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Memories like angels at a ball tripping over their gowns
Individual texts or versions of individual texts in this collection have been published previously in the following anthologies, journals, newspapers and magazines. Exquisite Corpse Journal of Letters (USA) Ink Magazine (USA) Fusebox (USA) Big Bridge (USA) The Muse Apprentice Guild (USA) The Age (Australia) The Courier Mail (Australia) Retort Magazine (Australia) Stylus Poetry Journal (Australia) Speed Poets Best of 2003 Anthology (Australia) Brief (New Zealand) The Wellington International Poetry Festival Anthology 2004 (New Zealand) Nth Position (London) The Taj Mahal Literary Review (India) The Moosehead Anthology X 2006 (Canada) Mad Hatters Review (USA)
© Copyright: Brentley Frazer 2007 Visit www.brentley.com for more information and other writings This edition first published by Retort Books 2013
All rights reserved under international copyright conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever [including photocopying, electronic archiving and scanning] without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical or scholarly articles and reviews.
Memories like Angels at a ball tripping over their gowns Poems + Microtexts by Brentley Frazer .
Also founder. Brentley likes to experiment with creative nonfiction. magazines and other periodicals. poetry readings and culture jams. The Wellington International Poetry Festival. Guest poet at literary festivals.About the Author Critically acclaimed poet with texts published in numerous international anthologies. journal of new international cutting edge art and literature (online since 2001). The Oxfam Bookfest in London and most recently ‘Spoken‘ at the State Library of Queensland. newspapers. The National Young Writers Festival. The Sydney Poetry Festival. gonzo/investigative journalism. painting and video/photography. The Brisbane Writers Festival. Holds a Master of Arts (Writing) from James Cook University and currently is a PhD candidate at Griffith University (Poetry). . editor and publisher of Retort Magazine. Co-founder of The Vision Area and a founding member of the long running Brisbane spoken word event Speed Poets. The Queensland Poetry Festival. including: The National Poetry Festival.
CONTENTS The Dead Girl Suite An Anarchist burns the veranda A Contract on Union The Dead Girl Suite When that Dead Girl from the club touched my jacket Archival Footage The Newspaper Man never waves Bad Magick Trick The Tram to Wednesday Three Angels making Pasta The Ducks won’t eat Ralph’s Bread The Longboat Manifesto Squeezing envelopes of pain thru the keyholes of holiday cabins The Long Standing Ovation Yellow Umbrellas Nightbook of The Mad Push Memories like angels at a ball tripping over their gowns To: The Grand Council of the Disinformation Agency Holograph The Faceless Walk Blue State (a neo-futurist nursery rhyme) The Book of Obscure Technical Commands The Bootleg Bible Salesman Notes on the Unobserved Special Programs Centre Perceptual Reality Diagnosis Farmer Martha’s guillotine seat The Sniper Brother’s Psalm .
not the Programs Bracket Creep The Assumption that Inferences are Always Distinguishable from Observations or The Habit of Prying in Cupboards Always yields Results Bad News about Money from Guys in Expensive Sunglasses Destiny asks for Directions Hassan i Sabbah in America Milk the Gentile Postmodern Ode to Linguistic Pantheists Provisions for Casting The Eye Perspectives on The Spectacular Art of Public Suicide - I noticed the ornate gate for the first time today Foreclosure Device Chapter 00023 Kulturkampf Eugene shoots himself Listerine™ on skinned knees Notes on the apparent order of things Those Pale Interdimensionals John Wayne Gacy in Parliament Dear Brother To Whom it may Concern To The Director of Public Affairs Dear Teacher Dear Sir War Biology A retarded girl masturbating on the train .Major League Philosophy 101 The Ability to Discriminate Between Inferential and Descriptive Statements Theory of Fabricated Situations Limitations are set by the Programmers.
THE DEAD GIRL SUITE .
where boots of masters and generals of armies have also stood in solitude. . and though you soap his wounds he dies quietly in your bath (last words about children selling car-parts in Africa and the seasonal rain on deserts I don’t remember).An Anarchist burns the veranda I come to the forgotten house and not to lose my resolve nor to seek some souvenirs but to walk alone under the arch. Who comes asking for bread at your door but the Buddha wounded by his charge. The shades cast on the veranda and the vines on the fence beyond which a gang of boys wreck with hammers the face of an angel in the graveyard.
5. Your tongue will be the weapon… A boy running drops a paper cup of worms. One backslash leads to another.A Contract on Union Dragging the chalk along an old wall it crumbled. Beyond a mouldy cupboard and in it secrets on hangers. what does the peeling star mean hanging in a tree? The sounds you make and the mouth that shapes them. Hopeless/considerate:disguise. Scrawled in the dust the moth elegy begs touch us gently. In the pocket of a tartan hunting jacket a week long list that begins: 1. we may lose our shape if shaken And then. Open the luminous wound and bleed sparkles into the sea. 2. Record the couple screaming for an album (edit the bits about being fussy). 4. (Rusted parts of something in a glass of lovejuice). many birds observe the soft pink bodies as they turn to mud as he stomps them. . 3.
they perhaps realise that your (delicate as a) transcendental phenomenology imprint is damaged. It is not enough to foresee the instituted signs. and only as the patrons high on its elixirs spilled into the street did she raise her head from the carelessly discarded kitchen mess outside the service door. though perhaps. Do you remember the comfort/infant crawling hungry equating the filth with sustenance on the kitchen floor. . it all began when she leapt onto the bed. introducing him to the melody that will one day serve the purpose of seduction and wealth production? The night in the parallel alley’s of Babylon had stretched fingers forever into the crevices of her mind. birds on the awning outside the window peaceful. nor articulate that the sound image is the structure. They forget to tell you that the sound-image is the structure. for the ear is always to easystreet and will disobey that logic. not beyond repair.The Dead Girl Suite Considering one must be instituted to learn to speak.
