Friday, December 31, 2010

Houseparty 3



You wanted enlightenment and warmth
and so you studied light and heat
You wondered how forces can be controlled
so you studied electricity
You wanted to know what man is for
so you asked yourself What is this soul
this dump for hollow ideals and mangled morals
You decided that the soul is in the brain
and that it can learn to think
For to you the soul is a practical thing
a tool for ruling and mastering life
And you came one day to the Revolution
because you saw the most important vision
That our circumstances must be changed
fundamentally
and without these constant changes
everything we try to do must fail


Thursday, December 30, 2010

Robot's Jazz Club

Don't leave
Your most
Acute integrity
In the gap between an impulse and a decision
Or do, whatever, as long as the sound comes through you like sky (a tense diagram)
Compensation for the marginal life you fancy now
Billings of elation no more
Sublime mediocrity, no Moor like Othello/Desdemona, moan for love
Gratuity. How you took off your yellow hat, but underneath it was another yellow hat
And they say it's a black thing, promising,
Magic replicas from imagining them as such
Custody of the scenic, snickering, or double colored for
Some kind of goat song gone ghost in the new equipment
Of a child's up-sloping eyes
My ideal, beware of anonymous letters, you may have written
them
And you might be interested in learning how you became so offensive as to demand
Speak of me as I am
We fear the truth has no style and the fear does tremble, tuck it to pieces of self that show up uninvited and welcome

Someone dancing, undisturbed by the music that's not on
Someone making it, telling that distance when to play




Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Jazz Objectifies America



A Sphere for a context, I'll trade you
Q: It appears you're famous
A: Is that what that means
And the greenest most purple grass lit up as the other side

Saturday, December 25, 2010

B-Sides from my Idol Tryouts

1. Just like in true life

The wild geese approaching treason, now federated along one keep

May we find a rafter


2. I like the way you don't
go into the cabin
that is how I like, methodically, mythicly, my accidents are protests,
are my only protests, they are never accidents

3. We even misprism the past
Turn your waltz on the face of another--
To turn on
To turn against
Opposite statements that also say the same
sometimes like the line 'floodtide beneath you, I see you face-to-face'

4. Check out your mind
Masquerading with dawn
it was invented by the press
press harder (press not push)
the bell, the liquor, if they ask you to sell them, don't
on the corner (side 1) try
'Thinking one thing and doing another'


4. Repeat: But I am
Only getting rich in order to repeat these trips


5. But I am getting rich in order..
so neither group can be understood except in relation to one another
as in/
as out,
as excuses for true stories
'it's just that his passion costumes his thoughts'
not just his past
not just a fat vacation Sunday
also an emaciated smoke break
also broken into images of smoke
the way smoke moves
from tobacco
or factory chimney
your mouth,
in order
to get rich

6. Wealth/I am farmers/I am a thief/
Fame money/ anonymous fame /factory farm/black thief/by black I mean
buy black I mean
we are what sells
thinking to ourselves
'something in me wishes this wasn't my poem'
That emotion is called glory or
still?


7. Compliments.
The only one I want is speechless/
ness


8. Man
You were marvelous
But your co-star, the gun,
was a bit over the top

9. Super soul
Supra soul
Hip hop's egoless self-aggrandizement is the next
toll/phase on the free/way, high/way, autoroute or
space between proof and privacy in loose weather

10. Green sides of gold sides


11. God bless the child that's got his own



Friday, December 24, 2010

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

These Facts Harbor Opinions

You owe it to yourself, to get up in the mellow of the night
and take empty your bladder or revolver, and quench your thirst for the ripe grapes thawing near the fire escape--
It's the right thing to do

Why are you still lying there contemplating/
these are promises we made
The nervous system will survive any improvement you make to any self-like-painting-the-self-in-black-and-white-but-still-the-lips-are-red--
Even if you get up
throw the grapes and James Brown recordsleeve in a sturdy suitcase, and fly home
Only to wake up in the same bed, still thirsty for grapes, still the pilgrim from bladder to heart from habit to discipline, from him to his history, to him, through his history

With two hands steering the dictionary you read in your sleep,
When doubtless--
This isn't my language
unless this is how I move to live



Tuesday, December 21, 2010

From Monarchy to the Cinematic Consciousness



Trespass practically that way you felt the last day of a first day, negated by the grime of two languages rubbing up against one another into a vernacular pretty--kinetic misunderstanding between kinfolk/the blank finish of a black fist, stoic, tv hypnocritical..

Has this unicycle been here all along, tripping travelers toward the boardwalk that the radio will soften if you play the shit that they like-like you grandiose motherfuckers just don't play the shit that they

Like those harsh words are straight out of the picture show I like to go the moving pictures and remove the movement, let it be elsewhere-- is that Wesley Snipes or Don Cheadle or the writer..what's his name again...Ellison? Micheaux? Spike, Wendel, Weldon Johnson Poitier Delroy and them, defending a contrachangeable tension in the alphamale, I'm betting, I'm gambling on, to let the language walk up to the stage or sidle like a lady like she might decide to stay, and you might forget your lines and say

the way you felt the first day of the last day you spoke about the dada fables of faubus hobble over the apprentice to have the apprentice in the sunship was not obnoxious enough or watched the part where she got up from the table they were perched at together and left over and over backwards looking for what to say next you thought about the mouths of your favorite actor swollen and certain after a fight scene that he'll never play again only to discover himself sounding even better the next--

( A speech about the value of his failures
A love scene with silhouette for floors
Close up on the cover of Still Life With---
Mike Tyson's legendary lisp
The monotone limitlessness of a woman--
of her imagination
picking out benign betrayals and enclosing them with the daggers and dope

slurs into the clone of really bad movie which isn't hers


Only to discover a luck in the toy city is almost as legible as her so-what, low down fantasy clown

Only to the numb decoy he was, is her loyalty to the facts a matter of truth/relief

I'm just relieved what keeps walking in a cycle of leading roles is the memory not the life itself (?)



