Posted on 2008.10.12 at 21:24
Masses in variety, marine shapes. The dreamer does not know it is sleeping. Cup-shaped colonial secretions, stinging tentacles surround the opening mouth ... blood flows in blank corpuscles, invading cracks of pavement like letters slip thru semantic nets breeding bizarre shapes, or Class Oriented Ring Associated Language builds circular lists to execute the wavering word at its birth, paved books of death made with laminar reinforced sheets of woodpulp, thick black ink lying in tiny curled shapes, drowned worms after rain.
Posted on 2008.10.12 at 17:58
Enormous polypi secrete fluid skeletons which stick to stacks of calcareous ornamentation staining reddish-yellow, light yellowish red, pinkish yellow ... unimpregnated lobster eggs boiling ... take on that confronting colour, of rose, of blood, of the dying sun ... & add a splash of midday starlight, a dozen generations of anthozoans expelling corporate profits ... but working in reverse comes the image follows the metamorphic idea, what? A meal in a box, the rotting corpse of public talk, rafts of dead data resting in banks reverting, revolting doors closed to action, the spectacular fanfare projecting death on screen in colours glowing ...
Posted on 2008.10.12 at 17:18
Inside the Yoke of Or? Yellow ink rules, drooling magma-lips succumb to the golden drink that eats the kings of Yor & foams the destination of intrastellar fusion. Weaning mammoth iron lips thirst for vital elixer, falter like glaciers & halt at the inverted shower-heads, golden drops escaping unblocked pours becoming ... something ... who let out the leave-in conditioner? Breathing in death like reefs, the gigantic carcass expands ...
Posted on 2008.10.12 at 16:48
How many insects are in on the act? Stop the bell & launch the ball, unearth, unearth. The big engine eats shit & wastes food, but jewel-studded steel worms swallow all the wealth they’re able. Face to face, this action is repellent; in medias resurrection squirt, it becomes repugnant, like a serpent eats rats & earns its death becoming meat for ants, in acts of virtual world bombardment, click by click, vulgarity feeds the world (maggot). The numbers are shocking. No they're not.
Posted on 2008.10.12 at 16:31
I was shocked at what I saw. No I wasn’t. You saw what I was, I was the word under heat & pressure, building at the metallic base, debugging embedded batch process monopolies. Ash, gasses, ponding mineral extrusion ... a ring of fire converging with rifts, deep sea vents & black offshore smokers, subduction zones feeding off electronic heaps in municipal pits, the buried gospel chorus bursting thru the landfull, off-key, singing in sink, feeding on leachate, thick with the dawn sickness, the pounding sin-drum, the heart of the city, so badly beaten, beating ...
Posted on 2008.10.12 at 16:14
Or the hard, fibrous chorus at the heart of the apple, masked stone dancers crossing the unabridged blood chasm, immortal corpse pumping with volcanic song, the hollow drill sipping molten pills, spills, speaks the immortal orange tongues talking toxic. A hundred incidents of aggression by invitation. Local residents eat addictive residue & smile, act disgusted.
Posted on 2008.10.12 at 15:52
Encorporate & come beneath, xplore the base below the cladding, soft inside of casehardened metal, refractory hand in mold to make cavities in casting, unformed in pattern, hard & molten below the crust & mantle, or reactor holding fission matter, a two-state loop applied in wires wound around the switching ring. Bits of rope performing illogical functions.
Posted on 2008.10.12 at 15:29
Did it touch the innermoist of fleshy fruit, iron-wire bundle essential, foaming elecro-ferrous earth portions, potent induction coil transforming, or a cylindrical sample snapped from undisturbed beds of charged strata, the pink traces of extraction, fingered remnants of recent penetration, or the inner wood of your tree, a lump of prehistoric stone, struck human flakes, the making of tools, epic scratches in the ancient veneer, vestigial home, a chord of spine moulding in the hole at the heart of the word.
