North_by_Northwest Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 I'm in a coffee shop and this crazy guy is shouting out poetry and weird shit. Here's what he had to say: i’m looking for buddah it’s a girl the best of them are the funny farm- the funny farm and I’m all ‘hey man!’ ‘that’s my tongue!’ “how did it get in your mouth?” i don’t cry tears i cry other people’s tears. caster of the bones reader of the tea leaves the rats were obsessed w/ electricity and stealing it from the farmer Interesting, guy. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Distel32 Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 you didn't happen to be at the chai house by any chance? Open mic night there can be quite interesting, but it's still a cool place. Go listen to Neon browne next time they play their. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
North_by_Northwest Posted March 4, 2003 Author Share Posted March 4, 2003 No, this guy's performance was definately not planned. He's just freakin' out and speaking in tongues and making noises between ryhmes. Neon Browne eh? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Distel32 Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 yeah sort of jazzy background music type of deal. neonbrown.com the bassist james whitmore is amazing, and a nice guy. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ScottP Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 Not much diff between that and your autosig, except maybe his made more sense. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
North_by_Northwest Posted March 4, 2003 Author Share Posted March 4, 2003 Update! He just yelled: "Children of the darkness, children of the light! Our generation will have to repent!" Then he ran into the street and pretended to be shooting a machine gun. A few minutes later he came back in with $10 and bought more coffee. I'd pretend to shoot a machine gun all the time if people gave me tens like that. Now he's on a computer and saying "gigobyte" and other computer nerd words in a fake cockney accent. -ScottP my autosig does make sense, it is describing an imaginary situation in which Ginger, Marianne and Mrs. Howell are robbing Mr. Howell, the Skipper and the male cast members of Gilligan's Island. The description is by popular rap artist "Methodman" and might prove difficult to understand for some. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ScottP Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 -ScottP my autosig does make sense, it is describing an imaginary situation in which Ginger, Marianne and Mrs. Howell are robbing Mr. Howell, the Skipper and the male cast members of Gilligan's Island. The description is by popular rap artist "Methodman" and might prove difficult to understand for some. Oh, now I see. I thought it was a description of someone's kinky Gilligans Island sex fantasy. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
PullinFool Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 ScottP said: -ScottP my autosig does make sense, it is describing an imaginary situation in which Ginger, Marianne and Mrs. Howell are robbing Mr. Howell, the Skipper and the male cast members of Gilligan's Island. The description is by popular rap artist "Methodman" and might prove difficult to understand for some. Oh, now I see. I thought it was a description of someone's kinky Gilligans Island sex fantasy. I always supected Mrs. Howell and Marianne were transvestites... Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
COL._Von_Spanker Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 Distel32 said: you didn't happen to be at the chai house by any chance? I was gonna ask the same thing. I went for coffee once and they had poetry night. As I walked up, I noticed this and thought shit, it's peotry night but I was already half way in the door and it was too late to just turn around w/o looking like a jerk since all eyes were on me. So I got my coffee and had to stand there while this guy went on forever and since people were sitting on the floor and everywhere else massaging their intellectual egos I could not get out; trapped like a dimwitted rat. So I grabbed a garbage can, an apron and some mentos and made my way out the back. I would have stayed longer if your machine gun friend was there. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gapertimmy Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 man, bend sure is lacking some urban culture. machine gun man in 04! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
gregm Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whose intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticaot upliftings & especially secret gas- station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successfully unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination - ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time - and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years. II What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbingin armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men! Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments! Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb! Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities! Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind! Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch! Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky! Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs! They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us! Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river! Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit! Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time! Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! The holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street! III Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland where you're madder than I am I'm with you in Rockland where you must feel strange I'm with you in Rockland where you imitate the shade of my mother I'm with you in Rockland where you've murdered your twelve secretaries I'm with you in Rockland where you laugh at this invisible humour I'm with you in Rockland where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter I'm with you in Rockland where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio I'm with you in Rockland where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses I'm with you in Rockland where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica I'm with you in Rockland where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx I'm with you in Rockland where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss I'm with you in Rockland where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse I'm with you in Rockland where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again fro its pilgrimage to a cross in the void I'm with you in Rockland where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha I'm with you in Rockland where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb I'm with you in Rockland where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale I'm with you in Rockland where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep I'm with you in Rockland where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free I'm with you in Rockland in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
