How To Be Lazy Writing About Poetics
As ridiculous as the dream where Rowdy Roddy Piper is telling Robert Creeley to stop making friends.
Into feelings burgled without and not-in the bounds of your Grandma's depression. Builds bleek food conspiracies into hovelable cock-eyed clinching fingers.
A man stood a bison or weathering his top-spin of simpression. Dupression. Synechdotion.
Happy birthday envelope.
Cold climbing down through a gender specificity.
Joints pooling there corners and curlicues and trying pass on the traditions of haberdashery.
Monday, June 30, 2008
How To Be Lazy Writing About Poetics
It is hard to imagine how poetry in it's own mind. In what wondering filling up glances nervous-like Your Grocer's Shelves.
How to hide green poetry grocer reducer, or find fissionable material for that matter, is poetry's Poetica Ashante Sashe. Poetry grounds finite observations inside little baby human dryers.
That's fucked up. Or that's come into it's weatherable ass-face architecture.
And in blank spots finding new avenue cloisters banana talk spores through forms or reprisal. A ticket god, y'see.
Human squirrel!
It is hard to imagine how poetry in it's own mind. In what wondering filling up glances nervous-like Your Grocer's Shelves.
How to hide green poetry grocer reducer, or find fissionable material for that matter, is poetry's Poetica Ashante Sashe. Poetry grounds finite observations inside little baby human dryers.
That's fucked up. Or that's come into it's weatherable ass-face architecture.
And in blank spots finding new avenue cloisters banana talk spores through forms or reprisal. A ticket god, y'see.
Human squirrel!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
How To Be Lazy Writing About Poetics
Poetry in Social Star Wars is ultra-complex Jedi training in Jedi training relationships between Jedi jumpsuits in Jedi perpindicular spaces where you earn the right to help so & so hem in so & so's ultra spandex proto-Jedi more fixedly within the globo-not-fascistic-utra-cool-Jedi realm.
Poetry in Social Star Wars is ultra-complex Jedi training in Jedi training relationships between Jedi jumpsuits in Jedi perpindicular spaces where you earn the right to help so & so hem in so & so's ultra spandex proto-Jedi more fixedly within the globo-not-fascistic-utra-cool-Jedi realm.
How To Be Lazy Writing About Poetics
This blog has become steadily more opaque. Which has been become its format. Which is me trying to articulate myself then essentially musing on some idea of what is essentially dicking around.
If dicking around brings up the rear, it takes on whole other connotations. It could become ego-trippin. But if I ego trip for awhile I seem to invariably end up out of my depth.
Standing tall on the wings of my dreams. Slouching under poetry's wing, which smells like curry and old spice.
TO BE CONTINUED
This blog has become steadily more opaque. Which has been become its format. Which is me trying to articulate myself then essentially musing on some idea of what is essentially dicking around.
If dicking around brings up the rear, it takes on whole other connotations. It could become ego-trippin. But if I ego trip for awhile I seem to invariably end up out of my depth.
Standing tall on the wings of my dreams. Slouching under poetry's wing, which smells like curry and old spice.
TO BE CONTINUED
Saturday, June 28, 2008
How To Be Lazy Writing About Poetics
Is there an alienation effect in the company of poets?
In other words, should a poet not be "chummy" with their audience? Making it all a little inside? A little too inside?
A little tutu aboard a whaling ship?
Poets should probably talk to their audience without assumptions. But don't assume we don't know who Jack Spicer is jack-ass! And conversely, Don't assume we know who Jack Spicer is jack-ass!
Just explain who Jack Spicer is and then say, 'y' know... Jack Spicer' And be prepared for Jack Spicer to stop talking to you.
The audience does not want to see the poet talking to other poets, they want to see the poet talking to other poets.
Like, flip it around on em. Yeah, and since you're using a whole bunch of words I don't understand, I'm gonna go ahead and take that as an insult.
This is directed at anyone where I've ever woken with their hand in my pants, when it should be in my poems. This is implicated in my style. It is an assumed Spicerian eye-roll. On a Spicerian California roll.
Is there an alienation effect in the company of poets?
In other words, should a poet not be "chummy" with their audience? Making it all a little inside? A little too inside?
A little tutu aboard a whaling ship?
Poets should probably talk to their audience without assumptions. But don't assume we don't know who Jack Spicer is jack-ass! And conversely, Don't assume we know who Jack Spicer is jack-ass!