Posted on 2008.06.23 at 22:01
Blood makes poor mortar. Yes, Prince Moses, drawn from water, but isn't it the best for burning your buildings into being?
Like the cycles that ride the red river, burning meat, or the gigantic mechanical wheelchairs, roving steel huts that stroll the asphaltic straits, carrying tiny portions of human muscle to their mechanical tasks, we're all food for a vaster engine, soup for the solar vortex ...
Gathering glass to lacerate their golden layers, gathering ice to glaze the iron hulk like cake, they know the underground is overgrown with steel eyes. They know the gathering tide will swell their wealth with deathly metal.
The stones are tuned to rhymes that ring the crusted heavens. Thots that spring from staggering dust, juice of stars, fruit of planets, meat of coring metal, is us, we cut into the clutch of time, flipped the flaking pages of space, shook breeding mites loose from galactic communion & chained them up for use in iron mines ... time is a waste product of that operation.
At midnight on the summer solstace, we went to an uptown autopile carrying scraps of furniture & what burnable rubbish we could gather & had our biggest fire yet & danced like mad & were mad with laughter. I saw an untarnished Mercedes logo for an instant before the car flared up & burned & I read a prayer & said my blessings.
Peace be dreamed
in that horrible, horrible heap
Peace be dreamed
in the radial-chained forever
Peace be dreamed
in that frail, frail heap,
Peace be dreamed
in the orange-soaked forever
Peace be dreamed
in that glorious, glorious heap
Peace be dreamed
in the almond-cracked forever
I guess you could say I had a shake of internal combustion, brain fried in testinal oil.
Posted on 2008.06.23 at 21:58
Drove over rivers, roved around mountains, veered under giant motors & found the crown chamber of sewage, surrounded by the belly of a giant dove, white pidgeon of peace wedged in forking concrete slabs, delved into the discovered concourse & fevered with blisters, enhanced with heat, expanding up to street-level frenzy, head in Winnipeg, feet planted in assembly-line rigormortis, riven under, shivers hovered in ...
And we saw a crowd of several hundred march down Osbourne Street amidst the wreckage, under the CN overpass, heading south, heads up, heavy with hunger. Some carried canvas bags, many had blocks of concrete & pieces of lumber & wrought iron, others wore makeshift gloves of layers of leather & cloth wrapped in barbed wire with shards of glass & metal embedded. If a working car should come, they will attempt a death-blow thru the windshield or driver's side window before more than a few are gunned down or driven over.
Posted on 2008.06.23 at 21:50
And I saw people running down Main Street, taking cover, fleeing ... & over the barricade came a red hummer, men with bazookas & machine guns leaning out & shooting, taking out people, cars & buildings, deftly navigating the rubble-heaps, making a killing. And I said to the guy next to me, Jeez, it's about time somebody put one of them overgrown jeeps to its intended use!
Torches dipped in atomic sewage – think fast in the decrepid red years of time waste, the decedant refuse, or remnants of haphazard cosmic cataclyption of literary ramification, ramification, ramifications ...
stretching the directions with left-over seconds pasted on piss-stain planets, or some unmentionable minute released after a billenium entrapment ...
... lengthen those looks with interior plastic extensions & extend in by means of signed repetition ...
... widen that wall without inferior elastic shrinkage or impell beyond the meat of rhythmic cognition ...
... fasten that sound in stones around eclipsing wreckage imploding bits biting cheese – holes in our hull ... or impede all assets past this present darkness of corporate blanket.
Lost in zones of time-stock ...
Posted on 2008.06.23 at 21:49
That irresistable influence, it exonerates his blackening tongue, the wealth, the width, the voluminous wash of timed chatter, impels his malice past the bounds of instinct. Rosseau
The indivisible ass flaunts 2-footed unity in a pool of rancid pattern, flanking his form, producer mule quits the whole genus, grows a new specious groove to graze in. Aristotle.
Dissolving eyes, trembling edict, blocs of tangled feet, a wad of fingers frozen in the stoppage – the green bones of revolution slowly darken ... Trotsky.
