Post History

They found one of us in a bog, but here I am in the latest possible century, encouraging my pet dogs in the exploitation of grasses. Smoking something like turf in a bowl, I'm sure I wd also be swilling infusions, eating my fellow if that were something that ever caught on culturally in vogue. I've gotten better comforts and what else. Better comforts better be and are after all all. Is my god better. My god is kinder cuz he's mostly gone. Remote slumlording is something you can't take personally. And all the better in case you want to water a little patch of ground, just so the pups can see how it was in the virgin forest. Add it to their digestion, watch them puke away the side effects of modernity/ post history. After history I suppose it could mean there's no more great surprise events. You just figure out nature is this way or another; men are just so, and that's that. Whatever happens you're like yeah right whadid I tell you. That's not history, or even any kind of present to speak of, and it sure the hell ain't the future.

Mike
"Jaded."

Deep end of your back

Twin, we're slipping down opposite sides of the economic divide:
as the wings of a butterfly seabridge, we close down over what
impales our individuality: the thorax of employment opportunity.

And I can see clearly what you can't: how sexy the dimples over
Your butt crack. The way you will always succeed just by being
Who you are. Yes, that's bullshit, but no more than every principle

We live by. You see the deep end of my back; I, flat top or fade
down behind yr skull cap. We are thankful at least that we each
have skin both our own and whatnot to throw on when it's cold.

Put away hope

when you begin to die,
you attribute all your errors to that,
and so you should; how right you are.

Even elections you held while asleep--
they count. No matter how shallow or
profound, you chose the plot, how deep.

But too there must be wild factors that
kill just as creatively, as life-like as you,
as determined, as unsure at what.

Read these last lines anticipatingly,
then put hope away for a moment to honor the
betrayeds, the beytrayeds and humiliateds of it.

Illyn

Parade of the grotesque

Fell out of escrow, still hanging on. The owner is partially invalid, peeking through the blinds in his apt, which is the room closest the office. He has an organ in there, covered in magazines. He is determined to help with the cold breakfast buffet every morning until he can retire, where, into some other all-male gay nude atmosphere.

Deeply stained camouflage seat cover. Haunted luggage cart. Corporate-sponsored parties of the lowest kind. Your eye is it jaundiced, Ken, or cynical wary. How bends a brow, time vexed by sideways-straining inquiry, counter-retaliatory scowls, discomfort of constant x-treme love pleasure to the everyday system.

Finally we couldn't extract the dishwasher. It seemed to have an umbilical cord connected to the Mthyuhphkn trailer. And between those built ins, we couldn't have even hacked it out. It was that snaky galvanized steel tubing and puddling water. We put a warning sign out for any literate and not too rebellious pervert.

Mike

clinging to a log

the battered women's counselor explained how her office had been moved out and then back into the same place again by saying welcome to my old-new office, and it was also the same office I'd gone to visit her in the last time I was battered and a woman.

we talked about how what would be the best case scenario and then very quickly following with how no, that's not going to happen.

later then there was a man and son clinging to a log in a flood. they said their neighborhood is a honey trap for disaster.

escape from country

escaped from country
for a cardio dance party,
queens tryd to gank my
watch in a back alley

A llama grunted and fell against the fence, but we couldn't catch her in our flashlight. Yippy cayotes get a surround noise effect. You, a blonde devil, go after it with all yor teeth and tongue. Appears to be your first and only life. How could you come back and overdo that?

by Mike

Desire to exploit worldly ignorance of the highlanders

This visual presentation, as well, has been shut down by the Mthyuh Preservation Society's moving picture arm. Or is it a fist??

here we are, contents of the mountain:
each of us passionate, hurting inside, disadvantaged in our minds, that we're disadvantaged or put upon or persecuted/ discriminated against personally in some way, and it's all true.

cayotes threaten our dogs/ llamas even though each of those is meant to keep intruders away.
all across the hilltops pets are barking into darkness. Milky way gets the rare honor of being the brightest.
Whut this gives us to see is diamond-hardened positives and negatives but non representational.

How about one night each week down at our place with showers, food, wine, marijuana, children playing
pong on TV, moms working some elaborated crocheted career apparel, dads kissing and feeling each others'
pecs. Laundry room and various Innernet stations are open to you.

