickers gold is an upturn Doe's chest
Slightly it wobbles as it does
We wanna be liberated into soft sun rays
We collect long hours and miles of green highways blue berries and fig trees
Reconcile that sword and no wound we suction cup to sensory pleasure
My wine run out glasses drank and good morning and goodbye

I don't have it for them. Really I have nothing. No ideas. No money.

VIRGIN MEGASTORE
Brian Jonestown Virgin Megastore
MegaBus and Comet Bus
Comets Suicide on Dasher and Prancer and Dancer

Morphine trout gutted fish cleaner Skull Fucked hand sanitizer
Daniel "Pinchbeck" Johnston town massacre
Sludge travesty downtown suburban transfer EQUALGLIDE
They bought 'em up truly gutted 1st floor mainstay lobby
Salami sandwich dowery
Axe chopped off gloved hands leather biker crows feet first drugged out drugged
Crows feet water mark celebrity sign sealed microfiche
High on fiber slant eyed cactus sea board transbay double twat
Birds chirping at a an old doberman untrusted
Our news is the BLUE NEWS
Splice me to death
Tape my mouth shut
Thrash me with a switch
Use cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to dab the red scabs and soars
Take me to the county hall
Let's smoke tobacco and drag me in shackles and hoist me up on the wall
Torture me
Torture me
Give me long days and growth
I wanna smell the ground grow
I'm a follower of flowers and fruit and young born deers and calves
I want to see sex alive
Coat it in dirt and talk to it
I wanna sing the ground growing and see it pour color into existence
I WANT FUSION AND I AM FUSED TO FUSION
Equinox rain that SUPREME that seeks to know that follow and flows
Expose green grass and and hidden crime and night death
We are waiting at the break at the brink of what's to go

Siren’s favorite song

2008-08-09T17:47:00.001-07:00

Good bye water
Good bye rain and showers
Good bye lakes and rivers and snow
Good bye the ocean that licks the rock
How we loved you so

Flat lands that humans never had are vast
Our dry earth drying in a sun cycle and a cosmic spin
Our cold universe that is no blanket and no haven
PURE ENERGY AND PURE NOTHINGNESS

There is nothing weaker than man
than the mind
than the heart

There is no strength in building
There is no strength in history
There is no strength in creation
There is no strength in man

And we are in a vacuum
Slapping each other's face
Remembering constantly remembering

We are there in every stretch of infinite thought
Wrapped in a bullet of imperative immediate consumption
Dire dire thirst for what is plague and lust

We are death march love and everything human has had
We are a symphony of experience in every direction
We are our environments our life and non-life things
What ever that may be
We are soft and frail and a beating drum of an illusion of strength

Man's greatest weakness is his illusion of strength
And in turn his greatest strength is his illusion of beauty

We are tumble weeds of time my friends
Blowing around in that great beyond

I’M GUARDING CALIFORNIA

2008-08-09T17:46:00.002-07:00

Pavilion comet ghost star gone adding machine
Cleaning detergent grandma recipe in claypot
Warm sunny rooftop striped awning bark
Bitten tree line rows of well worn streets
Pavilion comet ghost star gone and tire tread
Marks lovely young blondes roof top cut off cars
Cruise slow and mellow and drink pineapple soda and
Fade off into rainbow w/ diamond lance and melted gold
Smooth cut almond flesh refreshes together alone
She dreams in skirts of leaves half naked
Waterfall bathing in -silence-
Pavilion comet ghost star gone otherwise dire
Fountain spires spiral cone off spanish isles
Coral bones as some sort of soul that boils and strolls
Features platoons migratory geese and water balloon
Weeping willow trees accosted blunt brothers of
Compassion and sacrifice toil restlessly marveled in prime
Pavilion comet ghost star gone cucumber and leaners
Gate cotton tails feline excitement rushes
Mercury touches Mercury
©====================================©
©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©
Pink and gorgeous lap dog bloody on wedding dress
Drink CHANDELIER coolers brim foggy marsh and orange juice pulp
Glass stairwell refracts light and sugar crystals balloons/mirrors
Haloed vacuum sunglasses honey/glue picnic champagne flutes
DAMN!
{claps hands}
Whistles hops and overheats
Heaven's bucket canyon thick barbs mule and cactus
©====================================©
©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©
©====================================©
©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©
©====================================©
©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©©

My face has no face and no begging and no end
Leave Leave you are unwanted
You upset our home You upset our home You upset our home
AMETHYST DAWN SPECTER ------BEGONE!-------
Halt invisibles Halt and -----BEGONE!------
My face has no face there is no begging and no end
Shudders it Shudders Shudders Shudders
You have upset our home AND WE WANT YOU AWAY!
By the forest in the eastern glade
By the lakes and the rivers and the Northern Pine
She is being tried a Serpent Virgin
Drugged and impoverished of distinctive life force
Dead calls through willows and infantile yellow tongue
AMETHYST DAWN SPECTER ------BEGONE!-------
AMETHYST DAWN SPECTER ------BEGONE!-------
My face has no face and my tongue has no end
She secretes dementia entombed in stone
Demented in a state of dementia
Serpent Virgin Serpent Virgin
I command you to state your name
I demand that you relinquish your hold

SPRING COMES AFTER WINTER BEFORE SUMMER PRECEDES FALL

2008-08-09T17:46:00.001-07:00

Because winter is proving to be a major killer
Aren't you tired of this right brain linear masculine progression through time
Aren't you tired of everyone's concept of things
Ready to burn it down
You're pissed off because Seinfeld is only 7 seasons
And the presidential campaign isn't really glorious
And I got to be influenced by the Velvet Underground
And I have no idea what major city is blowing up right now
And I got like 7 colds and 7 years ago I only hung out with 5 dudes and now I know hundreds and hundreds of people and they can't handle it
Some can and it would never come to that
Is there tons of little dogs in every city or just San Francisco
Yams Eggplant Cabbage
Some of you watch 7 movies in 2 days
I get elated right around 10pm if everything is all set up
I feel odd and alienated in San Francisco lately
I don't get it???
I'm sure I'd be at odds everywhere???
Do you find yourself having really strong opinions about things that I mean come on who gives a fuck
we're sad sorry victims fucking each other over like the lord of the flies
I'm really sensitive to it and I know how it goes and I'm so sorry to do that to you as your blood runs down my cheek and splatters on the floor
We all got our pain and don't see it and rub it on eachother's faces and we don't know what we're doin until years later when we remember and we don't know what we've done

Crippled motion sunday

2008-08-09T17:45:00.001-07:00

I am the color blue
There is a bus that leaves daily
From me to nowhere
I alienate am an alien
I lapse into a sea of hibernation
Of fear in fear of action and defense
There is no strength in some few entangled in me
And from me invisible I cast them away
My tongue and my arm infect
Daily and in new ways sacrifice appears larger and angry
In which way am I to confront this?
Do I grow larger or longer?
In which way do I grow?
Without hesitation facades are left crumbling
And this is a queer state
That it is really running like an explosion in all directions
I have lost my way and wonder which way to go
I have opened a home for alienated souls that I am barred from
I am barred from entrance to communal fraternity
I feel unwell

WOLVERINE TEETH

2008-08-09T17:44:00.001-07:00

Wolverine Teeth

A commitment:

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

In the random imaging
Jungle it was
Kite cord suicide
Look at the lights

none of them use candles for their houses
and that mixes with their drug blood that makes them want to see it glow
they want to get caught in a huge relaxation
before all gets sad and blown
like a retired clowns cock
people want to see the clocks stop and moan
it wants feed to grow
want to chew on leaves and spin off a branch
like a drugged up koala
people want to get blown and dust of a sad cap
snow feels like home

KIDS GET GOING EARLY CAUSE YOU GOT YOUR VOICES/VICES
DON'T LET THEM KNOW HOW MOODY YOU ARE UNTIL YOU GET AT LEAST ONE FOOT IN THE DOOR AND THEN SURPRISE THEM BY HOW LONG YOU CAN HOLD THE SMOKE IN YOUR LUNGS FROM A HUGE CHERRY BLUNT
GO TO A CHERRY ORCHARD AND GET REAL LARGE

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

IT'S NOT GOING TO BE THIS LOOSE ANYMORE:
1.STOP SHOWERING INDOORS AND INVEST IN DRY-CLEANING STOCKS
2.TAKE LOADS OF PICTURES OF YOUR FRIENDS CAUSE THEY'RE GOING TO TURN ON YOU

Fuckit, I’m joining the russian army

2008-08-09T17:43:00.000-07:00

William Burroughs I love you````````````````````````

Sun maldives golden vestige and a regula slump
watch um degenerate into it
gals in a bucket flim flam
soft as a pock dip um into a slit
cherry gerbil lips slump down
freshman AM bar
going to the cities
buy fowl skips and it gets up
tape malfunction

YOU SUCKA WASTE!!! YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YA ARE> T R A S H
GOOD BYE
P L E A S E LEAVE young Treise alone
Sleep in the arm of a tree young ghosts
aphook is here

Extraterrestrial Tower Game Board Light Grid

2008-08-09T17:42:00.000-07:00

glass hammer strikes anvil breaks again
spider earrings terrible phobia midnight gone in ghost valley
shot gun shards of angel hair and puma lords heads shaven down to a thin jettyblackwaterfur
miracle teeth cut volcanic rock into a haggard spindle of gravity pockets
combat locating aquatic color fan piercing bloody double seconds

blue crystal ballooned window fiber boat dejection transit sophism
banner and a staple true wave luxury wave us and flag us down

king's wisdom Eye and the phantom Eye and the daily Eye
opens an new wickedness a false motion
you're shoved from behind
a cord around your doorknob black board chalk lines and neon
sleepless seduction numbmind has generated slack jarred
uterul caterwalls photo bus chapels
serial numeral scrawled bald on the wall
neon slimb limbo subliminal children gringos
grin and go in singles limb and nimble dwindle
in dangled brambles slammed to shambles
drab and letter blown
it's gone as all things go
glory stricken sodden and castrated
estrogen symbol littered sugar hipped arsonist
club footed pharmacist prescribed side-effected
diagnosis diatribes deliberately
damsels in distress ramble and professed affectedly distressed
affectedly well dressed damsels in council swindle shallows
rain stream make black tar water
palm rivers stone tropics
rain thick tube snakes radio sauna brittle cyndrically
twisted root syphon gully water intrinsic scorpion's tail
ghost of traffic pilot lost unarmed collapsed
libidinous desire trouble ego frequency ballot glimmer
aluminum carpet suave velvet shall and indigo combine stitch rugs
houses from original ground
and their sequin skin and peacock feather hair
and her siamese eyes walking from the sockets
paws in thimble clinking typewriter
and she purrs
and it echos like a moan

I have just become again (to be)

2008-08-09T17:41:00.000-07:00

got stabbed in the heart
took such a long time to come through
and I'm looking for a part that stays true

a bat is on my back and is a tumor
it wants to guide me in the dark
grow large and point it's finger

the floor of my home is covered with unopened letters
I can't remember anything I've thought about today
I can't hear anything lost in sad faces

it is a cumulative progression of small murders
compounding as any disease would untreated
they occur infrequently obscured from consciousness

Rectangle Trajectory

2008-08-09T17:38:00.000-07:00

Fire and dead beetle shrivel wilted and the test pilot was a mummy grotesque and horrified
My blurred vision is a testament to it
You long legged silk stalking beauty
Red lipstick and cavernous???? legs?????
Fire from the tits spun out like an inbred county carnival wheel
And the spittle from meth mouth splash on the contact lens' like country bugs on automobile windshields
Using a tire iron for canoe oar
Approached sideways lanky cunt who spoke too fast
I try and collect a ticket from a pallbearer
Are you bored in this dimension?
Relegated to, you know, substances you can't push through.
Do you find yourself taking drugs just so you can meld with other substances?
Don't you want that little part of a chair in you to be able to be a little part of a chair for a little while. To be one in the universal substance. I mean, what is more gaudy than a reflection and is not the reflection ultimate judge and measurement? Do we not pine for a singular substance of unity of two entangled fuckers forever glowing one pure in the universe in harmony forever transparent holy and supreme, to be the spokesperson for the godhead heard only by the godhead?
"Dear waiter there is a fly in my soup"
"You ordered the soup. What is the problem?"
"Obviously the fly!"
"Eat around the FLY! Don't be a fickle coward! Get out of my restaurant! How week and meager our species has become!"
"This is an outrage I am never coming here again"
"That would be a blessing you miserable wretch. Grin and bare it. The soldiers are tap dancing on your grave and the priests have closed their temple doors."

Damaged by someone else's version of a thing
The endless recreations of a fairly base concept or some petty done up model in homage to an infinitely more complex purity

I love her. I do. She's not a flower. She's a prism unfolded and a thing that walks on water. She is that lingering scent I desire that makes my blood halt and speed with no progress, around and around. I desire hallucinations. And all of it all unraveled and spun into tornados of fabrics and light. And you cough in that cold winter we do now and it turns into traffic patterns and fish scales and moonlight and that smile and those teeth that live sovereign. I'm a radical and let it be forever radical. Fuck the heavens and the notion of it- the curse it has thrown. We are dead ruffed out by it's glorious insecurity. Fuck the heavens for their dandy purity and the scarf it wraps around the evil smile. We are over and done with it. Fuck the Heavens that don't exist and persist in every poor impoverished lie. Let the lovers and feelers be aloud their own free ways. Let the heavens go fuck themselves for all the pain it's caused. What is duty?
The heavens are plagued. The heavens are a mud puddle of malignant confusion. Can we just go day to day? But we must. We are an inferno for it and we know we have to be because we've seen the blaze. We know fire and we are to be the fire. We haven't seen the heavens, but we've seen the pain it's caused.

Jungle children are so cute. Trust me. Smoking pot, awesome! Listening to good music by people who wear black cloths is really fun. People who use lots of distortion in their songs have got the right idea. Don't be too noodley put some wine and lipstick into your feedback. The perfect lamp is as important as the perfect pants or shoes; you have them on all the time. Don't skimp. If you put a lot of effort into your cooking or playing guitar or writing etc. try and put that much effort into everything you do. DON'T SLACK. Hopefully you'll find someone, something or some substance to substantiate your lack for some period of time. It's kind of like what good are they to me if they're not into the Jesus and Mary Chain. I digress.

Blur Oasis Ubu Roi

2008-08-09T17:36:00.002-07:00

Britney Spears Trsitan Tzara I'm so bored of caddy and who cares about it all
Also, 1990's getting close to 2000. OMG I'm playing this JAZZ joke. Ok, fuck wads E V E R Y W HERE Miles Davis is the only person (ONLY) ONLY ONLY ONLY person who was COOL and HE STARTED TO SUCK THEN HE SUCKED AND DIED. Drugs? Apathy or Boredom. Ah hell no!
Dear Damon Alburn,

Ah Hell no......................................

I'm trying to B L A C K O U T

It's not album art worthy ah hell now.

Anybody can have a little black boy or girl in them.

L.A>>>>Story

London Boys you take the pills

You know people are backstabbers you are. You have no stamina and your linear projections are faulty and shackled. How do ya like it?
Impotence
BBC

Praise Allah Meg Whitey

Slam dunk drunk Punch drunk luv

Fagotts ralley
wrap yourself around dale earnheart JR BANHART

Flip a skiddel into your little mouth
Father Christmas we are coming for you

Drab unmistakable drab
Rubber band you are so handsome and so bland
Rubber band how I wish I could join your rubber band
Now she's married to the leader of your band

DAVID BOWIE IS AS MUCH OF A DORK AS PAUL MCCARTNEY
Don't be pompous don't be a fucking fool
Sexy is royal transparent O R AN GE

I'm looking for contemporaries

Wanna aline?

PROVE IT FUCKING IT
FAGGOTS BEWARE
I LOVE PUSSY
But I hate bitches and I'm eternal
Suicide? Don't have the time...

Oh, BTW Heteros Beware. I cannot relate to you on any plane for any reason.
FEAR FEAR
Don't talk to me about SEX or your X's I can't relate
I can't share because I'm into sound and Sex talk is to HEADY
I avoid intelligence or anti intelligence
NO TIME
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SNOW IS SLOW RAIN

2008-08-09T17:36:00.001-07:00

When it's cold everything slows down
I regained my youth
Alone in the woods.
For the Rivers and the Trees
Good bye Rivers and Trees
Our clan is the stalker and hooded villain
With sickles and parrots beaks
Blood flows pure from metal blades
Dear Rivers and Trees
You flow polluted and fall in disgrace
Dear forest lovers
You run cracked and window pane
Electric networks sore on oval apex glow
Chores are too much to bare
And that gaudy done up pomp
What had they done that for
Misuse and sleaze
Late night ramblers light their cigarettes
That great fear alone
I am running mad
From the horror of our minds
Into a track of nothingness
And big powdery moth wing gloves hit the walls
GO SMACK
And you're all done up
And you're all done up
And the numbers stream back Zero
For you and only you

SENTINEL GUARDS

2008-08-09T17:35:00.001-07:00

Space
Infinite Space
Never Ending Expansive

Vows on gates and bridges
Streamers etched river shorelines
Vows to neon born children
Blind and hollow born in moonlight
Bewitched and softly spoken
Virgin maiden head is broken

Where ever it may be-
Leave scarcity leave fought
Leave swollen and black behind the ears
And blackened face and feet
Where ever it taste week and lacking
To spread an oyster thin sheet to sustain a stadium keeling over
Stomach rot and face rot and distended bellies and featureless sad and encrusted
Where ever it may recede into a facade of secrets and shades
And hushes and hands over toothless mouths
Whispering decrepit promenades into irrigation gutters
To clutches
To rages
With the ears of lessons
Where ever it may be hard pressed and empty
It may empty and empty until opposites are satisfied
And with practice goes forgotten
Goes forever and forgotten
Where ever it tests principles below surface
Where it may be in the heart of ritual
Where it may climb and light in dignity
In harshness of light and the ferocity of common anonymity
Be-forced upon mortal grounds keepers of eternal battle cries
And general misunderstanding gifts, folly and rebuke
Totality swing around vacated masterpiece
Is globes seen exploded
And our vision is the rupture in the universe and the collapse of it all
And in the night sky drying eyes out
Anomalies and telescopes drying by burn barrels
And dark alleys fermenting with vermin
Promotes crystal vision
Where ever it may be heed that answer and fry turn stave heretic
May be heard and brave
Heed the color wand balloon endanger collection
Where ever it may be lost and forgotten
Let it leave unnoticed
And blown liquid anew

