shields devils heads are the lining at the base of a column
green sunset, rising black
we are embedded in the placenta or tongue
a house of wooden figures with rubber bands for knees
the one that used to run, heaped in a corner
a band of light, orbiting pure mercury
is the hand railing/ chair bumper
in a glum nursing scream home
you are no longer reasonable no matter the reason
let me go, I'll tell them you're keeping me
against your will, I know, they all say that.
As the gut churns, a heaving green turfscape
in a mist, slippry, odorous, and tipis. Calico
tipis with tip flags, lancers.
Ayre Fromme-Diaz
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
Sunday, May 27, 2018
Black men's names bleeding into my white skin
I have to admit I have trouble making them out now
Not that I've forgotten but the ink has spread, what
happens to an old tattoo by a drunken spaniard at the
seaside, what's been repaired and pumped and let
slide; even keratoses or folliculitis comes up black
These guys among others were with me in parallel
Encountering intimately the secrets of genetic disparity
and delight, the fight, tho what we shared was losing
Losing lots of losses in a row that inspired meta-loss:
that's when men then seek the young not the departing
Love, Hoolie
Not that I've forgotten but the ink has spread, what
happens to an old tattoo by a drunken spaniard at the
seaside, what's been repaired and pumped and let
slide; even keratoses or folliculitis comes up black
These guys among others were with me in parallel
Encountering intimately the secrets of genetic disparity
and delight, the fight, tho what we shared was losing
Losing lots of losses in a row that inspired meta-loss:
that's when men then seek the young not the departing
Love, Hoolie
Labels:
hoolie
Saturday, May 26, 2018
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
Beavers had more agency
When we were in the pen, we and everyone who was born there stopped noticing getting shat upon over and over. And our nobler substances spilled on top of that. It didn't matter. Managing contact with the excretions of others is perhaps the core experience of all life forms. We became degraded ping-pong balls lolling atop a sticky heap of ego destruction. Our selves were the empty spheres of which we were aware, within which anything could be imagined and nothing could be directly experienced or executed except the wading in shit blood tears and cum part. There would be no special result of our lives individually any more than one pale leaf riding on a stream could create a natural dam big enough to stem the flow. Indeed, beavers had more agency.
Love, Peg
Love, Peg
Labels:
Peggy (Pegyuh)
Friday, May 18, 2018
God damn the glamour
God damn the glamour
the glamour is gone
dirt owl in its hole
wing wrap of cardinal
we smear this glam all over
unseen it does not glitter
pardon our homosexual
remarks resting in hip
but this is not your trip
just a silly runway stroll
is what i'd say back in
the storied golden dome
but they came for the
mystery, then peed on it
Dr. Donna Thong
"Once a go-go, always a go-go."
the glamour is gone
dirt owl in its hole
wing wrap of cardinal
we smear this glam all over
unseen it does not glitter
pardon our homosexual
remarks resting in hip
but this is not your trip
just a silly runway stroll
is what i'd say back in
the storied golden dome
but they came for the
mystery, then peed on it
Dr. Donna Thong
"Once a go-go, always a go-go."
Friday, May 11, 2018
Dear Landlord:
though you're younger than me, i wanted
you to step in and be the dad, pet your lad
the unexpected (why?) betrayal: stood by
your 2nd lady, in her insane blood-splendor
thanks for at least the patronizing tone and
chivalrous intent; alas i love you more now:
a manly man who will throw himself atop
a flowering hysteria to save the unworthy
yet i still am host to your dead wife's ghost,
letting, shitting in, your matrimonial bower
while the interloper sips ambrosia in your
step-up-suburb bed, this floor's your gravity.
why peels the rose trellis arch on the porch,
bows of satin testament still dryly clinging?
hetpower scarecrow? Tribal-alpine syndicate
crime reference? You don't see fit to burn it.
And why insist so strenuously the ways in
which i'm subject to your unyielding entry?
Jan Jansdaad
"I'm the single Jan."
you to step in and be the dad, pet your lad
the unexpected (why?) betrayal: stood by
your 2nd lady, in her insane blood-splendor
thanks for at least the patronizing tone and
chivalrous intent; alas i love you more now:
a manly man who will throw himself atop
a flowering hysteria to save the unworthy
yet i still am host to your dead wife's ghost,
letting, shitting in, your matrimonial bower
while the interloper sips ambrosia in your
step-up-suburb bed, this floor's your gravity.
why peels the rose trellis arch on the porch,
bows of satin testament still dryly clinging?
hetpower scarecrow? Tribal-alpine syndicate
crime reference? You don't see fit to burn it.