Sunday, December 19, 2010

Fictions of the Interlude P. 4

Sometimes my offerings are presented to a footprint
Tributes to the rejuvinating powers of your misspent life
(you're made to do it until you get it right)
Had you done the William Tell thing before(?)
or.. never show surprise
What is a god complex then if not that or like when I said





how you understood me, knew exactly who I meant

Friday, December 17, 2010

We intend to redefine..

home, as a reflection
That with which you identify
That in which you see yourself (or notice)
That effortless recognition within a fast myth
That blind shelter in the fountainine train falling from the skyline
skyline brought down with it to an earth she finds you, brooding
like a derelict horse in crashed lightening who found more purpose in jail, behind the gate of consequence
and after the escape felt impaired by freedom which we also intend to
redefine as a kind of danger, kingdom of forgetting, a bond too strong for some
(consult the oracle again to see if you can handle..) some
times I say, if I could just get away with my/
he'd go straight sure as fate for it never is too late for a man

But once we accept our new definition all this falling turned to dangling
down the hood of a cliff or from the good egypt to the gypsy greece we keep traveling as if that was the only way back
(home)
a narcissism to large to send in one place


But still, me, they never encountered
They never encountered me?
No. They never encountered me.



Thursday, December 16, 2010

A flying-high-coup



In every bigot remains a jagged heroic appreciation for his role in the discovery of chaos. He is of great consequence. He must not change his mind. His decency could ruin everything. The sequence of events is from low to loud and he is the rotating tassel of a graduated dream

It hurts to stop there, so early
But it's important that we do
not rhyme hurt with Mister Charlie
But find our own
kind


Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Diamond Advert ( Choreography for 3 Women/Maybe I'll work on my ratio some)

Spectator, spectator

Time capsule ambassador
I see you out there
bobbing your head to the rare up ahead, keep walking
right up to me
toward our duet as in dueling or
grouping, whatever, my undiminishing can take your presence and turn it loose on the right hens
I see you out there punishing them of their innocence
You are part of the team, then, not just by default but because you can take nothing from me and you give me nothing I need but take your gaze on me and turn it into a way of seeing, not watching, watching is no skill but capital, an ideology for cash money can't get the wealth of meaning me, nor the fractals on my gown like augury to your backfiring, nor a black christ of the andes, nor a man with the trait of camera on his gums, chimera, fake prodigal son, it happens right in front of your death that the empty spotlight lifts you back to life and it's not black magic, the magic is blue seminomadic bucolic people calling themselves entertainers are losing our minds one by one. (It's after the end of the word/thought you knew that yet) Kanye West is a victory for the west, Kanye West is a tragic disappointment for the mythscience and miners and minor birds or the canary kind who warn you it's time for new heir by the woozy way they climb and limp to a narrow surface. Informants performing their tell as they spiral downward and land on their jewelery to survive, it's cool (I'm black too). Loom, my loom is burning an address into the hemp of feathers and first nights, it's cool, it says you can wear me anywhere, you can put me on the record as saying if I had my way I'd have been...(the first noun in change hanging on to an assassination for momentum was so lazy/ideal, hang on to the last angel in history instead, re-invent him, get him out of the ground, rent him a nice prairie home companion like your unplanned self) And when he blames you for loving him, it will be the most intelligent thing he's ever done by diamonds. Don't buy diamonds. Don't buy them. You can't buy them. Men die to the scrawl of their half-hearted contracts, recording, or black love of the andes, leave us in the earth where we belong






Tuesday, December 14, 2010

The West Invented the Audience (to try to convince us that was the reason we made our music)

It was bizarre
It was the blizzard gnarling the youth of the earth to the look of bicycle accidents and the superiority of silence, even promiscuous silence, in a mind with wheels
like mine
No thing is ever final but the word itself, I have to repeat that, I have to tell you again without reminding you, to remember myself. I'll put out the jasmine that was in the air then the way you put out the jazz man, put him the street-- that was not democracy you crazy mockingbird motherfuckers, that was not even getting to you or past you which was bizarre, which was the blizzard gnarling the use of the earth so you could no longer exploit its dreamsooth-- In winter, the fertility that lingers is forced upon the mind like fame on him,
which isn't why he kept playing the giddy statue too-range-for-you music but it's why you paid him to/think (so), to design a world for growing, like a child, is the only way to experience snow-- those second chances



Monday, December 13, 2010

Remarks are not Literature (This Conversation is Missing Your Voice)


King Pleasure Version


There-I-go/There-I-go/


Dare
I
go

Please don't be clever, no

The curse of it leaks like shelter into itself and

(so-what)

Romance is the natural leader here.