These ancient walls held me in the halls and the velvet shall and indigo stitch rugs
Their houses were flanked from original ground
And their sequin skin and peacock feather hair
Sparkled oscillated reflection
From the stroboscopic melting of a ceiling fan
Pulse Pulse and diamond globe spun
Broke into four distinct parts N, S, E and W
Golden poles erected
-------------------------
We are aiming for sonorous hierarchy
Their motion and passage sings lisp into frontal lobe via cerebral cortex
Pleasure
Spans wicked moonbeams splayed out with a chinese fan in her porcelain hand
Claps and hemisphere orgasms
Chirps and every nest hatches
Chirps and doves sing
Sings that one long night alone that following fire flies lead to that fire shrine cathedral
Her harvest is intonation and reap whole arms full of holly wreath innocence
Knocks you outta the mirror
Alone with your reflection
Standing 2 by 2

Frosted Hallucination

2008-08-09T17:34:00.001-07:00

Halogen skipped sputtered and scarves halos neck
Great fruit vines bow and caress
Soft skin and sweet cells mimic constant flows of energy
and sweet pine fires twist and choke your nose
you stumble with your leisure all around the world
Lost in forest everglades you were the son of an elastic golem
Known to all by your Cinnamon breath and genial vision
Eaten by bowls of blueberries whipped cream and diamond teardrop
Suctioned to the page by an old scribe's torrents
You are the Trapeze circumvented Siamese twin
You took your balloons in hand and drank orange juice
When we hug I feel your breasts on my chest and light emanates from my head
I stiffen and my jowls hang loose with poison and rapture
I lay in a coffin and spit on myself and pray for showers of dirt and closure
I am still alive
Twins we are sisters alive and covered in our cousins make-up
Twins we are deadness in halls and barricades against heavenly ghosts of compassion

Dear Sculptor's,

Shards of angelic fantasy arch texture swirl ancient column
Ripe mint honey suckle passion charisma
When you walk PURE F AN TA SY
From every golden sea to shining sea
Bouncing prism,
love ya.... here's a kiss darling
magnificent lightning shatters still pond shallows
quiver taught gaunt little one little specter little spider
my arm and my mind quivers
sap is pulled and that ember is in the sack
AND THE FIRES STILL BLAZE
100 and 1 in a million
Oh sweetness,

The fondest love poem

In the Empire (cried five or so times)

2008-08-09T17:33:00.001-07:00

In the EMPIRE In the Empire In the Empire In the Empire In the Empire In the Empire
It began and it will end in the Empire
Fire and Fire
They built the buildings to fall
They had the meetings to decide that we are going to die
In the EMPIRE In the Empire In the Empire In the Empire In the Empire In the Empire
Glorious SKYSCRAPERS I see you as my biggest victory
YOU ARE History
The Moai are DYING
TEARS from my eyes and the rain rain rain erode EASTER ISLAND
JAPAN gave Easter Island $600,000 to help preserve the MOAI which ranks as TOP DONER. That is pale and cheap and FUCKING NOTHING. The Moai are ranking a very close 8th in the 7th wonders of the world catagory. Thank god they didn't get the recognition as one of the 7. Tourism has doubled and there week infastructure can't cope with the adding pressures. SAVE THE MOAI. They are gods on Earth. I get so sick at work peoples lame houses are worth millions and they are gaudy true gaudy professional who dish deuche and are not helping WONDER for what it wonderfully is.
Moai and the rest is HACK

Vanity Fair

2008-08-09T17:32:00.001-07:00

Perfect bachelor pad has a champagne water fountain, playboys from the 60's and Ray and Charles EAMES chairs

Strobe Lights:
I was at work today and I took in a large portion of "POTCOOKIE" I was so fucked up. When you stand quickly and you have a severe head rush and everything is a dark black pixilation and it throbs and breathing tightens and you need to bend over. SICK AND I WAS SICKEN. Pot food overdoses are so common.
Puke is in the air.
Q. What is retching
A. Being pulled away from something you love to entertain another

One and a half hours of displacement.
We stand SO firm to the places we boycott. What draws us back when we have made up our mind? Laziness or retardation? Nostalgia or condition or apathy. Ditto kidos it's a roaring red bandit sucked pure and red by a heaven mouth piece. Don't grow shallow. You are black pants dick so soft maitre de' impressario.

Public Busses are a terminal suckfest. They be disease and my immune system is not strong enough to withstand the eccentricities of human backlash drug or street fucked hacking fluids. Families are psychophants and bundled hearing impaired. I get whipped getting on the bus. And sickness and graffiti is omnipresent. I'm a lacky and a tool for bigmama vibe scold me for whatever. THEY DON'T WANT US AND I GET BURNED.
THE BUS IS FUCKING DIRTY SICK FUCK MUTATION DISEASE.
Cancer and aids registered trade mark scores of burnt matches unhealthy drove malignant and paltry. WASTER fuck you BILE SCUMS. WASTER superBILLIONS sickness smell like sickening sea foods. Dead trolly is lost amongst litter and trash and wrappers from fast foods and dead dead rotting L I F E/////////Zero and See ya......

Professor Thinner

2008-08-09T17:31:00.001-07:00

walking out onto the plank
wake up every morning with a headache and nothing is changing that
sure coughs a lot and the cold can't last all winter
thinner is the new way
just drink soup and stare yourself skeletal
Get X-ray glasses and glue yourself to a mirror
Get on a plane and fly away
Buy grocery store fruit, come home and bled it with ice
THAT'S A SMOOTHIE (with yogurt)

Virility is hunting with a stick for boxy oafish flounders
It's a hunting tool
And low goes the shepherd with a mask and pointy ears hidden
With a necklace of snake teeth and a monocle adorned with a shark's tooth
So he can see what he bites and breath the venom of serpents vanquished
Professor Thinner has gone to stalk the graveyards and hotel lobbies
For bending stones and crystalline chandeliers
It is already an end for it all and cruise to destruction
Some to stacking blocks and fists of fountains and hunting targets
The drug box hunting mind
Hunted and Hunted
I have to visit my wife on that island tropical where the dignified statues goes forgotten
And I'll take a dergible and have a small bag of appetite suppressors

Britney Spears

2008-08-09T17:30:00.001-07:00

Let me try and break this down for you:

I'm more concerned about Britney Spears than the Bay Oil Spill
I think that Britney Spears is more interesting not because she is interesting and I am very interested in a great many things about the oil spill
THE PLANET IS ON IT'S WAY OUT AS WE KNOW IT
the majority has no soul and we rape our heroes
look to the streets. look at your neighbors and coworkers
THEY ARE MUTANTS
MAN IS CASTRATED AND THE FEMININE NATURE IS FOUL
WE ARE MYSOGONISTS AND WE ARE GRAND PUNISHERS
The war rages and it has no face but blood
FAMINE RUNS RAMPID AND WE ARE SURROUNDED BY SWINE
Q U A L I T Y IS SLACK
We say fuck you poor man and no time and who cares
I AM ONE OF THEM
It's okay you know
Good bye planet earth you are just as beautiful today as the day when you were born
and good bye human race you have behaved admirably we've done what we do
WE ARE THE SURFER GENERATION COASTING OUT ON THE BIG TIDE OF OUR LEGACY
EXPAND MODERN MAN AND GROW
VOTE VOTE VOTE
CLEAN AND CONTINUE
do we want another couple hundred years?
1,000 years?
What do we want?
Let's leave earth. Let's go somewhere else. Let's pioneer.
Let's repair and be level headed
Let's pool our wisdom and strengthen
We can fight right?
The terrible murderous war lords of the world. In africa. In the middle east.
In Oakland. In Chicago in our own back yards. Where is it?
Where is the foul horrible thing that it is?
And they say don't let it get to you or do or back and forth and I do and don't
I know that today a britney spears song made more sense to me than anything I hear because I'm so detached from every other author BECAUSE THEY MAKE UP GABAGE AND THEIR LIFE IS TRITE AND GARBAGE, I don't see it and I DON'T BELIEVE, but I know britney and I watch her get raped and fucked by every fucker I see her loved and cherished and she writes a song that I can see into her and into myself and it is simple and I KNOW HER AND I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING
Listen,
The world is losing it's luster. I'm not saying I don't thrive and cherish and love and pine and REALLY LIVE but the planet is over populated, nothing is remote, history is being eradicated the shrines and temples of the past are turning into disney lands and virtual libraries. WE ARE BECOMING CRANIUM CEREBRAL MONSTERS THAT DON'T NEED OUR ORGANIC SHELLS we just don't care we are giving it up
WE ARE GIVING IT UP
So I say who cares do what ever you want it's the closing out end of times fantasy world!!!!!!!!

Pregnant bitches and they put handcuffs on flowers

2008-08-09T17:28:00.000-07:00

You are my number 1 eye soar

I also hate this

Where am I supposed to go? Rather, what is a coffee shop that I would like? Music I'd like, decor I could deal with and the people who shop there. I just am so sick of strollers and dogs (sorry eddie). I work in NOE valley in San Francisco which is a safe haven for the middle aged family starters, aging fags and dog owners. There are also quite a lot of people who may have owned their houses for the last 30 years and probably pay $600 a month for their whole set up.
I really just don't think people have enough time to procreate. I mean I don't have time to do that and I never will. I struggle endlessly to make time to play music for maybe four hours in my day. I need to read and write for a couple of hours. I work for maybe 6 or 7 hours. Transportation, food, general maintenance i.e. showers, room upkeep, drink, drugs, friends, sex. I exist in a fantasy. I don't help or contribute to anything worthwhile except the aesthetic legacy of literature, music and entertainment. I work on whatever notion of a soul there is, which I question. I feel like I am constantly pushing and struggling to produce a PURE QUALITY EXPRESSION. I TRAMPLE THE FLOWERS, KILL THE ANIMALS AND POLUTE THE EARTH. I AM A LOCUST WASTER. I am the one of us all. Quite frankly I can deal with that. I didn't ask to be born and I know what it means to be alive. I know all the carnal joys and wonders of an intone human organism. I've seen the pain and I know to fight against it. I am aware. Yet, as this is myself and we all do what we are so inclined and are one unto ourselves I'm not speaking to the right or wrong. I don't care and am unqualified. It's such an utter bore to be right or wrong holy or what have you. All I know for my personal taste sake is I hate seeing pregnant bitches in coffees shops (or anywhere for that matter) and I hate them with their fucking kids strapped to there chests and the castrated male with the fucking kid strapped to their chest. And if they are progressive and forward THEY DON'T HAVE FUCKING TIME FOR KIDS. Your are throwing your fucking feeling organisms into an abysmal black pit that will not have coyotes or clean streams or fish or anything. YOU ARE SPAWNING DEATH FOR A LIVING HELL. There is far too much work to be done for children. YOU ASSHOLES.
Which again is fine. Like I said. I am a waster. I toil with my creativity and am rather oblivious to the concerns or situations of the populace. Day to day I don't care. I am the same as my peers. You may have empathetic mood swings. Say this or maybe put in a little time here or there. Maybe you spend quite a bit of time on worthwhile endeavors and my hats off to you. I appreciate and desire quality. Which is not subjective. Diversity is applaudable, but the bi-product of all these goddamned children is a weakening of the gene pool, a slack in standards, an overall lowering of BRILLIANCE, and no one of intellect to monitor. Again what ever. I really just hate seeing people with babies strapped to them selves. It's a matter of taste.

Ringing the prismic conical bells

2008-08-09T17:27:00.001-07:00

Fractal shards flake trigger finger greased
Got a gap in her teeth where the taste seeps out
Thick of sap

Emma Lazurus can save us she says:

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset fates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

They walked in and promptly got a table. They sat down
with their mothers and fathers, put in their orders,
it's locked in time. My head is VIPERS head
poly numbskull electric escence. Here is juice. My
lover is so ripe and I the fickle farmer want to spray
a rainbow of gold onto her tunic of jasmine and lace.
I am a failure.
I lost it.
In some suicide vein I don't EAT..
You don't subside and I appreciate your guidence
I AM NOT VAGUE I BURN
Utopian catacombs 2 broomstick
Your dumb mom is mad
Stop riding...........
Kids with cherry red cheeks are permanently katmandu
Chinese noodle shops and steam gooshing from
stormdrains and manholes
And a bejing stock market sex trade of penniloafers
and iodine blowhards
Sucking the stick of a crimson candle eyes that BURN
and BURN
Saw hoards of would be tamers lost their beast and
malled by possum families
Bloody hands of cum and luck pining for the juice of
orange, and grapefruit
Never ending thirst for the one that waits
Never ending hunger for the feast of cherry red blood
Of cherry orchirds

1st and 2nd once again TWATS

2008-08-09T17:25:00.000-07:00

CUNT LAMO
Body: Fuck you Calvin Johnson and Ian Sevonias(or whatever) $8 fucking dollars to watch you middle aged deuche bags to dj at a bar fucking DIY CRED GONE. FUCK YOU LAMO FUCK FUCKING YOU. K records blows You blow Kill rockstars fuck you asshole fags

and to think i had loved you...

Why would you agree
We know you aren't making money on tour
None of your subsiquent projects amount to anything
What are you
A product of a monthly that would puppet you as a price
You slack jokers
You pussy hunting self loathing trunkated tuble weeds
Calvin Johnson
What are you trying to pull
Are you aware that you are "djing" at a bar (straight edge?) for 8 fucking dollars?
Who gives a fuck where you are at
San Francisco? Kids have money?
Ian (nationsof Ulysees) sveonias are you far gone
Do you not know?
Are you far gone?
Jennifer from Royal Trux are you far gone?
Am I going to be middle aged and yuppieid and totally far gone
NO NO NO NO NO
I know that you can age with grace and not be fucking terribly lame
A sicko trash and maniputively far gone
You think you are so damn smart
BLOW AWAY AGED TWATS
YOU WARE YOUR AGE ON YOUR SLEEVE
-STRECH MARKS

Devendra Banhart you scuzzy sophomoric troll

2008-08-09T17:24:00.000-07:00

You scum fuck head lame fuck
You have no message
Your snarky yuppie throw back false pilgrimage is foul and foolish
You are not a part of the problem or the solution
You are a vacuum that numbs the minds of all
You are commercialized nonsense
You have no humor
You lack style charisma heart passion
You are a sour trite waste
You hurt people
You are a joke a fool a schmuck a tool
You're brain washed and are a cheap brainwashing toad
Your voice warbles like a sulfur bath
I hate your smug tobacco mouth and your sweaty head

Dear Devendra,
I have watched you over the years grow more and more wretched. I have watched what you have done in public. I have seen how you behave to my friends and peers. I have seen and read your interviews. I have watched video of your performances. I have listened to your records and read your lyrics. I pay attention to the world around me. I study cultural phenomena. I read about art and music of the past and present and look to the future. I know you are slime. Are a manipulator. You waste and waste and waste in front of us. It's not your fault. Like I have said you are a tool, a product, slack, a victim. You are the habitual rapist, molester, fink, repeat offender and like other that bare those names I am clueless to the solution. Lock you up? Kill you?
It doesn't really matter. We don't really live in a society of relevance or culture or happiness or one of compassion or use. We just burn now. We all just burn. Conservation friends are marbles. Wasters are trash. Druggies are defunct mongoloids. Artists are yuppies. Students are fastfood bowel movements. Our motions are that of severed head chickens, but I digress.
Devendra, I can't wait till it's been years since I've thought of you, till you are out of the public eye. If that doesn't happen anytime soon and you continue to linger in my psyche at least for the record I've spoke my mind.

FAULTY JOINTS APPLICATION

2008-08-09T17:22:00.000-07:00

Sandstone mammalian thuroughbred and pure breed
clean streams of genetic pure evade stressed diseased
hide out host casket tar resurrection volcanic putrid
casket dumpster landfill host beacons attracting
imperfection
Ethnohellicoptic cleansers dividers filters
qualification census
Strained through information security holiness prove
divinity
Dwarfed siblings struggle and spawn a lessor grade
Plague is born butterfly metamorphosis
Or, retrograde, Cells dead innocents unheard words
faulty joints
Marked poverty and purity weave motley while purity
scrubs to shine
And poverty consumes to consumption and gone
Dead born retardation skin in-scripted malaise
A horse to pasture a horse to grave
Hairs relationship to radiation is natural reduction
punctuated by
cover-ups
Dead calls through willows and infantile yellow tongue
taste honey for sunlight
Precious stone collections golden trunks bloated
Emerald pearl opal Sapphire chests
Hung strangled pearl strand covered in piles of
peacock feathers
burried under diamonds and amethyst secured in marble
and jade swing-sets
Silver mirrors affixed to clay
A wall of them like a flies eye projecting vision
Reproducing orgies of malnutrition
Hunger for fecal cuisine an appetite for malignant
extremities
A real slop appetite for a real slop constitution

the terminal one is carried on and on and on
and the terminal one he stops the fun
frost bit delinquent and divisible by one
and he carries on and on
send him packing with the letter
send him way off down the road
and I hope that one is better
as the new one's growing old
oh, the new ones growing old
oh, the new one's growng old growing old growing old

Raped around the family tree giving trapped Dons

2008-08-09T17:20:00.001-07:00

I don't exist
I haven't existed
I see all my friends (now and then)
Grow get older and change their body shape
Are we grapes or are we raisons
Are we raisons in oatmeal or are we the grapes of wine
The grapes of wrath
Are we wrath or the wreath around fraternity
I want to be wrath
To be the tempest
To be the long thin blade that cuts the sow's supple dangling innerds
With blood and life running down my wild face
My electric television eyelids draped over purple fabric drapes dripping
Mint in fists that KILLS
KILLS in mint fits
Is a running popcorn orange icicle ocillations
Is dead vines in cut out hollows
Two opium pill pillows relaxing everything all night
I want to relax on the perfect pill on pillows all night
And DIE inside being stroked by infintite fingers that she only has
I want to be reincarnated into the flower of an opium poppy
Then be reincarnated into an opium poppy
Then be reincarnated into you
Your soft existance
And die with with your pain
A pure drop from a purged cloud
Clear and divine forever and for always
A pure existance in itself

today at 6:49 pm

2008-08-09T17:19:00.001-07:00

Ian Brown's height is 5 ft 8 in (173 cm)

UK Singer, The Stone Roses.
Met this celebrity? Add a comment below. Got a photo with Ian Brown? Please Email Editor Rob.

Add a comment about their height
Your Name:
Your Comment:

Anonymous says on 31/Oct/07
I Love Ian Brown, sucha a cool guy. 5'8 seems fair, standing next to Noel gallagher their about the same.

Evanna says on 22/Oct/07
Donna, Ian is not that short, but his posture is one of the world's worst...

aron Brand says on 19/Oct/07
i met Ian at Don Hills (TISWAS) in NY after his last appearance at Webster Hall. he walked right past me and then talked to me a bit about the show. i'm 5'8.5 with adidas trainers on and he was wearing boots, which put him almost an inch taller than me. quite a funny fellow.

Donna says on 19/Oct/07
Never in a million years is he 5 ft 8 in . . . . more like 5 ft 6 in. I met him at Rock City Tuesday night and he's the same height as me !!!!