Just explain who Jack Spicer is and then say, 'y' know... Jack Spicer' And be prepared for Jack Spicer to stop talking to you.
The audience does not want to see the poet talking to other poets, they want to see the poet talking to other poets.
Like, flip it around on em. Yeah, and since you're using a whole bunch of words I don't understand, I'm gonna go ahead and take that as an insult.
This is directed at anyone where I've ever woken with their hand in my pants, when it should be in my poems. This is implicated in my style. It is an assumed Spicerian eye-roll. On a Spicerian California roll.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
French Coat
Aphasia is a byword of patience
a trick feeling, to have compensated
in odds of disturbance. Consent
and mingled popularity
become details to
handsome mercy, the aritillery of
the women in my life. A person of
quality will understand
showing judicious license therefore
not be treated with indifference,
maybe you would have
overt concern if there's such
thing as compulsion. Being welcomed
in a large city gets cold
in my eyes, relying on selective help
one might not credibly avoid.
2.
As sober bait I mustn't be qualified
projecting on what may have
happened within an aquifer. They abandon
the parking or add dependent on enough
double access; the welfare of
a personal condition makes it worth
replying believably or a credible
witness's safety. Waiting for a stretch in the
kitchen while outside
someone is sent to guide them to the
address. Immediate
response gets in the way of visible
excess, as a voluntary buffer
I was determined to listen. Behind on
new year the empathy lines
seem punctured because of
foreign movies.
--Michael Carr
Aphasia is a byword of patience
a trick feeling, to have compensated
in odds of disturbance. Consent
and mingled popularity
become details to
handsome mercy, the aritillery of
the women in my life. A person of
quality will understand
showing judicious license therefore
not be treated with indifference,
maybe you would have
overt concern if there's such
thing as compulsion. Being welcomed
in a large city gets cold
in my eyes, relying on selective help
one might not credibly avoid.
2.
As sober bait I mustn't be qualified
projecting on what may have
happened within an aquifer. They abandon
the parking or add dependent on enough
double access; the welfare of
a personal condition makes it worth
replying believably or a credible
witness's safety. Waiting for a stretch in the
kitchen while outside
someone is sent to guide them to the
address. Immediate
response gets in the way of visible
excess, as a voluntary buffer
I was determined to listen. Behind on
new year the empathy lines
seem punctured because of
foreign movies.
--Michael Carr
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Aphids
for Publico 2003-2008
"not sinking into the ground, mysteriously,
but in the Roman sewers, forever, our home town"
--George Stanley
Aphids are
whatever feeds on the
emptied momentum that
tastes of white pine. Bang it
in your car b-bang it
in your truck
The Easter
LV on a Luis Vuitton bag
explodes with engorging neutrinos and I
see its dove-meat that's gene-spliced to soft Beijing leather.
False fathers husbands believers--moonshine
pours through the dikes, Animiniacs
who? They're the false husbands fathers, believers
aphids leave honeydew
crucibles deep in their features until they're
like astrolabes tending immobile stars.
But you can't judge the Universe
wounded pride blooming like lake district summer
flushed soft & fast down the fucking brass ring.
Golden retrievers explode in the verdure
who can put dogs back together?
Big Dad in Valhalla
the boatman named Sex,
Rasputina
my collar & tag start to hurt.
Tell me dad what should I do with my pleasure?
destroy it, confirming its own malign life
or embrace it by means of
deformative play? It ends well, in war
you learn how to catalogue ships in the dark
describing the plant lice that feed on couture,
where, because we are impure & live
our reveries aren't overcome. But they are
dad I saw the raw data, the tombs flaring
various prismatic fires
their Oceanside camps between Clay St. & Main,
sweating a vicious armada.
No dad we won't eat you
the lights in the Mediterranean, lights in the high
blocks of Over-the-Rhine,
we've been here a long time
amid the Emerald City, amid the walls of Troy
Penelope Nokia Telephone
rings many suitors
with fabulous answers & lies
whisper comely things through the receiver. Hello?
dad the aphids invaded my
arm daddy what should I do I would chill
son &, drink. Recreational love-making
inside a project space
"dusted"
in theory & fact.
