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Miles Below Tintern - Writing Thru Wordsworth 1

Posted on 2011.04.13 at 08:34

waters unlock
inland creation unload
wild secluded dreams debris
shook fast from filled cliffs trash
mountain impressed into strings deeper
deeper longscape seclusions
connect landscraping sky-blades
to quiet cottage equation
are they
from unripe rooms
folding tight coffin tight against
domestic utility locked in wild run
green wreaths over deathly smoke-farms
sick walkers graze necks as cranes
on hydraulic swivel uncertain notice
nailed to vagrant dwellers
of woodless houses afar a fire
in every hermit’s cave an engine
at the center of habitual action
as every impulse rots burns fades
eyes in rooms blink back celestial
din as weepy bulldozers learn
the words to stop the blood
sensations you felt a punch
in your heart & unremembered
tranquility shrinks

Coral Dump 8

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.

Coral Dump 7

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 ...

Corpse Dump 6

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 ...

Corpse Dump 5

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.

Chorus Dump 4

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 ...

Chorus Dump 3

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.

Core Dump 2

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.

Core Dump

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.

Elazmud, the Wrecking (edit 3)

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.

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