Stu says on 14/Oct/07
I lived near Ian, before he moved to London last year, and often saw him - at local shop and I attended a party at his house. Hes no way 5'9" - more like 5'7"

Anonymous says on 8/Oct/07
jon that's impossible that'd make mani like 5'3 and he's not that short lol

Jon says on 8/Oct/07
No, I'd say even smaller-I'm tiny myself (5 ft 6), but I met him once and he looked about same height as me, so 5 6/7 maybe.

Anonymous says on 7/Oct/07
i'd buy ian's claim of 5ft 9 because it's not like he's the kinda guy who's lie about that and he certainly can look it. wasn't mani more like 5'5? and i tihnk john was like 6'1 because there were many interviews post-roses that described him as tall, and i remember seeing him tower liam gallagher whos 5'10 and noel looked waaay short at the big knebworth oasis gigs in '96 where he guest played guitar

haha made me think of this quote

Noel: This is history right here right now, this is history

Liam: I thought it was Knebworth what you on about?

glenn says on 6/Oct/07
no clue on heights here,names or looks.but the music is great.

Gonzalo says on 26/Sep/07
He looks 5`9 at the most. Stone Roses were one of the best bands ever. I wanna be adored....

Evanna says on 25/Sep/07
Squire is 5'11" to 6 ft, possibly 6 ft, he's always been a bad sloucher. Mani is only about 5'6". Reni I've never seen, only Robbie Maddix, and his hair made it impossible to estimate his height.

Scott says on 25/Sep/07
I've met Ian Brown on a number of occasions and he's certainly more like 5'9+ than 5'8 and only ever wears regular trainers ... Very nice guy too, which was surprising given he'd served a jail sentence for threatening to cut an air stewardess' hands off! :)

sugarspun says on 24/Sep/07
man i thought he was at least 5'10 back in the day, very skinny guy, looks tall on the tele. squire is probably 6ft, i saw a pic of him and liam gallagher and he looked to have a couple inches on 5'10 liam

AshnarLynx says on 24/Sep/07
John Squire, the Roses guitarist, looked tall.

Evanna says on 23/Sep/07
Wow Rob, thanks for adding Ian! He's a cool guy and your listing is correct, although he's claimed 5'9", but nay.

Split Peas

2008-08-09T17:18:00.001-07:00

It took to the plant man
for a week
Take it to plantation grueling
Grovel trainstation merrily and turbo
Beer drinker towering brown bag statesmen
Sleeping owel eyed children bang metal measuring cups
move in dirty places
Smooth wood sticks beat dust from moth bit slippers
Lake be with thee
Truth be worn
Embers from foxfire in hollow grave night receding
Dimples her retna
And a slush red aphid chewer
Signs his name in ink
On grocery store receipts
Whip cream mohawk light tunnle screwdriver
trainstation robbers
Malaise twin screwed country station
Liquifier dynamically turbo dynamically on

40 stalks research mania grow project
no
Insanity
Metal contraption
A carnival locked in a bedroom
Twisted antique doornob in the smaller German streets
Cubicals of common people
The capturer
You can't smell the sight but you can twist inbetween
the box
the beekers came in
Scoured through the hungry street
A mongrol in the wealth of the overflowing troff of
surplus farmers of supersoil of the fisher that is the
earth and in france the wealth of ageless recipes and
the paintchipperd architexture pure and supple built
of neccesity
Burst into france an inferno burnt friends alive where
they stood
A ramshackled narcisistic fury of open bleeding and
blood letting chaos
Ripped black tattered banners from walls and torched
messages they carried
Did this for them and their taudry vagabonning
And their slut inuendo and chaos and fury and deadness
Cut slack with a sickle and burned a grimmace to the
ground
A ground that is forever turning and mulching a
harvest on sticks and gravel that is frozen and barren

Is a vacant shack housing nothingness in a forest
alone
Caught by wind and turmoil becoming dead freckles to
leaves denting snow garden sheets

Burst into Russia angry and forlorn
Known nothing and ran the tubes like concrete animated
And a booming voice trying desperate to relate to a
past thing gone
Saying HELP ME IF YOU DARE AND P L E A S E E A S E M E
you white velvet sheets that sing it
You're a sordid mess and a ball of fumes
Going fire
One eye looks away and the other smooths your wrinkled
coat as the forhead flys forward and messes the
firmness in context and out
no
Cobble stones and gravel road and horse skin flinches
fly tail whips a cloudless sky and the brick melts
into 10" by 10" on ten achres neglected by tounge and
pounding skins
Horse hooves running a full galloped pink hues and
bubbles and carasels and vivid paint smeared
everywhere and surplus pies and candy spraying your
taste buds and sour milk and poison ivy and islands
and never ending lakes tables littered with dishes and
untouched oceans no water fishes fishes tidal waves
and fishes tide pools ripcurls and fishes undertow and
the soft glimmer of fish scales thousands of miles
blanketing most all of the hemmisphere the terra the
human dock the land and water meadow our home and
ancestrial architexture

What is to fearful boast

TOKYO

2008-08-09T17:17:00.001-07:00

Hi mommy,

Struggling with a bout of insomnia I`m afraid. Without
many time pressing issues it gets to be like 6,7,8 in
the morning before sleep takes effect. If the contacts
came out of the eyes, it could be more relaxing. I
just get on these jags though; of reading and smoking,
smoking and reading, drinking tea and feeling
enlighten. Have met bunches of new people, from
Australia,Texas,London,Toronto,Japan,New York. Cool to
chat with folks who speak a common tounge. Get all
these thoughts out the brain that pile up, or get
pushed into the computer screen. I like hanging out
with artist/musician types. I don`t get the sense that
maybe "most" of these people are. Fuck if I know,
everyone`s a damn english teacher. The kid I recently
met from Texas is pretty funny though. His name is
mark too. I told them all about "Webster" if you know
what I mean. They thought it was a very smart idea.
They asked me if it was ever used. I busted the table
up by telling them that if someone came up and said
webster and then took me to their van and had me model
for nude photos I guess I `d just have to agree and
know it`s very important and in my best intrest. It
all came from a conversation we were having about
strange experiences people have had noticing weird
things some japanese men try to pull on women here.
MoM Mom Mom,
I went to Tokyo Disneyland. I now love Disneyland.
Remember when we had the choice of going to disneyland
or getting a computer and a less expesive vacation?
Well I`m glad that we got the computer at that time. I
would have been too young and stupid to fully
appreciate going. Youth is wasted on the young.
The only thing was that all the characters on all the
rides spoke in Japanese and I found that to be pretty
confusing at times. But hyper hilarious as well. As
I`d tumble here and there on the water falls and
rollercoaster I shout "wwwwhhhaaattt tttheee fffuuccck
aaarrree yyooouuu sssaaayyinng......." I`ve also been
meaing to tell you that Japan has some fascination
with winnie the poo. So`s sister`s room is fully
decked in head to toe with posters,stuffed
animals,cloths and other paraphanilia paying hommage
to POO. She is always watching her DVD as well. I mean
it`s like the only thing she talks to me about. It`s
masive. I thought you may like to hear about that. I
need a Job but Ill find one soon. The more people I
meet the more likely this seems. I hope. This is
important so I can afford to go to tokyo disneyland
once a week. I have to try and figure out what the
robots were talking about. I should be moving into an
apartment soon. Hurray for independece!
It`s getting early. I must try to get back to sleep. I
love you very much. I should try and get a phone card
soon. I should give you good folks a call. Again I
love you. Take care of yourself. I say that line all
the time but with you I mean it. Got it. I`ll write
you soon.

Love Mark
PS
Tell Trent he should become an English Teacher.

Sipping on the nectar of high fructose prosti-tots

2008-08-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

Drinking vats of aquanet in the slaughter house to stay hard hard harder
Fly-Paper handshakes all around the clubhouse boys
Fake eyelashes glued to walls of co-prosperity SUMMER condiminiums
Waiting for mom to turn the phone back on
"The white are up in the hills where the prostitues are and the Europeans all stick together. They're fucking assholes I mean why else are they in fucking Tailand?"
My goal is to not be insightful
I am the metal detector
Put the sun behind you
I caution your rise, your atmosphere
oh god?

Brush Lander SCAM:FAGPUTZ Hemoglobin PT.1

2008-08-09T17:13:00.000-07:00

I saw some putrid smoking loons sweat drenched and fowel suck my pot away mongoloids.
:::Hold on I'm getting a phone call:::
:::He wants to cool it down:::
Sunny says that country is full of nymphos. You could get a love hotel. I resist spilling my guts here because I'm starting to get attention from a nostalgic grove of tip toe surgeons who would know what I am.
I am trying to encourgage them to come back to me.
20 kids are everywhere standing around drinking beer. Smoke is damp and cold noone can be heard over anyone else, over the music, over anything.
Fuck, I am so sorry. I'm fucking off.
Here:
Get on the back of this eagle.
I can see San Francisco I can hear Chicago.
My arms are the drummers, bang the whale off, suck it off, BANG THE TRAIN.
I'm all in fits.
The destroy is scream is destruction is Emrald fires in abandoned ER wards Jerico fista thief in Russia by the blood wound KGB family detergant scars my ears need bandage the frozen river misery rushes past my eyes.

Cloudy mugs shmuck 6ft "2 men moth all over peeled our sensory decadent skin gone replace with their horny barbwire eyesore dead ringer for NOTHING they will kill us they have mutated from the rich blood of army fathers born with machine gun facades and doubled up with their machine gun bold ironic ugliness
Aren't you scared?

Come on Babe lets fuckin' go out tonight. Lets go down to the Mish. We can go get fucked up at Mjdrool. I'll buy you a streak at forengin cinema and we can catch a movie down at the embaradaro. Will Smith has a new movie out. He is playing like an incredible father up against the odds or whatever slightly paranomal but very
nor·mal·cy [nawr-muhl-see] Pronunciation Key
–noun
the quality or condition of being normal, as the general economic, political, and social conditions of a nation; normality: After months of living in a state of tension, all yearned for a return to normalcy.

T.S. Elliot couldn't save us. We couldn't understand a thing he said without a hearty translation. I'm not worried about that however.
sirens on stallions plowing through a mythical landscape briar and medow shires etc... something I'm sure we could all agree on. morose tones sung the songs of suicide and sacrafice and skin
up in a revery exstacy
warm and want to bathe in warm fallin rain have invited them into a home
built the shelters pyramids outta pullies nets hammock etc... AND WHAT ELSE?

Rotten cabbage sewage streets good treats raining candy
Darken field of candy of Opium
And opiate world of opiate taking and talk slow jaw like the way you talk then
And opiate so universally agreed

My Opium Tea House Days just begun

2008-08-09T17:12:00.001-07:00

I love you
Love is street lost
Love is stranger in the common area
Gold soul rollercoaster drifter wildness
When I chase you scream and get excited
Muted and museled
I'm cooking my tea and CRAZY bread
King Kong on the Watch Tower
Patrick Grabs Eddies leg
I get a phone call from missouri
My friend rita is so sick, almost dead...
It's raining I'm talking to Liza and she golden hair fades into a sconce
Liza Thorn
I know a guy who is a cleptomaniac and charitable
I have a friend Patrcik Sandburg and I have some other friends
Last night WAS, it was very handy I'm old enough
I know a guy named malcom has anybody seen him around?
I get into troubled, people are hiding from me
I can make up people, make up with them hang out with them have hang ups with them get made up and hang on to them am a hanger onner I meet em like that
Hello Jon and Gene in Oakland I'm sitting in my room right now. I went to New York 5 or six times-----E L E VA TOR floor 77&42
My generation's HERO's are buffered impotent by societies late onset downs
Not only do the good die young they also spend hella time on the phone
Aaron call me back more frequently. I'm starting to think you are like some of my other friends we know, who are they? Who are you?
I wish nobody worked anymore grown children grown Patric Looking at dicks Liza is looking at tits offer is looking at some thrown rock case work stuff My roommate tailor is walking around the Salvation Army Lindsey has her hands wrapped around a dildo JR is slicing some meat Laura has her hands all over infants all the time My friend jon wroks with crepes I think...
Seems like most girls have the wrong bra size
This guy at my work told me his brother was breast fed and is a dead beat and has women take care of him because he is charming because of the breast milk
What's to be said of tits?
I'll try to be charming when you come to town. When I meet you for the first time. Like meeting courtney and solomon for the first time at a chick named KC(vj) illicit errands etc.. then lo and behold out at theirs in NYC so nice and funny but crass and onry etc.. they are humans so am I. Courtney came to my BIRTHDAY blowout at camp David thanks girl you're fucking a star!
If you feel the prick then that's you stuck.
Hey drew marcy pat kopine ZACKMC way to plan way ahead I have a strong feeling you'll be fantastic for ever You too Liza and Patrick and eddy and willie and offer and archie adam and kate and cass and caryl.
I saw two pizza guys in one day so that means I get two free pizzas
I owe a lamb a thousand cokes I know so many dudes who don't call me back.
It is so strange when some pals stop talking to eachother for whatever reason.
But it makes sense and is ok. I mean come on. Icecream and hot dogs can't exist in a wedding dress. WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THE BS AND WE'LL BE UTTER BS BESCAUSE WE ARE US AND ONLY US.
Things exist simultainiously with incongrous boundries.
Sorry, Sex Jesus and Mary Chain Sex Jesus and Mary Chain
Top Ten Things I hate:
1.D
2.E
3.V
4.E
5.N
6.D
7.R
8.A
9.His persona he chooses
10.The persona his fans and detractors create
That is alagory or a subject heading for a different story...
You don't have to live before you die.
Jayme thanks for the support clarke kelly best and teddy thanks for the support
You give white people in the Mission District of San Francisco a good name when you're here.
Why are we always poisoning ourseleves? We'll I know why, one word NORTHFACE.
You dad brother mother sisters and cousins family etc...
Where are you? Where did I come from? Is it relevant.
My blood is My blood.
I am soverign.
I am mark unto mark
I am the subjective
Offer is A HUGE SUPPORT
Will has this great gretsch guitar. I think Jr has a rickenbacker but maybe not but hunter has one that is really jeff curicholos life partner lady YO DUDES IN CHICAGO go on tour and Get people talking about Krecords.
BTW I love rockstars you don't need to kill them the good ones do it themselves they die young they start to suck or they are IT forever...
Hey cooper you are a genius but a stoner
Gabe I love you you really make sense to me.
I always say that the only way people can appriciate eachother is to expect them to be themselves and to not hold anyone to too many expectations
I mean I love Liza and I want her to be Liza's Liza's and not a Mark's desired version of Liza and yet she is my desired version of her and she is of my desire...
I know it's tuff to watch the ones you love behave, treat and be treated in ways you wouldn't want. It horrifies me.
I mean there are a lot of perspectives and one's imposition manifests in a myriad of influence. And know that you are doing something even if the visible response in not immediate or is never visible. Know your energy goes somewhere and that this is a dance of energy. Speed Levitch knows that. Aaron Brown Knows it Paul Nelson and Hunter Husar know it Zack Mc and Joey O'mohoney know it Doug Morrison and my dad know it Haley Lou haden knows it Liza surfs it and Patrick articulates it eddy fiddles with it after willie chewed on it Brian Tester is IT
It's not just energy BABY it's a package
Package that those bedroom lights came in to light up those bedroom eyes of yours.
Take me. Take advantage of me. Turn me into you. Turn and Turn and Turn.
This is OUR YOUTH>>>>>
I AM NOT SAVING FOR THE FUTURE
THERE IS NO FUTURE THE FUTURE IS IN EGGS
But as a futurist and by it's style grace and the post post modern handbook yadayada
will work within future work within all, not going so fast, not so much going etc...

SNAKES LEAVE ME
I study my friends and enemys I am my FAMILY

Once again because I'm sure you forgot:

Rows

You'll never be put aside my friends
Who I adore who I slave for who I cherish
We progress and slave to our deeds
Sleep with our lovers or pine in our night alone
Some grow with owls or
Walk and be marked by sticks they carry
Silence and cricks play our evening stream expedition
It is going wonderfully
This river spins harp strings and can clean and feed
Kill and then borne to ocean
This river held me back and kept me close to mother
We drip of contagious blur
Nothing has come and to be shone
This formless exposition bemoans clever strategy
This mother of mine extends her arms
Plays cradle and lets friends be themselves
To be a guide unto themselves and
Let us have it never any other way
This mother is a river and clings to cricket wings
Cleans and slows our passage through time
Opens her owl wings and plays night time rhythms quiet
Sings sound of playing on white harp strings
Bending and vibrating light vibrations
It all vibrates and it all vibrates to palm trees
Those little hills our houses sit on
Stories of inhabitants haunting some supra-natural
spectrum
Normal unto themselves
Yet demonic to witness
Us who wonder
Yet by and by much accustom is rule less child
Oh I can follow the flute and reference nothing of the
past
I get the storm and understand it most deeply
Am each of its rain drops and access lists daily
deaths
Are the small things ground and heated to pass on or
see through
Or see your current state bouncing back back back back
How much can you carry as you go
We pick our seats in amphitheater
Snack and string gallows
Flush our Poseidon
Divide our demonic kingdoms
Cast our triton and get deep in the river
Past our waist drown our smiling faces
Our tears run and smudge
Mother comes to wipe them
Sees her reflection
Drops her walking stick
Bends our clever ears and coos inside
We get warm and fall over
Fall deep inside this river of rushing delicacy
Get mostly swept away not swept but mostly drift
We are the drifters in our mothers rushing ocean
Which surges all at once
We are waves of her face
Rummage witness
Fly with our brother owl and strangled before it
before them all
fall and die at once
breath our same tricks of tragedy
Run with daggers in woods
Hunt with our supreme lover's intention
Diviner aimless sprinkles chair dust
Lovers can still lust in love
This river takes it all slow brutal
Knowing all encompassing compassionately
Bends and bees a very spectacle of itself
Bends and leaves with my mother
Loves my friends and leaves at night
Plays music of our lives

I love my Life I love my Wife

2008-08-09T17:09:00.000-07:00

YOU

You You

I will make it for you
You are so easy to talk to
I fit inside your body
You are my skin I wanna fill your hole
I wanna

I wanna
I splinter apart
V A C A T I O N
Strawberry lips everywhere
Green fuscia stems umbrella blossoms
Misty spring opens up flower patch chocolate
Paper mache skylarks drift in a pool of mahogony mimosas
I'm so drained and pissed off at whoever, whoever
What I wanna do is this:
1. Do it better

The buttons do nothing
I'm gonna bite off a parrot head
I MADE UP WITH AN ENEMY! YOU CHANGE HIS STATUS!
I hate to hear his name know his face know that he is alive
I think he is REPTILE
I hate his reputation
Let me wad up this anger into a condom and safely fuck it away
Fuck it,

What I wanted to say enraged as an enemy's enemy is that you make the first move.
That is such a way for defense. There is incredible exposure in attack. I heard he was a great fuck. I heard she was a lousy fuck. I heard that this is that and this is that.