Happy endings, are still required

So, baby, just get yourself together,

do it soon





Sunday, December 12, 2010

Self-Portrait in Euclidean Space/


Never front on a crew that you can't evaluate

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Translations (I thought of the sun)

Now, whenever I hear radios, even just one, not all twelve at time like you must be hearing-- In my memory, the interval we spent staring at one another in silence was endless-- Toward a time when people would fear authorities and not the criminals--Lotus stems/lotus stems for momentum, are unbreakable-- Weapons?-- Depends, or objects of pure grace, the last of the soft ferocity on the planet--So what is this, a showcase, what are you saying, what are you saying







Friday, December 10, 2010

Never Argue With the Movies

For everyone who decides they cannot afford to not be glamorous; we have the blue magic; the magic is blue. Good kid, say when. We are new to the implied increment of collapsing and can't even detect the weight of our own saturn anymore or gladness. Every few years I order a new trampoline and drop it off the middle Riverside Park. These are graffiti for when words are the least of it.






Motion Studies p.4

Le Cri from corinne Dardé on Vimeo.

Ici et ailleurs

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Commercial for Brand Name Running (Exchange of Portable Monuments)



If I seem to you to wear lavender lips 'gainst the eaves of the world, you must be--

I'm not saying that shadows are racist--

Usually insight comes to those who defy things, first of all the petty forms that sneak into their own life

Defiance is better than betrayal, but why rate the trifles in a field
next to a parking garage, listless paradise franchise goblins, immigrants from the lie

Gods were never decent enough to settle for us as were are, if you believe in that kind of thing, where the thing is power and it happens to you and not by you or usually both and knot

saying that shows are safe places to speed the heart in but what you can't hide is hard not to have like anything the painter mumbles shows up during disregard or yes or no digital Cannonball Adderley Live at the Club or how a Statue of Strauss, the Waltz King, covered in snow was the inspiration for Miles' In a Silent Way, which sounds like I hope to feel most dusk

Every song in the western world is a protest song; like worrying that comes true, so, alright, fine, I'm worried I'm gonna win or worse, pass, and I don't know what game that is you

called a heart

polyphasic as you are
why I
sleep and why I don't

Why the Black Panthers were recruiting at Newport

And the black was not redundant

There were all these kinds of one to land on the path to a fitness fit for television, you must be--

which still isn't betrayal until you notice and keep going



Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Casa de lava


To-come-from-leaving



It is difficult to sneer at faith

That's the writing poems part. As for their reception, suppose you're in love and somebody's mistreating (mal aimé) you, you don't say, "Hey, you can't hurt me this way, I care!" you just let all the different bodies fall where they may, and they always do may after a few months. But that's not why you fell in love in the first place, just to hang onto life, so you have to take your chances and try to avoid being logical. Pain always produces logic, which is very bad for you

Monday, December 6, 2010

Sunday, December 5, 2010

A Dictionary of Imaginary Places



This is a play about counter-espionage
It has the defects of having being written in wartime
and if there is a moral it is that people who work for certain organizations have very little time for doubt
There is a girl in the play, named Heather, but her name could have easily been--
(for home; for war; for honor, for Shango
And if being under fire makes for defects, it may also provide a certain vitality

And if you see us on the street don't come too close; you might catch our love of life

And fanatics do not make good friends



Saturday, December 4, 2010

The Tarred Spotlight



The other at my side/who marks my sides/my emphasis/my utopia/ is my daily secret/9 views/see-me, see-me/I exist/so that when we love we are subject to a double regime/the gentle severity of an approaching /as if it were the seasons/you become the ruler of an empty city where dialogs are often mute/this does not prevent them for taking place/transcribing/luring you to the outskirts of all audible roots/to pull them out and replace them with an empty fertility/ a mutation drills itself into the vacant, into the hollow--and echos/until every idea is an object we are so very busy becoming our own ideas of ourselves and some of your ideas are the pride before the fall/to restore displacement something must evolve/then something else/then the things at our sides/which mark our sides in the green of complete mythology/in the clearing out of the blotch of days, the secret becomes the law/ then the walls of a no-longer empty metropolitan-metropolitan/ I hope to never be polite but always/ we are here to lose our hopes to their performance/for example/ we have a black president/why did we do that to him/but we love that man/we hope he wins again

Friday, December 3, 2010

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Agora Você Orfeu (Day 15 of a yin moon, p. 1)



'Not only he who hates us or envies us
Limits us, weighs us down: who loves us too
He limits us no less'

When am I going to tell my sons

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Progress and Other Guesses



And the necessity for moving forward regardless of how ill defined the destination might be... tapestries, pastures, words like that, ramparts.. stark relief

Free time is dangerous, ranging from tyranny to tyranny including ecstasy, shame, stretching,

jump, turn, rotate, get the knee over the foot

Sand Dance for Sophia

Give your soul a myth

affectionate, haughty, electrical, billow, clone if you have to, twice of you

Once upon at time, he has conformed to what he loathes because he no longer has the passion to feel loathing so intensely

You can't undo this action

Therefore, we are obliged, most of us, to meet the tempo of the present and the future with reflexes and rhythms which come from the past. Change that.