He toasted the audience and proposed a polite violence. Who let the anti-self out of the fucking bag? Take a hammer to her masks. . Walk across the soft floor of the carnival house with me – said she gesturing seductively.When that dead girl from the club touched my jacket Awareness restful & fake is fatiguing – Ezra Pound Canto 85 Behind him the moon hung in the sky like a rockstars testicle dangling from leather pants. a DU tankshell cleaving his genius in 2. said of those celebrities present that despite the extensive coverage .‘I remain unfamiliar with your work’. Who did they hire to put the nailed boards under the foamfloors so you sink down and slowly pierce your feet. a waste of education. the chesspiece of a CEO. Was he to know that all the virtues nurtured in youth would end abruptly on the battlefield. he may have left in the same bus as that dead girl that touched his jacket. she was never your friend. hand down her pants.
obscenities to the picketers and to the reporters. they sing things. praises mostly. standing naked before the awe inspired seeker. greasy fingers tearing out the flesh. the seemingly endless complexity often stripped itself of all illusion.Archival Footage The skirts of a running monk stir up some leaves. The implicits are the bits that make them giggle. The women are being groomed as geisha for the angels again. we listen to them. all the romance well rehearsed. weeping. The dispossessed drill peepholes in lower parts of the fence. Before the vortex that crushed us into submission we understood the subtlety of the vision. the search would lead us to the rotting docks of the crystal city. evidently. their bibles a filmscript that seems to make sense. Everyone has become a sitcom character. Then. On the way here I saw the dead crossing the bridges. Compassion is now nothing but the chicken a family eats at feast. On the other side there are generals arguing about weapons. tore out his notes on our misdemeanours. The ploughshares shaped as tanks. This morning’s story: we chased the policeman and beat him. chanting – burn the law books only. . And now our eyes won’t stop wondering over her body.
The Newspaper Man never waves I remember those old ladies waving at me from balconies. I am proud. yet none of them come. Cobwebs on her husband’s cane. shallow evenings over fat splattered stoves. the newspaper man rides a motorcycle and he never waves. their ball never strays. as sure as houses. old tabby unable to move for days now. children’s voices in a garden over the road. or at least I cannot be entirely certain of the circumstances leading to my having attained such acclaim. the drone of a game show. giant red birds knocking heads up against windowsills… It is always the same. Suddenly it’s one of those summers. like Buddhists buying indulgences. . yet I cannot remember.
she is always present. when provoked is as vicious as a chaingang of cutthroats. But Beauty. there. the buttresses of a sick society. and their advances can never sully her. fingers clutched and frozen at hearts that have burst at her approach. and washed up. Beauty.Bad Magick Trick The Man wrecks on the philosophic rocks his soul. Beauty’s lipstick on their collars. Many skinny preachers of disease have wound up dead under railway bridges. . under the awning because the sun is blistering today.
there is standing room only. Arden and Miyaki. the stagecraft of the new emperors dancing on the headlines of the papers. and we dance with habitual celebration. says Mr Speaker and points to the Ministers feet which bleed (he checks them. 11 different perfumes. in this politely indifferent flesh. but for now. a group of politicians in the park point laughing as we pass. a long day at work. Stigmata for your semantic sins. that snowdome by Gaultier.The Tram to Wednesday In the peripheralist sense this tram heads to Wednesday. All of us on board rehearsing our interviews or recounting our chores. this route their sample population. . we are fighting over seats. I tried to count them. among the fresh news print. our vision narrowed to the weeks before a festive season relieves us. a reactive inhibition) and I think we may be alerted to this liberal conceit of safety by global law and domination by defeat. scents to hide the intentions of the animal that has us here. the prevailing social model of action by sequential crises reflected on the timetable.
Isobel hangs her blue brow into the lake an hour from now. a gesture. who can be certain.Three Angels Making Pasta After the union in eden I watched her hunger for others so I gave her sons.. In with the storm I rolled watched them all bleed into the sand. either history or future. waiting for the first sign of sail. Some can watch beauty rotting in pits yet still smile in the evenings with mug in fist. And with a curl of lip. . to juxtapose how I think of you with how you really are. they come to me and make it unknown. I at last find peace there by the clocktower on your shoulder..
when he really needs a friend. when his valentine has handed back his love. . broken like Ralph’s heart when the ducks won’t eat his bread. Like when the ducks won’t eat Ralph’s bread and he knows though a virtual boy about this game of flesh. if not finance then romance.The Ducks won’t eat Ralph’s Bread Down there at the docks where we watched a rooster eat a shark where the tinkle of the organ grinder ground down the tunes to meat and we picked among the bleeding notes to find the overture of dreams. when the truck is out of gas and you’re feeling so wound up. the streets like rubber bands knock your glasses off your face and rolling down the hill through a strangers fence you find yourself up against another wall in life.
warships crowding the docks. he climbed up on the paint tin. iii On the curb the spectacles of the holy ghost by a newspaper. And as the traveller wipes whitewash from a roadmap our book keeper spills his calculus on the streets of Israel. flaking from the palings. the dogs have snouts in his guts. slobbering as a fat man at the stripper’s thongs slipping in his semen.. vi Then what’s this! Who has bashed Faust to the ground. ii the paint is ruined. the Judge ran down a hundred students heads busted sending paper tubes of old plastic cogs across the path where a lizard cut in ½ by a skate squirms in the grass cuttings by the fence. to entertain the strange biology teacher whose thighs shake when she laughs like two little old ladies hobbling down the street. vii . v Against his better judgment.. the executive organs grinding down the alleys.Squeezing envelopes of pain thru the keyholes of holiday cabins. i Blinded by a law wig and with the Devil on his foot. iv The fronds of walkers’ skirts and ferns on the balconies.
desiring an eternity of nudity in the garden of your arms/carve an almanac of unsung/unwritten litanies/not only is he dying but the child inside is committing suicide/nothing matters to him/I can not persuade him from the edge/no longer blissfed on the eternal umbilical/no trees left in my heart to climb/fall down from fingers in ears squeezing envelopes of pain thru the keyholes of holiday cabins. .A look across the street/auditorium.