I wanna
I wanna be the 20th match and the 20th ciggarette
I wanna be the volcanos last eruption and pound one at last call
I wanna live at the end of the line and take the last bite before I slip away
I wanna savor the last moment before it is irreparably broken
I wanna see your last wink before I cut off your head

Dear slaves, savants and the like...

Don't mind translucent skin veins my fibers my optic heresy
Straits of Pananma pour from my pours
Tubers and troffs and pig intestines compost she talks like that
Vacum Cleaner Mouth Arrest Ward needs new HELP

I wanna drive that GOLDENSPIKE right into the core of your faulty LIVINGMECHANISM

cuties cuties cuties
Join my cult it's called "JAR and HAMMER"

DON'T JONES ME

2008-08-09T17:05:00.001-07:00

I wanna be trashed be trashed and be trashed
collapsing in the trash underwater
Routine fuck speedway uninspire rack
Praise faith healer neon leachdum two prigs
Tokyo freeway traffic two loopy kids
Broke my ankle made up with damned tranny devil
future sword killer I can tell
Big red lips sucking a newspaper torch
Put a christmas egg in a toaster
It was on fire it was a sweater
You wear that sweater sweetheart I bet you do
Sloth, here is some wisdom drop that bitch off before going out
Sloth, he is a leech on life I'd leave tokyo if he lived there
Dear bitches and brides,

We have morphed away from our previous territory in search of a better blanket to turkey baste our rolly polly legs on like little lost lichens molested in our kitchens watching it rain outside dying to get out
I'm calling for you...

They need to be bit by an aligator don't they
Every young girl needs it don't put me on
Bring forth a river of blood young women
This is not a flower of a preach and I can look to that thing again
I'd tell you in a whisper I'd follow you nowhere
I heated the cold glass with my foggy breath
I wrote out what I thought I couldn't remember

I can't remember anything but the fog and the granulated lanscape fold into itself
There is a tornado chasing and I am waiting for my car to be blown from the road
Pleasure comes from the mouth love sense organ
Young bangers fist for freedom
Are freedom fisters
Young blonde cameramen shoots the news in camoflage
Cops are looking for us in our houses by driving by and looking in our windows
I think he's cute and I like hanging out with him
I can get all plan parenthood with her
It's not going really well
Well he'll just have to get over it
Let them run free all over me
Dark camoflage netting
Bleach for black
BLEACH
MAKE THE BLACKER BLACKER!

I heard an answer to the big question.
Would you like to know it?
Would you like me to ask you the question
to see if you already know?
How long sucking on the tit does it take
for you to start feeling the baby?
The minute it hits the mouth.
Longer forever feeling friends rejoice
Rejoice long and feel it forever
October I have no problem focusing
Come over if you love october

Fishnets for Filmstars

2007-10-12T09:47:00.000-07:00

Lillypad cryptic blue opal sunday swimming pool
gravestone gold lamps flickering almond
border doves lovemaker hanging line hanger pin
freshwax floorwood navy dental therapy
cargonet buoy julip chasin'
SCAM-------Button
burn eagle bumps sticker push avid syringe fall
Sorry baby talk to it all the long way downdown
Streets gumchewed alley metal and magnet duos
will be done in a pinch dear
can you hammer with both your hands and only chew with
some of your teeth
I'm letting you know I'm hunting you down
and I can think about you and a thousand other things
at the same time
I bet you're home right now or out and about with
somebody or by yourself
Is it tarnished
freshwax floorwood navy dental therapy

Can dance can still dance
electric blue sparklers
can dance lightbuld changes
asleep oh no awake oh no I'm asleep
Utopia Nirvana halfway skin wrapper
My workers general assebly for hire
Smiley individual chaps tough as leather teeth
WASP
Fickle teenage guys and gals can't tell you what you want
Can go down on you
swallow you whole
Has a head of windup clock parts
Goes tick and tock
Teenage strapless bras and muscle boys and gals
Gymnasium haunts and pull up and grunt
and the teenage slacks a bit and drinks and pukes
and the teenage with fire and can't say what they want
and a lot a bold gestures
and gestures wildly and picks fights with god knows what
and those teenage infernos burn with musk and haunt sally and jane
and the teenage haunts with passion and glory and makes mistakes
You'll all go down soon
and maybe the teenage vigor is wasting away and pails mildly
do you still spit that fire crass and evil ebb and flow combustion
You fuckers you waste away
and the life we live pays for us to fuck it off and die rapidly
we die and are prissoners of sweat and glandular disfunctions
become a part of the inevitable like we came up with it
opened up our endings like the last saloon around
can drink and fuck like a tantrum
can die a miserable death alone in the street miserable and true
we are all getting older with our knuckles white
on the railing
trying desperately to hold on to hold on to hold on to hold to

Fucked Head Off hardwangggggggggggggggggggggggnumber4

2007-10-09T23:29:00.001-07:00

melted butter eyes crying and crying and crying
she took off her bra and massaged my thigh
walked out into the court yard
saw motorcycle riders eating flowers and filing down necklaces
drank bottle after bottle of wine
kicked a sleeping kid in the park and he thanked me
like I'm his fucking alarm clock or something
polar bear shoulder some wack vine swingers
in a torpor at a feast eating hummingbirds
telephone rings at my old house and I moved back to answer
"James"
Yeah
"Do you still live in the same old place?"
well, I do now. how's it been going
"fine fine, hey listen. a cab is picking me up at the airport tommorow at 11:30 am
and is going to take me to the sheridan hotel downtown. I was curious if maybe you could maybe meet me there. I'm having lunch with this women I met when I was in colorado last summer when was I was vacationing with Pam. she claimed to have known my father and was a really good friend of his. she said she has a lot of the old suits he had designed and that she was willing to let me have them under some condition she didn't really feel like discussing at the time. she made a ton of appologies and said that she'd be able to explain herself in the near future. She said she had some buisness and travel that was going to keep her busy through out the year and that she'd be in San Francisco in in early october and if I wanted to discuss the matter she'd call me when she got in and we could arrange a meeting"
Wow so why do you want me there
"Well, my father was a really private guy and he was also really possesive of his work. Our estate's manager was under the impression that he was completely aware of the location of all of my fathers creations and made no mistake of it. I'm worried that I'm going to hear things from this women that I'm not ready for. My father has only been gone for a couple of years and it has been harder recently with all the magazine attention he has been getting. I feel like everywhere I look I see his face. I'm worried he is still alive. I'm worried that he has been hiding. I'm not sure I am capable of dealing with the agony of him coming back. I've gone through enough pain dealing with his loss and I don't know if I could handle the stress of his return."
Her tits were hanging out but the mirror only showed tits in bras etc...
steam room suction cups and fathers stop rest go gone blatto
sun says gotcha clouds
we are so miserable vocal the new kid is cooler than everybody
this guy joey cut some chick's name into his arm with an "all purpose knife"
all of us were sitting around smoking pot

Baby politics are SEXDRIVE and seriously don't put your grocerys in some other bag/babe put them in me all the SEXUAL young kids are so nosed up to the political
understand up the nose bar and house party
Baby let me lick you blue to gold
What betsy wants betsy gets and I'm sure you get hard as an iron lung an iron curtain an IRONROD now now back hun,father love friend I just gotta let you know I look at your COMB OVER screams COME OVER please
I am the sexual princess of mississippi
I am pasta sauce and promise pomodoro
I want to take you to dollywood and blow my whole load on you at the gift shop
GOT IT
Here is a present picture of your daughter

Look, she's got betsy davis eyes and betsy ford teeth

Ladies Aimless Priceless

2007-10-06T12:38:00.001-07:00

Who needs it the most?
Allocation...
I feel like the drugs are about to kick in but I haven't taken anything
I'm hung over
I'm hung over today
Panties on the bed sheets cum and cunts and near brushes with death
Alone on public transit coasting off to nowhere
I met a bronze artist to cast me in it
Cast me in bronze and let me rust in amber
A sap in sap preserved
I hear high heels and I think of the one I want
I want to hear high heels aproaching
Smacking the pavement
Bruising the floor boards
Going somewhere
High heels are the knocking sound of class and rapture

Nausea and a terminal vertigo
Grew out of jaundice
Going back to the pipe strungout and forgetful
Fretting in the streets looking over my shoulder
Hands tapping on the leg
Took a chance on a young starlett
Put her infront of everybody
Was pretty until she spoke
Her words were a broken machine, a cloud of vapor
A vapid cunt who we support
Who we button her back and marionette
These bitches in Hollywood grow local
And the thin boys with sawdust in their joints
Fuck like police and rot like produce
Your heaven is a tuffett for femenine perfume
Your love is languid and bottled and honest and pure
You're a gypsy and preen like a swan
You have a long list of ghosts waiting for you to die

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Pablo Neruda

Diamond dove doll
Gloves on your sparkeling hands
A sea of mirage and prizim
Hand neck and knee
Glowing radiance in a sea of champagne
Phosphorescent hallucinations
In an elevator ticking up
And little string of lights wrapped around your head
Head wrapped with fabric in a sea of garlin and muslin
And lamps flicker and cords spark
You glowing babe softly rocking
You are iron and ivory
You are every pretty thing
Your hands are flashlights
Your voice is a miracle composition
At midnight with an orchid painting yourself
Red wine and blue wine and yellow wine
And we're never leaving and you're gorgeous
And my face is bruised with your kisses
And your door is bruised with my endless knocking
And I come to you at night like a torch
Winding down the forest walls
A traveler in the heart of earth's desire
With the desire to be broken
With a fantasy of desire to be strangled by halos

Flag 'em down

2007-10-06T12:35:00.000-07:00

Hello friends of liquorice got you walking backwards
Got you in the frame of my lens in the corner of my eye
How is your winter going
Im in LOVE and it doesn't matter
So, what are you getting into?
These slutty little mall bitches have been begging me for
my secrets and I can't tell them
Little hot topic teenagers cuddle your odd little boyfriends
who you love and adore and take a city bus from highschool
When are you going to fuck
Where is that prize we have been waiting for
Don't tell your parents but TV will keep
You from getting pregnant
Don't let anyone tell you your skirt is too short
Because it is not
If you are afraid of tempting the wrong crowd as it were
I have a little piece of advice for you
There is no wrong crowd and you're a star so act like it
Almost fell off a water tower last week and hung myself by my cravat
I was so thirsty and apparently 7-11s aren't open 24hours anymore?
So, I don't want to gossip or anything but somebody is in
big trouble for breaking the rules
You know who you are...
But seriously girl you are a crazy bitch and I love you bff

Shadow of Shades

2007-10-06T12:34:00.000-07:00

Where it is darkest
Where it is so dark
Where you are blind
And pale and no moving
And the dead is king and everybody knows it
Hark to the bell and I'm outside the chapel in the grotto listening to the choir like I told you
Dear darkness
An open letter
And a letter to the dead
We are your golden crown
On top Alive
Our finest our jewel and beautiful and castle and kingdom
Take me away horses
Smooth and damp grass and wet feet
And the moon and my arms are long hoses
And they spray my wild answers
And you don't talk and you're dead and an opiate and I eat you and I am alive
And I feel so alive

Let's get drunk

And right now is the greatest thing happening
And it goes away and we decompose and slice into the infinite ad infinitum
The traitors are the leaches on the living
And we kick around the deflated ball of life support
And our open soared faced brothers and sisters on the street with scab hands
And they mutter and moan and it sounds like music
And they have a voice like an organ
They wear church steeples for hats

Sun in the eyes makes man blind
Can't get there
And a blind man is a terrible alibi
Things in the way
Like a bird blocks an open view of the sky
Dear prince of death you have an existence
I sit at the desk as I pen you this dust letter
I bite an apple and I write the first couple of words
"The smokes recedes from haze eon....."
I remove my glasses, stand and open the window
I call your name
"Dear prince"
And there is no answer
And there never will be
Because you are somewhere else
In your gallery of captured infinity
That entrances
As you call for others
As your very name is an invitation to all
Dead prince
Covered in honey
Where is my mind

ACID VIDEOS

2007-09-26T18:52:00.000-07:00

They are all great stand alone but it is good to play them all at once and scroll up and down or pause and start and move up and down.....

The Fate of Hatred

2007-09-21T23:57:00.000-07:00

Wind with us all today and tomorrow
And our skinny planet thin
We are perpetual scattered going back to culmination
Going back to thickness where we want to go
Are we bricks or are we sand
Are we put together
Are we pressed or pushed
Are we thrown dice or a statistic meticulously crafted
Are we anything at all
Are we blessed are we daft
Are we the dead bee impaled by it's stinger
Are we an effort or a laugh
Are we the march and the collection
Are we in a stasis my crying mom
My dead father and hope and wild animals going away
Are we sadness in seed and never go
Never scatter left frozen whole
Are we shoulders and legs of a bloodless body
Taught and heaving growing to divulge
The spittle bad teeth people rags being torn
And happy to dive into a lake
We scan our thoughts in our rooms with our machines
We feedback in a night of mimes
That mimic our feeling our heart and our emotion
That divine and subside

A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

-- William Blake

Rite Spot

2007-09-21T23:55:00.002-07:00

Why windows don't show us flowers on our shirt
Eight petals surrounding butterscotch and pollen
And our scars are healing will be there forever
My white white shirt tucked into my ancestors
Our wives our collars
The coal of trains
Pull them away again
And you go away again
And they smoke for their lives
Living on slat light sliced and sliding through window panes
I'll start talking about my life again
Why no one can show us what we know
Although it feels like they know
And how we love them so
And how we love them so
I'm growing up trashed
Like the left over plate of the full
Burning lines of gun powder
Is a wave in a river
Flushed cheeks slender body
Makings of an angle
With a hawks mouth
Announcing fall
Where falling through sincere riddles
Barely making a sound
And once again I love you
Everywhere is snow
In a golden boat of sunrise
Overflow load and well stocked
A promise flushed lips and cheeks
My love of harmony
And a drunk stick falls from a tree somewhere
Broken by her feet
Dedicates to the dead and dying

of the moon

2007-09-21T23:55:00.001-07:00

The Song of Wandering Aengus

William Butler Yeats (1899)

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lads and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

http://www.silverapples.com/

Thursday night....If it's not from space it has no place in me...

FUCKBARTLETSFUCK

2007-09-21T23:53:00.001-07:00

I lost my phone on the bart (which is budweiser's and "really big" margarita's fault). The Bay Area Rapid transit. The most bullshit nightmare rip-off public transportation system I can think of. I haven't been to every major metropolis and I am sure there are worse for a whole sleugh of reasons, but I really feel like Bart takes a stab at our intellect and common sense. Infact, I think that Bart has a whole department setup to potray itself as a retarded mindnumbing spiteful louse that shits on the public and belittles them. The fucking thing won't withstand a major earthquake and the the tube that goes underwater is rusting. The employee's by and large are self-important assholes who take their jobs too seriously and they seem to have punishment on the mind. I know they are just cocksuckers who are just doing their job and some of them are fine, but at the ease of my writing this, my overall impression seems to dictate otherwise. Last night I couldn't find my card and I was walking out of the handicapped exit and the guy who was working came on the loudspeeker and called me " The biggest loser in the world" and normally I would of flipped him off or something but I was sort of feeling low and it made me feel terrible. The Bart is fucking expensive. I don't need comfy chairs or fucking carpet. Something that is going to be tred on by thousands of people everyday should be strong, duirble, built to last and be resiliant to dirt and stains and whatever other foulness the populus can rain on to the common area. You can't transfer to the other bus sytems which is a real fuck you. The fact that your card gets demagnatised if it is near you cellphone is so completely ridculous because everyone..... I'm tired of writing this. I hate Bart etc... I'd rather talk about it in person because I can't type as fast as I can talk.
This is my favorite news letter they put out. Really think about the part they put in about the crime statistics. What is %11 of fifteen? Is it like one regular iPod and an iPod nano?

Protect yourself and your iPod
02.27.2007

BART Police are diligent in their efforts to keep you and your property safe, and security cameras provide additional surveillance on BART trains and in stations, but these measures cannot entirely prevent crime in the BART system.

One of the latest robbery targets is your Apple iPod. Robberies on BART aren't common, averaging about 15 per month systemwide, but iPod thefts amount to 11% of those robberies. iPod theft is not unique to BART; it is a crime of opportunity occurring when an individual is seen wearing the familiar white iPod ear buds.

BART Police recommend the following tactics to keep yourself and your iPod safe:

Don't be a target: use ear buds other than the standard iPod white, or other aftermarket headphones.
Always be alert and aware of your surroundings.
If threatened, scream or make noise to draw attention to the situation.
If someone bothers you on a train, notify the train operator with the intercoms located at the end of every BART car.
If you are threatened on a BART station platform, use a white courtesy phone located on the platform to call BART Central Control or use a pay phone or your cell phone to call BART Police at 1-877-679-7000 or dial 911.
The safety of you and your property is important to us. Please take these simple steps to avoid iPod theft—they could make the difference in deterring crime.

I'm going to start swinming across the Bay.

Major Mistakes and why I hate so many of my contemporaries

2007-09-21T23:51:00.000-07:00

So always trying to be black blues and rock and roll and rock and the down trodden soul giving strife people who carry the burden of our pain there is no euphoria bliss release catharsis experience in your action and I question some working class heroes who try and fail to embody some international embodyment of a free spirit who guide unencumbered and should be a beacon and guiding lifeforce for the beterment of us all through virtue and self actualisied enlightened beauty hateful terrible mongers who pose and posture and create the lowest common denominator i hate you and I should hate with purity of venom and the reality that it should exist and the understanding what exists does exist and the faulty notion of the subjective to the individual is enough to keep them seperate in a world where the individual does not exist and city is god
we are such transparent jokers you fucked wanker fools who choose to see everyday
I mean it doesn't really matter right none of you can taste blood you pansy shitting in nervousness fools you bastard loveless self absorb getting through it asshole that exlemplify the waste of our pushing through it nonmiracle
My enenmy is the stupid fuck and middle ground and coward by default which is my confusion of the front of the substance
you are dumb fucks you really are I really am
fucking feels great and so does eating and sleeping
I hate tight cloths and assholes and sneakes and stupid fucking shirts
I hate the dumb jokes you tell and your evil and your venom
I hate your nicenest and your bullshit public comunity and your peace and your fanciful family way of a nice way to spend tme and unite
we are trapped like flys in a spiderweb of cliche bullshit nonsense wast of experince that pales to all and wonder why

WE ARE NOT A CULTURE OF REVERY SO FACE IT AND THIS IS WHAT THIS IS ABOUT

you stupid fucking chatter birds which is so nice but you think about it and you cling to it and keep it and make it what you are
the clouds move so slow

it is so funny how the more I drink the less artful this appears so perfect we are damaged where is are rythm where is our cause where is our ceremony
how do I embrace god gods god peoples notions
should I be on the run or afraid of my actions
a lot of people older than me really have it togerther
People hide from drugs and and make jokes about the way they make them feel and lie about things and don't care about anything

I hark on a generation where people cared about shit and the stuff they made was a thousand times better and they worked really hard for our miserable souls and they did something because we are all alive and we are not zombies
I hark on a generation of drop outs who fucking pioneired the cosmos of our earthbound sationary minds that were truly cosmic and sensory boundry touching whatever
You foolish rtist liers who don't care who act like bullshit notingnrss that are just as accaimfl
cant tink
I am sooooo
drf

I took a bit of the pea pod and I spit it out

2007-09-17T01:54:00.002-07:00

It is safe to say we are blowing away
I was spending most of my evening lying on a couch hoping not to be noticed.
The morning leaves you alone. The morning leaves you alone.
We see them transformed into serpents licking their lips running without a cause into the big lights of crushing awning broken bottle facades and the nonclever inuendo.
They are dead running around none to clever. Laughing and spittling cloaked in the big milk cup ego the hurricane straw the sucking sound the bob and lever.
They are on the roof tonight.
They are the dead medow rusted sewage and subway dollar hats and taped shoes sad friends caved in eyes and creaking floor boards streams of smoke blown in your eye by freckled fires of dashing magazine lies and cryptic people that locust around town hesitant as firefighters and we'll miss you when you get here forever sad and lonely crushed but not collapsed.
We are the bag of broken bottles. We are tranced by momentum soiled and screwed. We have lost our ears and our time. We let it all go and don't expect any of it back.
We are the braided jokes tangled in our hair.

