Monday, April 30, 2018

A place where you come down easy

they never had to explain it until someone turned it off from the office
it was a place where vips could come down easy, live to tell about it

they say the closest thing to the sensation of impending death
and then a nauseating buttressing, result of machinery

where you contemplate the luck of your ancestry, or would if you were
the Chama, the work of society, science, mystery, the Crack.

Phyliss (embedded)
from "Before My Own Drop"

Chama ritual dropping

i lie flat back on cushion of air, a blower, but it's my weight against air as it follows the force of a mother
looking up is a tube of hair shocked, detaching, my hair and clouds in the middle, getting higher
the clothing tears, suddenly miles away this much they want me naked, these layers
this much the soils and mineral slurp me in through a straw the circumference of a planet,
whose curve is flattening all around my periphery; maybe next a limb, teeth, such a strong loving

frag 7.iv

She'd always played time hard

She'd always played time hard
but could never get it to go away
She made you understand how
hair could grow down to her butt
and you could measure it in inches,
not months, baby. Well, 9 months
baby, and at least 36 for the hair...

She'd always flipped time back like
a hot braid on a tank top, how the
weight just made her spine straighter,
back when exercise was a strengthener
not a  joint splintering waste of energy
Not the last kick in the pants that puts
you in the sucker or recovering whatsit
category, all to live for is an allegory...

Some kind of effing warning light for
teens to be scared? Well run to all the
mothers of the teens! Run I tell you now
before she takes time at its root and
makes a bitter stew of nothingness for
everyone, baby. 9 months and then...
Groundhog Day without her your key
away from the drudgery of your tiny
time mind, perpetual facsimile, vortex

Frags. 7.viii,ix
Later Epoch
Phyllis's mental notes while falling from K talons into pressure cushion within volca site

Saturday, April 28, 2018

From this week's news

a fine patina of shit coats everything
ptsd epidemic
the meek, the poor, the beautiful
young pimp their self-image but
not sure if they can talk about themselves
young =
meaning young jovenes <40 br=""> < 40
<40 br="">gaunt, allergic
boundaries r talking points
money property conspicuous but invisible
welcome to your wealth login forgot what
what is your issue
i don't have an issue it's your issue see
do it all here, we skim, state r the enemy
you've got options because life is about
choices and that's who we are
you've got babies because life is all about
fucking and that's who we all want to be
we're having a party down at
there's a valley where they're sad but
fashionable and preened they
have currently in store models but
pay for it through public degradation
apparently. would that we all had
these products as opposed to other
products and spinoff product talks
these ones are whoring that system
with their kids and happy wagons
spitting out talky univisions
burbling as sporey yeast pops
fishy painted and groaning can't
help it something in him just
star of futuristic big-mouth poopy
pants and some misfits who
stan aroun his clingy titty shirt
point their guns

Friday, April 27, 2018

Tuesday, April 24, 2018


you were like primitive men but still above us, cows, on the spectrum
you were successfully surviving in the wild, and we had never even
seen wild until you brought it, and we had to catch up by immersion

we watched as our leaders side shuffled toward you guano-grinning
they too wanted to be cool and smooth but not quite that dangerous
honestly some of us found each other and matched causes good and

bad. Meaning a few paired up. Motives and outcomes were mixed.
You'd try and forces would pull you and others didn't understand;
you realized the power of your love was impractical if not trumped

By cultural fantasies, social fetish, the jargon and paraphernalia of
ranking. It seemed to be clear but wasn't who was most afraid, and
assignments couldn't always be explained by point of view. For me

maybe it works better if you're the one suffering because of my
suffering which you may or may not be causing. I may need you to
be the other lung that, too, breeds hateful sputum, but not a mirror.

Which would be so much easier. Why are your cheeks so ashy. Too
goggle-eyed, with sleep grains in the afternoon. Much-too-brown
eyes, even for you. Lidderly can't explain yourself to me right now.

I keep periphery-seeing flames rising behind me when it's only the
lowly ceiling trying to fan the cool electric light in a cloudy globe;
I might have asked where's the heat if cold fire didn't signal disaster.

by Jan (to You and K-Side of Yor Family, Ted)
"I had you or I have you-- no, what was there? Ever? What was it that could have gone so bare without having warmed or covered up for rareness of any other care? Peace out homey."

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Springtime of Misery II

flipping hair back a lot
regaining power

Monday, April 9, 2018