Yet later
the aphids have gone
& the goddamn garden goes
on with the imporous
posture of some
politician
I come to this altar piece
Clear eyed and mean
from deep in the mind of a parasite
teasing your dad for his ambulant lock
derive in reverse
a real Sasquach without any
frothing pulling teething
in the mouth. Its only the North Pole honey
its only the summerless agony
how will we
remember
how will I remember
this
I cried again
in school today, they
asked me my feelings for Polaroid pictures
for me they're Victorian things
fairy tale mice with a
sun-ruined Cheshire life gutted
color wheel light for their unstable sign.
I saw their tombs in the dawn (basically)
cradle with all of its blisters in tact
beckons like bubble wrap, pop
the encasements of that
& the honeydew pours out in torrents of pixels
floriated like love's will in "Asphodel", nothing
to drink in what's now just decor.
Sutter Home here
in your Venice, the many-canaled
hollowed out neural city
lasciviously broken
sobriety
comes
down like the church yard nativity, piece
by delirious piece
until there is goose-flesh
all over the Virgin.
I feel it too
in the end of the song
& the lights coming up at last call, that
panic.
-Dana WardTuesday, June 17, 2008
november
Web's sheer
above leaves
spasms to breeze
witch hazel buds blister
blossom yellow pinwheels
sewn threads
lack reluctance
fall forth to froth
of verdant fallen
Morning sky steeps
to smother seconds
after sunrise wash
ashes November snow
white animate
scatter shot
Then again later
sunny
Sunset 4:23
-- Jess Mynes
Web's sheer
above leaves
spasms to breeze
witch hazel buds blister
blossom yellow pinwheels
sewn threads
lack reluctance
fall forth to froth
of verdant fallen
Morning sky steeps
to smother seconds
after sunrise wash
ashes November snow
white animate
scatter shot
Then again later
sunny
Sunset 4:23
-- Jess Mynes
Salacious Banter Reading Series, situated snugly in Milwaukee's beery underside, checks in with reading number 2 on Thursday June 26 at 7:30pm, as Jess Mynes, Michael Carr, and Dana Ward invade the Saffran Loft Manse bearing an incense of poetry and rapscallionry, with much jollity to follow.
For more fleshed out deet's on the event, check here.
Meanwhile I'm gonna be posting some nuggets from these pote's respective troves in the coming days:
For more fleshed out deet's on the event, check here.
Meanwhile I'm gonna be posting some nuggets from these pote's respective troves in the coming days:
Monday, June 16, 2008
Segway Invite
lets go rent segways
and act all badass
insulting my credit debt and such
as we look over our shoulders
checking for the cops
and for my loan officers
the whole while snorting lines
from The Godfather
such as “You talkin to me!”
“Attica!” “Who is your
daddy and what does he do?”
You know em all and
you can recite them all
but only to geese because
these geese are tripping balls
and you know that in this state
in front of anyone else
You lose your composure
You start sweating, comparing Kenneth
Koch with “duende”
and I have to warn you again
not to go around doing that in front
of the bigshots at the Universitay.
lets go rent segways
and act all badass
insulting my credit debt and such
as we look over our shoulders
checking for the cops
and for my loan officers
the whole while snorting lines
from The Godfather
such as “You talkin to me!”
“Attica!” “Who is your
daddy and what does he do?”
You know em all and
you can recite them all
but only to geese because
these geese are tripping balls
and you know that in this state
in front of anyone else
You lose your composure
You start sweating, comparing Kenneth
Koch with “duende”
and I have to warn you again
not to go around doing that in front
of the bigshots at the Universitay.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Out of Pocket
I been hangin around
without the exact change
in the orbit of what
to lay down
around and in
money troubles being
a close second
within 2/3 of ecstatic
depreciation
just the waiting for
who cares how many
really desperate postal workers
to deliver issue
3 of TIGHT
to my door starring
me and Lisa Jarnot
dodging the weather cells
and drinking the drinks
with specially made shoes
to bump up trouble
by losing thoughts
to the mumbling of
the corrupt referee
who comes around again
having lost alot of money
on the lilacs in spring
I been hangin around
without the exact change
in the orbit of what
to lay down
around and in
money troubles being
a close second
within 2/3 of ecstatic
depreciation
just the waiting for
who cares how many
really desperate postal workers
to deliver issue
3 of TIGHT
to my door starring
me and Lisa Jarnot
dodging the weather cells
and drinking the drinks
with specially made shoes
to bump up trouble
by losing thoughts
to the mumbling of
the corrupt referee
who comes around again
having lost alot of money
on the lilacs in spring
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)