January 2012
2 posts
all Halick’s bright and dancing things this hereby lost forgotten sort of delicate substance strung from room to room He writes a hollowness in things I recognize, but - stories all grind grandeur in equal measure, simulət regions [ to believe in oneself, if only for the lack of ] [ oneself, a breach of anti-conduct ] prince’s paupers - a curse - punishable by promotion but if we could...
years and years of accumulation, dust of ages, the hearth and home a sinner’s staircase, slippery and chock with unwashed travelers an ornate elegy for Etiquet, who first broke forth along an early star
the only things we build that last are lined with the devil’s cobalt and so a lifetime lost lives on in the unlatched cellar, unwatched, stellar only in its lack of stars : it does not...
November 2011
39 posts
a long time ago i categorized something that i meant to say aloud; those days are far off now, along and away across a grassed expanse where everything is neither greener or red-bluer but rustles restless nonetheless - or seems peaceful despite the crown calls and cartwheels and, to a lesser extent, the nightmares],well], they never meant much ]though i’d awake and thank this or that, i never this...
sketched, cauterized, or wounded, oh, hell is a red-black place 9 out of 10 times we awaken to the sound of ourselves, (science says) and science says and ++ and what else;
guard your harked ears carefully, for all is what at seams, kelp dredged drudged and drugged on dark honest nightmares and calculət stars and far and far and far and far
oh but we dread the year on, oh but we edge the...
wealth and breadth of dearth reviews whence skipping came, — a curse on youth! alas alack and no way back, a simple stunning sunset pieced of human things and writes of spring and rights of spring and ah and ah and pierced on stellar wings
; it’s beauteous but what is not enshrouded in a gorgeous thought
arc arbitrary flinging forward fast fonts and phrases realizing worst worlds and best praises and earning praises and earning raises and where’s the best way to trace aces it’s birth to death plus one plus infinity x 9 where’s that hunk of glass we call a planet or how does it spin or, where are the places it’s been and how if ever could we still the process of...
values regretten; who bets on a losing horse, who bets on a horse lost - let one swap you a younger world. s;ls;omr ,rys;d g;o[. g;p[. smf pm yp johjrt [pertd/ i am autumn and he is fall and oh- we’re falling. pulp pastures blow by our transcontinental tarpit, magic (, et al) metal carpet. war and wiles and warming smiles, we’ got rob oti c
...
an honored content, bonded — fed stench on steady diets sung to bed on heady riots repetition and broekn- zeros and an order that betrays a simplicity, induction on key renewable quantitites // tantamount to paradise, octect, sextant othello’s infimum
covered the portrait with dominoes, portrait of dominoes ————— he was a game, ᴛʜᴇʏ said, he was a portrait
—————— it was postwar and honest scuffle came in hard command, and he was on the brink —————————+ a calculus of values touches briefly...
it was the best of times it was the worst of times it was any time that times were needed it was infinity wrapped up in a hamsterball it was every vector direction and scalar quantity and it was all in a spherical 3-dimensional sort of container which bore no boundary or interior or complement or accumulation point.
here i was in the middle of it all, in medias res. black and white are before...
a fine space affine space
anthropological burns coordinate darkness enveloped for great harmony in jacobian angle brackets to help you and me
a little vector arrow a studious note-taker
so we’ll —> just?
a builder of worlds and the way carnal corrections crush connections and reflections detect motion through space an 9+25+10 ocean face-to-face learned only in monic...
“WHY?” he wonders. The world waits while they waste away. One worried, one with wanderlust. He watches water wind westward, wishes he could capture its certainty. Catch its content curling. He can’t. All the while, His workings whir. And when His wit waxes whimsical, his cover keeps carved. Concrete curtains closed.