Words have meaning-the future is in dicks in cunts tubes and tubes and tubes

fail·ure –noun
1. an act or instance of failing or proving unsuccessful; lack of success: His effort ended in failure. The campaign was a failure.
2. nonperformance of something due, required, or expected: a failure to do what one has promised; a failure to appear.
3. a subnormal quantity or quality; an insufficiency: the failure of crops.
4. deterioration or decay, esp. of vigor, strength, etc.: The failure of her health made retirement necessary.
5. a condition of being bankrupt by reason of insolvency.
6. a becoming insolvent or bankrupt: the failure of a bank.
7. a person or thing that proves unsuccessful: He is a failure in his career. The cake is a failure.

Cardiovascular problems, including irregular heartbeat, heart attack, and heart failure
Sleeplessness or sexual dysfunction
Diminished sense of smell or perforated nasal septum
Nausea, and headaches
Neurological incidents, including strokes, seizures, fungal brain infections, and hemorrhaging in tissue surrounding the brain
Pulmonary effects, such as fluid in the lungs, aggravation of asthma and other lung disorders, and respiratory failure
Psychiatric complications, including psychosis, paranoia, depression, anxiety disorders, and delusions
Increased risk of traumatic injury from accidents and aggressive, violent, or criminal behavior
For intravenous (IV) cocaine users, there is increased risk of hepatitis, HIV infection, and endocarditis.

Stupid Death

2007-09-17T01:54:00.001-07:00

I'm so dead. Wasting away from fear. Not a departure, but a substance I thrive on: fear. I am death in fear. I close the doors and leave on empty. My life is inprison as you would have it. I kill for food. I am the blood wrapped aroud the riddle of our life. I am a combustion.

Leaving in Sirens

2007-08-25T11:47:00.001-07:00

Capsules.
Time release. Wasted grave robbers dancing like slaves.
His visible mutations. What a prince. Way to show us.
Us, a lot of timeless capsules.
Burning airplane crashes slicing the ground and leaving our bits for miles.

Genesis P. Oridge

The things that come out of peoples mouths. Things that they let their mind entertain. A thing that mars their rational thought and turns them into monsters. My peers are monsters. They stand on the shoulders of monsters supporting more monsters. The beautiful youth. So vicious and pungent. Such a chore to decode and decipher. This is in response to the horrible way I see our days and nights unfolding. Scaring and hurting each other with zeal, and poison and passion. I am so angry. This decadent misinformed tragedy. This blown out over sweetened riot from your house to mine. Your take on it. The way you spin your nuance. To hurt my family and torture my children. My contemporaries. The youth of San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle, everywhere I've lived or travel. You are burning embers in my mind. Our heads are the gavels whose judges spun out miserable all grandiose and bloated. Dear Judges my contemporaries my talent hack vision depressing hock and slander. I don't eat anymore. I've let my bed go to salad mix greens dream albeit twisted heads of lettuce torn a thick soup entrenched in our muddy grave.
I hurt all over. I think of how you think and I cringe and scoop gelato. My smile brims with a puddle of goo. They took her away and sped off to the injury locker. I was in a form of church rocking back and forth in a hazy leather carpet. A fine miss out and teams of reptile sex. We are locked in the medicine hall and I'm furious. I toss things around and spit when I talk. I throw my hands around. Are youth our pitiful mess or something jaunty and necessary exposed cleats and shield fear and honest? I am wasting away burning on fire so happy to be a slave.
I'm sick of my peers cruel heart.

We love him

2007-08-23T12:27:00.001-07:00

Some things should only exist on the Internet. It is a perfect never ending sprawl map cum dumpster host for the human tendency to endlessly spew garbage nonsense lack luster half assed uninformed research deficient poorly executed tawdry horrendous expressions. It even appears to me that things actually (bio)degrate and disappear on the wed (in the web?). Missing websites, "songs deleted by the artist", lost youtube videos, links to nowhere, articles gone. Where does it all go?

I VENT MY WRATH ON ANIMALS by Jerome Rothenberg
I came alive
when things went
crazy.
I pulled the plug on
the reports of
sturm & drang
When someone
signaled I
left open
what I
could not close.
I broke a
covenant that
was more fierce
than murder.
I vent my wrath
on animals
pretending they will turn
divine.
I open up
rare certainties
that test free will.
I take from animals
a place in which
the taste of death
pours from their mouths
& drowns them.
I support a
lesser surface.
I draw comfort from
the knowledge
of their
being.

The Division Circuit

2007-08-22T02:23:00.000-07:00

We went from nails to nails and black dead bolts
Snake poison is an arms length
We went blow for blow until we were severely mangled
And eyes to eyes nicer and nicer
We see the stream of it on both ends adding together
Bonds and building material
Construction and paint tape and ladders
Pushing boulders without wheels or oxen
The sweltering sun baring down on the
Deep and crazy dedicated
Crushing the body's definite feature
Under the weight of the earth
Carved and it is to perfection
It isn't carved
Devote worship meld together
The clouds grass staring into gods eyes
The elders wisdom is a showering example
Bending over the white example
Sand-white beaches hidden from wind example
It is this example
That simple basic natures of all construction
Under the rule of years and time
Slowly or quickly crumble
Based upon how deftly constructed-the environment
The builders builders builders builders
Who take their direction
And get on the same page as the messiah
And supplement the situation
With the perfect relationship to relationship
To needs needs function and worship
The love basic relationships
Vanilla architects under the hot sun
And salt and searing
The sea of blood and island volcanoes
The beasts of plains woods
The sea and nimbus partnerships
The dust eyes dust lives
Pass around and around
Quell and swirl
Under the definite weight of the triangle
The sea melds
Synchronicity

Motion
by Octavio Paz
If you are the amber mare
I am the road of blood
If you are the first snow
I am he who lights the hearth of dawn
If you are the tower of night
I am the spike burning in your mind
If you are the morning tide
I am the first bird's cry
If you are the basket of oranges
I am the knife of the sun
If you are the stone altar
I am the sacrilegious hand
If you are the sleeping land
I am the green cane
If you are the wind's leap
I am the buried fire
If you are the water's mouth
I am the mouth of moss
If you are the forest of the clouds
I am the axe that parts it
If you are the profaned city
I am the rain of consecration
If you are the yellow mountain
I am the red arms of lichen
If you are the rising sun
I am the road of blood

Elevator to Confusion

2007-08-22T02:21:00.000-07:00

Bronze for the sake of bronze
We're all dead and gone
Steel in wood tricked
Turned stakes door pounding
Lite drizzle Appaloosa distortion
Transformed heart reliant on suicide
And rabies mind blistering skin-
Faint chill and graceful face
That a painter resurrected
Cautious intoxicated
Lost and panicked-
A locust fat on burdock root
Tongue slips from lip
Drops into a bowl of mercury
Disintegrating wool gloves hunting for a new trophy

At dusk pacing for a cigarette flea bit and angry
Or noon pushing past silver doors
One message is held back for a late coming tidal wave
Blood charred and ugly
Mangled from discharged cannons firing leisurely
Sun gusts wind mills spin lackadaisically
Slowing the world down
Dogs hear a faint sound
Perk their ears up and put their heads down
Poor malnourished horses
Chomping at the bit drenched in rain
Burning smoking rails transformed from sand
None was spoke of this responsibility
Appropriated grins and gun shot chortles
Rabid cavity gone like an owl
Unmistakably golden

At this point the group felt it was time to try the United States. The trip took them to the San Francisco Bay area, where future members Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks were just beginning to discover their own musical talents. It brought them into contact with the Northern California music scene and the nascent hippie movement that was gaining strength there. It also brought them into contact with the Grateful Dead and LSD guru Owsley Stanley. While the group decided not to experiment with psychedelic drugs at this time, they would later play a part in the disintegration of Peter Green. Problems on this short tour were caused by the group's raucous and rowdy behavior. This was especially true of Jeremy Spencer, who already seemed to be exhibiting signs of instability. Spencer was a bible toting family man who could not begin to handle the temptations that were available to him. His onstage antics were a problem in Europe, but more so in the States. The tour was short, and "The Mac" returned home to record their second album.

That follow up album, Mr. Wonderful, did not meet with the same success. Undaunted, Green took the unusual step of adding a third lead guitarist to the group. Eighteen year old Danny Kirwan was also a songwriter, which took the pressure off Green to be the sole creative force in the band. They quickly released an instrumental single, "Albatross," which was a huge hit and signaled a move in a new direction: rock music. Fleetwood Mac then left for a more lengthy tour of the U.S. On the San Francisco leg, the group again met with the Grateful Dead and Owsley. This time they did not resist the call to try LSD, and Peter Green was the one most taken with it. Green began spiraling downward emotionally, his problems fueled by the powerful drug. Understanding his stature as the star, he did try to remain with the band long past the time he wanted to do so. It proved to be futile. Green became schizophrenic. He resigned from the band after one acid-fueled episode, and proceeded to give away his money and possessions. The band's future looked to be in doubt.

In October 2004, several newspapers reported that Gloria Discerni, a student at North Idaho College, had died after an LSD overdose. Initial reports stated that a friend of Discerni, another freshman named Cameron Jester, added somewhere between 6 and 12 "drops" or "hits" of LSD to her orange juice. Reports vary on whether or not she knew the material was in her drink (most suggest she did), and we do know that Jester also consumed the material. Discerni relatively quickly began having a negative reaction to the ingestion including vomiting and "slipping in and out of consciousness". Gloria Discerni went into a coma and was removed from life support three days later, on October 15, at the hospital.

Though initial reports identified the substance as "LSD", those of us familiar with the range of psychoactives quickly suspected that it was some other material, perhaps a research chemical such as 5-MeO-AMT. There are only one or two known deaths directly resulting from the LSD ingestion, and rarely, if ever, is this sort of negative physical reaction seen to a dose of 6-12 hits. Subsequent toxicology results verified that the substance was, in fact, 5-MeO-AMT, not LSD. A medical examiner's office representative describing the case mentions the presence of bupropion (Wellbutrin; Zyban) metabolite. Bupropion is known to lower seizure threshold and could have contributed to Discerni's death.

Slowly it becomes clear that one of the greatest of all superstitions is the separation of the mind from the body. This does not mean that we are being forced to admit that we are only bodies; it means that we are forming an altogether new idea of the body. For the body considered as separate from the mind is one thing—an animated corpse. But the body considered as inseparable from the mind is another, and as yet we have no proper word for a reality which is simultaneously mental and physical. To call it mental-physical will not do at all, for this is the very unsatisfactory joining of two concepts which have both been impoverished by long separation and opposition. But we are at least within sight of being able to discard altogether ideas of a stuff which is mental and a stuff which is material. "Stuff" is a word which describes the formless mush that we perceive when sense is not keen enough to make out its pattern. The notion of material or mental stuff is based on the false analogy that trees are made of wood, mountains of stone, and minds of spirit in the same way that pots are made of clay. "Inert" matter seems to require an external and intelligent energy to give it form. But now we know that matter is not inert. Whether it is organic or inorganic, we are learning to see matter as patterns of energy—not of energy as if energy were a stuff, but as energetic pattern, moving order, active intelligence.

A vaulted gauntlet

2007-08-22T02:20:00.000-07:00

I sat in the corner breaking wooden chairs
I became an object of dysfunction of misuse
at odds with my environment
an intruder a slave a traitor
demented in a state of dementia
I purchased a ladder
I climbed the walls like a snake and bore into the ceiling
I chewed on light bulbs and bathed in troughs of gravy
stuck to the male perversion of my neighbor and learned his ways
I bought a car and I started to drive all the time
I bought a suit and got it dirty quickly
coughing I developed a cough
I only use change

that I "broke chairs" is a metaphor for me hiding some destructive force that need punishing by the trick of some other metaphor
like one could say shark attack and not mean shark attack exactly

at what point does a cave cease just being another hole in the wall
at what point does prison cease being being the womb of our industrial father

downtown is always calling
is a refuge is my rough draft stake in life
is my ritual and enigmatic gallery of every useful kaleidoscopic death threat
it allows us to be accomplice to the grand scandal
is an infinite masterpiece that actually stands for something unlike our posh drivel pat
each other on the back scenario I'd love to eradicate myself from
is a place you never need to go inside because it is not designed for that

any rowdy futurist knows as instinct that this retroactive posturing so vogue and dangerous Is a bad joke
I praise discomfort antagonism biological alchemy
(I think blood should be turned into gold)
I want to start drinking blood
I stay up late
all night on the roof tops
I want to eat metal and secrete paper
I want to file my feet off with the petty and fickle blow-a-way peers that litter in their made-up establishments of "forward thinking" graffiti thoughts that taste like food cooked on an unwashed pan that bleaches our skid rows and homeless camp ghetto establishments that hate America and turn our ungrateful children into bowling pins and forces to be ridiculed because they fucking deserve it I'm startled by the by the sonic lack of perception white washing our tributary alliance with the world

I'm eating my own skull tonight and dreaming of huffers in prison dancing the scarlet tango with no beginging and no end

thrust me at the scavengers
rape my past lives you backwards bandits
get screwy with my long haul

I'm the dead priest
My name is Ashes

Shake the cages of your own design

2007-08-22T02:19:00.000-07:00

Last Night at club oasis in Oakland they painted a
ladie's dress while she was wearing it which must have
been some public sex demonstration, who knows? There
where little kids in the bar, lots of suits, fire
breathing, comedians and magicians, lots of puppets,
etc...
That is everything right?
Where am I? Where is my mind?
Is it not also an Italian restaurant? Was I on every
drug? Have I read every magazine, heard every song
read every book, seen every movie and every play? Have
I been around the world, climbed every mountain walked
and trenched through the globes forests and swamps?
Have I built alters to my gods, performed rituals of
tributary, built totems on the shores, feasted and
copulated till I could eat and fuck no longer? Is my
hair a rainbow of colors and my clothes emblematic and
informed yet distinctly individualistic to me? Do I
know the tongue of every race, had those jobs, known
those symbols, made those connections, seen it real,
been there, made it, held it all.
I'm the future and know the future, know whats coming,
what's in stock what will happen. Everything goes much
quicker now. I'm the child that trips and races to
death.

I want nothing, I am nothing, am the embodiment of
nothing. Formless. A void and devoid of any
characteristic. I am negative space. To want and
desire or to reject and dispel would be the beginnings
of my subjectivity. My face has no face. My tongue is
in a lack of words. If I enter a light room it becomes
dark. If I enter a dark room it becomes light. My
existence is a perpetual plummet through a never
ending hole, falling forever. I come from eternity and
that is exactly where I'm going.

The grabbing hands
Grab all they can
Everything counts in large amounts

dig?

Sadism Follws

2007-08-22T02:18:00.002-07:00

Sadism Follows
She satisfied eats dessert and dies
When her disease is created
Make up those hollow dead soul statues
So rigid so respectful in death
Her bag of wine glasses are a bunch of broken promises
Eating fingernail paint
Taming a choking bird
Memorizing codes
Taking a break to fuck
Sadism Follows as an inverse to love
Bullies a closeted lust stupor
Intoxicated by spice
Erratic or hopeful destination fucked
Or she is shrewd choking on distrust
She is dead coded
A brick tossed
Feels horrid
Is a pile and a mask
An instrument of impotence uncoded and fowl
Begs to be a spoken voice
Exists and returns less composed
Asks a favor and turns away
To bang on the walls of the mind
Sadism Follows
-Born-
Harks invisibles
Is translucent poison effectively corrosive
A pool of dither ornate in her drethers
Drugged and impoverished of distinctive life force attributes
Is a bucket of charity
Fear of being
Fear of being consumed and plugged
A burden
She is being tried
Her life her lack
The position she takes
Sadism follows everywhere
And she is not alone
She is blood splattered misery
Her dynasty has no access
As her bandage has no blood

Born on date

2007-08-22T02:18:00.001-07:00

I drink so much budweiser and I don't know how it happened. I know I consume it more than any other product. Everyday I consume upwards to five or six 24oz. cans of this garbage. I like other beer/alchohol more, much more actually. But everytime I go into a store I go and grab 24oz cans of budweiser. I don't have a lot of money and it is cheap but that is basically a state of mind that I limit myself by. I must be brainwashed right? It seems that one could be completely aware that they are brainwashed and yet still continue on doing the samething over and over. Budweiser is trash and I am it's slave. It coats my head in a warm film and I want one right now. I wish it came in a syringe.
Also, I just went to went to budweiser.com and got registered with a new e-mail adress mark_treise@budweiser.com

I'm losing my mind.

Seizure

2007-08-22T02:17:00.001-07:00

WHAT IS A DREAMACHINE?

In the history of the world, Dreamachines are the first objects made to be viewed with closed eyes.

In the history of art, Dreamachines bring to a conclusion the period of kinetic invention in modern painting and sculpture.

Dreamachines open a new era and a new era of vision... interior vision.

"Dreamachines make visible the fundamental order present in the physiology of the brain."

YOU are the artist when you approach a Dreamachine and close your eyes. What the dreamachine incites you to see is yours... your own. The brilliant interior visions you so suddenly see whirling around inside your head are produced by your own brain activity. These may not be your first glimpses of these dazzling lights and celestially colored images. Dreamachines provide them only just as long as you choose to look into them. What you are seeing is perhaps a broader vision than you may have had before of your own incalculable treasure, the "Jungian" store of symbols which we share with all normally constituted humanity. From this storehouse, artists and artisans have draw. the elements of art down the ages. In the rapid flux of images, you will immediately recognize, crosses, stars and halos... woven patterns like pre-Columbian textiles and Islamic rugs... repetitive patterns on ceramic tile... in embroideries of all times... rapidly fluctuating serial images of abstract art... what look like endless expanses of fresh paint laid on with a palette knife.