Blame new kinds of perception on new kinds of motion, the good blame, attribution, cross-breeding, somnamblunace, the atom bomblasts, fast car, fat and starving, meridian and meridian, free time is dangerous but if you deprive time of cause and effect by way of fear, does it come to a stop, constrict, the safest most hideous... what time is it ...do nothing 'til you hear from me..what plane this is

because neither knowledge nor imagination comes easily, it is buried in the pain and pleasure of one’s forgotten experience

and the appeal of authority has been that it would restrain us from ourselves, help us forget

But I really like myself

and our theory of time is the ultimate authority, a self-negating monolith we must vary, we must very vary

What makes this a special language is that it cannot really be taught—if one shares none of the experiences of elation and exhaustion which it is equipped to describe, then it seems merely arch or vulgar or irritating. It is a pictorial language, but pictorial like non-objective art, imbued with the dialectic of small but intense change, a language for the microcosm, in this case, man, for it takes the immediate experiences of any passing man and magnifies the dynamic of his movements, not specifically but abstractly so that he is seen more as a vector in a network of forces than as a static character in a crystallized field

But, what is so wrong with a speaking still-life, pictures of people talking, what's so bad about machines translating:

”He was liking me very much. All the time he wants to be with me. I was loving him” into "I really like myself" When did this happen.

When this is happening I can't tell what time it is except not now, way sooner than the past, way past the future, not now

and the necessity for moving forward might be as dangerous as convincing yourself you know what forward means while picturing yourself as a girlchild gliding around the house sprinkling petals on the furniture and thinking that is still happening right now if I just remember right/ now I'm seven and the couch is full of jasmine petals and I even try to eat a handful and you tell me it is poison and all that poison pens around in my blood for the leader reflex capillary, welcome note, and I only survived because I remembered/ the hard color of your hand broke the flowers out of their warp and they were rice paper again and we were black and white and saffron and jasmine and free time and dangerous, you can't undo this action

Monday, November 29, 2010

3 Songs



Saturday, November 27, 2010

En travesti, in veer, no corners, no warm gun, no trappings, nor travesty, happiness



Yellow bright bird, very auspicious, to be situated in its traffic, combat, to be made like that--
yoked light heard, every slaughter the shepherd and the killer of sheep switched vocations and this made the sacrifice unnecessary or an aesthetic prance and if you can handle the way it red you were sent the yellow bright bird and told to take her and when you couldn't a romance developed, an intense loyalty, swell, autumn leaves, very auspicious, except were you doing your job, did you bother the allegory, would the job be superfluous if we switched places and you were the yellow bright order, and I was to take away the corner that connects us to the elaborate nothingness of returning, turn it into a nest and abandon it as a form of reaching it. The new thing is that if you can consume the details of my form you will find no constellation of accidents can alter it except it kept getting brighter and you felt very drab about noticing the seven walks as one stride and we watched them diverge to prove it was not worth proving because doubt was the first walk, a dirge so dirty it buckled the golden buckle of the yellow bright bird landing on water to put surface under the second walk

Friday, November 26, 2010

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Never Trust a Pilgrim Day (for surgeons of feathers and mineral futures)


I could never hate a land in which I'd seen a scandalous sunset

Nor the things they (setting) dim up
north of the thinking, the timing such
white phosphorous bombs were dropped off like pilgrims on the porch of my momma country
(scream uncle)
Where did all this harvest come from, did you grow it,(people in sorrow) did you pick it, did you pick up, and I put it down
in my machines made of words this one turns power against itself, proudest power, creating an absence wherein you rummage for a surrender so complete it negates itself like asking nothing from others and imposing nothing on others but being others when you need them, and where did you gather seeds and where did you plant and how did they grow and was this survival or a fairytale interrogation or do you underestimate the tribute this dalliance will demand or love the tyrant love the ruler love the king-- A Free Man of Color, now through January 9th only, is playing at the Lincoln Theater, a re-examination of what the Louisiana purchase took from New Orleans which is where I'm from during fever season even tiptoeing over the myth it woke up covered in aluminum in hopes of communicating with somedebut planet to say come pick me up and take me to that theater I will tell them how I was there and what it was like and the price and the seamstress by night nightbus by night white phosphorous bombs were dropped keep your promise, write home



(And in which direction does this most appall/appeal/upheaval all over
a brief history of grace

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Ascent

Advanced Work






Democracy came back all, Inamorata, Inamorata, I love tomorrow-- Foucault said we're all crazy in the middle of society, advised staying at the edge while I love tomorrow-- You will be punished until you give up your commitment to madness, and you will be punished until you give up your commitment to blackness, and the punishment is madness and the punishment is blackness, Foucault said. Thinking became another type of labor and if you didn't get paid to do it, you stopped? And if a thought could be demonstrated it became a weapon and the punishment, and you wept. And if you could be hurt by this you were crazy and would be punished until you gave up your commitment to tomorrow, and the punishment is tomorrow, and you pressured peace into a stranger's arms. And it kept going, like voters in line to say maybe, maybe so, but at least we make these choices, I voted, I voted

You want to cultivate your soul? In filth like this. You want to cultivate your soul?

