Thursday, July 29, 2010

Sanctuary Policies/Momentum

No fabulous border could swallow all of this bravery
Harbor, harbor me
Trust the Dream Act
The fat fact of my readiness (it's working)
Transparent/autonomous/an immigrant/this is the law we look like the law this is the law we resemble the law we re-assemble, we assemble again, we come together, we come across the blank document as soft as a vault. Be quiet, as I admit my name it binds to shame and timing and other banal announcements.... 'you remind me of my range (again)
A retreat meant as an attack (attachment)
'It is 12:59 and The World is next.' (an unprovoked siege) ' I am from Egypt, I am from Italy, I have no nation, and the prayer service breaks out in cheers over the news of the next world

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

The Cleansed Purpose

Money and a hip nose
Be the hen for the secret men
The inquisitors of the cocktail hour
A Great hideous space of unison
and many many many other things
confidential as what you're thinking while sitting in the rocking chair
when the big turn comes and gone

Monday, July 26, 2010

High Blood/Le Premier Element Naturel

Intimidated by your customs (we want to demolish museums, libraries, fight morality, feminism, and all opportunist utilitarian cowardice)

Sometimes I wonder (why I can love someone I don't admire)

Sometimes during the love... if the life in these charts of rubble in these lucky choiring loops of us..That's the trouble, the wonder, the answer is consistently less, I mean, I mean... yes, you may rest this pettysugar in the dirty taste of western leers, shove me the sweet book I first pushed to you and this motion will make a noise and that noise will take the intelligence of vernacular to decipher (more cowards, mortal silence)... come to find out the fight was the sound of the fight and what I hadn't heard simply hadn't happened, so it's been as fair to resent rumors as it has to start them ( the the centers, symmetry is trite, stop trying so easy)

Then he played more like the human voice, he played less technically, I've been trying to emulate that

Of course there will be the sit-ins, the boycotts, whatnot, not so much our own anger but perhaps the anger that is directed at us (forgotten, not subtle enough to remain

I am able to create symbols, bulls in that short wind toward the antithesis of war is war the rinsed torture at the core of most illusions is the soon come; soon come; soon, a synonym for the way I'm coming to the diamond without a promise, I can make it there as loose and calm as the history leaves us during the love I can make it theirs and ours at the same time this is as necessary to sharecroppers on my father's first land mining for sun to cram its way up to the mantle like a question in the middle of a manifesto... Do you really want to be this intense about Futurism? And the immense pride of isolation? Are there prizes, rayon blue ribbons around the fattest pig's neck as if the slaughter is a jewel of righteousness? Will I be here when I wake up? Foreverandeverand

The double march: pleasure and revolt, and my heart is not the least bit tired

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Sacred Precipice/Three ifs for false cities

Veneer, venir, veener, venir. When–– the event isn't ending it's coming again, it's being saved. What I'm trying to say is that you're a slave–– to what comes out, to any sun, to the loudest softest rage or gear, the new Adidas with the 88 keeps are keys in the key of like a percussive situation with no hands somehow touching the iv(or)y. Take me back to Harvard. Take me anywhere black and patient. Take me anywhere subtle of the revolution. Full of the revolution. Take me on television. Take me off or, ooooooh, I'm telling. Paris is broken in half, so I am. Remember this . Fuck a compass. Fuck a straight perm. So there

And this is not the first time we have played a burning piano

And language isn't our first language

Monday, July 19, 2010

Motives/Circle of 5ths

You move like a worry
The popular word for warrior becomes order or turbulent
as the tenor man mercilessly hits the canopy in the 4th octave (mon amour, my armor, no more
my throat constricts around something primal, a candidate for rhyme
or regret, but not this time, but not this time, but not this time

A melody coming through, with dignity and quick elbows, move out of the way, take the safety with you, of cloth
and rent. Lifeline, it is untrue. It has cost you this cardiogram and you are panicking, looking for blue landmarks on a blue map

The wall began to crack into the sound of your horn then, to give way, to smile itself apart of you needs me to be impossible so I can walk through walls with the same obnoxious rigidity they use to walk through you

The circle at the beginning of your name is a shackle my wrist fits through with enough space left to spell the gateway the ghettoway you recognize it, Baby, I don't care how you get here, your variegated states of possession are on display in this broken basement
And all I ever got out of it was dissipation. Just a mask on a card
In disastrous accordance with my luck, We'll get lucky, It's not a question of understanding it, if you feel it/if you feel it
And your risk gets less and less fancy, more and more substantial, and the elm that spells the lover's names in roots

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Tell your story fast

The syntax of the Middle Passage is 'pack light'
My pact with the black alphabet is, you betta/you betta not/you wanna be(t), a battle for unrest until...
What I would like to say can't not be said
No letters shipwrecked into scrolls in glassbottles adapting to the proof of ourselves
is why we think and feel/ that no evidence is left out of the 1 suit I'm in opposite the 2 of spades
like a prop on the set of a commercial for the ghetto, by the bourgeoisie, have you ever seen one of those...rhymes with grow (up) (not a plant) needles
They're usually about food though, they are never about water. Cold riddles: soda, an office copy room, I cannot believe it but they manage to fit everything into those slippery volumes, camera pans to the paper shredding machine then to the frying pan. Blase as a cape in a kitchen, you're wearing your apron backwards, blase as that way we fly
So far away home for him who keeps a record of most songs in his cameras
Shuttering and shuttering and the next scene is set in a spaceshuttle, we eat meat from a nova
Nobody knows our names, no more, no names know our bodies but there's still hope
for the conversation on Earth and it moves so much faster than words

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Eat a Planet and Go On to the Next One

'I have to go back underwater. We’re turning buildings into spaceships and we’re not telling you.'