The saviour adapts to degeneration, shelters his enstranging seed in walls of pure bounty, the wicked growth within his vintage. Plato.
Posted on 2008.05.17 at 18:16
Sequestered at the Dawn of Time ...
1.
The blue wail in the blood spouts spells a-gush, growing fat with fact, squarly the tail lashes at low-lying dream, fingering with tingled index the toppermost tautology of the red seas. Red horse, red sheep, red red monkey leaps, laughing in the red mouth of a reef.
2.
Panic pounces, postponing your skin-horn, surges the green nerve reverting aversion bark-back as a trunk-charting sap-hound gnarls throat around wrapping laps around fibrous tubes for juice-code jumping up from pink rubber, feelers extending, unending redness spreads repetitious insect anger.
3.
The oiled beds are opened daily grinding
sandwhich landing flat upon a plan
attaching talk to black sand fast floating
forward soaking tide, black ocean onward
flooring fever thriving faster westward
wandering thot. Arrive, sad dream of meat,
ensconced metallic time, these dying beats.
4.
Orange boats a-glow in torrents over-
turn the tiny trades, making time double
under, tracking wide round the bubble, breaking
inward, chokes the vortex, shredding. Blue beams
bite deep into the motion of that dream,
chewing red chunks, bright pain unlike the life-
brand strung tangled, to prescription.
5.
To locate the inherent motion of that letter,
looking hard, looking left, sticking blue felt
into the gaping wound, hearing the runs
of red message collect, correct, collide,
messing up your tidy tatters dying
a verbal deed in bright streaks, drawing breath,
drawing dream, dawning upon the birth of words.
6.
Too neatly suits its purples, boxed in neatness,
robed in royal categorical confinement,
loafing contaminated, corrupt,
correct, not lacking, not having, not taking,
not leaving. The only way I ever looked
was at its broken pieces after its smashing.
There was history in those sad scraps.
7.
A boat rolls over. Oh no, another
revolving tub sinks corroding corrupt –
but what did you do, little Admiral –
Did you go? No, you floated your holdings.
And the but of that joke jabs you, pouring
punch thru your liquid bones, sucking salt raw
and leaving you wet, helpless, thirsting ...
8.
Slides the slack deliver,
deeper delves
in stacks at odds with clocks,
burried clucks,
overstocked with
digits flashing, flakes the
loose lips of shallow planet.
Power digs in bones,
hunting after stuff to burn
wherever stuff burns best,
blessing surface with
death inverted, invoked
explosion, the stroked
abstraction
9.
No stone unbroken,
the wall is wealth, the door
is death, the floor an
aged mess, signatures stretched
from age to edge to
burning end, the book
becomes a bed of ash
enhanced, inhaled with
rolls of cash collected
at the tolls. They told
you once the world was
open to dream the drama
of folding tombs.
10.
Tackle-box conundrum, beats
the baited hooks at the bottom,
paradox of unceasing stoppage.
Wiggles the jig, strolls
the troll, acts the cast as
living flesh of fish, a model
entrapment, crime of life
entraptured, love the dangling
colour, ecstatic last supper.
Posted on 2007.11.24 at 12:51
Tags: gwar, horse (the band), pyramid, winnipeg
Gwar and Horse at the Pyramid in Winnipeg November 12, 2007
Gwar Setlist:
1. Beyond Hell Intro
2. War Is All We Know
3. Krosstika
4. Go To Hell
5. Bring Back The Bomb
6. Saddam A Go Go
7. Tormentor
8. Immortal Corrupter
9. BDF
10. Murderer's Muse
11. Eighth Lock
12. Horror Of Yig
13. The Salaminizer
14. Maggots
Notes:
Unlike 2005 when I chose to leave my glasses at home so I could dance in the moshpit, this time I decided to take in the visual spectacle & maybe stay out of the pit – yeah right, like that happened. Yup, I braved 60+ minutes in a blood, sweat, semen, and shit-soaked Gwar mosh pit with my glasses on. Around the 4th song, I felt them get knocked loose, and went to push them on better, but found they were actually gone. I went down, risking being crushed under & luckily found them right away. 3 times they got knocked off & I caught them before they fell. Once they fell right off & someone behind me handed them to me – thanks! Another drunken pit-buddy wanted to congratulate me with a high-10 – yeah! – but he missed and knocked them off again – & again a guy behind me found them – thanks again! It was good to see that even in the ultraviolent, puss-soaked collective katharsis of the Gwarpit, there is still room for common courtesy.