Wayne

My alarm, his fate

He goes humming in and out the door now. The screen bouncing on its base makes the sound of industry, another mold being cut. Off and out and onto the porch to get another smoke done before the laundry ends, Roy has apologized for threatening my breath. He has explained it satisfactorily in terms of disrespect, but also mined its more intimate fingers in body chemistry, parentage and temporal insanity. One daren't meet'n the eyes of such a life sluffing off its earnest lies as an impatient foreskin will shed selves. One can't decide if it was much hotter provoking and inviting it that morning, shirtless breast against naked titties, flushing pecs at only seven paces, calling and responding along a most ancient rut, deep into which pleasure gurgles on its storied path of sorrow and shame, to a level of normally phone-only verbally pornographic violence. But as the bottom, I guess, I got to ride defense, still showing a stag horn. Roy had to make the cruel decisions for both my feverish alarm and his fate.

by Mike

On storytelling

One event fills your cavities with helium. Your shell is pliable but so hard; you can float around in its warped global seizure, or try spinning out the thread, courageously banking against walls, furniture as the hiss shoots farther toward actualizing another moment, a backlog of strong postponed beats straining adherence to the microsuede bubble til they succumb to the overwrought notion of a present that resists exhalation.

By Donna
"I busted lactose at the scene of the crime. Ask me how."

Hegemony v. Six Animals

they're here! the outlaw band of cayotes:
I've badgered the locals so, madem give
up their guns, turn to swear me off their
livestock and its wellbeing, even watering;

but what if i appeared with a 22 rifle and
some kind of plan, or just the next morn-
ing smearing the lovely pelts on the road,
complaining of what a crap night it's been?

common folk might assume by the license
the story's end, last laugh for my insightful
knowingness and gentle re-arming of the
more able, better judges of futures limited.

at the moment there are only screams, full
-throated, unstopped, bellicose, thwarted;
at this time, conversely, sentient intelligence
stands stiffly listening in a greasy doorway.

simulation v. reflection

God must have chosen me to be the one to see the beauty of reality:
seven vestal hurricanes, a golden pestilence and a billion hot and hun
-gry begging mouths awaiting in the halls of kingdom fracking come.

The way he makes a give and take is by hanging my tits out the win-
dow and walking by and saying you've a pornographic face, Dolores.
Whenever I'm doing cartwheels across this victory grass o him n his,

be certain to listen while I grunt out the hydrolic parts that drain energy.
Some say there exists a continual mechanism that can be discovered or
invented that would perpetuate the cycles of joy and ascendance, amen.

by Ken

Donna's Release

For a while it was third way or third rail;
we realized der was hel to pay if we fail;
You got a clock to stop you, a watch to
pop you soon as you come close to truth,
but this is the big time, in fac hours are o
-n the spot, effectively in the chair while
their final appeal is imminent and excrem
-ent and all you're waiting on is the phon.

Painmaster

military guys have a detachment from their beauty,
which maybe is regarded as one ant to another ant.

you might run into a buff kid but whose mind is al-
so worked out, elaborated but by horrors, not folios.

He'll love the forest, skimming waters, moto-biking,
easily switchable to emergency alert overload pangs.

This gentleman can never be your friend unless you
never know, try to kiss him, listen, coco-oil massage.

by Mike

Dr. Thong [wasted] @ the Beauty Salon

The masochist's whole thing is, "you might as well
kill me now. And enjoy yourself because there isn't
much else out there fer you'n either.

Sadist whole thing is, "ima go crazy. ima go crazy o
-n you-- less I hear a hoot. Then it's all good. yule le
-t me know what to do.

Then the peace keaper cumin try an say:
OK you two, leave up on yr weapons an
come an try an getta piece of me.

Scat Xmas: A Fart Journal

Psych-Low-Pedia say: "Errybuddy cut priusnear 35 farts a day."
So they are named:

1) I am wickit, yet a boon to you.
2) Another exorcism.
3) Drumroll of slumber.
4) Starting to sound like conscious intervention.
5) Wrong: it's as savage as it is archetypally knocked out, unbeautiful.
6) "Phhphffbbt."
7) Is it? A shy question?
8) Crossed over into fracking.
9) Is this corprate or goverment laxity?
10) Pray it was a one-time event, unrecorded.
11) Electronic woodpecker.
12) Grounded.
13) Butt-intense.
14) Weak and bilious.
15) Not at the table, but moving along the salsa bar.
16) One microwaved jetliner entree: $700USD.
17) Chicken.
18) Painful, unsatisfactory.
19) Red wine or internal bleeding?
20) The basically-digested earnestness of babyhood.
21) Cradle robber.
22) Jolly rude.
23) Hold it...just...try and...omg.
24) Does it count?
25) Heal thy moralistic burst.
26) And your mother.
27) World's most generous.
28) Santa Ana
29) Where does it begin or end?
30) Pushed out.
31) Her stalker.
32) A number of hounds.
33) Rilly dog like.
34) Afterthought.
35) Uplifting.