Dreamachine visions usually begin by the meteorically rapid transit of infinite series of abstract elements. These may be followed in time by clear perception of faces, figures and the apparent entractment of highly colored serial pseudo-events. In other words, dreams in colour.

The Dreamachine is a Dream-Machine.

These dreams can be immediately interrupted and brought to an end simply by opening your eyes.

However you look into a Dreamachine, in a short time you will have acquired greater self-knowledge, extended the limits of your vision, brightened your perception of a treasure you may not have known you own.

BRION GYSIN

HIS NAME WAS MASTER

In 1916 Brion Gysin arrived screaming and kicking, suffering forever, he said, from thee adverse effects ov constricted vaginal muscle. Projected through a world that was like Disneyland into a world that became Disneyland, via a port ov entry charged by light. Brion travelled in time and light, and made us all cry easier than loose in our own earthbound domesticity.

E am coumvinced, always will be, that Brion is, was and will be, a Cultural Alchemist.

He could be so negative, stubborn and cantakerous, that screaming suicide off high buildings became more enlightening than his clammed up viscocity ov no-speak. Frustrating all attempts to a direct answer to a direct question, he would benignly draw on his kit, and, eyes twinkling, play magickal Cat and Mouse for literally hours on end. E have never met a more knowledgeable, more capable teacher anywhere, either as myth or saint, or, as in Brion's case, as human. At thee end ov thee day he was thee only man E ever wrote love letters to. To master a long goodnight...

And now, in present time. He's not here. And it hurts. It hurts coumpletely. In thee way that sneaks into us unnanounced, cutting nerves and emotions, crippling our coumplacent daily stance and opening up our pain synapses to snapping point.

In 1975 E wrote to Brion. E was co-editor ov a reference book ov mammoth proportions called "Contemporary Artists", and E was determined that Brion should be rightfully represented in that tome as a radical Artist and Painter. Not dismissed as an eccentric dilletanie as had appeared to have happened in thee deceptual art world. For ten yeras E had, like so many, been tracking down these renegades via deleted Beach Books, often found in Soho porn shops. Exploding with multiple recognitions ov contemporary arcane knowledge that appeared to coumfirm youthful instincts and intuitions, Brion was always thee hardest to find.

He remained that way forever.
He had becoum light.

There was no focus, only reverberating frequencies and pulses, crystals at his centre. He had becoum, quite literally and physically, a Dreamachine that had assumed human form for thee reassurance ov us mere observers. We stare with closed eyes. He flickers bright on our retinas and generates vivid signals. E see all about Brion as Magick and Light. E re-discovered perception through him.

Out to Brion went a list ov questions about his life so far. Back came a cultured exclamation ov surprise with a note, "Even the C.I.A. don't know this much about me". Through correspondence we met in Paris. He would make tea in his tiny kitchen, Morroccan style. Naming thee different bubbles as thee water heated. As thee fish eyes appeared he poured thee water onto thee tea. Exploding its flavour. Thee Alchemists believe that water boils at 101°, he explained. We soon developed a tradition, chocolate biscuits and tea in thee afternoons. A small pasta meal in thee evening, with spirits to accoumpany it. Coffee later on. E would sit. Thee sound ov drumming outside thee Pornpidou centre. Flashes ov Marrakpsh. Sunlight catching thee white flowers on his table, smell ov hash smoke. Swiss Urenmachine in thee corner. Calligraphic paintings on thee easel. Notebooks in rows. Morroccan trinkets reminding me ov his influence ovpr Brian Jones. And he would talk. It was like a children's fairytale. Thee child looking up spellbound and thee Grandfather enrapturing with his amazing tales and anecdotes. Never enough time. Yellow light cutting across thee later shadows and dreams. There is no way to describe how proud E was to meet and know this man.

"the hallucinated have come to tell you that yr utilities are being shut off, dreams monitored, thought directed, sex is shutting down everywhere you are being sent.
all words are taped, agents everywhere, marking
down the live ones to exterminate.
they are turning out the lights.
no they are not evil nor
the devil, but men with a spot of work to do.
this, dear friends, they intend to
do on you you.
you have been offered a choice
between liberty and freedom and NO! you cannot have
both"

Brion Gysin
minutes to go
1968

Thee way to write is to simply tell thee truth. The right way is to simply, tell thee truth.

"DEarset Gen There is not much point
in telling you just how negative I
am feeling these days... daze. I
have not much recovered from my
fall on the stairs. After all is said
and done, I felt only one thing. . .
...finished. I don't feel any
necessity to do all these things but
I guess I'll do them if I am still
stuck here and have to do them.
I'll do them the best that I can and
that may not be much. Don't worry.
Nothing much more to be said than
dumb numb no-news."
Love Brion
17 March 1982

And within everything else there is coumthing else. It's a spark. E live forver surrounded by Brion. He paintings on thee walls, his face in snapshots on thee mantelpiece. Thee glow ov Paris light. Caresse calls him "Grandad, my Grandad", and she is right. Thee wise old man ov thee lowlands. When E took Alaura to meet Brion for thee first time E was nervous. He's a bit ov a misogynist E warned. Well, he tries to be, butter E have always found him charming to women nonetheless. Alaura knew nothing about Brion except my love for him. Her love was instant and pure. He coumgratulated us on our impulsive marriage in Tijuana in 1981. Chance had it that two boys from Joujouka were staying with him In Paris that week. Brion made us relaxed. Alaura used thee Dreamachine.

Unprompted by any prior information about what it was, "Heathen Earth" played as she and thee Arab boys stared, ryes closed. E filmed on video. Soon Alaura was swirling through psychedelic patterns and vivid colours. Thee desert scapes, eyes ov Horus, so many archetypal symbols and places. Proof positive that thee Dreamachine actually works, is not triggered by preconceptions. And afterwards, thee most beautiful, priceless and special meal ov my whole life. Cooked and served by tht'e musicians ov Joujouka. As we ate and talked, Brion was full ov energies, thee boys played thee sacred musick ov Pan on pipes in candlelight. E was once more in a fairytale, thee old magician conjouring sensations and rewards.

E have never lost my joy and thanks for such a special gift from Brion. Nothing could have been more literally priceless than that dark, orange, flamelit evening. At thee end ov thee evening, he gave us a painting. Our pagan wedding present, which he inscribed for us. All thee fears and illnesses, all thee betrayals and losses ov his life, his bittrrnesses and fliratations with socialites were nothing. He was thee wisest, kindest man in thee world, and we loved him totally for it.

Brion's work and friendship is a reminder ov work to be done, and a challenge to thee stagnant coumplacency ov thee dreamless minds that would like to drown us. Magick begins ini dreams, dreaming what we would like to happen, programming our subconscious. If you take these dreams seriously enough they DO happen. Dreams are descriptions ov. how things really are. A product ov thee Third Mind, ov perceptual editing and focused will.

Dreams are accurate transmissions.

There should be no separation between work, life, dreams. We must all aim for coumplete integration ov every possible and impossible facet ov our minds, emotions, responses and relationships, and then express that integration through popular culture and expressive arts, through frpndships and events, through light and time.

Brion was a philosophical and alchemical transmitteri receiver. His ideas are frequencies that travel and confront as intimately as Television, butter with thee content ov full knowledge and potency ov shamanic, ritual Magick. No womnder he fell in love with thee Pipes ov Pan and thee sunlight ov thee desert. There should be no separation. Separation would be dishonest, would go against a dream ov evolution through knowledge and psychic development, would go against all our potential.

A book, a film, music, paintings, love, are all thee person who makes and feels them. This is a magickal process and makes things happen. It reveals even more. Thee first time E looked at Brion's drawings they appeared abstract calligraphics. Then he told me they were portrayals ov Arab market places. E could suddenly see they were indeed photographically accurate pictures ov everyday scenes. They simply included thee nature ov reality and time that engages our receptors in a manner we are unused to. Now E always introduce his paintings as figurative works to make this point. Man dreams before he talks, and since our first dreams we have felt that therein are messages. Prophesies, descriptions and events that cannot be ignored. Arcane societies and civilisations in their wisdom, and to their credit, employed people to interpret and record these dreams. Priests would stand on towers and pass their hands before their eyes rapidly creating a flicker effect against thee sun, eventually "tripping out" and speaking ov visions which were coumsidered holy and powerful.

Today, a society and culture with a vested interest in thee suppression ov imagination, self-assurance, creativity, questioning and aspiration, discards dreams and esoteric techiques as trivia. Dreams are merely disturbed nights, or entertainment. Brion saw dreams as a parallel and interconnected universe. A commentary on Man's potential and hopes.

He was in many ways a traditional Artist, yet by thee nature ov his personality he was simultaneously and without self-contradiction thee most radical thinker ov our age in thee area ov Magickal creativity and cross-discipline possibilities. No surprise then, that his greatest political and behavioural achievement was dubbed The 'Dreamachine. A simple machine to decondition and reactivate our perceptions.

Societies controllers try to ensure that dreams are represented as vestigial trappings ov intuition, and are best kept in their place. For Brion and those who revere his work, that way lies death. When you cease to dream, you cease to exist. Shut your eyes. Thee world doesn't die. Open them, and in a sense half ov it does. Dreams generate ideas, liberate behaviour, enhance sexuality, empower Magick, and most ov all create possibilities.

Dangerous stuff.

No wonder Brion was frozen out to thee sideshows ov painting and writing. Too real. Too close to functional and practical techniques. Now, through Brion, we have a Dreamachine. Perhaps a crucial tool for thee arousal ov vision, perception and inner space that has becoum our heritage. Make no mistake, its suppression in subtle ways was no accident. A machine that for thee price ov a lightbulb leads you drugless into thee core ov your being, taps you into thee mass subconscious, stimulates thee mind, and bridges thee abyss between sleep and wakefulness, conscious and unconscious life. Brion recognised that we are at war. Thee fight is between suppression and perception, sexuality and guilt; and between all those things that bolster and assist control, manipulation and darkness, and all those things that encourage freedom, evolution, hope and light.

In thee eleven yeras we were friends, thee question E most asked Brion was, "Tell me about Magick". Thee question he most studiously avoided was thee same. Yet he once graciously gave me a clue. "Do you know your real name?", he said. E did. And then he told me his. It was as E expected.

There was never a superiority or generation gap with Brion. He was always living in now and thee future. In present time. Thinking ov new projects, working with young people, making music, records, painting. Holding 'soirees' for young fans and seekers, always outgoing and moving, always absorbing and thinking. Thee last time we saw him was in Paris in 1986, ten days before he died. Alaura and E sat and held his hand. Being physically alive had becoum a struggle,

"I just never guessed that it would hurt so much", he said. And really there was nothing more to say. It was over.

Brion was sure he was here to go. We are left here to do.

And what we do is described by, defined by, and coumtained within our dreams.

During that last afternoon thee undertaker came to discuss death arrangements with Brion. Alaura and E went walking around Rue St.Martin. We couldn't articulate thee craziness ov life and death. There was nothing to say. Two boys from behind thee iron curtain stopped us, and told us ov their work with electrical sculpture and words. They were influenced by thee work ov Brion, who they'd heard lived in Paris. We drank coffee and took their address. Exiles in America. "He doesn't live in Paris anymore". E said. We felt euphorically disconnected, yet cold. Suppressing out- emotions and terrors because they meant nothing. Had no value against losing Brion. So many people who love him so much. All knowing they will lose him soon.

Frail Images ov his room. Now n hospice. 1 her air itself thee colour ov thee plastic tubes nnd bags ov liquid. Casting a cold bluish tinge through everything. As thee light was going from him, his space was becouming transparent.

Ten days later Alaura came rushing into thee room crying, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Brion's dead", she said.

genesis p-orridge
November 1986
london

DREAM MACHINE WEAVER

No living American writer has influenced rock'n'roll songwriters more than William Burroughs. Of the stars who have paid homage to Burroughs, none made as strong an impression on him as Kurt Cobain. It therefore came as a surprise to the editors of HIGH TIMES when on December 17, 1994, the magazine received a fax from a Seattle-based group, "Friends Understanding Kurt," laying partial blame for Cobain's suicide on the master himself.

The gist of the charge was that in the last months of his life, Cobain acquired a device called the Dream Machine, which had been created by Burroughs' friend and collaborator Brion Gysin and popularized by Burroughs. The Dream Machine, the group wrote, is "a dangerous trance-inducing contraption," and there has been a "string of suicides associated with the machine since the '60s." Furthermore, they claimed, it was "in fact, the catalyst in Kurt's unbelievably tragic, untimely death. To this day Courtney ponders whether the Dream Machine is really responsible for Kurt's death...If Kurt had not come into contact with its manufacturer, he would be with us today."

The Dream Machine consists of a cardboard cylinder with holes in it attached to a record-player turntable, in the middle of which sits a 100-watt light bulb. When the machine is turned on, the cylinder spins at 78 rpm. Subjects sit in front of the cylinder and close their eyes, and the light reflects through the holes in the spinning cylinder on the eyelids. The resulting flashes of light may, if the subjects are susceptible, create a mild sensation akin to the effect of the simplest light show. Aided by the inhalation of good pot and the sound of hot rock, the device might create at best a mild dreamlike sensation, or at worst (unless you're prone to epileptic seizures) an even milder headache. It's an adaptation of flicker technology, first seen with strobe lights and now packaged as brain machines.

Burroughs once said about the Dream Machine, "Subjects report dazzling lights and unearthly brilliance and color...Elaborate geometric constructions of incredible intricacy build up from multidimensional mosaic into living fireballs like the mandalas of Eastern Mysticism or resolve momentarily into apparently individual images and powerfully dramatic scenes like brightly colored dreams."

Following up the same fax, SOMA, the San Francisco "journal of Left Coast culture," found Steve Newman, a representative of Friends Understanding Kurt, who claimed Cobain had used the Dream Machine for "up to 72 hours at a time." Newman said the core of FUK was himself, Love, Love's attorney Celeste Mitchell and other friends of Cobain's, as well as various peripheral members." Love, he explained, played more of a "low-key role." HIGH TIMES' efforts to contact FUK were unsuccessful. Interview requests made through Love's record company, Geffen, and publicity agency, PMK, about this subject, were not answered. An attempt to acquire photos taken during Cobain's visit to Burroughs' home in Lawrence, KS in 1993--that had been given to Rosemary Carroll, Love's principal attorney--also didn't merit a return call.

However, we did locate David Woodard, the San Francisco businessman who manufactures and sells replicas of Gysin and Burroughs' Dream Machine for $145. In an interview conducted by Victor Bockris for HIGH TIMES, Woodard contended that Cobain called him as many as 20 times over a period of six months during 1993 and 1994 to talk about his life and the Dream Machine. "I got the sense that he was using it for long periods, but 72 hours? That's ludicrous."

Woodard met Cobain at a party in Seattle in the summer of 1993. He prefers not to detail the specifics of how and when Kurt bought the machine. According to the fax, "Woodard honorably complied with Kurt's very sincere wish, promptly and professionally shipping a freshly minted machine to Madrone [Seattle]: The state of California does not prohibit the sale of this fancy death machine to desperate young millionaires."

Surprisingly, Woodard admits that the Dream Machine may have compounded Cobain's problems. "If anything," he says, "the Dream Machine helped him to see that he was beginning to fall apart as a cultural figure. He felt like Andy Warhol, Wagner and Satan rolled up into one. He was in a very special place which invited timely suicide. It seemed like it was the perfect decision."

Does Woodard concede that the device he sold Cobain contributed to his death? "I pictured the suicide as being informed by an inner voice which was made audible through his experiences with the Dream Machine," he explains. "Yes, the Dream Machine played a part."

Perhaps Cobain knew what he was doing. Woodard leaves us with this image of his 27-year-old disciple: Kurt's in a full-scale Dream Machine-induced trance, his body hurtling from the glittering Manhattan skyline to a panorama of snowcapped Himalayas. His turquoise eyes are wide open. He's above the clouds now, contemplating the next stop on this magic carpet ride. Suddenly, he blasts off into deep blue space.

The controversy over what effect a psychedelic light machine had on Kurt Cobain during the last days of his life may be a smokescreen that plays into the hands of those who would have us believe he took his life two years ago. Tom Grant calls the fax a "confusion tactic" and "a futile effort to throw a blanket of deception over the truth." He clearly believes Friends Understanding Kurt is Courtney Love.

Hopefully, this article will stimulate discussion and lead to more revelations from those who really know what happened to Kurt Cobain and why he is no longer with us

Dilaloo
by Bryon Gysin

In the past the muttering leaped
in our coughing & spitting
in the silver throats morning
TRUST IN OUR BONES
Most of the apeforms died there
on the treeless slopes
Dumb animal eyes brought the sickness
>From white time cave frozen in my throat
To hatch in the warm steamlands
spitting songs of new

Scarlet birth in egg flesh
Beyond the path limestone floats down
into a high green savannah
and the grass wind on our genitals
Came to a swamp fed by hotsprings
& mountain ice
and fell in flesh heaps

Sick apes spitting blood laugh
Sound bubbling in throats
torn with the talk sickness

Faces and bodies covered with pusfoam
Animal hair through the purple sex flesh
A sick sound twisted through body
Underwater music bubbling on bloodbed
Human faces tentative flicker
In and out of focus
We waded into the warm mud water
Hair and apeflesh often screaming strips
Stood naked human bodies
Covered with phosphorescent green jelly

Soft tentative flesh cut with ape wounds

Felling other genitals
Fingers & tongues rubbing off the jelly cover
Body melting pleasure sounds
in the warm mud
Till the sun went
The blue wind of silence
Touched human faces & hair

When we came out of the mud
We had names

In the past muttering arctic flowers
Just of frost wind
Bones
And most of the apes still felt
invisible floats
spitting the blood bends
human
our bones out of focus
we dive there treeless
washed the hair in apeflesh
all eyes
ME stood naked human body
caves frozen in my throat
green jelly soft tense flesh
song of new birthed in other genitals
limestone floats cover our bodies
melting in savannah & grass mud

shit and sperm fed hot bodies
till the sun went

the mountain touched
human bubbling throats
we crawled out of the mud
WE, faces & bodies covered
the purple sex flesh
and the sickness leaped into our body
underwater music
bubble
in the silver morning frost

faces tentative flicker
in egg forms
into the war mud & water slopes
cold screaming sickness from white time
covered with phosphorescence
shed in the warm lands
spitting ape wounds
stealing egg flesh

Beyond the past
Tongue rubbing off the jelly arm
High green pleasure sound
Warm on our genitals
Flesh blue wind of silence
Ape spitting sound faces
Through pusfoam
The talking sickness had names

The sound stood naked in the grass
Music bubbling in the blood

exploded flesh from the laughing bones

I AM ALLAH
I MADE YOU
A blue mist filled the well
And shut off our word-breath
Branches in the wind, his knees,
Other mouths against
the green evening sky
And the other did not want to touch me
Because of the white worm thing inside
But no one could refuse
if I wanted and ate the fear
I wanted softness in other men

And some did not eat flesh
And died because they could no live
With the thing inside

I pulled the skin over my head
And I mad another man put on the skin
& horned
And we fucked like the animal
Stuck together
When we found the animal
Stuck together
Then I killed both
So I knew the thing inside me
Will always find animals
To feed my mouth meat

These little games were not new to me
I had exercised for years
In the elaborate jungle gym of my conscience
In nomine pater, kid.
as Jimmy Cannon used to say
I didn't have to begin at the beginning again
I could remember the beginning well enough
And when the beginning really was
I first remember by mother scolding me
For playing with myself
That's what I called the game
When I first began to play it
When I first learned to come
Playing with myself
I did it like this
I am not in my right foot
Good withdraw!
I am not in my left foot
Good withdraw!
I am not in my right leg
Good withdraw!
I am not in my left leg
Good withdraw!
I am not in my trunk
Not even in my heart
Easy does it
Good withdraw!
I am not in my right arm
I am not in my left arm
Good withdraw!
I am not in my face
It hangs like a mask
In the front of my head
Good withdraw!
But I am in my head
Yes, I am in the cage of my head
Where in my head?