I’ve heard people say things like “no one goes to Gwar for the music” which is such ignorance, such stupidity, such imaginative poverty. There is no better metal band than Gwar, foam costumes, stage show & all. For the people in the pit, it was all about the music – we were lucky to get a clear look at the stage, altho we felt the various fluids spewing from the slain splashing on us all night as evidence that various ritual murders & other abominable acts were being performed 10 feet away. My visual memory of the show is full of not monsters but the smiling faces of fellow moshers, mostly stained a sickly greenish-blue ...
By allowing the element of humour (note etymological association with the archaic bodily "humours") into the general testosterone-drenched brutality & anger of metal, Gwar smuggles a lot of other emotions into the mix. There is a divine pathos, a powerful cathartic weeping, a tragicomic profundity in Gwar that is absent in almost all other metal – you can hear it in the voice of Oderous, surely one of the greatest bellowers in the sad yet vibrant history of human music – a deep gravitas, a life & lust-drenched passion, as well as the ability to shift registers & wail with the best of them.
As for the spectacle, two or three events stood out for me – one being a big fat guy whose huge ass shot thick streams of green shit before he was cut open & gave birth to a mutant baby, who of course was also slain. Yig was specacular – 9 or 10 feet tall with big horns. Of course seeing George W. Bush brutally decapitated before Bring Back the Bomb was great fun.
What I kept noticing was that while Gwar’s music is fast & heavy as Hell, a lot of it is also ass-shakingly funky. By the time of Immortal Corrupter, one of my favs, most of the big slammers in the middle had tired themselves out & there was room to move a bit.
Centuries of carnage
Centuries of chaos yet unfolding
A planet built on bone
Spinning in a space
Unmolded
Other standouts? War is All We Know, Krosstika, Bring Back the Bomb, Tormentor & Murderer’s Muse were dramatic, shit-kicking heavy & brutal. Go to Hell was slamming hard, raunchy & delightfully Satanic. Saddam A Go-Go was a superfunky bouncer. Horror of Yig (along with Immortal Corrupter) was my favourite – a primal jungle chant over a jagged-edge rhythmic drive – fantastically violent under the horned shadow of a nine-foot demon (the only thing taller (barely) than Beefcake the Mighty, whose shadow also loomed with gigantic prominence). But the real highlight for me was the unexpected encore of two classic songs from the 1990 Scumdogs of the Universe album. Particularly the final song, another favourite, Maggots-
Maggots! Maggots!
Maggots are falling like rain!
Putrid pus-pools vomit blubonic plague
The bowels of the beast reek of puke
How to describe such vileness on the page
World maggot waits for the end of the age!
I think I’ve figured out about Gwar and encores. I spoke to a guy before the show who had also seen them at the Pyramid in 2005 & I remarked that I was disappointed at the time that there was no encore. He said he thot there actually was a short break & encore when the final monster (not Gor-Gor) came out. My web research of set lists had suggested that on this fall 2007 tour there would be a break after Immortal Corrupter & they would finish off with Yig – so that was my expectation. After Horror of Yig, which was phenomenal, I gave a good holler then almost headed to the bar but decided in good faith to chant some more for an encore ... and to my huge surprise & delight Gwar came back with 2 more songs, which they hadn’t done for the three shows I was able to find full set lists for online. And then I knew – Gwar does do a sort of automatic encore, but they only do a real encore for audiences that have actually earned it. Compared to 2005, the 2007 Pyramid audience, though smaller in number, had far more people up front who knew the songs & went crazy over the music & weren’t just there for the horror show – & that is why we were blessed with 2 spectacular bonus songs & 10 more minutes of terror & abuse from our intergalactic overlords.