Wind whispers, warbles through willows and wormholes. Does He...
esquires are ordinary swords of olden days wreathed and sheathed up in masterful masterstrokes of fences, matchlit matches made matchmakers out on the lawn as the dawn yawns over us, and we sing, do we ever sing
dawn breaks and the glass breaks and ————————glass shatters- the glass rains down on the morning, there’s a beauty to that?...
this is a command prompt; touch your two weeks notice and know this, that to grow this is the only way to sow this seed, to grow this need is the only way to throw this need - and oh, this deed, a burning one spurned or earned,
the sea churns and the earth turns and curtains never close, the mind never knows but you’ll find still it shows: that global truths are local truths, always...
palko v connecticut but i’m forgetting it (i’m getting it, i swear, it’s just $ not fair) i was there | there was a time | i remember the crime of breaking the silence i remember the crime of breaking the silence again, friend (and i remember the end)
lend me your ears; send me your tears and i’ll send you my fears ((did you have any?)) (((you were frozen but always...
ellis
He spits on the floor and there’s spit on the floor. There’s spit on the floor and he’s in the shed and the fields are outside and the saliva vanishes into the soil and he’s alone again. Writers need attention to detail but he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter that the walls are wooden or painted blue, or that the roof is leaking its own filthy spit. Any walls, any...
bask in the glory of old time stories coming...
in the dark old town that lay stark in the city in times deep and drowned under skies bleak and gritty on ground without grounding in tears without eyes the young preacher sounded with silver-gold cries
and people did listen as if they could hear and eyes without glistened though inside they feared and darkness was outside though inside was worse but better to bring pride than ring with a...
sever time if that is your desire, anything is connected by a node at all and that is any easy finish, a simple scissor can, with mathematical precision, undo mathematical precision :: a version of simplistic youth in which mathematical precision was a book and geometry was a book away, a partial universe tells tales of algebra but not others (short algebra, times tables, long nights or so we...
in the beginning of the universe there was only one ghost, the unit ghost, and it was a circle, of course, because everything was a circle then
but every time a new shape is created there needs to be a new ghost for that shape, so the unit ghost splits
now at this point in time, with so many shapes in the universe, there are just tons and tons of ghosts
now ghosts don’t all get along...
throw me your hellsunk rainbows, i will not sleep for them, nay, i will befriend your haughty emptiness-
listen to the mass minority mirror the mimicry of memetic marches and furthermore obey the least path of most resistance and hear us out, hear them out but hear us out (us vs. them vs. him vs. em vs. everything is a little bit of where it is, a primary belief in those who believe it of themselves)
problematic matter static
can you dance to this beat can you freshen this air if i asked you once burnt twice would you even care? how does it feel to be one of the beautiful organic tendrils of life that stick through into would you be surprised if there were little holes in reality just waiting to get out could you imagine if you were one of them? could you imagine a pulsing mass of hope on the other side of the wall...
if any less comfortable was any more wonderful, wouldn’t that hearken back to olden days ? when finding yourself dark in this position was store-bought the universze, unlike most of us, does not ever speak of the universze; the universze is not anthropomorganic
chivalry is dead, you know, chivalry +++ less any meaning now that sir now that chivalry sir now that chivalry is dead do...
there is something beautiful about unison (or intson, or confinal) shake yourself free of a couple of chains, join the crowd, shout it out! a house divided against itself, under god, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all trapped in a little box that knows it’s something special, how could it not be? but your brain works the same way everyone else’s does: risk averse in the...
please exit your vehicle sir please step outside of the vehicle sir with your hands up and he does he comes out he slithers out slowly and his hands are covered in blood but everybody knows his hands are covered in blood but what they don’t know is that his face is filthy too blood pouring out splashing on the ground like a waterfall and he opens his mouth and it’s gushing and he...
ellis
He was uncomfortable next to her, because she was too perfect. Not perfect in the usual way. She was somebody else’s perfect. He could feel them eying her. And eying him, because of her.
Well, that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted them to see her, to see him with her. They were together.
“Is that Vaughn? Holy shit. Never thought I’d see him again.”
They...
jilted lovers found another, it was what it could be, two ships passing harassing that was stasis, forever and a day and there he was with his finger on the trigger-
i like my men like i like my guns inside me
-and that was that and i was falling and i never came near it never felt the touch of the brink never fought the urge and if you fall in the shower you might not ever taste again...
orbiting a willow tree an orb of electricity incredible dreams and inaudible screams and a country that’s coming apart at the seams
old
cryptography is just one more thing i’d like to be good at. but i’m not quite. impressive huh? some things must be hard to figure out probably. still i thought you would see that coming. i guess i am not so obvious right huh. it’s like the san andreas fault. but not at all. bad metaphor.rr only you have to stay in therrrr middle there and I’d like to get out but I...