Am I that?
NO

Am I this?
ONLY THIS?
This & that
Can't this get out of the top of my head?
Can that?
Dare I?
How far?
A great little game
Just put yourself up on the ceiling
And look down on what's left on the bed
Who's left in this cell?

His story?
What happened to him?
Why should I care?
I'M HERE
That's what's important
Me I'm here
ME
Not Julian_

Now the other case was some years later in London when he had
perfected the method and, uh, went about with at least one I think
sometimes two tape recorders, one in each hand, with prerecorded,
um-runes-what did you call them? You said William's things-
T: Spells.
B: Spells, okay, spells.
T: Like-
B: (chanting)
Lock them out and bar the door,
Lock them out for e-v-e-rmore.
Nook and cranny windo door
Seal them out for e-v-e-rmore
Lock them out and block the rout
Shut them scan them flack them out.
Lock is mine and door is mine
Three times three to make up nine . . .
Curse go back curse go back
Back with double pain and lack
Curse go back - back

Seven Ages Of Rock: American Alternative Rock

2007-08-22T02:16:00.000-07:00

Dolores:They feed they lion

2007-08-22T02:15:00.000-07:00

They Feed They Lion
By Philip Levine

Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter,
Out of black bean and wet slate bread,
Out of the acids of rage, the candor of tar,
Out of creosote, gasoline, drive shafts, wooden dollies,
They Lion grow.

Out of the gray hills
Of industrial barns, out of rain, out of bus ride,
West Virginia to Kiss My Ass, out of buried aunties,
Mothers hardening like pounded stumps, out of stumps,
Out of the bones' need to sharpen and the muscles' to stretch,
They Lion grow.

Earth is eating trees, fence posts,
Gutted cars, earth is calling in her little ones,
"Come home, Come home!" From pig balls,
From the ferocity of pig driven to holiness,
From the furred ear and the full jowl come
The repose of the hung belly, from the purpose
They Lion grow.

From the sweet glues of the trotters
Come the sweet kinks of the fist, from the full flower
Of the hams the thorax of caves,
From "Bow Down" come "Rise Up,"
Come they Lion from the reeds of shovels,
The grained arm that pulls the hands,
They Lion grow.

From my five arms and all my hands,
From all my white sins forgiven, they feed,
From my car passing under the stars,
They Lion, from my children inherit,
From the oak turned to a wall, they Lion,
From they sack and they belly opened
And all that was hidden burning on the oil-stained earth
They feed they Lion and he comes.

Dadaism
By Tristan Tzara

*There is a literature that does not reach the voracious mass. It is the work of creators, issued from a real necessity in the author, produced for himself. It expresses the knowledge of a supreme egoism, in which laws wither away. Every page must explode, either by profound heavy seriousness, the whirlwind, poetic frenzy, the new, the eternal, the crushing joke, enthusiasm for principles, or by the way in which it is printed. On the one hand a tottering world in flight, betrothed to the glockenspiel of hell, on the other hand: new men. Rough, bouncing, riding on hiccups. Behind them a crippled world and literary quacks with a mania for improvement.

I say unto you: there is no beginning and we do not tremble, we are not sentimental. We are a furious Wind, tearing the dirty linen of clouds and prayers, preparing the great spectacle of disaster, fire, decomposition.* We will put an end to mourning and replace tears by sirens screeching from one continent to another. Pavilions of intense joy and widowers with the sadness of poison. Dada is the signboard of abstraction; advertising and business are also elements of poetry.

I destroy the drawers of the brain and of social organization: spread demoralization wherever I go and cast my hand from heaven to hell, my eyes from hell to heaven, restore the fecund wheel of a universal circus to objective forces and the imagination of every individual.

Philosophy is the question: from which side shall we look at life, God, the idea or other phenomena. Everything one looks at is false. I do not consider the relative result more important than the choice between cake and cherries after dinner. The system of quickly looking at the other side of a thing in order to impose your opinion indirectly is called dialectics, in other words, haggling over the spirit of fried potatoes while dancing method around it. If I cry out:

Ideal, ideal, ideal,
Knowledge, knowledge, knowledge,
Boomboom, boomboom, boomboom,

I have given a pretty faithful version of progress, law, morality and all other fine qualities that various highly intelligent men have discussed in so manv books, only to conclude that after all everyone dances to his own personal boomboom, and that the writer is entitled to his boomboom: the satisfaction of pathological curiosity; a private bell for inexplicable needs; a bath; pecuniary difficulties; a stomach with repercussions in life; the authority of the mystic wand formulated as the bouquet of a phantom orchestra made up of silent fiddle bows greased with philtres made of chicken manure. With the blue eye-glasses of an angel they have excavated the inner life for a dime's worth of unanimous gratitude. If all of them are right and if all pills are Pink Pills, let us try for once not to be right. Some people think they can explain rationally, by thought, what they think. But that is extremely relative. Psychoanalysis is a dangerous disease, it puts to sleep the anti-objective impulses of men and systematizes the bourgeoisie. There is no ultimate Truth. The dialectic is an amusing mechanism which guides us / in a banal kind of way / to the opinions we had in the first place. Does anyone think that, by a minute refinement of logic, he has demonstrated the truth and established the correctness of these opinions? Logic imprisoned by the senses is an organic disease. To this element philosophers always like to add: the power of observation. But actually this magnificent quality of the mind is the proof of its impotence. We observe, we regard from one or more points of view, we choose them among the millions that exist. Experience is also a product of chance and individual faculties. Science disgusts me as soon as it becomes a speculative system, loses its character of utility-that is so useless but is at least individual. I detest greasy objectivity, and harmony, the science that finds everything in order. Carry on, my children, humanity . . . Science says we are the servants of nature: everything is in order, make love and bash your brains in. Carry on, my children, humanity, kind bourgeois and journalist virgins . . . I am against systems, the most acceptable system is on principle to have none. To complete oneself, to perfect oneself in one's own littleness, to fill the vessel with one's individuality, to have the courage to fight for and against thought, the mystery of bread, the sudden burst of an infernal propeller into economic lilies.... Every product of disgust capable of becoming a negation of the family is Dada; a protest with the fists of its whole being engaged in destructivc action: *Dada; knowledge of all the means rejected up until now by the shamefaced sex of comfortable compromise and good manners: Dada; abolition of logic, which is the dance of those impotent to create: Dada; of every social hierarchy and equation set up for the sake of values by our valets: Dada; every object, all objects, sentiments, obscurities, apparitions and the precise clash of parallel lines are weapons for the fight: Dada; abolition of memory: Dada; abolition of archaeology: Dada; abolition of prophets: Dada; abolition of the future: Dada; absolute and unquestionable faith in every god that is the immediate product of spontaneity:* Dada; elegant and unprejudiced leap from a harmony to the other sphere; trajectory of a word tossed like a screeching phonograph record; to respect all individuals in their folly of the moment: whether it be serious, fearful, timid, ardent, vigorous, determined, enthusiastic; to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit out disagreeable or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them -with the extreme satisfaction that it doesn't matter in the least-with the same intensity in the thicket of one's soul-pure of insects for blood well-born, and gilded with bodies of archangels. Freedom: Dada Dada Dada, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I don't have to tell you that for the general public and for you, tlhe refined public, a Dadaist is the equivalent of a leper. But that is only a manner of speaking. When these same people get close to us, they treat us with that remnant of elegance that comes from their old habit of belief in progress. At ten yards distance, hatred begins again. If you ask me why, I won't be able to tell you.

Another characteristic of Dada is the continuous breaking off of our friends. They are always breaking off and resigning. The first to tender his resignation from the Dada movement *was myself.* Everybody knows that Dada is nothing. I broke away from Dada and from myself as soon as I understood the implications of *nothing.*

If I continue to do something, it is because it amuses me, or rather because I have a need for activity which I use up and satisfy wherever I can. Basically, the true Dadas have always been separate from Dada. Those who acted as if Dada were important enough to resign from with a big noise have been motivated by a desire for personal publicity, proving that counterfeiters have always wriggled like unclean worms in and out of the purest and most radiant religions.

I know that you have come here today to hear explanations. Well, don't expect to hear any explanations about Dada. You explain to me why you exist. You haven't the faintest idea. You will say: I exist to make my children happy. But in your hearts you know that isn't so. You will say: I exist to guard my country, against barbarian invasions. That's a fine reason. You will say: I exist because God wills. That's a fairy tale for children. You will never be able to tell me why you exist but you will always be ready to maintain a serious attitude about life. You will never understand that life is a pun, for you will never be alone enough to reject hatred, judgments, all these things that require such an effort, in favor of a calm level state of mind that makes everything equal and without importance. Dada is not at all modern. It is more in the nature of a return to an almost Buddhist religion of indifference. Dada covers things with an artificial gentleness, a snow of butterflies released from the head of a prestidigitator. Dada is immobility and does not comprehend the passions. You will call this a paradox, since Dada is manifested only in violent acts. Yes, the reactions of individuals contaminated by *destruction* are rather violent, but when these reactions are exhausted, annihilated by the Satanic insistence of a continuous and progressive "What for?" what remains, what dominates is *indifference.* But with the same note of conviction I might maintain the contrary.

I admit that my friends do not approve this point of view. But the *Nothing* can be uttered only as the reflection of an individual. And that is why it will be valid for everyone, since everyone is important only for the individual who is expressing himself.--I am speaking of myself. Even that is too much for me. How can I be expected to speak of all men at once, and satisfy them too?

Nothing is more delightful than to confuse and upset people. People one doesn't like. What's the use of giving them explanations that are merely food for curiosity? The truth is that people love nothing but themselves and their little possessions, their income, their dog. This state of affairs derives from a false conception of property. If one is poor in spirit, one possesses a sure and indomitable intelligence, a savage logic, a point of view that can not be shaken. Try to be empty and fill your brain cells with a petty happiness. Always destroy what you have in you. On random walks. Then you will be able to understand many things. You are not more intelligent than we, and we are not more intelligent than you.

Intelligence is an organization like any other, the organization of society, the organization of a bank, the organization of chit-chat. At a society tea. It serves to create order and clarity where there is none. It serves to create a state hierarchy. To set up classifications for rational work. To separate questions of a material order from those of a cerebral ordcr, but to take the former very seriously. Intelligence is the triumph of sound education and pragmatism. Fortunately life is something else and its pleasures are innumerable. They are not paid for in the coin of liquid intelligence.

These observations of everyday conditions have led us to a realization which constitutes our minimum basis of agreement, aside from the sympathy which binds us and which is inexplicable. It would not have been possible for us to found our agreement on principles. For everything is relative. What are the Beautiful, the Good, Art, Freedom? Words that have a different meaning for every individual. Words with the pretension of creating agreement among all, and that is why they are written with capital letters. Words which have not the moral value and objective force that people have grown accustomed to finding in them. Their meaning changes from one individual, one epoch, one country to the next. Men are different. It is diversity that makes life interesting. There is no common basis in mens minds. The unconscious is inexhaustible and uncontrollable. Its force surpasses us. It is as mysterious as the last particle of a brain cell. Even if we knew it, we could not reconstruct it.

What good did the theories of the philosophers do us? Did they help us to take a single step forward or backward? What is forward, what is backward? Did they alter our forms of contentment? We are. We argue, we dispute, we get excited. The rest is sauce. Sometimes pleasant, sometimes mixed with a limitless boredom, a swamp dotted with tufts of dying shrubs.

We have had enough of the intelligent movements that have stretched beyond measure our credulity in the benefits of science. What we want now is spontaneity. Not because it is better or more beautiful than anything else. But because everything that issues freely from ourselves, without the intervention of speculative ideas, represents us. We must intensify this quantity of life that readily spends itself in every quarter. Art is not the most precious manifestation of life. Art has not the celestial and universal value that people like to attribute to it. Life is far more interesting. Dada knows the correct measure that should be given to art: with subtle, perfidious methods, Dada introduces it into daily life. And vice versa. In art, Dada reduces everything to an initial simplicity, growing always more relative. It mingles its caprices with the chaotic wind of creation and the barbaric dances of savage tribes. It wants logic reduced to a personal minimum, while literature in its view should be primarily intended for the individual who makes it. Words have a weight of their own and lend themselves to abstract construction. The absurd has no terrors for me, for from a more exalted point of view everything in life seems absurd to me. Only the elasticity of our conventions creates a bond between disparate acts. The Beautiful and the True in art do not exist; what interests me is the intensity of a personality transposed directly, clearly into the work; the man and his vitality; the angle from which he regards the elements and in what manner he knows how to gather sensation, emotion, into a lacework of words and sentiments.

Dada tries to find out what words mean before using them, from the point of view not of grammar but of representation. Objects and colors pass through the same filter. It is not the new technique that interests us, but the spirit. Why do you want us to be preoccupied with a pictorial, moral, poetic, literary, political or social renewal? We are well aware that these renewals of means are merely the successive cloaks of the various epochs of history, uninteresting questions of fashion and facade. We are well aware that people in the costumes of the Renaissance were pretty much the same as the people of today, and that Chouang-Dsi was just as Dada as we are. You are mistaken if you take Dada for a modern school, or even for a reaction against the schools of today. Several of my statements have struck you as old and natural, what better proof that you were a Dadaist without knowing it, perhaps even before the birth of Dada.

You will often hear that Dada is a state of mind. You may be gay, sad, afflicted, joyous, melancholy or Dada. Without being literary, you can be romantic, you can be dreamy, weary, eccentric, a businessman, skinny, transfigured, vain, amiable or Dada. This will happen later on in the course of history when Dada has become a precise, habitual word, when popular repetition has given it the character of a word organic with its necessary content. Today no one thinks of the literature of the Romantic school in representing a lake, a landscape, a character. Slowly but surely, a Dada character is forming.

Dada is here, there and a little everywhere, such as it is, with its faults, with its personal differences and distinctions which it accepts and views with indifference. We are often told that we are incoherent, but into this word people try to put an insult that it is rather hard for me to fathom. Everything is incoherent. The gentleman who decides to take a bath but goes to the movies instead. The one who wants to be quiet but says things that haven't even entered his head. Another who has a precise idea on some subject but succeeds only in expressing the opposite in words which for him are a poor translation. There is no logic. Only relative necessities discovered *a posteriori*, valid not in any exact sense but only as explanations. The acts of life have no beginning or end. Everything happens in a completely idiotic way. That is why everything is alike. Simplicity is called Dada.

Any attempt to conciliate an inexplicable momentary state with logic strikes me as a boring kind of game. The convention of the spoken language is ample and adequate for us, but for our solitude, for our intimate games and our literature we no longer need it.

The beginnings of Dada were not the beginnings of an art, but of a disgust. Disgust with the magnificence of philosophers who for 3ooo years have been explaining everything to us (what for? ), disgust with the pretensions of these artists-God's-representatives-on-earth, disgust with passion and with real pathological wickedness where it was not worth the bother; disgust with a false form of domination and restriction *en masse*, that accentuates rather than appeases man's instinct of domination, disgust with all the catalogued categories, with the false prophets who are nothing but a front for the interests of money, pride, disease, disgust with the lieutenants of a mercantile art made to order according to a few infantile laws, disgust with the divorce of good and evil, the beautiful and the ugly (for why is it more estimable to be red rather than green, to the left rather than the right, to be large or small?). Disgust finally with the Jesuitical dialectic which can explain everything and fill people's minds with oblique and obtuse ideas without any physiological basis or ethnic roots, all this by means of blinding artifice and ignoble charlatans promises.

As Dada marches it continuously destroys, not in extension but in itself. From all these disgusts, may I add, it draws no conclusion, no pride, no benefit. It has even stopped combating anything, in the realization that it's no use, that all this doesn't matter. What interests a Dadaist is his own mode of life. But here we approach the great secret.

Dada is a state of mind. That is why it transforms itself according to races and events. Dada applies itself to everything, and yet it is nothing, it is the point where the yes and the no and all the opposites meet, not solemnly in the castles of human philosophies, but very simply at street corners, like dogs and grasshoppers.

Like everything in life, Dada is useless.

Dada is without pretension, as life should be.

Perhaps you will understand me better when I tell you that Dada is a virgin microbe that penetrates with the insistence of air into all the spaces that reason has not been able to fill with words or conventions.

ALTERITY

2007-08-22T02:14:00.000-07:00

Good Night. By my trembling hands and linguring eyes I am going to take control. I desire to feel you tremble, trembling, feel myself trembling, to feel your smooth flesh, your stoumach and thighs.
Dear dreams towers blinking sky scraper windows great pylons of serpant bridges stretching out moon bleached moon and acid blanket clouds. Great covers of white sexuality and high chemical density turn to you to turn away to assimilate you. There is a great network of a microscopic infastructure designed for pleasure; a totallity of absences to be filled and hollowed.
PROGRESSIONS:
We are crows perched on rows of photographs mocked and attacked by our generations impeacable whitch craft.
We are the life span of our lives dug out and and passing through any available opening.