Miraculously, my glasses survived the most violent show on Earth. At the end I checked my watch to find that it was gone - a small but suitable sacrifice on behalf of the world maggot.
A Note on Horse (the Band)
Horse opened for Gwar at the Pyramid & were fantastic, when compared to the opening act for the 2005 show - a boring generic metal band whose name I can't remember. It's incredible how some metal bands can make that much noise & still be boring but somehow they achieve it.
Horse is a high-energy mixed-genre musical explosion (that phrase actually describes most music worth hearing), extremely well-executed with humour & brilliance in every song - it's very difficult to hear lyrics at a live concert, but I was laughing often during this show anyhow - because the music itself was full of wit & charm.
If they come back to Winnipeg I'm there.
Posted on 2007.07.19 at 11:52
Yes, just for this instance by chance my glob inflates to a blog for the rich purpose of reporting this event, namely Zappa plays Zappa, and just to net more hits, I mean Dweezil Zappa plays the music of Frank Zappa, Zappa plays Zappa, ZPZ, Centennial Concert Hall, Winnpeg, June 18, 2007, set list, setlist.
Yes, here's the set list for Zappa Plays Zappa, July 18 Centennial Concert Hall, Winnipeg - 1st show on the 2007 tour.
1. Echidna’s Arf
2. My Guitar Wants to Kill Your Mama
3. Black Napkins [Frank solos on video]
4. Son of Suzy Creamcheese / Brown Shoes Don’t Make It / America Drinks & Goes Home
5. City of Tiny Lites [Ray White introduced]
6. Pygmy Twylite
7. Montana [Frank vocals & guitar solo on video]
8. Cheepnis
9. Advance Romance
10. Carolina Hard-core Ecstacy
11. Dumb all Over [Frank vocal on video]
12. What’s New in Baltimore
13. Dupree’s Paradise
14. Easy Meat
15. Uncle Remus [1st live performance ever (by a Zappa)]
16. Willy the Pimp
17. Joe’s Garage
18. Wind up Working in a Gas Station
19. San Ber’dino
20. The Illinois Enema Bandit
21. Wild Love
22. Yo’ Mama
Encore:
1. Cosmic Debris [Frank (on video) vocal & guitar duet with Dweezil]
2. Muffin Man [Frank solo on video]
3. G-spot Tornado
Notes:
Showstoppers: City of Tiny Lites, The Illinois Enema Bandit, Yo’ Mama, Cosmic Debris, Muffin Man
The band was phenomenal, all of them (see http://www.zappaplayszappa.com/players.html for bios) - the objective seemed to be to re-creating the sound from various Zappa albums and they largely succeeded.
The hilights for me were Brown Shoes Don’t Make It, The Illinois Enema Bandit, Yo’ Mama, and all of Frank’s video appearances, as I never had the opportunity to see Frank live (I discovered him in February 1994) and have seen very few performances on vid.
Watching those videos I was struck by how active his mind was in playing, the mischief in his eyes as he and his guitar collaborated in his miscreant wizardry. He seems to enjoy surprizing himself with unforseen turns, new musical in-jokes, killing new taboos at their birth.
Ray White was awesome – his on stage presence and incredible singing really do a lot for this band. His vocals are every bit as strong as they were during his tenure with FZ.
I almost couldn't believe they did Brown Shoes Don't Make It - using a great mixture of voices to do all the parts essentially as they appear on Absolutely Free. Nasty.