Meanwhile. an old man in new robes wandered in to the galley laughing about something that happened on the bus – interrupting our harmless state of joy. We pushed him up against the wall and stapled his earlobes to the door. She sniffs the myriad heads passing comment on shampoos used and the various quality of follicle. one of us even stole the innocence from his pockets. to him it was a longboat and he thrashed out at the empty space with his imaginary whip. Before long. We are left with little more than the dull grey of failure in the corners of the mouth. while we watched. this little kid wearing tissue boxes on his feet shuffles up the hallway that has one of those insect zappers in it. or worse… . it was the same as leaving a screwdriver inside the computer.The Longboat Manifesto This flower walks in and hands his girlfriend a bunch of brunettes.
The Long Standing Ovation 1. 2. their common adversaries have no respect for commercial honesty. --------------------------------* No? . question 19 a) describe infinity in 23 (twenty three) words. The way her virtual tits jiggle. law students in the night committing murders. the body common property ? * 3. outside/a hotel in may a brood of officials crouched in an alcove 6 men in expensive suits and only two umbrellas. No key to the door the store closed for a storm. b) what is a symbol? 4.
Yellow Umbrellas It’s lucky in the mornings when rising still wasted that the organs have no nerves. sirens creeping closer up the beach. I stole it. And then. spleen against stomach like a drunk with his head on the curb. cutting their feet on the coral. soaring over the edge. . helpless under those yellow umbrellas the lifeguards bathed our wounds in vinegar. the fat man dancing screaming about insurance and jailterms and kids these days. courageous souls. was dreaming in its plenitude. and the keycard to his Mercedes… I crashed it out on the point. bits of fence and Benz killing some sun bathers braving the sharks to save us from the wreck. Under yellow umbrellas in summer when you fell in love with loving. do you remember that fat man who lost his wallet? Well.
Nightbook of The Mad .
Shrapnel in a supermodels face leads to grief. The military arrive to test the babies. The toes find evidence. A worldwide operation to seal the borders.Push Rising waters in back of the mind. kicking bricks in the dust as we run. Birds all fucked in the rain. Those weapons are ridiculous. The family eats weapons. There on the terrace aiming his snipers rifle. Push the war out of your poems. Push the poems out of your war. . assassin in the crowd with an indifferent rationale gives no warning in his walk of explosives in the hotel.
Hamlet pissing from a window ABSTRACT: Veins filled with barium. or forget to include himself. where silly children play their stupid games. Compassion for the fools who cannot feel their puppet strings. we concoct the chemicals and sell them on the street. above the suburbs. we build the dreams. Methods of getting a radio in the veins and thus the brain have varied in the last century. Those who know history will dream up more thorough tortures. Vast stretch of uninhabited tropical beach nuked on twilight. . The Rich. Remember. It’s what we wanted yes. lock men in there and those outside will believe in liberty. or her other name. Don’t forget. Might is Right. The procedure is to dissolve the salt in water and spray it from an aeroplane. Today the way is to inhale a spray containing barium. THESIS: Intricate and well researched we need radios in people’s blood. to recuperate in a defacto situation.Memories like angels at a ball tripping over their gowns latitude – midnight longitude . its policies expanded everywhere. We took Love hostage last century. Confiscate their paintings and rare dinner sets. both are proof of his absence. Master Theologian is a tumor in need of extraction. We invent the words. Despair. 300 years of history repeats in 1 weekend. Fool you to think the euphemisms used really refer to the thing we speak about. Cut up Thema Luxury. So it never happens again. the murmur line builds in the mind the image of a hated man. Should the analyst exclude himself. Build a building. We invented freedom and told you what it means. an element unique in radiological properties. you don’t know who she really is. We must however not deride them for their stupidity.
that he had bought on the net a photograph of a kid taking his last breath in some American lake. Sincerely Stanley Blade Historical Revisionist . The artist. earlier commissioned by First City Bookstore to execute a portrait of allegedly dead author Stanley Blade. one Arthur Kent. Sirs. had inadvertently mentioned to the proprietor. Just a train ride away in the new museum a digital still of a drowning boy.To: The Grand Council of the Disinformation Agency He whispered in a terse rasp :.I am a spy for the other order. it comes down to this The old dead democracy would have objected. And I retching in the stinking alley out back of the Blue Brotherhood bar. hung you faceless by the ankles.
harming the herbs and mashing petals into the cement. And the ruined self. the one with tailored sails. but then.The Faceless walk Distressed over an old wet cupboard at the end of the yard she kicked hard at the garden. sometimes the shadow of the pen writes different words. my methods differ vastly and I don’t smell of lavender. wiser anecdotes with more subtle rhymes. I almost found myself in the place of the old authors. sitting in the afternoon on the veranda. . The faceless walk out from behind my eyes. wrecks itself in the harbour.