"season of reason" (old)
SEASON OF REASON
A Collection of Summertide Vibrations By Stetford Obencrombie
FOREWORD
We begin as we often do, at the end (and keep in mind, we will end there too). The story you are about to read has not yet been written, but it is an ancient one, imperfect fragments and translations of one at least. In that (and perhaps only that) it is a cousin of masterpieces. As the author, I was...
old
this is and why and always had to be just a way of factual collection the way that you can sever chant your truths at this and when we find hope we’ll well do the same that’s a cycle all is best when first you can learn to suffer yourself the earliest it just moves on and after i’ll say you’ll say and you’ll say we’ll say that’s all that’s when...
there’s that instinctual revulsion: after, all, there’s, more than one way to skin a cat! (is there?) it’s gross, it’s not done that way, it’s it’s personal, it’s impersonal, everyone does it! everyone can collect on their insurance, everyone has a bowl of candy apples (but don’t talk about it!) don’t talk about it! the difference is the...
we orbited the sun one day a-touring through the cosmos but never had we seen such ray as echoed from tomorrow it was in truth a fearful sight the future touched and hinted by far the most unnatural light that nature ever minted
could anything exist as pure as terror at the end? the curse for which there is no cure no way to ever mend- so all was done, and death had won, we floated, lost in...
anyone can be someone’s reflection! the steps are simple, and the rewards are great. approaches vary, but truly color is key: for the human mind can recognize this quickly and painlessly. your mimicry begins with hue and from there it is only a matter of left and right now, they say one’s achievements (if anything) are one’s own, but is that the honest truth? irrelevant,...
my thoughts are these: that thoughts are bees. mankind has held in his mind the urge to control the weather for so long, and this above all things is a goal we will likely never accomplish. death and taxes, no? there was a man who was known for his dedication to time and the dissection thereof, whereof, above, on a fine november day he could be seen stalking the plains, in a fine deerstalker cap...
i don’t know much about you, but i know you were barking up the wrong tree. it was certainly a scandal when they found out. when i got to you, you’d already lost your eyes. i found them on the ground beside you (you laying there, helpless) and of course i recycled them, for that is what the worthy do. your sight was less than splendid without them, and i did my best at walking you...
for a time alone, it sure was together!
things being as they are, it is only natural we should cascade ourselves in this wonderful box. now, if you would really like to hear a story, i could give it to you straight. when i was born there was a great commotion: for it was neither here nor there, and none could bring h/e/m/self to care. the difficulty with absolute truth is the bitter taste we all love: the same reason you gulp down...
you've said kestrel before
not once in my science life! was a thing both found and profound (would that be no or a clever spot) and is that the reason horses stall in the streets these days, as if to say, ‘these were the rights of they that came post us, and we lay claim to our far future-flung birthright’ nbspnbspnbsp?
the sum of all amicable pairs
young cardigan mark was a good modest man who lived in the country and drove in his van and every which day he’d go every which way in search of a coffee and eggs in a pan now cardigan mark in his travels one night came up to a path that was hidden from sight for the shadows of trees and the whoosh of the breeze were fine camouflage in the darkening light so cardigan mark he there took a...
we ask here today
this to the dearest captured lord, for eight long years we waited, nine long years we cried, ten long years, you’ll be forgotten, long before you die. that dark touch was all our signal, who could fight that glassy eye? though you languish still we hold the wares you used to ply. now you’ve gone and now and then i dare to watch the sky, knowing that the stars and sun are not for you...
the bellicose estimation session
(more as with n, correct? a genuine recipient of the old man’s cut-n-paste. but we must move on.) the museum is curated. the others are dead. count quickly, respond now. elements wondering fast are stuck first. this is the nature of the cog, it spins only until it realizes it is spinning. beyond that, it can only ask why it has stopped. imprint yourself with the mistakes of the past, in a...