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Etymology Dub




Care
also figures in many "similes of indifference" in the form don't care a _____, with the blank filled by fig, pin, button, cent, straw, rush, point, fairground, snap, etcetera

motives for sound

and though at first our various establishments tried to prohibit their contact, they could not effectively censor our listening and understanding

no one speaks of compromise

We're changing every former Batista fortification in a school. School cities we call them

The head is up again ( in moderation, non troppo, used to modify a direction via a tempo, allegro, allegria, via a trope, the one, via a knowing, may not seem like Babylon until you speed up the farm and slow down the city, looking for the famine on sugar when it's not on the books

I suppose this is how the word came about, as a form of its disappearance, you were tricked into finding it and this was a good trick, this was the source of all god
and some marx
and most music

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Itinerant Troops/The square root of this very moment



The advertisement for the seven and a half foot pre-lit trees reminds of the Mason-Dixon line and other invisible come-down giants Ulysses, Oxen in the sun beats speech into money hungry you'll see but only when you're brave enough to see explicitly, of sedges and rushes but having little to do with seeds' taxonomy and not enough to do with the womb beneath you and the tiny little machines in her hair and your ass reflected in the tv screen, a 21st century love scene there is nothing wrong with our culture there is something wrong with you home depot going mother nudgers and husbands from when god was famous. Will anything survive popularity? If not our love. Not even the meat. The sun itself asks to be disliked as if asking to be saved. Do you listen, queen of all ears, do you hear..Not even the doctor is in... and out and what do you want to cure, to keep raw is what curing means at the root, what the sun proves to its early order of letters and the fuzz of the future, it's morning, we have news from the forest but we'd rather have it from before we stabbed the word into meaning I want more in the form of less so that each individual thing must mean more, sometimes, othertimes I advocate looting for no reason it is too safe to say you want something until you want none, not one thing gypsy of the meter made you pay to be still and you let her

With this hopeful outlook the book of changes comes to a close



Thursday, November 18, 2010

Footnote on the Blueprint



The organ resolves itself
of no tunnel, a tone
The Huns marching over their own swooning nexus
of overdrawn attention, to produce their halt in the blood of what went on
and every septic and chronicle they trample is a scream ecstatic captured at the tip of it in the ruby between 3 eyes looking through one especially
There are fiends who get most high on hiding from what they are looking through
then press down the taxi window and scream something antisocial or aristocratic into the crow like
I hope you live forever, your sermon disclosed in an automatic gun for fast continuous firing
Or The lucky scene from Waiting
for Godo
t,
in which one of them dances while the other one thinks
though there is no communication between the moving and the thinking, besides a tone
A species implies itself there, and what are we doing
wounded in honor, we choose to go to the moon because

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Symphony for Improvisors



We've all heard of the word
And while the Architect dreams of scarring the earth
Then dressing the wounds in monument--
Cisterns of audio color such as the flag, court his pedestal toward centrifuge--
Drapeau, See him dream the pose you enter
our denouement, see him undoing the corollaries of what for and what force
re-animating the draft to where the air courses through the house, just passing over strings and you notice yourself as the air and the strings, the heir you are, not just passing

And you study that idioplasma in search of the signifying monkey-- How did we come to call these living things word and these mortal things men without learning the difference cannot be uttered or bridged or marched or navigated, just released--you can't even tightrope up to it with feathers and a chronology but you trust that there are strings-- no such thing as signifying only finding them in-the-absence-of-a-center-of-gravity understandings about interdependency, (now you do the cabbage patch with my body) (practice ridding the imagination of habits besides imagining that everytime you even think of time with no contingency, as a series of positions or an open concubine, you
occupy them



The rest is a rumor spreading inside you like why you so truant you believed it, you be the monk-ease, teaching the fire how to speak to jump
When we've all forgotten the word, how funny to feel in a field together hunting its ghost for hints and getting high on assumptions I heard, I heard that's him over there, on the every side of time where I'm euphoric as a new knot, as I knew not, as I new knock the word from the monument from the animator from the man from the wound from the wounded earth our chandelier hung in the pirate's imagination like a choke or jackpot, inextinguishable and nodding off its own plot

Monday, November 15, 2010

From the Committee on Tiecooning: A Manifesto

To keep our ghettos autonomous and pure
To keep our monuments in the ghetto
To keep our teeth felt and gold
To teach the metallic autumn a smile
can assimilate to anything, but not a soul so- sold
To keep our gods high on dope
To keep the word guessing at its own meaning--
If you were told to pick yourself out of a lineup, who would you choose
To let them believe they got by with something
Besides desire (the heron sits immovable for hours, then in a split second..
Besides longing
To let them believe they deserve something
more kinetic than self-destruction, to put them out of their vicarious
To keep our minds unmediated by the mind's over-vernacular having the reclusive charisma of an attack on all, and nothing
Autonomous
Pure
The private relief at their disapproval
How slow we have to run some intervals
To let them understand, that this is a fight without quarter
and we are very fast




Sunday, November 14, 2010

A Gathering of Promises



88 tuned drums
An errand too close for statement
the talking proximity, dumbs and goes human
to meet the Journey Agent
The duty free gift to the traveler
Everybody's hear's heroic
from the point of view of violence
the eternal progenitor of dream/scores and relic
un-enough to tell
The mechanic
oil on his hands, that if he can just get to her in time
the greed will become erotic, and vanish
like adolescence
black messengers
If one of them breaks they all --

They all like
that wasn't mine
I'm renting these vows from the language west
All I own is the bill and the woman-- yesterday's

Revolution
Revolution
Restitution
Sunshine sung
I don't even know anymore
lyrics that don't shunt from allure
and leer and risking your detour for