lead poisoning). . discarded by millions. Therefore tomorrow as a solution is an illusion. Searching on the floor for the initiative. death in trenches. (Using the system against itself is as simple as misspelling your name on official forms). (Gas stink. the last day around her neck. Butane on the bulb. All the bags are empty. Biting the heels of her silhouette as dark parts of the chemical flood her lobe. All the pipes broken.Holograph Animals at the bar with language. hooves. They don’t understand the dance she’s doing. membrane faces walk her to the lab. Tonight she sleeps with her treasures.
when you are so beautiful I don’t know what to do. who told you those lies? The protocols are just guidelines to enslave the blind man with 12 billion eyes. and when we found the fat evil bastard we cut him to bits. Fear. You sob like a child who crushed her kitten while sleeping.") The book is open. when you are so guilty I don’t know what to do. . The birds have had their legs cut off with secateurs. The book is open. we laughed. (The giant rotting corpse of the God of Greed stinks in the kitchen). There are no rules in the book. The owl hoots in tune his tribesman cheering.Blue State (a neo-futurist nursery rhyme) Per Me reges regnant ("It is through me that Kings reign. The world assembles to witness the peacock slaughtered in the forest. A forgery implies an original does it not your honour? We chased Mammon for so long when we caught him we set about the slaughter. Valley of Death we laughed.
. As beautiful as that ruined body was he will not give his negatives to the chemist. They speed by abandoned picnic rest stops where aging umbrella stands have blown off the tables. Manipulating the foregone conclusion borderline .Breaking the rationalism of your brain : the welfare state as a strategic weapon opens its mouth and screams your name. A pastiche of every filmed atrocity on the television for 5 nights running through burning hedges. Gentlemen need the evidence to develop in an instant.The Book of Obscure Technical Commands Forever in need of a more graphic fix he succeeded in emailing himself to prison.
and softly. (Distracted by a shower scene across the street) I leap free of the ferry. And when I find him. quick. lest he hear me ascend the stairs. . cheeks like a pastiche of kicked in car doors. word is an image is a thing. and he embraces me in disbelief. I kiss him and pass the virus.The Bootleg Bible Salesman The old man’s apartment building looms in the technofeudal dawn. The air tangible as the spittle of a judge screaming in your face. The windows of the cab move and are quivering – your liver whispers the driver demanding fare with outstretched hand. breaking his creations against the cupboards in the kitchen. bionodes opening in his palms. before the priests ice-cream melts.
.Notes on the unobserved P= This idiot walking in the leaders pants down the daisy path. he took a flight-nurse to Christmas parties and bulldozed the parks. freeze the river. vowels swinging like old sneakers on the wires. doesn’t realise that everybody sees a different tree. hide some ordered abstractions behind a neo-jimmy page solo. He didn’t see the earthworm on the carpet nor the key in the grass. S= Develop a new form of archwriting. R= Broadcast some para-negative implicits into the mass static field. enter it twice.
When you win the witness lottery. Cut off the old mask that Experience carved in his isolation cell at the special programs centre. be sure to use a depth sounder to avoid the vomit on the seats. The cages suggest some form of aural lamp and they illuminate the path with pathetic squawks. Such a memory stirred by baskets of half starved birds placed at intervals along a fence designed to pass as a metal hedge.Special Programs Centre The gravel on the driveway crunched underfoot like the guinea pigs heads he stood on when a kid dropped a box of them underfoot on the subway. . the grey-value relation of radars.
this pellucid emblem atrophied the jade dragon in the cleavage of the Empress. each sigh a blue fog stealing across the slopes. the territory disregarded. All the cab drivers refuse your fare. No-one has watered the flowers for weeks. curtains faded in the windows.Perceptual Reality Diagnosis Truth. the Emperor’s Darling dropped her parasol in the path. the saddles give the horses sores. . Months of colored brochures on the threshold. The map takes precedence. the birds have abandoned the imperial pond.
. ginger’s tail long ago decapitated.Farmer Martha’s guillotine seat Pity urges us to let the imbecile through the gate. tail-lights from roadtrains reflect in her glasses. an authority on oratorio but himself unable to speak. The old woman in her rocker by the highway has lost count of the crows. He comes with his cage of falcons.
back to the tower in a bell enclave bootlegged Kalashnikov strapped across his chest. lingers at a midriff. Always put his legs up. Pops a pigeon by the fountain and no-one . City square stretches out. Chimes 2:15. zoom to blood on streets and then to shot out knees and across to a soldier somewhere. King (his middle name.The Sniper Brothers Psalm From the bell tower at 3. Chimes 2:45. an intimate knowledge of bio-organic systems and precise entry points to ensure the swiftess death. Here also is King. Life finds its home in some of these enclaves. nor the system. compassion fails to make it through the circuit. even when King was trying to watch the world end on TV. While the universe as a whole tends to run down. maybe Kuwait. there are local enclaves whose direction seems opposed to that of the universe at large and in which there is a limited and temporary tendency for organisation to increase. The mechanisms are rusted. Pigeons shit on the lions tongue while sunning. Tourists leave the museum. selected as preference age 17) will put a bullet through the brain of the Foreign Relations Minister of a multinational hamburger chain. Chaos and sameness will reign this day. Chimes 2:30. The sniper is bedded down his laser playing across stockinged schoolgirl legs.
and then BLAMM! Dead chimes 3. ------------------Cf: paragraph 2. .. N. lines 9-17 paraphrase Norbet Weiner. The Human Use of Human Beings: Cybernetics and Society (Garden City.notices.Y. No more chimes. 1956) p. he will come up the steps wearing Gucci and swinging his briefcase like a woman. 12. it’s almost time.
Major League Philosophy 101 .