Happy as a Jungle

A furrow along the rail let us off, let us slow off

“There is a certain age when a woman must be beautiful to be loved, and then there comes a time when she must be loved to be beautiful.”

Let her show off, let her leave this cast

To be one of the rare cases where a man's most famous song is also his best

We mourn our victories first, the zebra, the two bellied mule rider, the homie who's name I get to touch in an old year book and up wafts the smell of a new tennis ball, just out of the container, just that suburban hand-me-down comfort of see-through neon just that sapphire, safe safe unjust fire we play around in the garage door hoping to start making baskets and selling them (for) sneakers under the new jungle moon so clean and white half in June, yellowgold in April, hopscotch in the shade, one foot falls as the fable of blank dances teaches us to count to still

I adore you
I'd rather not
I'll take my chances
You are my chances

Sing this Work with me, Song

A particularly beautiful person is a source of terror. As a rule, a terrible disappointment... no, not that one

The word 'rule' ignites disobedience, we jump back onto the streetcar as if for the first time

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Perfect Private Lives

Emancipated Spectres/

'For the mode of address equal to the war was silence
so we went on celebrating doubleness
And the wor(l)d was war(n)a(m)ed'

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Entering Disneyland at Dusk/Index from a 1 Volume Eternity

Church smells like the perfume counter, any denomination, any brand (the mall, attack of the attacking things, tacky liberated souls). Aficionados stand at attention with tiny hoses in their hands and this is your chance to walk by without so much as glancing in their direction but you can't do it when you start trying too hard, the culture dies. The Portuguese are honest and call them "cultes" without flinching and we all know that smell memory is the strongest, convinced without even trying to be like deja-vu, like I already knew, like legions of counter-countdowns, (you are the man, you are my other country) more like legends, things that gather ever so lightly so as not to end, so as endlessness matters to the vain and the humble alike, and in equal amounts, and for opposite reasons, the creator has a master plan, that we may not interrupt with the literal voluptuousness of worship, or the abstract cowardice of indifference, that we may remain amused in the stiff futures of our forgone utopias we won't be visiting in public, but late at night when Mister Jones opens the door thinking he hears her talking, to someone, she is still on her knees peeking into her own clasped hands, the lore goes to the lord seer who chases spooks and idols into the choked-up fumes of their own psyches where they speak the propaganda of cartoons and pantomime and call-me-sometime, linear zygote kindness of no scripture or the poor guy in the front is dressed like a professional duck, undressing like a prisoner and the kids in front playing double-dutch are counting-up and up until the girl between the ropes has to trip on purpose, just to get out

Monday, July 12, 2010

RIP Sugar/We gotta get it together

Me going in for my chances/It was evening all afternoon

My father's rich and my mother's good looking and

I have never suffered and I don't intend to suffer...

Except I can play the blues (inflection is to innuendo as..

If you don't like my fence, then why do swing on it

You were waiting for me stop exaggerating, not realizing

That just meant you wanted me lie so life didn't have to be so beautiful and right this time

I guess I could mention that one of them is gone for now (I miss him) (absence is to credibility as...lookaround

But that only changes the river (isn't flying, the blackbird won't move alone this evening

Sunday, July 11, 2010


The story takes place west of the Mississippi River
(Hope for the conversation on Earth)

Later our vernacular term 'drylongso' came to mean 'ordinary,' after the droughts stopped and most people forgot how to speak

Patois, the language of my folk hero. Not only does he personify drought, but he also represents the longing, for rain and its infinite corridors

One time me and a white woman were stranded in a ditch in her car in rural Georgia. When a policeman came to help us she was relieved to see him but I was frightened

The city is yours, he said to me, reaching for my hand first, and I was still frightened and I'm still standing in that ditch waiting for the flood to lift me to its surface

Wondering if it's lazy to wait so long or if it's the new breed in me knowing this is the only way left to raise these stubborn waters

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Friday, July 9, 2010


‘[T]he viburnum sprig had enormous philosophical significance. It was “in excess” in our world. If I had taken a branch from any forest in America and brought it here, I would not have changed the number of branches on earth. But in bringing that sprig of viburnum from Saint Beregonne’s Lane I had made an intrinsic addition that could not have been made by all the tropical growths in the world, because I had taken it from a plane of existence that was real only for me.

