subtle as a log.
Nina reads the words on the screen. Uh huh, you should definitely stick to what you know. No doubt about that, Mr. Writer. King of the Samples.
She smiles.
It is dark outside but is it night?
_all circuits_ are busy now_ [error 815-71]
she felt like sliding across the carpet and touching the screen just to hear those little statical crackles. but she didn't have carpet.
she resumes reading.. yadayada..
'that unfortunately mistake smugness
for being refined and mistake lack of sympathy for clear
sightedness.'
oooo.. now, that is creamy.
Oct 7, 2009
wall sprites move quietly near the walls, and wait.
Nina wakes up from one of the best dreams she has ever had. The entire theme was of dinning room tables. She couldn't decide between the oval shaped blond wood that looked like old school desks of different heights pushed together or the round, dark cherry wood with all the tiny, secret drawers. Both easily seated 12. &
for the cat named, Big Bridge:
who takes me there, hands me a glass of mead?
a lock opens, dragged out organism,
red grass burnt feet. all is that didn't
to be of some old neither, was moved to Am
in My.
Top: where he's @ and what his stillness means:
beep beep .. across the screen:
slow down you are going a little crazy there and forgetting your own rule, barbarous..
'The Beautiful Lady is cardboard, the sky--where the happy lovers fly away--is tissue paper. Liquid flows from the wound of the poor abandoned lover, and the "mystics" who jabber their "theories" in chorus remain open-mouthed, become quite flat and disappear, while the author, pestered from right and left, doesn't know what to dream up to explain to the audience what has just happened.'
http://www.sovlit.com/bios/blok.html
i thought the topic was drowning?
i am struggling between fantasy & the basic,
between breaths, of nerves.
my stomach is a lost exit, how about some spaghetti and texas toast?
i realize that what i write is for the most part inaccessible and interesting to maybe one reader at the most.
highlighting:
tears, & voids.
for the cat named, Big Bridge:
who takes me there, hands me a glass of mead?
a lock opens, dragged out organism,
red grass burnt feet. all is that didn't
to be of some old neither, was moved to Am
in My.
Top: where he's @ and what his stillness means:
beep beep .. across the screen:
slow down you are going a little crazy there and forgetting your own rule, barbarous..
'The Beautiful Lady is cardboard, the sky--where the happy lovers fly away--is tissue paper. Liquid flows from the wound of the poor abandoned lover, and the "mystics" who jabber their "theories" in chorus remain open-mouthed, become quite flat and disappear, while the author, pestered from right and left, doesn't know what to dream up to explain to the audience what has just happened.'
http://www.sovlit.com/bios/blok.html
i thought the topic was drowning?
i am struggling between fantasy & the basic,
between breaths, of nerves.
my stomach is a lost exit, how about some spaghetti and texas toast?
i realize that what i write is for the most part inaccessible and interesting to maybe one reader at the most.
highlighting:
tears, & voids.
Oct 6, 2009
३० minutes
-30 minutes later-
he punches in the password, pushes the heavy door open. the apartment is dark except for the aquarium.
is that you?
it be me
what did you forget?
nothing. i picked you up some half & half and a pack of smokes
lights?
yup
he opens the fridge and puts the half & half in the top shelf of the door. walks into the bedroom and hits the soft-light switch. he is surprised to see a bottle of club soda on her nightstand and surprised to see that there is no sheet on the mattress. she is laying on her side, her back to him, her hair in spools held together by tiny, colorful puzzle-piece clips.
Nina..
if you are going to speak to me, sit down.
the hand in the voice pushes him down.
Nina..
what?
do you need quarters for laundry?
no. the sheet came off and i was too lazy to put it back on
oh.
the little black clock on the nightstand ticks like a bomb.
mind if i hang out for awhile.. i could sketch you in that pose
what would you call it...?
~~~
Nina closes her eyes
she is drowning between the lines
sunlight, hitting water like blood
paraphrased by slush, bits of scale
circulating thru patches of coral
sinking deeper, the water a throat
of eyelashes, of ink, torn flesh
moonbitter scars that pop and bulge
the taste of soundlessness
worlds under worlds touching
pieces of heaven dotted
with sky, soft as toes in the sand
he punches in the password, pushes the heavy door open. the apartment is dark except for the aquarium.
is that you?
it be me
what did you forget?
nothing. i picked you up some half & half and a pack of smokes
lights?
yup
he opens the fridge and puts the half & half in the top shelf of the door. walks into the bedroom and hits the soft-light switch. he is surprised to see a bottle of club soda on her nightstand and surprised to see that there is no sheet on the mattress. she is laying on her side, her back to him, her hair in spools held together by tiny, colorful puzzle-piece clips.