The 88 wills of maybe
there's a spirit when they combine
this close way we either destroy one another or make one another better destroyers
from of the point of view of royalties
We play the song as long as we mean it (pays)
And when it is memorized (popular)
We blame its sudden emptiness on memory (killer of hope/lore)
I know it too well to listen
Didn't even notice it was on
It is my heart when I wake up singing about pretenders with dingy fists in their signs,
that borrows and burrows
an autograph from a lithograph and when they happen to land in the same pace
promises to live that way in time to make it true

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Open Fire


If this were about dignity you wouldn't speak so homely

And I wouldn't be the poem telling you, (see) reminding you

to dream outloud, spend less about sleeping cause it seems like it's made you even

homelier, linear, you make even more sense now, dressed like a clown and drunk like cloning yourself for a late night

on the town? That was fun, at least a paragraph's worth of mediocre Keith Jarret unremembered, at least when he called you a nigger in my head I heard the word

for synagogue ( I wanted to hide from my own thought) and pictured an army nurse and you were a white man for the war so the stethoscope couldn't find your drummer, (seek refuge) (how to love someone you used to like)

I was not that mean, you were not that word except on the town

I was that powerful

sunny never in sin-agog washing the drums in foster english

My grandfather is rich and white, my father was rich and black

they were born in the same year, 19-- they were 19 in the same year of the repeat drinking fountain and there is something too kind about that

reciprocal, two kinds of history, Guuuuuuurl, I see the circus from every seat, a tent so flimsy I called the co-national guard on them
both, and they are my dearest friends
--
What kind of drum his dream was I having the archeology if this were about digging you wouldn't be so close to the surface and I wouldn't be the palm gripping the balletrusse in the air just before an earthquake all the animals make silence, all their eyes make sense to tremor on the town late oneofthose knights in the legends too obvious to tempt you into its depraved nihilism even though it goes on mentioning angels and unicorns you sense the lunge and the violence of some Rumpelstiltskin meets King Midas, everything he touched turned and turned into dervishes retrofitting his curse versus bless rut with leather to express what kind of drum his dream was beating

And those too lazy for telepathy call it peace

seizing, a treatment, where do we go from here

--

It is time to move

from yourself to yourself again

Tectonic merriment, mona lisa lessons, diminuendo, the men go mad getting made, having it made and broadcast and played back as suggestion

What is stark raving as a nation under orchestras of shame-ammunition-wayward-reignblur-manifest-homily-major-separation of kent and state-may the lord have mercy on our souls

--
And they are both veterans, they both fought in a war, and gladhanded their drums as dreams in which they met as champions and supplicants in which I am having in the space between

A cocktail, several roosters, a rifle, scooting through the rough lace of my tutu, my Tutsi, Miles' Tout de Suite where we almost fell for it, we almost taught the word back through itself, and both fathers kept asking to trade places that day on which no girl came between them no nigger-calling, no power plan, all the animals made silence and nothing that made sense was anymore
trusted

even what a soft lie some silence is
even what an ally is if every character in a dream is a representation of an aspect of the self or reputation
even when they are getting along

Friday, November 12, 2010

I keep mistaking you for yourself



You keep mistaking me for myself

We can't tell if this indicates a pact

a disagreement or

the last mirror in history is a murder/scene or

dismissed or

the last murder in history is a mirror/scene

or dismissed

which is a suicide

for witnesses

which are eternity

which is a war crime

(abuse of human freedom)

which is a love story

which is when dieing

restores the will to live forever

Exquisite corpse, rotating

Yes, these men are killing each other

Yes, these men are in love

I promise I won't recognize them at the same time

the two feelings I mean

the two men

(the tired paramour of ivory/black, or black/ivory)

The ten thousand things they meant from "each/other"

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Duets (Autological)



I love my robots

Statues with flickering eyes

How else is a man

walking down the side of my building

Otherwise---Otherswives

knowing the same prayers

with rueful recognition

And one of the busiest afterlives in history

It had long been Rome's attempt to annex Egypt

We pray the same prayers

Could you help me take

this man off their train

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Technologies of the Sacred



In another box, Ray Charles' original recording contract signed with an X

Then the garrison (guerre-resewn/recent, rescind. No. Gare, train station

Then the road became only three slashes

As when sound reorganizes light

Blue Lake 1 is 1 ingredient in the style I refuse I eat, which sounds so beautiful in your mouth the most

Where blues is the sound of an approach, from above/behind in two time signatures, but also from all sides and behind just became an anagram for the anxiety of wishing just became the rise of it in everything wise and low and wakefulness. It was slick. (That way). The latest lake is like you, the way you are, ice shanks into it like timber or kindling and there's a fire to bring furnace

We froze in the wild rabbit's eye, not a trap, you'd say a trip, I'd say it wishes for us to admit something the shape of it,

That the sound is available if the shape is: and of grammar we plan our city, a planet of I-shapes you can't surprise me except by being yourself . I was almost shy again

and

If buildings spring from my mind what is my mind building, spring or off(in)/spring, the primal office, or Oppen's capitalist, the hills and slings of a silhouette, the softest pill if you let it be not the safest-- In another box, my father's original recording contract signed with an X. I read the city back and all it says to stay is a singer like the heritage has me, to keep/kept singing

Monday, November 8, 2010

Our secret is the power of inheritance

She wrote: 'We remain silent because only we know the secret of the city's power. Ours is the secret of all cities and it belongs only to those who own the cities future. We are the guardians of the old city and our secret is the power of inheritance. That's how we got where we are.'