By Donna

Dr. Fashion Model

witchy things like locks and zippers/ fire
can bring about some situations you desire
but in the end the future is a fraud/ fake

Rough swag

We had just been talking about our days when Peg
showed up at the door with the skull from a goat carcass,
the hair mostly eaten away,
trying to reach with her tongue at what was left of the brains
through some sort of service conduit entrance at the back
at the back of the cranium.
I'd hauled the rest of the frame in two rubber bags to the local market
and convinced them to let me drop it in the pay dumpster just this once.
But the miscellaneous pieces kep poppin up. A forearm and hoof. This head.
Peg, you have a feral glint in yr eye, but you let us love you as a child.
When will you start to take responsibility of yr forays into rough swag?

sand bitches

 

Mamboon

I love these Waterford crystal double old fashions. I love them looking into the facets and think of how a queen would see it, as a royal mamboon, and I am going to hold on to these-- tight-- when I move up to that trailer.

This fire will be all I have to show the natives that I do come from somewhere, else, somewhere where I once thought to go online and order some Waterford crystal with my credit card. Now, when I laugh you can hear a whistle--


Donna

Griddle v. Grid

What is going on at PharmSupply, the Preservation Society?
Why does the Public Oracle Dispenser suck more and more?
Why always worse and worse; is this the future we'd pland 4?

Even the basic things like a keyboard or sound don't work right
Out of the factory. And then begins the process of petitioning
For your life to re-akin. Hackers are so desirable because they

Can decide whether or not you continue on. Fool. Automaton.
Prisoner. Sucker. Valued customer. Reject. It doesn't matter. I
-s it that yr working to fulfill mankind's death wish, as a biker?

No one humanoid can wreak a disaster without accomplices. B-
Utt a machine can reap chaos in your faculties. Remember whe
-n no one cd communicate w/ anyone because of no electricity.

bronze sailboats

On a five-wood deco vanity,
whataya say we nod to roots,
how each of us, equally strung,
experienced a knot of co-occupancy
and why we shouldn't share frankly.

But seeing's how we simultaneously
wiped index knuckles across nuts
watching psychodrama among a
whole pen of our likenesses,
blood kin can't go without staying.

This is where we gather and molt.
A hundred others combine the shame.
While not the godz-favorites, the
anonymity of obscurity has its fame.
We're heavy light triangles on water.

Peg at rest

DOUBLE-LEGGED SPIDER

there were twice as many as in a hair comb or double-lashed beauty.
half a can of botanical killer and its steps just got bogged down. Nex,
even with a fly swatter, it was only enough to cut through the two-ply
webbing. But look: It's left a package: a bi-pedal or two-headed bee.

spider of parietal jungle, parietal nose-centre targeting
tickling through its own creation more like wind in fringes,
a double-legged bomb on our minxes, terrific wall shadow,
please mother of nations stop yr hyperciliac protist worming

freak light

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/30/us/30paint.html?_r=1&scp=3&sq=brown&st=cse

Life was great but at a regular hour each day everything she had ever done was wrong. 
She felt cities were a place for soft music but in her case...
There seemed to be moments you could only get when things relaxed to see how they wound up,
and there seems to be the ecstasy of rounding a time bend and siphoning the horror outta change.

but in her case, still, the planet kept on with its annoying pitching and spinning out of range.
colors previously thought to be unrhymable until today: orange, burnt-orange, sienna;
now it made more sense when you sat that deep into a morning past sign-off stage.
There was a freak light in the meadow made it shake like a curly bulb went split side-ways.

By Reptily

freak light.mp3

Noon End

Boatman to the underworld, we can value yor perspective.
Remember tho you will never speak for the main stream.
You are tubed between over and outer realms, respectively,
So how could you aspire to be seal of the land, our bubble?

Galleon after galleon of crude, unleaded wall walkers,
Middlebrow conformists to venalism, hiders: they're
Your clan, down in the crossing lanes, border surfaces.
They say when universes they touch, it only means bangs.