‘I was therefore able to take an object from that plane and bring it into the world of men, where no one could contest my ownership of it. Ownership could never be more absolute, in fact, because the object would owe nothing to any industry, and it would augment the normally immutable patrimony of the earth …'

Harlem Nocturne/My Tiger, My Timing

Rigged to find these giddy binaries coiling

If and so,

he hollers let him go,

Between cause and hypothesis,

trip and trick, pretty and grotesque, giant and just gone


There is a hippopotamus, smile

Doubt forces you to touch it

There is a sweet double hipness, runfromit with your skepticalest stride

Up the Sisyphus hillside, then back down

Running is what forces you out toward

All the didactic solitude, all the involuntarily daylight

All of the things you pull back to accumulate chase

They all bloom in the cripple city moonlight as in the fake Van Gogh

who will always be dizzy and accurate with ecstatic torment, elaborate quickness

Saying: I have the greatest expectations

I expect nothing; everything happens to me

This is how

we walk on

the moon

He continues, stepping on the wet painting with his hands until his feet fall into the ceiling like chandeliers

My applause breaks his concentration which was made of warm glass and the associative trivia on the hinge of his mind

(phillip glass, "Two Moon July"; Cover Girls; "Wishing on a Star"; Bjork, "Cover me")

My Trigger, My Timing; My trickster, his timing. This is really dangerous, he says, pointing at the blatant dawn as he smears paint on my lips to keep me as obvious and quiet

Thursday, July 8, 2010


Dancers for the Dance/Keep it Movin

We make it a jest, ask questions like, will you be an active champion?–
When I grow up I promise nothing less than that faint promiscuity of championships and getaways. Will you take this trophy then, he asks, silent 'w,' silence doubles you... we must demand the questions that let us laugh and say no, and say now

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The Changing Same/

Heat is a means of speeding up time
He was even/ talking about your mom, you're lucky
the black man has a loving heart
I've been reading about our leaders back then
In the so-called day, when (race rant scene)
Who's your favorite...quiet as it's kept (hope alive) (what did I miss?)
Deep down inside, I think you wish you were black

Monday, July 5, 2010

Nonlinearnotes/A curve that lies on the surface of a cylinder and cuts the element at a constant angle

"The Caravan of Dreams was a performing arts center located in the central business district of Fort Worth, Texas during the 1980s and 1990s. The venue was best known locally as a live music nightclub, though this only represented one portion of a larger facility. The center also included a multitrack recording studio, a 212 seat theater, two dance studios, and a rooftop garden.[1] The center was located at 312 Houston Street, and prefigured the redevelopment of Sundance Square into a dining and entertainment district. Ed Bass, whose family has participated in much of the redevelopment of downtown Fort Worth, financed the project, and Kathelin Hoffman served as its artistic director.

The Caravan of Dreams was self-described as "a meeting place appealing to audiences who enjoy the creation of new forms of music, theater, dance, poetry and film" that was "architected [sic] and managed by and for artists. The center operated its own record label, releasing albums by Coleman as well as artists such as Ronald Shannon Jackson, James "Blood" Ulmer, and Twins Seven Seven. Caravan of Dreams also released films (including Ornette: Made in America, a feature-length documentary about Coleman) and spoken word recordings by William S. Burroughs, Brion Gysin, John P. Allen (as Johnny Dolphin), and others."

Friday, July 2, 2010


'Since we are bound to get nowhere with such relationships of subordination: it is the coordinates that must be looked at instead.
The soldier and actor are alike: their work is not to show visible horrors, but what cannot be seen.'


"The dumbed-down science magazine

I read religiously says
I’ll meet 2.4 people like you

in my lifetime, though 1.1
could squander their moment. "

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Part Cherokee

'I'm so cool I paint the tips of my sticks blue cause these are my sticks, and I put them in my back pocket' and I want

to do something hip:
a sit-in or something native
on the stand

Port-de-Bras/Love and Dictatorship

If you are carrying
A fire-----arm > you
will find reason< to use it (Just like
if you are carrying a child, you will
find freedoms
to love him (through
[He places his bets with the errors, and the errors wager galaxies] asking

What is the difference between an excuse and a reason; it must be something huge and invisible (you always find excuses first

(indivisible with liberty and
...deliberately, ready, begin, show me your empty hands and the ritual beating system

She practiced
her new voice into seashells and barrels

"he couldn't see how the idea of an arrow (love's terrorism) turning into a missile (war's hymnal air) could have come from someone from Far Rockaway. [He thought] it should have [come from] somebody from the dead in the culture, from the hierarchy" Yard, these are your ears, thus these are your era, E's Flat, Oz flat too, (as an African gold mine

It lilted, ( looted) it fell into fuel and move ' a new line of Writing-proof trains, made-in-Japan'

Around this time we began developing the notion that Writing was actually an act of war, historia Hiro-she-ma, hero, mon amour'' take your share of the hysteria but don't stare at the company,
for too long

There reached a point where you didn't need to kill a person (to like a person)

and went [to an auction] instead, bid on everything but him, bid on gold and diamonds and fires, emeralds, his tie, bold copper going green in the wet arms of a slice of sea...looking-gladly put-out of its allegiance

(the letters have left the page, and once they went up, they had better be willing to fly)