Nina..
if you are going to speak to me, sit down.
the hand in the voice pushes him down.
Nina..
what?
do you need quarters for laundry?
no. the sheet came off and i was too lazy to put it back on
oh.
the little black clock on the nightstand ticks like a bomb.
mind if i hang out for awhile.. i could sketch you in that pose
what would you call it...?
~~~
Nina closes her eyes
she is drowning between the lines
sunlight, hitting water like blood
paraphrased by slush, bits of scale
circulating thru patches of coral
sinking deeper, the water a throat
of eyelashes, of ink, torn flesh
moonbitter scars that pop and bulge
the taste of soundlessness
worlds under worlds touching
pieces of heaven dotted
with sky, soft as toes in the sand
Sep 26, 2009
......
Nina regrets not letting him wear her pants to work but she was still mad about him beating off on her ass and his drunk friend banging on her door at 2 in the morning.
let him in, he probably has cigs
and do i want him putting another hole in the wall with his head. . no thanks.
yeah, you're right, it would have turned into a nightmare
& there ya go. in the next dream they are all together in an apartment filled with too many rooms, pets and chaos. no yard, no flowers, but a 'work-out' room. ugh.
oh well. 7:30 a.m. and she is alone with the rest of the chardonn aaaaaaaaay, brandy and a couple of cigs. she opens the magic window:
salty - shit - one call for submissions
ag - oooooooo... star linguini .. affectionate eyeshadowing
myspace - i am going to collect a reward (my secret)
blogger - htc stopped by and left a dose of 'hello, how are ya, my friend'.
...
Nina gets out a can of jellied cranberry sauce .. she is going to feast on the other white meat, tonite.
let him in, he probably has cigs
and do i want him putting another hole in the wall with his head. . no thanks.
yeah, you're right, it would have turned into a nightmare
& there ya go. in the next dream they are all together in an apartment filled with too many rooms, pets and chaos. no yard, no flowers, but a 'work-out' room. ugh.
oh well. 7:30 a.m. and she is alone with the rest of the chardonn aaaaaaaaay, brandy and a couple of cigs. she opens the magic window:
salty - shit - one call for submissions
ag - oooooooo... star linguini .. affectionate eyeshadowing
myspace - i am going to collect a reward (my secret)
blogger - htc stopped by and left a dose of 'hello, how are ya, my friend'.
...
Nina gets out a can of jellied cranberry sauce .. she is going to feast on the other white meat, tonite.
Aug 20, 2009
KJU
I'll paint you a black painting, very red
rough boy, innards sounding like doorbells buried by lifts for little. A dark surface, ants in locks.
Taste the snowy fabric of your fifth glass.
Well....?
Tastes like rotten wood and loneliness. Fly Air India if you ever leave the states. The drinks are free.
Nina's phone is busy, symbols forgiving the light, beehive drone & detached ring tones.
I like the little bead of sweat sliding out from underneath that collar. Is it a dog collar?
Nina squints. Her eyes are silver. The pupils, dark buckets. Sort of scary.
Street thorax.
Huh?
Get any interesting messages?
Nah. Just the regular short curves. The usual spy ware infections.
I love watching the clouds slide off the pewter sky. ..
Emmm. Ever try that white Merlot?
Bet it tastes like white Zinfandel.
Yup.
*
The black beaded tattoo on her right wrist glitters, as the dome around the cabin, softly closes.
OK with you if we watch Pink - Don't leave Me?
Sure.
~*~
rough boy, innards sounding like doorbells buried by lifts for little. A dark surface, ants in locks.
Taste the snowy fabric of your fifth glass.
Well....?
Tastes like rotten wood and loneliness. Fly Air India if you ever leave the states. The drinks are free.
Nina's phone is busy, symbols forgiving the light, beehive drone & detached ring tones.
I like the little bead of sweat sliding out from underneath that collar. Is it a dog collar?
Nina squints. Her eyes are silver. The pupils, dark buckets. Sort of scary.
Street thorax.
Huh?
Get any interesting messages?
Nah. Just the regular short curves. The usual spy ware infections.
I love watching the clouds slide off the pewter sky. ..
Emmm. Ever try that white Merlot?
Bet it tastes like white Zinfandel.
Yup.
*
The black beaded tattoo on her right wrist glitters, as the dome around the cabin, softly closes.
OK with you if we watch Pink - Don't leave Me?
Sure.
~*~
Jul 27, 2009
..
Nina holds his elastic flowing
for one more second
then lets it go.
she passes over the pencil pressed trenches
and scans the thought cards in the mirror,
presses the heart button with love
& feels all the channels.