I think into the shapes of your body
as I lay with your legs
I tare myself out
and am born into you
When claws are born into a fight
When love has a victim at long last
At once winter leaves
Are seen as individuals
Apart of nothing

Blessing what surges deep
That speeds up Island animal
Island charge through bars
A Phoenix a healthy sea riot
With your fur Island always sweating
Island charge till Island charged
When Island bite you'll suck pulp
Before you feel teeth
Mouth of lightning bolts
Our Phoenix taken by cyclones
Our fish searching for shell
Wasp living for ransom on a plate of glass
Charge by brutal Island spider
Hairy leg of two fucking spider
"It is bravery and strength that weep"
That pours tears of Island spider
Venom eyelids closed
Falling back and dying

to you universally-

layers of colors in braids in hair salons
shattered flaming pagodas raked across the grave
the wave clipped his blistered lip and made her his
slave
tequila pumped from the heart through vein through
pores
locked gates guarded by piercing gargoyle stares of
horror
stairs lead higher to a floral plateau estuary
incinerator heap
tape on glass doors from broken english signs couldn't
keep
bottles and amulets on her shelves replace family
photos
dead through our hearts ringing from a small chapel's
grotto

small finches clinging to bamboo bars with bleeding
talons
sanity's trap is underwater currents pulling to the
ocean
the bastard children of fall curse their fathers
through boozy teeth
flesh on the
bottle's messages lost on the coral reef
dry handshakes from our working world's battered souls

singed grass from a festival trampled and never grows
it breathed the passion of the air through the leaves
manufacturing the pitch of the choirs tunneled lungs
is wild with what it is on fire and never deceives

our heads keep connecting to this multitude crowded
unrest
then it is the days first breath take that keeps us
awake

THE BIG SCARE

2007-08-22T02:13:00.001-07:00

10. Do the words need changing?
I pulled this one out (well, the widget selected it for me) the other week when I was writing a piece for something and wasn't happy with a short passage. Damn right they needed changing! But what to? Brian failed me this time, unfortunately, but this harmless question would probably do a vast swathe of indie hipsters and wannabe stadium-rockers a huge favor. The Killers, New Young Pony Club, Keane, Interpol, Bloc Party - take heed, your lyrics are shit! Yes! The words most assuredly DO need changing!

09. Be dirty
"Emptiness is loneliness / And loneliness is cleanliness / And cleanliness is godliness / And God is empty / JUST / LIKE / ME" sang Billy Corgan, many years ago, while wearing some kind of stupid dress and pearling sputum across his fretboard. Had he just had a pack of Oblique Strategies to hand and happened to pull this card out at the precise moment he began to conjure the overlong dramatic mess that was Melon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, guitars might have remained actually raw and Billy could have maintained control of his unhappy ego, found inner peace, and spared us the modern rock bullshit of Zwan.

08. Take away the important parts
In these maximalist, consumerist, hyper-eclectic times we should perhaps consider turning back to the modernists, realize that less is more, and start removing things rather than stuffing as much as possible into everything. And you know what? Intros, outros, segues, codas, sub-two-minute instrumentals - in most contemporary music the filler is way more interesting than the ego songs, the context more refreshing than the content. Lose that unnecessary extra chorus, kids, drop that focal-point guitar solo, get your facial close-ups out of the video, and rediscover why you started doing this in the first place.

07. Water
Possibly the most oblique of all the oblique strategies. How? Why? Where? How do you use water in a song? In a story? Instances of sampled water sounds from Orbital to Can (surely both favorites of Eno) spring to mind, as do the Clientele's moody soliloquies to the patter of autumn rain on windowpanes, The Beatles' Rain, and the huge aquatic expanses of Björk's recent Volta album, all of them delicious. As are various visions of water caught on film by the likes of Tarkovsky, Reggio, Spielberg (Jaws), and Fincher (the perpetual rain of Se7en). H2O makes up the vast majority of the surface of the planet, of the chemical composition of our bodies, of the food we eat each day. Quite how it helps worthwhile creative dilemmas I'm not quite sure, but I like the idea of trying to find out. And it's nicer to drink than one's own piss.

06. Ask people to work against their better judgement
Everybody has safe zones and established, accepted understandings of the natural order of the world and how things 'should' work. For instance, everyone knows that Phil Collins is a complete arsehole, but Brian Eno, sharp as a tack, didn't let this kernel of truth get in the way of the wider wisdom that compelled him to have the slaphead Tory pillock drum, magnificently, on a handful of tracks on Eno's early solo records. Just listen to Collins' shuffling fills on No One Receiving from Before And After Science; he may be unpleasant but he sure can do that percussion thing.

05. Try faking it
Excellent advice for the timid youngster who feels that confidence is a foreign country inhabited by weirdos. It's not - it's an affectation. In fact, to be brutally harsh about the way the world works, most people who seem super competent, skilled, and successful are nothing more than very convincing charlatans. Just look at Coldplay, who've bluffed their way to being the biggest rock band in the world despite being the least exciting people since... someone dull who I forget. And now they're roping in Eno himself to fully produce their next record, presumably in the hope that more pearls of wisdom like this can further advance their fraudulent massiveness.

04. Repetition is a form of change
The Krautrocker's mantra has furnished us with reams of terrifically dull yet somehow addictive motorik drum patterns and loops, an idea possibly brought to recent apotheosis by (huge Eno fan) James Murphy, who has both called a song On Repeat and copped Eno's idiosyncratic vocal style on a number of occasions. The human brain adores and actively seeks out patterns, and the easiest, most fundamental pattern is simple repetition. As for it being a form of change, that depends on how you listen.

03. In total darkness, or in a large room, very quietly
This epithet is kind of accidentally sexy, and also helpfully describes the best context in which to listen to many of Eno's best records. Certainly Discreet Music's quasi-classical charms are best absorbed via a sort of semi-conscious osmosis, while the ranting, robotic soundscapes of My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts, Eno's ethnographic, sampling-inventing collaboration with David Byrne, becomes exponentially spooky and wondrous in either the dark or isolated space. Either way, by impairing the visual sense, one accentuates one's hearing, while increasing space and decreasing volume lures you ever closer to the music.

02. Not building a wall but making a brick
Inferring a degree of attention to detail that moves into the microcosmic and which I find delicious when the vast majority of creative endeavors that find public favor these days seem obsessed with huge, sweeping gestures rather than the kind of minutiae that inspires genuine emotion. Attention to detail also typifies Eno's best production work; just take another listen to Fear Of Music and Remain In Light. Hell, sit through a U2 record with Brian at the controls. Shape, texture, location, and color of sound are all at least as important as songwriting or musicianship, and it's this close attention that Eno brought to the pick of the records he helmed. If the bricks are perfect, the house will be better.

01. Discover your formulas and abandon them
Existential awareness and reinvention are crucial to good art, some might suggest. I would probably agree, although it's important to understand that reinvention doesn't necessarily have to be radical; from Pollock to Vonnegut to Bowie to thousands of other artists, writers, musicians, and thieves the key to success has been to take oneself, know oneself, and change oneself, sometimes with grand alterations and sometimes with almost imperceptible shifts. Eno himself, obviously, embodies this, his previously-mentioned diary reducible perhaps to "today I am a writer; tomorrow a painter; the next day a husband; the day after that a musician." Despite this constant fluid change of purpose and activity, one thing remains constant; everyday he is Brian Eno. Falling into formula and repeating oneself (on a meta rather than a micro level) is the surest way to retreat creatively and personally too. Like many of the Oblique Strategies, this is a call for bravery, and an affirmation that bravery is a very simple thing indeed.

Arimaru
Running shallow
with a year's end sound:
river rapids.

Asei
Flowers of the grass:
scarcely shown, and withered
name and all.

Atsujin
Earth and metal...
although my breathing ceases
time and tide go on.

Baiko
Plum petals falling
I look up...the sky,
a clear crisp moon.

Baisei
Island of Eternity:
a turtle dries its shell out
in the rays of a new sun.

Banzan
Farewell...
I pass as all things do
dew on the grass.

Basho
On a journey, ill:
my dream goes wandering
over withered fields.

Bokusui
A parting word?
The melting snow
is odorless.

Chiboku
The running stream
is cool...the pebbles
underfoot.

Chikuro
Butterflies in flight:
the journey's end...
Suma Akashi

Chirin
In earth and sky
no grain of dust...
snow on the foothills.

Chogo
I long for people...
then again I loathe them:
end of autumn.

Choko
This final scene I'll not see
to the end...my dream
is fraying.

Dohaku
Cargoless,
bound heavenward,
ship of the moon

Enryo
Autumn waters
of this world wake me
from my drunkenness.

Fukyu
A bright and pleasant
autumn day to make
death's journey.

Fuso
Upon the lotus flower
morning dew is
thinning out.

Gansan
Blow if you will,
fall wind...the flowers
have all faded.

Ginka
I leap from depths
of debt into the skies:
autumn of the dragon.

Gokei
Fields dying off:
the underside of grasses frozen
hour of my death.

HAVENS

2007-08-22T02:12:00.001-07:00

Rows
You'll never be put aside my friends
Who I adore who I slave for who I cherish
We progress and slave to our deeds
Sleep with our lovers or pine in our night alone
Some grow with owls or
Walk and be marked by sticks they carry
Silence and cricks play our evening stream expedition
It is going wonderfully
This river spins harp strings and can clean and feed
Kill and then borne to ocean
This river held me back and kept me close to mother
We drip of contagious blur
Nothing has come and to be shone
This formless exposition bemoans clever strategy
This mother of mine extends her arms
Plays cradle and lets friends be themselves
To be a guide unto themselves and
Let us have it never any other way
This mother is a river and clings to cricket wings
Cleans and slows our passage through time
Opens her owl wings and plays night time rhythms quiet
Sings sound of playing on white harp strings
Bending and vibrating light vibrations
It all vibrates and it all vibrates to palm trees
Those little hills our houses sit on
Stories of inhabitants haunting some supra-natural
spectrum
Normal unto themselves
Yet demonic to witness
Us who wonder
Yet by and by much accustom is rule less child
Oh I can follow the flute and reference nothing of the
past
I get the storm and understand it most deeply
Am each of its rain drops and access lists daily
deaths
Are the small things ground and heated to pass on or
see through
Or see your current state bouncing back back back back
How much can you carry as you go
We pick our seats in amphitheater
Snack and string gallows
Flush our Poseidon
Divide our demonic kingdoms
Cast our triton and get deep in the river
Past our waist drown our smiling faces
Our tears run and smudge
Mother comes to wipe them
Sees her reflection
Drops her walking stick
Bends our clever ears and coos inside
We get warm and fall over
Fall deep inside this river of rushing delicacy
Get mostly swept away not swept but mostly drift
We are the drifters in our mothers rushing ocean
Which surges all at once
We are waves of her face
Rummage witness
Fly with our brother owl and strangled before it
before them all
fall and die at once
breath our same tricks of tragedy
Run with daggers in woods
Hunt with our supreme lover's intention
Diviner aimless sprinkles chair dust
Lovers can still lust in love
This river takes it all slow brutal
Knowing all encompassing compassionately
Bends and bees a very spectacle of itself
Bends and leaves with my mother
Loves my friends and leaves at night
Plays music of our lives

EVASIONS

2007-08-22T02:11:00.000-07:00

MICHAEL STIPE: No. I will say this, and this is probably a little too brutally honest for television, but I have never thought of myself as a very cool person. I think a lot of people that wind up being public figures, there might be some degree of insecurity that leads you to desire that kind of attention. I consider myself to still be kind of a nerd and not particularly talented, attractive, interesting, intelligent or anything else. I used to wonder why my friends hung out with me. Then, you know, of course a little bit later in life I figured out that I do have qualities that are worth while. The degree to which I apply myself as an artist, as a song writer, is at the very least absolutely sincere and giving everything that I can. And that counts for something.

Eraser in an anomaly or drab what later taken by whirring telescopes and huge loafs of bread steaming window sills koala leaf chewing sun melting chocolate bar
flash strobe lights and chocolate godiva spanish and arch welded singed halo taken apart elongated diaphragm or a hornet with a trumpet mistakes a grave for a jetty and boat trollers and open ended mood collisions
What takes her home and keeps her there
Why she stays inside and is afraid of taken
But, I guess it is an honest way to live in fear

The Wine-Drinkers

The wine-drinkers sit on the porte cochère in the sun.
Their lack of success in love has made them torpid.
They move their fans with a motion that stirs no feather,
the glare of the sun has darkened their complexions.

Let us commend them on their conversations.
One says "oh" and the other says "indeed."

The afternoon must be prolonged forever, because the night
will be impossible for them.
They know that the bright and very delicate needles
inserted beneath the surfaces of their skins
will work after dark--at present are drugged, are dormant.

Nobody dares to make any sudden disturbance.

One says "no," the other one murmurs "why?"
The cousins pause: tumescent.
What do they dream of? Murder?
They dream of lust and they long for violent action
but none occurs.
Their quarrels perpetually die from a lack of momentum
The light is empty: the sun forestalls reflection.

Tennessee Williams

It's it

2007-08-22T02:05:00.001-07:00

It will be figured out in time with San Francisco's morning paper
I'm now a neighborhood hero trying to get out of a waterfall
Finally it makes sense
Life is a box straight from the box or
kinda tubey tube filled and troubled
I'm the prisoner of growing older
My life is in prison as you would have it
I'm tattered and ruff and bird and camera and slant mechanical dripping with cogs and metal springs precipice drivel damaged and a whole sleugh of other things
I'm a newspaper in San Francisco ready to bleed
spend too much time in a bad spot or
become fickle and grandiose suspicious faulty and sort of spitting and coughing at the same time dodging dirt and wind gilded and terrible

Three Drinks A Day Can Cause Brain Damage

People who drink the equivalent of three large glasses of wine a night can suffer brain damage similar to that seen in chronic alcoholics, research suggests. Scientists found that people who consumed more than 100 drinks a month—around 130 units—suffered from loss of memory, reduced intelligence, poor balance and impaired mental agility. Brain malfunctions linked to alcohol included the inability to apply consequences from past actions, difficulties with abstract concepts of time and money and difficulties with storing and retrieving information.

Brain Shrinkage and Alcoholic Behavior

The shrinkage observed seems to be more extensive in the cortex of the frontal lobe, which is believed to be the seat of higher intellectual functions. This shrinkage generally increases with age, at least in men.

Repeated imaging of a group of alcoholics who continued drinking over a 5-year period revealed progressive brain shrinkage that significantly exceeded normal age-related shrinkage. The rate of frontal cortex shrinkage correlates closely with the amount of alcohol consumed.

But this shrinkage has also been observed in deeper brain regions, including brain structures associated with memory, as well as in the cerebellum, which helps regulate coordination and balance.

I am death in fear
My mind is shrinking with repeated daily damage.
Suicide lasts a lifetime.
We're dropping like flies copulating like dripping faucets drinking dust and dying to die deadbeat gratuitous fortitude in the mindnumbing department disgusted with ourselves bowing out onto the balcony of the inner child raped by the omnipresent ever adulterous adulthood of generation gapping idol blinding nihilism nothingness we call home and abandoned inspected by our own ridicule and destruction jukebox antihero apathy and junk bond confusion pleased by the pleasure of the pain and erosion

Complications:

Brain degeneration
Cirrhosis of the liver
Delirium tremens
Depression
Esophageal bleeding
Erectile dysfunction
Fetal alcohol syndrome
Heart muscle damage
High blood pressure
Increased incidence of cancer
Insomnia
Nerve damage
Nutritional deficiencies
Pancreatitis
Suicide
Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome

nonsense bullet sacrifice and looking and listening
We chase them; coyotes chased my dog as a child howl and struck me with fear
we are enticed with the blood and luminous travesty of our gleeful imagination spun out by our heroes and brightest examples heroes of bending and blurring separation
slipping pages and sections sectioned and sectioned subcategorized and embellished fearful of a snap back or over exposure embellish and fried too terrible and lack but
it is a volcano after all

Those who find ecstasy do so not by visiting the shrines of civilization but by trudging in the swamps of human destitution and misery. Our literature of ecstasy recounts the dark nights of the soul and encounters with mystics in the slums and in the refugee camps of genocidal wars.

—from Abuses, Alphonso Lingis

Never Feel Bad Again

To all my friends who keep me weary at every moment.
Those who keep my head affirm to place. A message for
your output and intake. To my friends who soil my soul
and show me I can not shake. That every gesture is an
exercise in futility, making us martyrs in unimportant
cause. You have shown me the limits of modern
concepts, taken me to the fringes of sword and
sheathed it upon entering the valley of showmanship.
Time and time again the head of the heavenly sloth has
come to lick our collective wounds and impregnate
smooth flesh with dead cell outcroppings obscurring
the way. As weeds or wild berries know, they are no
match for a majestic steed. But, not as many ride as
could; from heel to toe not the other way around. We
stake the earth as we pass from one seat to the next,
one corner in a nest, an alcove in a bone yard, a
roost in a decomposing biosphere in which to wait,
anticipate numb in friction. Or "a tether in passing
stakes". All desire is folded, we simply sink into the
creases to return to a familiar bend in physical
fluidity in denial of desire. My lovers have shown me
that in waiting. That my life still continues in it's
core unfulfilled and at it's most mighty,
superfluous. I have shown this to my lovers in
waiting. That we are undeserving tidal waves of
emotion unrelenting. That our presence is a
disclosure of minimal past. That our bodies are the
beginnings of our mind and the end of our dreams. That
post and position are are incomplete mountains. That
from the highest peak you can not see underneath
leaves. My friends; dungeons of fatalistic are never
companion yet to throngs unaware, fully engrossed and nullified
by possessions far reaching the smear of ritual
population. Knife to jelly to breads and the lot of
parasites. It's the treaty of acceptable parameters.
The amorphous standard principles, the bar on
thresholds; concrete pressure locking. No one moves if
no one moves. I have been persuaded to walk upright.
Persuaded from what. And how was I coerced. What was
conquered. What was lost. What will be the next play,
the next influence. From a biped to a bisexual or the
other way around and who is who. What is the filter.
What is the matter. The spider webbing description.
Insect dominance as much as lore and legend.
Not as much but more. We go and it doesn't let up,
finds new or old name to crush with. A new or old
mask. Days of untangling boxes of yo-yo's. Each one inscribed with an
undeniable lesson to be learned upon letting it fly.
Performing all its expansions and contractions. To
embody a real symbol. To nourish a real hunger a real
longing, doing it's job correct. Contending with it's
copilots savvy. It's duty is cast (it being) as
drawing a bow to string to sustain every living thing
indiscriminately.

TO MY FRIENDS WHO HOLD MY STRING AND TO MY
COMMANDERS THAT BUILT ME
"Never feel bad again"
Park your ships and let them pierce the
land.
TO MY FRIENDS WHO ARE THE OCEAN AND THE WIND
"Never feel bad again"
For all your efforts here on earth the sun and moon do
all the work and TO THE SUN AND MOON I SAY
"Never feel bad again"
AND TO THE HUNTERS AND COLLECTORS FAR AND WIDE WHO
BURY THEMSELVES INTO FRACTURED NOTHINGNESS WITH BUT A
POCKET OF RAW SUBLIME
I SAY
"Never feel bad again"
TO ALL THE SPROUTS OF SURVIVORS TOO NUMEROUS,
SPEWING BARRELING DREAM WHISPERS AT THE GIANT EARS
AND
LUNGS AND MEGAPHONE GROANS BUILDING THAT GREAT BALLOON
I SAY
"Never feel bad again"

we'll all
be burnt away
tomorrow
left aside
the road

with just
one thing not
clear to us
which way
we were to go