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Dissociative (the endless succession of identical moments)



Don't give me that
Don't give me that
Don't give me that the-future-has-an-ancient-heart shit,
The ancient has a future heart, neither is adequate
Calamity, calm, clan, starship, a barge or badge or cattleman invention or inventory mis-taken of the natural world wherein the recoil somersault fetus rebirth business gets easier when it doesn't give--Give as in buckle, and also concern. To not strap the world around the kind of hope that associates tasks automatically with feelings, as in accumulation, as in if you just do this, that will happen, But thenagain sometimes it did, again and again when you didn't expect it, having worn the corrections of one winter to the next with close to pleasure, the mafia shows up
Salt Peanuts
Salt Peanuts
There are bleachers
There are uniforms
We're all there, eating popcorn in a stadium or parlor, your everest jungle, our far-near young

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Rehearsal/Steady the Helm of the Heart






Ok, as a robot gets herself together, and we do It, and we get to the middle, where we have forgotten our feelings of love, you will helpme, huh?


Steady the helm of the heart

Young man Harlem

Steady the helm of the heart

They say every distance is not ours

I cannot believe the conditions that produced a situation that demanded a song like that

Blue man Harlem

Steady the helm of my heart

Friday, November 5, 2010

Surrogate Language



Wanting to be wistful, plus utopia, plus you told him what a pimp was, the dancers who fall so they may rise, (and a movement is discovered), he writhed somewhere in a cave of the heart and re-emerged with a length of red yarn--saved (what does that mean), wanting to be wistful, plus utopia, so far

and bold and deathly white, the day will not save them and we rule the night

Plus you told him what a pimp was, plus utopia
such that he bowed, what is black power, out-and-out silence, such that he listened louder

I dreamed of Minton's Playhouse with a rooster on the chimney and then suddenly we were back in Iowa, the 80s, raisin eyes on the snowman, (hide the sunman) tucking a scarf around a cylinder, then back at Minton's, until I woke up laughing with jazz in my tears and the basket of frozen grapes by the bed had melted permanently. Nothing is quite as timebound as waking up in the middle of a good dream to an even better one.
It only happens
to pimps and poets
so the whole world is at risk

Not wanting to be wistful
Not being wistful
Any/more
The symmetrical flesh of winter fruit
Is just as lush as you remembered
sipping amber cider
It's safe to disappear
simultaneously,
together
so safe there's no need for it
or utopia
the cry of myth has deafened the cognitive aspects of the city,
to speak we have to move
like citizens of one another,
like if dreams don't have climates, admit they're too comfortable
Sideways in the subconscious, honesty looks as obnoxious as lies, admit that too
Don't be so boring, keep producing ideas, destroying ideas, simultaneously,
together

Plus you told him what a pimp was, plus you loved him anyway, the grapes melted into a shaken purple, less royal than earlier, prettier, pettier, not as beautiful, hide them in the snow, plus utopia, plus the socialite doesn't comprehend the difference between outrunning his imagination and he was what a pimp was, when you loved him anyway

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Everybody's Brass Fantasy



Heckler to the:


Senator/Nerve-Center-of-Good-Times/Free Person/Big libido/Big Sanctimony/Anchorman reading cards if I ask you to improvise I only have eyes for you do you get up and twirl into a curtsy/do you ever get belligerent about how ugly your ideas are and wish your work could be so beautiful it hurt but when it keeps being hideous do you give up and teach your kids to clap at every transition until they can't hear themselves think and their hands are so beautiful it hurts but you have to compare them to roses fidgeting in the almost rain




Hide Your Time (pentamorphic)





In the literary equivalent of the music, doing the fewgoodmen Watusi parody in acts not of calculation but of the spirit informing the mind, the gig might live in tarflesh and Sapphire or

why she decides to braid her hair, why she decides to braid her whole hair into a statue
while staring at the almanac glossary, while the alms stack up to what-pass-you-don't-miss-you
People get too comfortable, the people who come from trouble get too comfortable with disorder---help (them,be
Folkloric, we fly so high in grey area the hawks get dizzy, hauling the air lean on me I mean it, no binge beliefs
we sleep on the wind
selling the glow off suffering, I swear from the vintage kimono I wore in the morning that my subservience was just about to kick in when it didn't

I love him

That the pride of cowards and coercion can't beat the pride of the one who listens to ice melting for a living and can still afford to make it stop

and dance with me til we scarce running out of blues but there are hue-bare globes frozen quiet for us to be so high you don't know what love is, in the back of the book under Volta there are 2 parallel lines, two floating alphabets, the scent of fresh basil, knowing that it's staged, stays, hanging from the strands of your own mind and never be afraid to kick in opposite directions at the same endangered hope it remains as warm as maybe-- It is spring, it is spring again, I say so

Monday, November 1, 2010

I Didn't Vote for Him, Did You Vote for Him



But the story didn't end there
So we didn't stop there
we have prepared a sequel
Blow the whistle, blow the whistle and
You'll do big ben and big ben is time
has officially ended, we live on the other side of time

Marrionette (suffrage)/He's on the Porch



Run On Buson

Lighting one candle with another candle
He's on the porch
to escape wife and kids
How hot it is
listening as his holiness the abbot whispers
sweet everythings
I really like myself
Everything about myself
The axle- black, don't act so

aloof
bells
(b u y b u l l belt)
a calligraphy of glass, geese
don't get fat on me
3 autumns, adams, crowns in the sand
cannon looking down shells for him
you might catch yourself, dwell
like a ghost
black angel, dwell like a ghost
close-far, closer, that way

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Totem and Taboo (Magic and the Omnipotence of Thought)

Some thoughts on Talking vs. Speaking via a Nigerian Folktale and the structure of the Honeycomb:

A hunter goes into the bush. He finds an old human skull. The hunter says: “What brought you here?” The skull answers: “Talking brought me here.” The hunter runs off. He runs to the king. He tells the king: “I found a dry human skull in the bush. It asks you how its father and mother are.”