And as the silent Chinese dancers in high heels cancan in the fountains on the soundless streets. mouths the word Orion. and pointing to the ships in the sky to demonstrate the statement. wounded. or Onion. The Sultan laughs and suggests a party at the palace got a little loud. He interjects in a conversation between a Merchant and a Sultan who is rubbing hands over some chests on a camel. there comes a clapping out of time from the balconies above. The Merchant believes the gongs that struck across the city in the night are a portent of an impending doom. . his theory on such ancient sirens. I cannot be sure. Here. Failure feels like a barrage of arrows in a silent film and he falls up against the bar which could have been his wagon.The Ability to Discriminate Between Inferential and Descriptive Statements A Ticket on the sidewalk to something he doesn’t pick up.
brother dead in his truck drunk on a night of whores & oysters his uncle lost a leg in a man trap back in 1943 he became the local hobo played the mandolin. The inherit realism of symbols Soaked & floated downstream clogged up the sluice in a nunnery. that this dance is not a waltz. believing in the whip that flogs the horse. . reins in her libido screaming. leaving it to Deleuze's pure. The most matronly jamming her fists in and tearing at the pulp pushing buttons like a blind mouse in a Skinner box with no levers.Theory of fabricated Situations Out on the lawn an ubiquitous fawning & she enters the room. nomadic chance. her appellations on shoulders looming larger than Heracles’ labours aeroplanes for shoulder blades saying it’s better to marry than to burn like you meant it & it’s just not a t-shirt slogan Seven past midnight & the world falls down Some relatives dredge a river. dead brother was clutching this when they pulled him up.
in insect script. they have your photograph. Did your programmers handle you with care or did their inhibitions and fetishes reach your mainframe with every stroke? You to you means me you know.Limitations are set by the Programmers. They invented square dancing and all the kids join in. We break through. What can you do. every sentence from this text whispered in a stranger’s ear from a public telephone. . not even representative. on silent grey receivers. we cleave the code. They uncurled great mantis arms from beneath yellow overcoats and dipped them into jars of treacle. And the words. they watch you and make me paranoid. The firewalls are literally as powerful as inherited self doubt. Urban Decay. they shutterbug across your curtains and marvelled at your breasts with their x-ray lens. the inspiration behind the lemming walk and the leap of the wall street giant into the chasm of boulevards and teen whores at Wal-Mart. can you speak of it without celebration. but convenient to understand the grunts. we chew micro-processors. imagining it as your own intimate elixir. not the Programs As we exit the State of Uncertainty they send a mathematical equation which unites the dimensions down on us and it hits our raincoats like vomit under the fair ride. from doesy-do to ass to mouth in digital frame by frame beamed directly to your cubicle. They communicate through you. just a line from a review. facial humiliation for the masses.
All our toil for the flowers of a nothing system. who spend sleepless evenings sketching black operatives in notebooks and filing them under criminal. and. recuperates a defacto situation its policies expanded everywhere. we need him to conduct the corporate orchestra… man. Master Theologian. what’s in your blood that’s not in mine. who put degreaser in the kings brandy. the murmur line builds in the mind the figure of a hated man.Bracket Creep The case of kings and counsellors who build for themselves palaces. a tumor in need of extraction. questions never asked like. .
The Assumption that Inferences are Always Distinguishable from Observations or The Habit of Prying in Cupboards Always yields Results Row Row Row your boat gently down the stream and if you see a shark don’t forget to scream – murdered little girl The Prince descends the steps of his private jet in yet another land of grief. What these men offer is little more than idle insight. Enthusiasm! Only if it involves the nubile and the willing. The Prince is handing out happy lollies to the children. no point putting the theories to test test the theories you assholes! He screams at these. irresponsible at best of the ministers who propagate these images to the people. in his pockets there is no protection. . He has come to take all your daughters to the prom. walking forward to the fountain which is loud and will drown the protest. don’t be fooled by his noble highbrow and his gift of eloquence. don’t listen to his poems. beware. They adjust their backs toward him. only dance with your girlfriends tonight for he is on the prowl. Everywhere I look I see allusions to the tribal. if it means that we can ever guarantee anything – and he gestures to the professors playing chess out on the lawn.
the relation ships sunk anchor in the cove and the sailors waded ashore.Bad news about money from guys in expensive sunglasses Bad news about money from guys in expensive sunglasses and in a fit of rage I threw a crystal ashtray out the door and through my lover’s favourite painting and I cried for hours out on the mouldy picnic chair until the rain came and birds alighted from the trees in streaks. The hour of opportunity revealed its harboured power. Feeling bad I swapped him a 50 for a 20 thus effectively buying myself an extra 12 minutes to argue with the guys in expensive sunglasses. . The parking meter only takes 1’s or 20’s and I had a pocket full of 2’s and 50’s. The gentleman I asked to swap some change with smashed his Audi door on a tree in his eagerness to help me.
.Destiny asks for Directions It’s all about chemistry and rationale micro-processor regulated fuzzy logic infiltration and getting a handle on that feeling you are being watched. regardless of gender you remember how to feel. like being given more than you paid in change. it is all about the flesh and what you do in the bathroom when home alone. like a famous actress asking for your phone number. like a soft bus stop seat. It’s all about the anti-self and genital politics. It’s all about vengeance and redemption Statisticians on the television selling dog food as an ideology resurrecting whatever dead god is necessary the holy hour follows the sex documentary. It is the fact that you are a god among men. your embrace is welcome. what the mirror shows back and what you have allowed to be filmed.
cigarettes and chess. . Some turn on heel and remark so who’s for another round of physics and they pile into a bar for cognac. Theoreticians with problems sleeping line up outside the clinic. the pills he pressed into the universal palm.Take my hand says the guide with a discursive smile his eyes on our technology. free more in mind than fact in a world not so familiar without a map to navigate these politics that have chained them to the black and white of gunfights in the street and murder in the night. our civilian perspective readied by the powders in our wine.Hassan i Sabbah in America People. only the doctor isn’t giving them tonight. seeking tranquilisers. .