She Smokes Another Cig To Stay Awake
lost finger, touch mine harder
i like your gliding gun
your dissolved press of my wrists
the ripples in your eyes so ... so.. big
your paper thighs in/on all that immobile lace..
ah girl.. come sit on my face! love the intoxication roll but hate that hair.
were my eyes not
in a bird with vacui stare.
.. u left cheese on the counter
plus. . u nothin' but a bichejos
bichejob and u never help me out. and your last piece was a cut-up.
.
listen to me.. above the lips above the scar & the light halo...
Liebestraum no.3 ...
no image.
*
for one more second
then lets it go.
she passes over the pencil pressed trenches
and scans the thought cards in the mirror,
presses the heart button with love
& feels all the channels.
She Smokes Another Cig To Stay Awake
lost finger, touch mine harder
i like your gliding gun
your dissolved press of my wrists
the ripples in your eyes so ... so.. big
your paper thighs in/on all that immobile lace..
ah girl.. come sit on my face! love the intoxication roll but hate that hair.
were my eyes not
in a bird with vacui stare.
.. u left cheese on the counter
plus. . u nothin' but a bichejos
bichejob and u never help me out. and your last piece was a cut-up.
.
listen to me.. above the lips above the scar & the light halo...
Liebestraum no.3 ...
no image.
*
blue ink day. close the book, squash the bug. Nina looks into the toothpaste splattered mirror. the skin:
becoming more and more discolored, blotched, broken. capillaries blooming.
the day had started with another unexplainable nose bleed. she was tainted by an ugly virus. and it was growing stronger. just seeing made her tired. she wanted to go back to sleep, even if the sleep turned into another storm. she saw herself walking towards him, the ground rising, the sky gold-lit, her skirt, wildly pink. something she would never wear. there was always a house, rooms filled with disorder. mostly she craved the sense of smell but there was no button for that. a hurricane blowing in and out, minutes of nothing where she could rest. another hour another sleep. this time she can see pictures inside of him, membranes of elongated, orange flowers curling in a serenade of love, a woolly texture. a dixie cup --- its small star design glowing neon, the points pogo-ing up and down, up and down. thick and thin lines circling the rim. a card covered in tiny, pulsating starfish. then again, a nothingness. the annoying sound of the phone ringing brings Nina back. she gets off of the cloud bed and walks to the picture window, puts her finger on his name. no mail.
becoming more and more discolored, blotched, broken. capillaries blooming.
the day had started with another unexplainable nose bleed. she was tainted by an ugly virus. and it was growing stronger. just seeing made her tired. she wanted to go back to sleep, even if the sleep turned into another storm. she saw herself walking towards him, the ground rising, the sky gold-lit, her skirt, wildly pink. something she would never wear. there was always a house, rooms filled with disorder. mostly she craved the sense of smell but there was no button for that. a hurricane blowing in and out, minutes of nothing where she could rest. another hour another sleep. this time she can see pictures inside of him, membranes of elongated, orange flowers curling in a serenade of love, a woolly texture. a dixie cup --- its small star design glowing neon, the points pogo-ing up and down, up and down. thick and thin lines circling the rim. a card covered in tiny, pulsating starfish. then again, a nothingness. the annoying sound of the phone ringing brings Nina back. she gets off of the cloud bed and walks to the picture window, puts her finger on his name. no mail.
Jun 27, 2009
Oceania
i miss u
didn't even realize how much till i found your old blog profile. that whole thing about the ocean made all my mornings softer. i continue clicking my life away, without you. but the poems are gone. the words, empty. dictionaries of silence. the hotel room, just an empty sheet of paper.
i sweep past your posts. bare soles * older & older, we both laughed at him, together. . the way he thinks he knows.
Monday, July 18, 2005
sleep baby, sleep..
while the devil
shepherds your
eyelids thru reincarnations
the braille of scar
& informal workshops
sleep baby, sleep
and know that you are loved
like the quiet key or
a jungle flower --- ants in the hollow stem
racing to secret destinations
& so the heart beats on
........
it was always blue on blue. we never kissed, never really even wanted to. and every one i gave you, you took.
begin again
with the soft thing
begin again and send me words
shaped in an isle of smoke
*
Sunday, July 24, 2005
no heroes..
only deep pockets
of varied storms
playing about this city and its smoking digits
its crying lambs & down time
souls partially reflected in eddies
darker than venereal gums
or the ebony-handled knife
stroking a soft cheek
*
Corkscrew Misdemeanor
It's like you suck off my boots
with each sip
& run ahead of the soundtrack
a hushed chorus of synthetic noise
caught in your eyebrow
and yes
you pour and
I sink
into
*
baby, baby, baby, baby...