The king says: “Never since my mother bore me have I heard that a dead skull can speak.” The king summons the Alkali, the Saba, and the Degi and asks them if they have ever heard the like. None of the wise men has heard the like, and they decide to send guards out with the hunter into the bush to find out if his story is true and, if so, to learn the reason for it. The guards accompany the hunter into the bush with the order to kill him on the spot should he have lied.

The guards and the hunter come to the skull. The hunter addresses the skull: “Skull, speak.” The skull is silent. The hunter asks as before: “What brought you here?” The skull does not answer. The whole day long the hunter begs the skull to speak, but it does not answer. In the evening the guards tell the hunter to make the skull speak, and when he cannot, the guards kill the hunter in accordance with the king’s command.

When the guards are gone, the skull opens its jaws and asks the dead hunter’s head: “What brought you here?” The dead hunter’s head replies: “Talking brought me here!”

In other words my tribe is scattered but the hive's in order, or words are things and thoughts are things. Objects. Assassins. Healers. Herders. Critiques of pure reason. Summertime and the living is,knowing. To present someone as he sees himself is another thing like/Other/thing. It's mean. A scheme in the discussion, so hush, let it show up like naked eyes behind a mask. A fake catatonia. Swallowing honey till the sweet sting of its maker radiates from the throat this dirge, this dirge in reverse


Saturday, October 30, 2010

Balloon Animals



Exile and the Kingdom

If you left out,
The Adulterous Woman
The Renegade or Confused Spirit
The Silent Men (Les Muets)
The Guest (L'Hote)
Jonas or the Artist at Work
The Growing Stone
The Loneliest Camera
The Quotidian
The Damsel In
The Manhattan Cycles
The Jungle/Skyscraper
The Supernatural Being
Straight Outta
Les Incompetents
Lakeshore Drive
Everyday I Wanna Fly My Kite
The Duende
The Duende
Then one day
The fable shakes
Trembles

Solving my mule dreams for when
you let them out

You exist because you have an opposite
So the book was written at a breathless carnival
All spirit and cotton candy afro mouthed
You had one ticket to ride the gleaming carousel
and instead you ran alongside it in the opposite direction
waving like a piece of chess, beckoning
Re-enacting the chapters as they blew away in chimes

What was unusual
The time you wore a blindfold or
the time you looked me in the eye


Thursday, October 28, 2010

Sight/Seeing

Rain/sun
ransom
It rained some
I ran some

Just as rain relieves atmospheric tension making all the buds burst open : :

The Futurists were staging World War Infinity in Carnegie Hall. Packed the place, and got great reviews.

The Mythscience was in Egypt and Italy: Silence, looser silence and most sins aren't crimes

Soldiers woke from comas and thought they were in the theater, not knowing weather to play the heroine or kill the heroine

General mayhem, generic confusion, a sharpness but inconclusive

forgetting protects the memory but we can't

or is it the imagination it protects or does remembering happen in the body

The neat, neat bundling together of nerve :: drums

on your feet or on your knees but we can't

keep from flying now that the mines exist Yes, I'm coming back, Black Dada Nihilismus, I always was

showing you where the edge is not quite

Silence, the only propaganda relentless enough for maggots, and dense motherfuckers, look up, the airplane overhead, the ice machine, the

slicing of bus breaks

loveless sex, falling buildings, listen ::: things you thought were sensual are just sensational, over-disclosed like the numb logo on your t-shirt, either you don't care or you do, but either way you're wearing it which isn't very demure, to remember

that's not silence, I can hear you listening barefoot in the sterile mud of your mind

Silence is a kind of time, a rhythmic aria

from between edges and bridges, tourniquet for the double hipness of the sun is that it ran with me, and the same for returning

Some evenings, the data monkey and the dada money break even
the hearts of black cops just about to raise a baton to cheerlead for the team that pays them, and they just start to weep, and sob, and weep

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Short Speech To My Friends


All you say you want to do to yourself, you do to someone else as yourself

This mostly relates to denial
You must not know, you hate yourself
Until you notice my eyes, fluttering, flushing you out
You must not know you're fascinating unless everything scatter
And I stay about

The sound is fading out
It's more like now sounds
FREEDOM
The sound is really fading out
You're more like free sounds

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

For the Cool Ruler




Courage to the traveler

You are not those selfish travelers
Happiest on foreign streets
Insomuch as we are not travelers
We are not afraid to speak

Father Bear, send word, he's having a hard time
Send word far, I'm having to break time from my heart
Hide it from your complacent futures
It isn't safe to say that life is elsewhere unless you go there
And give it a name