Your breath, then, is everything even death cannot digest,
Something that will never be compressed and born again.
Yr word is precious in the finer markets they call perverse.
It takes a special kinda stud with a steady punty and blow

To take on what you've got already and just fuckin' row
With no attempt to show us how to buzz about our targets
Or weigh a lamb, a daughter, in some zero-fault vacuum;
Time for souls to find you at the noon end of a pendulum.

to shake and pray

Hyperbole soothes my emotion sickness;
I have behaved as jane fonda in the morning after,
Meryl streep in she devil, alternately
Wracked with laughter and sudden bitter sobs,
Hugging herself, her own elbow bones, against
the illuminated wall hanging of a drink tumbling
down mountain boulders in chiffon-slick streams,
light wheels working a mill house under blue plastic.
What I share with womanhood around the world,
Even in its masculine expressions, is the fortitude
to shake and pray and rock and sing to my babies.

by Donna

this hell, this shithole

We share an elbow and more, sister but for me it's sharp.
Don't know which part of the brain you have and I lack,
But sometimes it seems like you don't get the painfulness.

Yor crap all mixed with my stuff, having to accept a twist.
When you turn your back so, you know it makes me pee.
And because we're different species, I'll have to enter rut

Without your compassion for the tactile static, more guests.
And I have to live in this hell, this shithole, with pets who no
longer trust me to lead them always t'wats safer than whut they could have got alone.


Suddenly conjoined from birth at multiple sites to Peg, Reptily-as-banshee

False Cladistics

While they may wave unwashed radiant flesh in rustic gauzes near yor face,

seem complicit in a nascent taxonomy of intimate-hot proximity,

they only wish to know enough to shake you down.

Even if you own the very sticks that make the chaise lounge or milking stool that supports these assos,

in that epistemic medium, you are an outsider passing through. 

They come from a large line of squatters, only upright and anxious long enough to check out opponents, run a scent, lash out at lunch.

They have blood pride in what's spilt on soil, a mechanism that speaks loin to power, so fertile as to sprout meat once tread upon.


by Wayne
"Call me suspicious."

chicken

a sensitive man can feel the dimming of life giving jam.
as the headlights on the road out get stronger, he plans.
"this means release from an obsession-- maybe I can..."

We used to know a mexican bodybuilder named Vic.
Being in the stick trade he'd show up with a recliner
just because he's horny for me or me and my chicken.

some bitches you come home an they've rearranged the furniture.
Victor may have flipped the dinette set or every last dish for china.
he wanted to demonstrate how anything can change cep his dick.

Donna
"Thinking about how men of color have rocked my kitchen."

pyrus calleryana 'Chanticleer'

It started out as a good dream because even though he was homeless he was sleeping heavily in the loose saffron folds of a muslin sarong on a mattress of moss and hearty dichondra under a bud-laden pyrus calleryana 'Chanticleer,' the ornamental tree that smells like semen, in a lush mediterranean cancer survivors' park. Green bottle flies the size of hummingbirds droned their white noise of optimistic dirges and lullabies, as if to lay paving stones for oblivion to rock along down on its squarish wheels. A grease that acted as courage-in-a-vessel for Nature glugged sloshing through art-ceramic channels to every life in a nirvanic system which bid a deserved nod of its fertile date palm fronds to the stylized irrigation ditches at Al-Qal‘at al-Ḥamrā’.

But next thing you knew he'd found a length of masking tape blown from one of the costume trailers in the sanitation district's haunted village. With a chunk of abandoned picnic charcoal briquette, he wrote in caps with the sticky side imobilized in grass: I WAS A COLLEGE PROFESSOR.

We found him sitting in his own shit, autobiography unbecoming as a headband, speckled with the organic spray of chaff and seed and grit that invisibly sandblasts the open night and all those who may be closed up in it.


by Mike
"having encountered Ilyn in the midst of an expression rarely sensed by humans. Just by luck. On the way home from a medieval-themed piano bar near the run-down shops along the sea wall."

career v. trajectory

 

when you left a heath bar and some toilet paper next to me unobtrusively, i froze into a sacred position and felt the whole world around me, in its dark cacophony.  now in daylight, i see whut i've wrought, these irons.