There are not many things in his suitcase when we find him. waits patiently on the corner.[now but a sprig with few dusty grapes remaining. As though you had found an ancient unmarked bottle of wonder elixir from the 1930’s and sculled it down in a flash. And. His jacket sleeve. despite what conflicting histories have institutionalised the mind there are still guides on the lizard road. where the bravest ones reached for the crystal baubles on an ancient chandelier. abandoned in the afternoon. feet have disturbed the dust on the beams above the dance floor. Never forget she said that leaders are men and men were boys full of fault and arrogance at the dance at school and in the office and though they are taller now than then . She.Milk the Gentile Lost the moist walls snails clamour in the corners of the ruined hall. earlier not referred to directly. like shrunken breasts] and men with trade – marked sympathy administer experimental medicines and she dies (while I watch) and I run knowing that I should not have seen these things. the kiss of the dead tastes similar to transplantation antigens. has souvenir flags sewn on the .essentially nothing has changed. humming some classic refrain. toeing trash in the gutter.
Postmodern Ode to Linguistic Pantheists Some continuous tonus resumes pulsing across the rooftops. . building a new leg for the stand. Preacher has his hand in their control panel messing with the configurations: -Authoring a new dissonance he says. circumcising inertia… his nonprolific face twisting with pleasure as he said it. -Forcing something flaccid in the niche. A Clown chokes to death in the Tudor doorway – 15 years of laughing and tripping along the boulevards had worn out his big shoes.
He probably spent the evening like me. the premature evaluation of lost stocks as Beethoven's Fifth ends the broadcast. . sprawled like some boisterous children had competed with blocks. revising his policies. Someone wrote run and you will die tired in the sky with an aeroplane. defence men giving friends contracts to rebuild things they broke themselves. Walk up the hill at sunset and gaze on the old familiar city.Provisions for Casting The Eye There were canoes on the lake today. in the news someone found Zeus' head in the desert.
sleeping in a field wrapped in stars. legions of aged voters and children he can still convince. but I searched and found her naked on her side. The Necrosis of The Buddha The antimen dangle from the wires above. the day she left the theme party her friends forgot to mention screaming that those who hold faith in flags and fresh insignia are damned to brandish weapons and oppress the people… Most then departed on the chance she would return. more a sound. 2. that creak beyond his voice the ferry of Salvation? Sailed into a long harboured burden. to get her out of here – Evidence. Armies at his command. And in the interview he . clawing at the veil. on the side of the highway expired as the bus tickets in her pockets and the unspent change saved like the rest. Picked up parts of the child and placed them in a suitcase. pointing at whatever horrors still hover there. There will be a flag on his coffin. Illusion has its own reality That girl under dirt with a head wound broken face once admired by boys in class. angry soldiers with bayonets. should some colours offend. a promotion. Not the corpse. He heard it on the radio. the death knell as the telephone rings and they ask for money. a classical insertion of anything he pens. blood drying on her wrists. an emperor to the throne.Perspectives on The Spectacular Art of Public Suicide The Blood Cycle 1.
serenading the wine waitress with someone else’s rhymes. it's in the national interest. chasing kites from dawn into the idiot night. I imagined there to be nothing beyond the first luminary hour of weary feasted yawns. holding up severed his brothers union-labelled hand. There’s less room up there. There are still arteries open in the inner mind. 3. equally permissive and reeking of elevator trysts the new social moral code downloaded in . sirens that could tear those veils apart but not stop the flow of blood. Somehow our ecstasis keeps burping up from the drink fountain. 4. And who is there but the Emperor himself dancing in a judges silly wig. it’s full of children with floppy arms dancing to scratchy records. Truth allowed to pass the apostates at the gates unmolested. the selfless fleshless priest at the threshold of dreams flicking sliver smiles all over the restaurant tables.pdf printed and distributed at the door. thirty attempts to get your infinity gimmick before the audience rips out your hair. our sons and daughters must be prepared to die. building fires beneath a less complicated moon. Shattered Mind Excited and frightened like all children about the storm. red lights that never arrived to save her. Civilisation supports our excess. The Reverse of Reflection Smooth technocratic people rub themselves up against the media.said no more sitting on the fence. precise synaptic patterns mimicked by the lightening and the thunder plays with the hearts of animals. Perfect Mirror. treaties are signed with blood. Two within threw tiepins on the floor. . several Arabs at the door with fireflies. skirts intact.
especially romantic revolutionary ones. death the set criterion. The Base Face Now the superstructures stale as fast as radio’s decomposition. the emergency. The Voice Union Those two who threw their fraternal tiepins to the floor have reformed and placed usurpation on the table.5. on CNN. two men of culture setting gas stations on fire. someone’s dad. . You’re no soldier. They have read Mitnick and are masters of deception Euphemantics and corporate propaganda. and my dog trooper here will eat out your heart. not even the lens flare made her squint. peace or pieces. run. blood rain in an occupied nation. just a spiritual expenditure. no contradictions could corner that girl with the bayonet. they put the cosy on prisoners here you know. made by your mum – I’ll put a knife in your arse boy. and if it doesn’t come. established an order (some would call a cabinet) a ritual dance with fleshy pirouettes. by god they’ll manufacture one… for the tribal mindform television magicians to serve up glossy and digital edited. don’t drag your tongue. where are your guns. 6. That journalist sensed his time remaining eyeballed the briefcase as the girl started wailing. I’ll show you de Sade. a million members from worlds away. Go. unnamed symbols in strange curved temples. a new cultural clari–fication. and those socks you are wearing. from school satchel to halls of power collecting weapons for that imagined hour of need. his entrails in a dirty camo carry bag. a monk on fire. her face set to a base nature of revenge.