And why insist so strenuously the ways in
which i'm subject to your unyielding entry?
Jan Jansdaad
"I'm the single Jan."
Labels:
Jan
Wednesday, May 9, 2018
My Feelin'
Look at me, my posse,
victorian gauze matron
back of hand to brow
makes it like real
swoon on divan
this is how I'd
feel if I were
in this moment; it's
an acting method:
to live out every
agonist, conflagration
in graceful riposte,
a state that's closer to
what really matters
across our nation, and
in my better breast like
a chicken pecking
to get out.
La Chama
"Ain't nobody know my feelin'."
victorian gauze matron
back of hand to brow
makes it like real
swoon on divan
this is how I'd
feel if I were
in this moment; it's
an acting method:
to live out every
agonist, conflagration
in graceful riposte,
a state that's closer to
what really matters
across our nation, and
in my better breast like
a chicken pecking
to get out.
La Chama
"Ain't nobody know my feelin'."
I Want to Get My Period
It's not about the silly ideology; they're auctioning off our property.
Are you wondering whether couples necking on a porch is an orgy?
That's a good measure of who's got your tissue decisioning remote.
I hear a roaring that could be patriotic, jarring, or an air conditioner.
You try and tell them: what if you wake up one day and ask how it
happened, and that will be a moot question; which corporation will
come and save you then, which religion? We must march to reason.
They make posters of themselves with your names on them
He simply nods to the highest bidder
Every day is an insult
You are dismantling the nirvanic system
Are they any different from common thieves?
Remember to change your registration when you move.
Everyone is gagging on their daylight ganking.
Mothers of Mexican-American babies make an easily identifiable scapegoat.
Only not because of the way they drive.
Their happiness compared to our misery while sharing the same dimension feels repugnant.
Have a day off and piss off someone who's rich for a change.
Ever imagined you could fly above it all?
Remarkable how insignificant you would become.
Fuckers are people who want a medal for the results of having fucked with no protection.
Unlike HIV brothers, who brag way less.
Cocks and balls are earnest, but they wouldn't run for president.
Kicking a man's groin over and over is like the daily planet.
Everyone hyperbolizes always.
Rest assured next we meet we'll have burned and replaced every molecule.
So fresh in, fresh out; may the goddess finally release her mercy of blood.
By Pussy Riot
(Donna)
Are you wondering whether couples necking on a porch is an orgy?
That's a good measure of who's got your tissue decisioning remote.
I hear a roaring that could be patriotic, jarring, or an air conditioner.
You try and tell them: what if you wake up one day and ask how it
happened, and that will be a moot question; which corporation will
come and save you then, which religion? We must march to reason.
They make posters of themselves with your names on them
He simply nods to the highest bidder
Every day is an insult
You are dismantling the nirvanic system
Are they any different from common thieves?
Remember to change your registration when you move.
Everyone is gagging on their daylight ganking.
Mothers of Mexican-American babies make an easily identifiable scapegoat.
Only not because of the way they drive.
Their happiness compared to our misery while sharing the same dimension feels repugnant.
Have a day off and piss off someone who's rich for a change.
Ever imagined you could fly above it all?
Remarkable how insignificant you would become.
Fuckers are people who want a medal for the results of having fucked with no protection.
Unlike HIV brothers, who brag way less.
Cocks and balls are earnest, but they wouldn't run for president.
Kicking a man's groin over and over is like the daily planet.
Everyone hyperbolizes always.
Rest assured next we meet we'll have burned and replaced every molecule.
So fresh in, fresh out; may the goddess finally release her mercy of blood.
By Pussy Riot
(Donna)
Labels:
bitches,
dr. donna thong,
RTD
Tuesday, May 1, 2018
Punch line
Yes mom well great.
Yes I know it was just a phase.
But remember I was going through a phase then too.
It was
It was called my formative years.
Frag
Chama-side convo Mkidza Mlaf (mother)
Yes I know it was just a phase.
But remember I was going through a phase then too.
It was
It was called my formative years.
Frag
Chama-side convo Mkidza Mlaf (mother)
Labels:
Mkidza Mlaf
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"
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"
Labels:
K's,
Phyliss,
Reptily/ Chamatilly,
The Crack
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
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
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
Labels:
K's,
Phyliss,
Reptily/ Chamatilly
Saturday, April 28, 2018
From this week's news
a fine patina of shit coats everything
ptsd epidemic
the meek, the poor, the beautiful
penguins
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
K-Side
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."
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."
Labels:
filterofloathing,
K's
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Monday, April 9, 2018
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