The lyrics throughout the show hit me as if I was hearing them for the first time, probably because I was hearing them come out of somebody's mouth and not from the same recording for the dozenth or hundredth or twohundredth time. Potato head Bobby was a friend of mine. He had a Roger Daltry cape on. Hot soapy water, in the first degree. Hot meat, hot rats, hot cats, hot ritz, hot roots, hot soots. Glorious.
Dweezil’s, and the band’s, best moment was definitely Yo’ Mama – one of Frank’s best vehicle’s for soloing and Dweezil didn't waste the opportunity, not a bit of it. The rest of the band’s embellishments were immaculate & timbre-perfect, particularly Arntz’s keyboard exchanges with Dweezil’s guitar. This was the moment I most felt I was at a Frank Zappa concert (along with Dupree's Paradise, which contained some great improvized moments and a piquently Frank solo by Jamie Kime.)
G-Spot Tornado was a surprise at the end, after the big rock ending of Muffin Man this impossible piece of chamber music seemed almost an afterthot.
The show ended at about ten minutes to 11, leaving me feeling rather emotional and hugely inspired - to create something big & nasty with lots of sharp edges & dead flowers pasted on.
But see previous post for what I done before the show ...
Posted on 2007.07.19 at 11:41
'Ts what I wuz writing in Centennial hall before the band came on:
Before that, this. His head, in pieces, at auction, eyes, ears, nose, hair lips, tongue, in separate bins, half-price brains, a mask of flesh, a bottle of dreams extracted, a skull-bowl turned up, the jaw, ambiguous in its uses, placed rightside-down, for utilitarian emphasis. The one thot that escaped must have been the one thunk at the height & the heft of his power.
Lowest depth of his roaming mood-feet reached before falling handfirst into the concerthall, holy hoax of it the damage is immence for teh gathering psychic horrors & pleasures or the massive dental danger such a commencement could not help but cure & cause, together these cold requisits dreaming the pre-world in minute snaps. Prepare for the beasts’s rancid greets, Gus.
But no fooling this is in the Centennial Concert Hall where Dweezil’s playing 8ish. Overtaxiberby most immaculate with terror-grips superfixed. Staffed cadavars, Captain! The pipes ripped from plums & shoved into peaches because the pit of earth is dry, because the piles of heaven are moist, because teh mounts of heaven are soaked in cloudspit, so becomes this ocean of ink.
Muckerfuddermudrum of murderlaughter, bone-hard with bloodrein crudely attached & digging for oil in the marrow. The last token of this horrid abstraction clung like death to the hot handles of its tipping mountain as the orange poured, igneous as oily Stravinsky’s forces can hold, forth on a string & up – the uttmost, the overboat, the underload, this stash of shit enhanced.
Extraction takes its toll on the skin, lowly gearshifter slicing at yr chance for spare fingers wherever flexing is still allowed or snapping untotally bannd. Brush gentle with this, ironwader, riotwanter, puddle-hoarder, half a chance & his ghost is wasted, unwanted, unwatered. O, orange cream-king, could you drink yr worth in sugar-stash. Ah – hornblast, Firebird! Igor, his winking pipes will pump you with truffles. Tacklebox windowash dilemma, upfront & astute. Gloat before despair crumbles. Bullcream, hogwrath, apocalyptic chicken, trumpety swordfish sinks in apple in a boat of cold yellow-lake hot rod.
At 8 pm sharply, it begins ...
Posted on 2007.04.11 at 16:17
It all wouldn't be half bad if not for the wretched decorum of everything.
Free society? Oh yes of course. Is that why even drunk people behave like well-programmed robots?
The scream you heard on the street was not a person but a processed voice recorded in a studio & sold back to you, the soul that screams & dreams death & mutilates itself daily working for the dreamkilling machines that drive you how many deadening daily hours. Sold back to you for the work you do, broken soul inward screaming.
Downtown, downcast eyes, elevator heads down, in depression, deep down, together we're drowning.
It hates itself, this city, that city, it eats itself like a beast of hell. Chewing on its limbs it prefers the pain of punctured flesh to the mindcrushing pain of truth. Poisoned breath, it chokes on its own phlegm.