I noticed the ornate gate for the first time today .
you lead around your body on a sequined string there is no danger in the female nor in the game I rummage in the bag of the vast and the Powerless only to emerge clutching like a doll the ultimate in nonverbal nonrelated nonstatements… the only car parked outside grandmas house is black. The subject graduates. unabridged so the student may better comprehend the situation. the rent is paid until 2012. The notes follow in longform. At first the subject can be seen to demonstrate indifference to the plight of ‘lesser’ animals. Crushes a few bugs. Parody. Observe the behavior. crows jostling for a spot on the hedge – Stanley wont ride his motorcycle without a Gebrüder Bing boat in the handlebar basket . these small destructions are socially endorsed. (shrugs) we all do it.Foreclosure Device Chapter 00023 <[Excerpt> The Officially Endorsed Handbook of Sidestepping<\]> The Third Variable After CONTROL [the Institution has closed its doors] something needs to fill this space.
But none come to his aid. We drive on past abandoned picnic rest stops where ageing yellow umbrellas have blown off the tables. There are men in suits loitering under bridges. The halogen glow overhead glistens on his tongue. waving your arms both to emphasise and ash your cigarette. a decrepit fastfood restaurant whose giant gaudy hamburger has sprouted reeds. We laugh. to slap the King of priests and give grief to the legion of decency.Kulturkampf Succumbing up against the curb the photographer with a silent suitcase open and explicit as a forensic close-up of a gynaecological malfunction. The radio is broken. teenaged girls at the intersection. What was forbidden is now permitted. describing your sympathies for those murdered during the drive. amputees on trams and laughing café partners in the alley ways. Always prepared we have the apparatus lubricated for action. As we expected there is the head of a scapegoat on the gate. Portraits of a crucifix leaning to the left resting up against an old rotten door spilling out onto the sidewalk. explaining as you inhaled that you wished we had a map to infiltrate the Ministry of Public Worship. . We muse that there would be news if we could hear it. it’s a long cold winter. a thousand flattened bottlecaps flashing in the neon of the carpark.
400 hundred years of politics his fam’ly they ran slaves murder runs in his veins end it here the devil said to him showing him his grave. .Eugene shoots himself Loud music in a big house Eugene counted the girls he dated notch 5 style on his belt various stages of undress and decomposition yeah attracted the devil to his door some ancient form of predatory hatred for the human form and he isn’t himself the old flintlock buried in the wall has a single ball left for his brain.
Listerine™ on skinned knees Your whale tethered to a pier is symbol of the difference between our generations, this process of being that fosters experience, this treacle dimension in which the unknown discovers itself. It’s gotten thinner this syrup, since you ran for your brother showing the discovery, the dead docked mammal knocking its skull on the pylons. You didn’t mention it but I could imagine the shrieking of children, the squeak of swings, the fact that you could back then still see lobsters in the rock ponds, an octopus in the shadows of the jetty. Where are we going now my friend? All of us I mean, billions on a pebble soaring through a void, circling one another as gulls around a jellyfish on the sand; why do you now cower in the shadow of the other, under the tongue of the mirror self, soft as the incest of wings, the summer when you first loved? I remember as though yesterday pouring Listerine™ on my sister’s skinned knees and the way they continued to bleed through her stockings at church. She screamed so the neighbor looked over our fence, yet the world turns on, none-the-less.
Notes on the apparent order of things Let me handball you this one. We are dealing with a creator here who came up with such things as the predatory food chain, who decided that everything beautiful should be fragile and transient. Roses and eggs are amazing but always in danger. Benevolent!? no-one notices when you take Christ’s name in vain, but just try saying ‘for Satan’s sake’ aloud in a crowded restaurant and the room falls silent. Are we really up to being down about it though? Seriously? Letters in the pockets of my bad suit pants on the tram heading toward another day working in a call centre. Dear Mr Frazer I think your words are the most beautiful thing I have ever read. … Brentley, I have read your book, it blew my mind, you are a fucking genius.
Those Pale Interdimensionals Author another resolution as your children spill each others blood for money, we will continue to sit by the sidelines and take down notes in longhand. Several things have come to our attention, your attitude possibly insubordinate, but we pay no mind, our mission only to observe. You interest us. You strange self referential creatures who imagine a world and begin to create but fail to communicate the blueprints to your offspring, so sad, doomed to fail. And the irony? You study the ancient writings carved in stone yet fail to see the lesson. While we, the pale interdimensionals, laugh just beyond the threshold of your hearing.
beyond decay. a caring horticulturist tending to our pain flowers. We loved him. with only the occasional sleight of hand and fit of giggles with emphasis on loaded words in scripted sentences designed to entrain the childish mind. danced naked as he played with his fiddle by the fire. looked past his torments in the woods. He was our torture architect.John Wayne Gacy in Parliament You could see the Clowns penis as he approached. we even agreed to let him take our photograph. And he had us all believing in elves and things. He wasn’t one of those funny clowns either. He was educational. the infallibility of the system. all laughed and contorted in our poses. . that the head man in the office was put there by the people.