Collapsing, Moans Cloudhead, Rain Unto Earth
and I am perched on the tip of something big
this may take all day
he burns new and bright
his elbows and feet
awkward and sweet
his hands
dew-slick windings
his mouth tastes of woodsmoke
I imagine its dark color.........
*
[ here is where i would post your beautiful face but what is the point ]
*
THIS DAY, A FRIDAY
the hours are:
leaves
drowned ideas
lost creatures
trains
dark shawls
automobiles (whispers)
a perfume of black wings & lost things.
shiny ping-tings
my hand in your no-
where-shadow
sickles in cells
your smile.. a twisted gin sour
i like it when you
sample
yourself.
........
what is on the nightstand now? an overture of ash in your cup and the clear skyy spill?
how long will you stay
box writing
plucking the dark
waiting for me to do it to a real girl
and seeing your face
maybe i don't want to come back
a pennant for you to dip in salt
to suck, silt & stroke
to roast when the mood strikes
Sep 9, 2006
Fragments 1 - 37
Hey Flatfish X,
you need butcher paper & portable legs
to fall with occasion
~
then at cum window (not yet written)
girl hail & text trances
~
Nina didn't care whether or not the room overlooked the harbor
she was depressed and only wanted to sleep.
~
dream 1
she was standing in a round, flying machine
they were cruising over an island, spotted with palm trees, he was speaking and she was laughing
there was a large, silver purse slung over her shoulder
when she moved
it sparkled
~
outside small waves leave their foam upon the shore
~
in the room next door
a man with tangled eyes
writes:
death music
our last ash drops into the air
we become gigantic stars that walk among the trees
below us wavers wave away the last wave
to brush silver from their hair
~
didn't even realize how much till i found your old blog profile. that whole thing about the ocean made all my mornings softer. i continue clicking my life away, without you. but the poems are gone. the words, empty. dictionaries of silence. the hotel room, just an empty sheet of paper.
i sweep past your posts. bare soles * older & older, we both laughed at him, together. . the way he thinks he knows.
Monday, July 18, 2005
sleep baby, sleep..
while the devil
shepherds your
eyelids thru reincarnations
the braille of scar
& informal workshops
sleep baby, sleep
and know that you are loved
like the quiet key or
a jungle flower --- ants in the hollow stem
racing to secret destinations
& so the heart beats on
........
it was always blue on blue. we never kissed, never really even wanted to. and every one i gave you, you took.
begin again
with the soft thing
begin again and send me words
shaped in an isle of smoke
*
Sunday, July 24, 2005
no heroes..
only deep pockets
of varied storms
playing about this city and its smoking digits
its crying lambs & down time
souls partially reflected in eddies
darker than venereal gums
or the ebony-handled knife
stroking a soft cheek
*
Corkscrew Misdemeanor
It's like you suck off my boots
with each sip
& run ahead of the soundtrack
a hushed chorus of synthetic noise
caught in your eyebrow
and yes
you pour and
I sink
into
*
baby, baby, baby, baby...
Collapsing, Moans Cloudhead, Rain Unto Earth
and I am perched on the tip of something big
this may take all day
he burns new and bright
his elbows and feet
awkward and sweet
his hands
dew-slick windings
his mouth tastes of woodsmoke
I imagine its dark color.........
*
[ here is where i would post your beautiful face but what is the point ]
*
THIS DAY, A FRIDAY
the hours are:
leaves
drowned ideas
lost creatures
trains
dark shawls
automobiles (whispers)
a perfume of black wings & lost things.
shiny ping-tings
my hand in your no-
where-shadow
sickles in cells
your smile.. a twisted gin sour
i like it when you
sample
yourself.
........
what is on the nightstand now? an overture of ash in your cup and the clear skyy spill?
how long will you stay
box writing
plucking the dark
waiting for me to do it to a real girl
and seeing your face
maybe i don't want to come back
a pennant for you to dip in salt
to suck, silt & stroke
to roast when the mood strikes
Sep 9, 2006
Fragments 1 - 37
Hey Flatfish X,
you need butcher paper & portable legs
to fall with occasion
~
then at cum window (not yet written)
girl hail & text trances
~
Nina didn't care whether or not the room overlooked the harbor
she was depressed and only wanted to sleep.
~
dream 1
she was standing in a round, flying machine
they were cruising over an island, spotted with palm trees, he was speaking and she was laughing
there was a large, silver purse slung over her shoulder
when she moved
it sparkled
~
outside small waves leave their foam upon the shore
~
in the room next door
a man with tangled eyes
writes:
death music
our last ash drops into the air
we become gigantic stars that walk among the trees
below us wavers wave away the last wave
to brush silver from their hair
~
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