Mahlabeya

Union "Chapel" 

wailing

gut flora

While renting a uhaul, the
in the process of hiring a truck,
some of the vendor's stomach flora
released and attached to my face.

you could almost see the blooms
of coli as they splashed on your
eyes' moist surfaces and flocked the
uvula. Even five hours later, my

his gut mosses linger in my sinus
chambers and continue to stimulate
synapses reserved for archetypes,
arranged marriages, harsh caprices.



by Tom
"How life can be separated between tomorrow and today, where I've forsaken society by knowing almost no one but the famous. How I've changed home into a structure that had spent a year splayed in three separate but potentially interlocking components, in a meadow, with sticky bee hives seeping throughout it that would start a walkathon movement among any normal gathering of concerned citizens... How in 40 thought-out moves not a one was aimed at something like whatever this is, but something measurably better... But how the plain truth is that, with a fat bitch laying by my side, I can spring forward into the same strange land that you are all trying to navigate, how I can live in horror and sanity somehow, all integrally, where a plan is a map and a map is a planet... Sylvia... come back to me..."

Cuernavaca

Cuernavaca, under key and lock, a
passenger in his own custody for
so many gin-rocks that his massage chair
could have flown to Mexico, but they
wunt be enough air in the city for he
and his ex, who would talk about him.

They'd met at an enchilada party, shared
an edible guac basket. They breathed the
smoky ambient grease in and out and
bobbed in their pelvises to a dvd-rom.
Mouth-rolled cigarette filters littered
themselves freely on small lamp tables.

Who does it make you, a pino with no
woods, Cuernavaca? If spring birds
never seen you then what's yr name?
Are yor lungs still clenched with the
wisp of char that yr breath took away?
Cuernavaca, la enchilada ya no te quiere.

weltschmerz v. theodicy

Where to go when yr hungry and it's too late.
Hikikomori's, where dress is not an issue,
or a table corner at Anomie if yr also wanting

a mantle, something willing to absorb a man's
debris field, show a measurable blossom of
participation vs. enthusiasm, intent to self-

regale. Some claim a life form emits an iodine
that can aid in digestion when it isn't yours
and isn't pale. So relax, your urge is benign.


Tom
"My boss is Wayne."

Theodicy [the Mp3]

Greatest good

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPu59h8OrL4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ta-F4NAVURs

Hoolie, 16, bursts out in tears while visiting his best friend's family at the Waymore D'Nuttn Homes, Southchank. It's a 19-floor aviary of blacks, with views of 16 more. They rode the potty elevator with a tough 9-yr-old Mom in Pink Tube Top. Everything strong, everything dented: steel door, bricks, dense turf. What if bees banged their tin cups on comb wire. What if no one can't leave anyone alone because he appears to share some blood. Because there are no shops tho, what you have is more valued by neighbors.

"Where I laughed and played is a hole in yor eyes."
"No, there must be love around I'm sure."

Then the boys ducked into the mother's perfumey wardrobe hollow behind a changing table and fellated each other. It was a taste of the greatest good ever, or else they'd never have gotten together.

Less like mayhem

There were survivors, but they experience mood swings (happy, sad; or happy, sad, then quickly happy, then sad for a while; or sad, sadder, somewhat happy, then saddest of all, only to end the day on a light note...).

Too bad their accounts come across so bland, due to meds, as to be unstable. Good thing someone can sweep in and take up where stark reality quits, keep the tracking smooth, even in a temp-est of shite.

My reporter's emotional waveline makes a narrative of these lives just as your finger might follow an aircraft outta jive, spinning a bed spring of smoke behind, which looks a lot less like mayhem when you feel what's in it.


Phyllis
"Freelancing isn't free."

Semenuncle Journey

flipping bacon naked

Meat turn three taiymes

d'mo likely da burnya bb.
mai verge day cn be prr-
deen tinse, th'out no hep
frm th'nvirenmnt. yo be-
ss ment wurds? only mk
me frgitcha waleye focus
own cookin brefuss chall.

She Gotta Bigole Heyud 

Wachit grrls! She gotta bigole heyud.
an she gonna licki. She piss her own
daughter' beyud. Grrowl, piss, licki,
spread, she a bitchona water beyud,
were whichit could git sticky, freyun.

dull leather bell 

yung wombmate, yu must forgive me
for i contact you only once on a manic
mission, once eighty fortnights. when
i come up for air, i scream back thru t
-he ages, and there you are, the same
flowered grrl. sometimes i have not e-
ven grown a year since i saw you ther
-e. only layers of shame and emprison
-ment blanket me from your hair and
flowing skirts and love, which i also h-
ave memories of in nearly half a cent-
ury slogging toward a dull leather bell.

mod child 

mod child, you blame yorself
mod child, yor daisy frowns
mod child, yor invested in color
mod child, what a large belt buckle
mod child, you wear a Sears medallion
mod child, even domestic violence is mod
everything you do mod child
could be on a color tv or in space
you could be reduced to black and white dots
why can't others feel the love that you want
[and freeze]

distruck-shone 

To the mother vol-
cano, there is no hu-
nting; the food kill
itself and jump in
your mouth. Are
you in? Now that we
have centuries of da-
ta we find we're rare-
ly wrong. We want no-
t only to record but al-
so guide the
metamorphosis of yor
distruck-shone.