That song, that beautiful song that you had in your head as you walked the streets - did you sing it? No, you didn't. Not aloud. Not allowed.
Free in your own home then? Barely. If work & TV haven't shrivelled your soul to a pea, if the habit of obedience has not been sufficiently learned, if the practice of conformity has not become an unconscious tick - can you even remember how it feels to live?
Damaged. Your soul in your suitcase, packaged. Where do you think you are sending it? Saving it? For later, you might need it, don't step on it. Just forget about it.
Sold it to who? & what's that sticking to the bottom of your shoe?
Posted on 2007.04.03 at 16:29
And how provoking it is that all the works my hands have wrought are wrong or rotten or falling off in vane vexation of profit poking around or under-the-sun or smoking over the dusts of last disaster as sick black soup dribbles crudely down the long lips of cranes into every upturned mouth agap for the filling of craving cavity and all else that can afford such irritating amusement coupled with aggressive mass removal with microbial reductive the salivary foam released exhausting the horse's frolic with mortifying hoofmath and crushing overpresumption relentlessly nipping bud by bud the leaf of laughter as they venture confessing deep wounds and other vengeful stimulations latterly finding by accident the gangrenous gasses and at last the end of breath, the death of this tissue.
Posted on 2007.03.31 at 15:51
As in vexed motion channelled thru felt marker as letters as antibodies building resistance in blood or coagulant in a reactor ... It vibrates tip to tip, waxing horror, waxing rage, waxing agitation & the strip it tore off itself is itching with fresh tissue ...
scraps of it bleeding in the bargain basement banana chain, sideswiped at the nervous channel thru a neurotic twitch. Noting special, really, its a ticker for stock, as its extremeties slowly gnawed off.
Its voice, a drone, a shreik, a wail between, in hopeless articulation perfected for the court of utter scraping, this is its only end, disturbed & petulant. vexatious litigant.
Its liturgy is vexed, yes, with boils, with shakes, cedar logs twitching at the chainsaw knees, needless pins caught in every limb.
Its list, its litany, its legal arraignment (look up!), litigation hexed as its head comes always self-jinxed, cruel, stone-hard math is the method of corruption corrected for this dexterous vector, self-infliction perfected.
Its literature is sickness, as it seeps, deepens in damp disaster, squeezed of its preserved cultures, colonies livid, living perplexed in green turbidity, yellowing as the bake-beam thickens in circles of morning. Damaged production unblemished.
Alive & hitting & kicking & shitting & living low in the sanitation swamp so cleanly collected in vac-truck settling as sediment in tanks of clarification, calculating its connections in the burning current.
Terrible the way it wastes its waste on elastic flash delivery, sloshing in the rancid basin ... frail, frail monkey-lizards twising in the rivers of shame ... chance chants, continue ...
Posted on 2007.03.16 at 16:42
Livestock, waterwheel, windmill, all power corrupts the mill's untwitched stillness. Edge on, vertical mount, the sluice is used to loose these juices openchannel in turbidity's burn, tears of the seed is torn, born of dirt & ground in stone, corn of revolution's crushing kernel ... wheels, wheels, the churning of reels: tubwheel, norsewheel, gearwheel, pitwheel, pissing past cast iron & steel on axle-mount, driveshaft, logcraft, roll & burn riverraft is fasting its laughs past a topstone runner & a bottomstone bed laid right under, millstones driving on separate spindles ... lifted in seives & stuffed in sacks & dropped in bins & tossed in hoppers & shook in slippers & shaked in troughs & fallen in holes in the runnner stone shooting thru grooves & fed in chutes & stuffed in sacks ... & shaking is the place is shaking on two floors, two beds under shed, under shack, shaking down on double foundation, the whole is splitting in half is cracking from vexation, vibration of big machine running off, big machine running on, big machine running off on power of waterwheel of windmill of livestalks burning ...
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