sexual_chocolate Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 Sunflower Sutra I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry. Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, sur- rounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery. The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just our- selves rheumy-eyed and hungover like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily. Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust-- --I rushed up enchanted--it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake--my visions--Harlem and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes Greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past-- and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye-- corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sun- rays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb, leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear, Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then! The grime was no man's grime but death and human locomotives, all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis'ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuber- ance of artificial worse-than-dirt--industrial-- modern--all that civilization spotting your crazy golden crown-- and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what more could I name, the smoked ashes of some cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs sphincters of dynamos--all these entangled in your mummied roots--and you there standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form! A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden monthly breeze! How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your grime, while you cursed the heavens of the rail- road and your flower soul? Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomo- tive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomo- tive? You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower! And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not! So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter, and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack's soul too, and anyone who'll listen, --We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we're bles- sed by our own seed golden hairy naked ac- complishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sit- down vision. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dr_Flash_Amazing Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 Y'all gots nothin': stumbling mumbles bleary rises to greet post-dawn daylight incoming toothbrush, breakfast meat scramble eggs, down sidewalk amble on sleepy legs taste coffee dregs slowly sodden hopes vanish like sun winter rainwater's run seeks gutter and lower ground rushing down, sodden hopes now drown rise flourescent-lit vertigo latch-key impertinence business-casual fashion sense jump the fence for greener grass and oh, Lord, the price of gas ... suburbs sprawling complaint never free from Wal Martian invasion's blacktop taint stay within the paint painted lines define shopping cart rat race sportutilitytrafficjam try to keep pace flys in the face of reason night lite spend, consume recline and begin anew a new car wheels of fortune cookie false prophet prophesy real life TV ecstatic revalations bleed through and colors run down the unseen sun and out the lights again End? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
sexual_chocolate Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 lemme guess: nofx? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dr_Flash_Amazing Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 Nope. Thelonius Monk. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ScottP Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 I see a madhouse tunneling ahead in times future endless rows of grayblanket'd cots & at night the dull red bulbs illuming the green dormitory a vast hollow cavern of quiet'd reptiles & me a bathrob'd figurine being led to the bathroom to pee. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Necronomicon Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 Haiku: I'm taking a shit. It curls on top of your head. Once again, you lose. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
allthumbs Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 it is so warm and wet and slimy could it be? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
micajones Posted March 4, 2003 Share Posted March 4, 2003 Consonantal Breakfast Pittance flamingos, navel treasures an utmost quarantine configurtion as nettlesome. Sentinels exacerbate the fruited laundry rumored to swell the blatant lewdness of ancient popsicles. The stymied pituitary breezing fudge angles the sky. Hieratic nepotists declare prolific nostrils their odes to piety occluded cerebellum potentate. The ashes accosted gonorrhea. Eastern Lights Lasers blazing / sunset diadem bedazzled. Circumference keepers radiate tangible oranges festered grape. Enunciation whether stapled or transient rhetorics all negative plumage Weeping oracles, repugnant prophesies their retrospective pasture: enamored sultans potentate amid their clamor for plenty Arable mystics ramified azure vestals, bare vehement pillows, feather lutes of their cross-stitched filament Amid nasturtium trolleys joyous follicles alignment No avid plated shrill abstract / vocables blew velvet arcana from Improvisations L continuity a transitive quest relative or absolute being's becoming in the primordial eddies whirling gorge tidal swirling -ous rapture crests breakers ripple swells dipping pools capture sunrays light's reflection the nascent eye pre-perception crystalline shimmering sea reflection lagoon circling rocks coral breaking free bursts of primal energy rage torrents of ocean tongue clinging lung to face forced conceptual constabularies the raging regimentation coursing through stages of glossolalia tongues shrieking life ecstatic lips open to apocalyptic cries native abrasions ancient visions voices lost on streams crashing tabloid visions rocks cliffs exalted lift the exultation blind as light tributaries flash to starboard part of call crash offal against its bracing rub -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- bing motion sensuous as second's touch time before eye can see itself reflexively riding current events downstream fervor spawning vision's non- syntactical impact brace all selves post-reflexive impact the walls fall into place shattering is to was as was it or not following visceral shaking brace -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ric declares the moment's void in full a ray sensors open wide reception as perception after the fact of fiction upbraids normative structure as aberrant process factually unnatural essence void as full ellipsis dotting the space between rippling pools crashing light flash verdigris lash light against sky the force of styrofoam couplets announces its belated sequester intestate as the comatose allow striations to punctuate their sanity flow toward centripetal nectarines taunting screams run from tabular feet incomplete bacon calls back cortical hogs -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- or reversal as a consequence of pursuit the luminary stages spring columnar as all its vascular restraints unfold the sacred coils of lost tongues straddling the forks of satin collards greening the ashen stain of dead proclamation THE TABULAR STREET CRIES URGENCY ITS TABLOID SENTIMENTS ACCRUE TACITURN AVIDITY WITH ITS RAPACIOUSNESS AFORE THOUGHT AN AFTER WORD AN UMBILICAL TRIAL RUN SAMPLING HORMONAL TRIDENTS LIFTING ITS PUNGENT FORK TO OLFACTORY MUSIC WREAKING POLYTONAL RUPTURE AT RAPTURE'S BREAKING EDGE THE CREST FALLS WHERE IT MAY NOT WITHOUT FORE-THOUGHT OR GONE CONTUSIONS REICH WHERE THE ORGONE MAY RIFE WITH PORTENT CRASH THE HEADS OF UNSUSPECTING CAMPERS DAMPENING SOOT WITH FORKED TONGUES RAISING HIRSUTE VIRTUES HAIRY KYRIE ANTIPODES WEAR PROLONGED STOCKINGS DEPLETE WITH TOURING THE NATIVE AISLES OF REPEATING PURISTS SCENTING THEIR COASTAL AIR WITH MONTEZUMA'S REVENGE and likely repetitions reflexive as the nodule of dead paradise accrues its forcible quickening & collies play proclamations of dread's ashen steering columns herring read the voluptuary's trim estate's grinning assertion SELF FORM the leer of formulaic intent castigating vestigal umbrage the adders of the naked mind -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- where graphic slumbers breed pursuit the sainted folds of tainted estuaries boldened influx sequesters tarantula breeders from shaking fists spidering asphalt webs the caries of truth decay vaulting tenses caught on wired mesh sturgeon the transitive remnants roots defray largely consonants past the continuum's vertical sweep to horizontal mold weeping ontology begets coruscating particles of indefinite articles reaping fruit's intrasingence at hanging trees as victims of social plums reflecting the tabular vagaries of per- de- in- re- ex- ception re- in- de- flection charting the transitive becoming as being's noun processional in its lipid flux the mortuary streams photogenic cataclysms across the empyrean stage of empirical delight its vision's one-upness fades to flatulent serendipity's aleatoric riffs chancing commotion's dance rhythms expunging stalactite catacombs from the darkness the hairs dye numinous assertations of PROCESS quest sooner or later the self insertion of reflection's structure deflecting tomes of unworded sensations to effect the costly stricture seeking itself as always Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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