It would seem the 9 to 5 has sodomised my spirit. I awoke.Dear Brother Hope this finds you well. not particularly. control through fear and intimidation: it's a race you know. torn from a dream in which I had stomped to death this boring frog from a telephone commercial. perhaps weeks ago. test pattern on the television (can't find the remote) 4:15 in the morning. polish our insignia. H5N1 in the headlines again. So here I sit. let the dancing Nietzsche live. system. Sometimes it is good to leave off. perhaps subliminally. smoking a cigarette. Only yesterday I found my little angel of inspiration (you know the one I keep secreted) had suicided. rules and regulation. I have developed an allergic reaction to these vestiges of authority. You have to admit that the river beneath has calmed these last few years. Damn Brother! If only we could take down the bridge between us. not at all dissimilar to that voice coming out of Serge Gainsborough’s head. about 4am. hurricanes in the kitchen ripping up the laminate. go over your early texts. . on Viagra. fucked it royally. Myself. lets get out the weapons again. her corpse rotting in my pocket. a silent war with quiet weapons. we owe it to one another. protocol. notice that it’s like an ugly jumper made from nice threads. I have this feeling that all these medical forensic shows will kill a lot of people. newlyweds stockpiling tins. with glee. put on some old records. thinking about the body with no organs and the electronic revolution.
I waited on the steps for 14 hours.To Whom it may concern This morning in the post office the manager rudely asked me to leave. My beat doll is torn. An accident he protested. There remains a stampede in my skin. Told I can’t use the trampoline. Hope you get it. hence this letter. The reason he said. Impatiently I waited for weeks. often unable to sleep. Now I am not sure as to whether this indeed justifies my not being able to collect my packet of herbs from Afghanistan. was that some junky had shat in the foyer. I was the first through the door. stared down by the rude child who owns the swingset. Having to wait until morning. that I exceed the height limit or some such rubbish. so I thought I’d protest. I don’t even know how that junky got in. I felt like Jerry in the Flaming Globes of Sigmund. It breaks a person. Deflected from the dream at the very last minute. Parcel awaiting collection it said. Late yesterday afternoon this hand came through my slot and dropped a card onto the carpet. It’s just not acceptable. .
we sent some blueprints through the post to that effect.To The Director of Public Affairs First let me explain. It was part of a festival screening. the board of directors in a faulty lift. Whether or not it was you I meant to offend is another thing again. caught a matinee session of The Man called Horse. the Sun Vow Initiation. Richard Harris with those claws in his chest. we are marching as I speak. it is the intention of many men of letters to fly their kites in storms. Do you pride yourself in sticking to the book. could you imagine such a test. your dedication to the interests of this mass of men you rule with pen? Didn’t think so Sir. to prove your worthiness. We laugh at Marx. have buried the hatchet in his head. where you the boy who threw away the paper if the pencil left the rule? If so then I repeat: We have abandoned the dead capital of the streets. the new networks are virtual. Upon arrival we raced breathless to the cinema. My art is meant to be anti tyrannical. plunging to their death. Set out to that city with no pavements from the tourism catalog. . What is the virtual comparison of dragging you screaming from your desk. tearing the emperor from his chair.
did you get it? Some of the students were filming a generic leftist documentary. now I’ve made it. I always appreciated you saying that I’d get there in the end. enjoying a diet of red wine and turtle soup. You quoted me. Well. I spoke at length with a famous poet this morning. packed some stuff. they just read it with their abstract interpretives. you know the type. Will write you again. they have no living memory. Your friend.Dear Teacher I thank you in advance for the opportunity you have offered. and I am off. . we shared a joint. entwined like sex… I sent you a picture of us lying down in an entrance. many times it was more than just thorns scratching our legs. in a jumble of your words. the linguistically maladjusted: personally I have had enough. another critical analysis of an incorrect history. wrote you this letter. you never said! What a nice surprise seeing my sentence hanging there. A long path we both walked. It is greener on the other side of the fence! I spent siesta in a hammock with your book.
Shame! I ought to thread the stem through all the holes in your skull. Sir. I disagree with your policies. giving flowers to my wife. Euthanased buildings and that guy running from a burning truck. The hollow of your eyes like divers floating bodies of plane wreck victims still strapped in seats. manipulating the children. where does one turn? This system is broken up against the wall like a chair in a bar fight. My little sister in a cage somewhere in the Australian desert went crazy and chewed off the fingers from her left hand. irreparable. You probably won’t get your pay check. mist from the river pixelating the edges. . All the horoscopes in this mornings paper foretell misery. All of this while on the tram I see women reading magazines about actress's bathing their dogs in Evian.Dear Sir At this point I cannot help but imagine your head skewered on the garden fence. There are crows chasing swans across old parliament lawn this morning. The boss will be inflexible. Men tearing down a bridge with negative compassion. Cat fights across thatched rooves late at night. All flattery aside I find you a bloated vile politician.
War Biology In undisclosed locations. . who themselves are familiar with the hypodermic sting. before a mecca of the idealess (we are everywhere but we are silent) you can hear us feasting. We applaud the cold hands of the surgeons who scalp the rich their theatres white and green. Take the back off your shirt to help me clean my windscreen. Black as the winds blowing against the House of Windsor is the future for those CEO’s… Cold as the stiletto that went though the forehead of that guy at the girlybar. who measure things in inches. dogs in human form fisting a carcass in the flickering livingroom.
A retarded girl masturbating on the train A retarded girl masturbating on the train this evening. it becomes a great fragrant orchid of truth. O ideology. . between evolution and engineered. superfluous biomechanoid fantasy cannibalising itself. like a gorgeous woman whose pouty mouth makes me mad. The moment transcends awkward. symbol of the strange animal Human caught between instinct and education. Superstructure.
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