Vine and Dope 

Hoolie lungs hang on he shoulders deep as a crucifixion, cep he atta bar.
He keep watch there for anything that could go down in the drunk wurl.
Hoolie hold down those years of yore year after year for love, also fear.

What had survival become. Vine and dope, touch surfaces, shake hair,
fabrics like bandages, rocking and staring, truly caring? Him'n Donna, m
-irror balls on sheet of lights with others watching? Tam ended when the

dead stopped living, a long tam ago. Now they had to hold it there for all
of the butt-plug troopers who could no longer, no longer be, and no long-
-er aware. If you could only strap corpses into something stimulatory...

Ima Get It

http://www.wolfgangsvault.com/concerts/player.html?type=concert&ConcertID=20052379|3231

I didn't get the not giving love bit:
the not giving real love an showing it,
not gripping and clenching the other
with ery young tissue you cd muster,
going through with the slow parts,
feeling gd about someone lower getting
a fun you let them deserve in yr heart.

Connie
"Ima sociological artifact."

DeeDee showed up in a gold pants suit and kicked one of these guys' asses.

surprise vs. inevitability

REPTILY: It's great how you keep going and coming back to life, but it's not the same as reincarnation because it's all in one breath; I know because I am still your blood mistress, and you've only been gone a week, a month. You were just here. Hey, the pink carnation, literally, in your lapel has not finished drying. It's the original carne, horseman.

ILLYN: But uglier, a taking to task of symmetry. Once I tried to retrieve some dry cleaning I'd dropped off in a previous expression. Lou looked up at me and said he was sorry, not that I died but that I had to insult the community and its grief that way, over and over again. These arncho raiments, he said: Might as well stick with the wormeaten pinstripe on yr back. ...It stung.

REPTILY: N' I know how they say that a Craw dive is the only noble way to treat yrself out, that the Mthyuh is hungry and the patriotic gesture is to beg her to eat you first, but how much of a sacrifice, bro...? How much, when you know that it's just a matter of planets moving through space without you, while an uncomfortable recital, dreaded meet-and-greet might be avoided, before you are back in action with yr credit rating through the sea floor and one ear a little lower than the other?

ILLYN: Like a warrior must fight, a dyer must dye, a narcissist must write, I sacrifice my will to live a full single life. As my flesh is torn and burned away by soft-molten and sharp-cool gravel, I accept each day as either vital repair or road to terrble destiny in randomly uneven ration.

REPTILY: Like the fall-and-recover dance aesthetic of early-80's Highchank.

ILLYN: No, not really like that. Unless your critical fulcrum is core theory. Right. Wherein the human body is reduced to a rag doll on a whip handle.

REPTILY: Hot.

ILLYN: Yes.

Pecking worm cloud

click image

click image to view struggling hostage

click to follow grupe

Swords for Olives

it's a perfick place for us:
where today is gone and tomorrow yet to become;
cheque the other mammals pacing.

locked in a dark ball, some teens'd
scream, grope, roll. All heroes see
night as best, either for rest or manufacture.

then when they grow old, hanging on
and that alone might seem the likely approach,
but no, it's a planetarium, a gyroscope.

Wayne
"I reelie, reelie just don't give a shit, Jan."

Death of Bill Naughdon

You can fast when you are mourning because
grief feels like hunger, so it's all the same,
but you can't eat to bring someone back,
and reanimation of life does not fill one
stomach.

stink of morning

stink of morning, clanging buoy, chum and fly
white blind, biceps are visors as you rope, hoist
meat on fire, skin turning, stink of morning

crack of day, foul effusion, stink of morning
every shape throws black in your face
stink of morning, poison rays fan derision

stink of morning, bad july, salty tan
comes a time you can't outrun the line
rabid edge, hot aggression, stink of morning

Illyn

Trick Room

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CnvoSl7nxU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KZz2ind5sk&NR=1&feature=fvwp

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyUor4ottfQ&NR=1

dodi al fayed

mega grip