Nonstophome

Outlandish Chorus for the Remembered Way

2012-01-27T03:46:00.000-08:00

Counterspells Against Bad Infinity (cycle 2)

2012-01-26T04:56:00.000-08:00

You Didn't Hear it from Me

2012-01-25T04:09:00.000-08:00

See the blues man of course, or the blues woman, is someone who begins with the catastrophic. The blues in an autobiographical chronicle of a personal catastrophe expressed lyrically. It's a lyrical response to the monstrous. Like the first sentence of Kafka's Metamorphosis, Gregor Samson wakes up from an uneasy dreammmma. The blues responds to the catastrophic with compassion, without drinking from the cup of bitterness, not with revenge but with justice. The blues sensibility. You let that love inside of you be expressed even though it's hard for it to be translated into love or justice on the ground. That's a great lesson in this age of terrorism. What I have in mind is a tragicomic view in which compassion responds to catastrophe. By blues I don't mean just a particular art form, it's really a way of life that that art form helped popularize. That's what shaped and molded me, and I am old school to the core. Unapologetic! Motown, Stax, Philly International Sound, Curtis Mayfield, Al Green, Aretha, W.E.B. DuBois, Leroy Jones, transferring into Baraka...

Mainstream Unity

2012-01-24T08:54:00.000-08:00

House Ceremony (the interior miracle)

2012-01-23T01:30:00.000-08:00

2012-01-22T04:38:00.001-08:00

In Every Mirror...

2012-01-22T02:55:00.000-08:00

And at a classic pace, the scam was in bloom and fading... Hollywood tune-up, that car is a good lunatic's ride to Spago but they kept it in the yard like a pendant dangling from the mostly empty house they shared with what about courage is sticking to its cage as chariot craves its passenger and gets terribly vacant and literary unless the thugs stay near to clean up after it calling everyone someone's cousin until sometimes it is, that shortcut you were after between the camera and the desert rose, raindrops on the lens, reservations and the mask in bloom. The beginning and the end are one again, and it's plenty endearing and vandalised and replenished and immortal

Submission 1973/

2012-01-20T02:43:00.000-08:00

When I am with you, I feel the intensity of a re-known something, you said before pushing me, on the swing, up into the sky again.

Look me in the voice too. The queue of it, the rejection of clues it clutches, the choir of duties and revenue as if we never knew whose rhythm we keep somehow dancing in the abyss

2012-01-20T02:39:00.000-08:00

Forgiving God

2012-01-16T04:04:00.000-08:00

Watch the Heart

2012-01-13T06:09:00.000-08:00

Songs you sing in groups

2012-01-12T06:27:00.000-08:00

2012-01-11T04:51:00.000-08:00

Being close to a deer without preparation

2012-01-10T05:42:00.000-08:00

Why I am a Destiny P.2

2012-01-09T08:37:00.000-08:00

Why I am a Destiny P. 1

2012-01-08T06:05:00.000-08:00

The gallery of broken leaders blows adagio whistles into the sheer of her—hold up...

Don't insult my ignorance, she goes clear on them. Chapter four is about how Monk's shoulders crowd around his heart as a phobia I grow up on, of stillness

Assorted drunks and a singer

Cartwheel nebula slam dunk scream uncle kinda wordlessness fearless, cold enough, subtle enough, just enough, us enough for the city to comprehend the question

Will you give up your death for me?

Am I to believe... you're suggesting.. he is the first fictional nigger to control his own destiny, the reporter asked, the invocation was to present a talented free Negro, partly responsible for his own disintegration?

Yes, as I say, No secrets in Mississippi, no secrets in L.A.

Where I'm from. The break is a destiny of being in there

Real War Against Commercials p.1

2012-01-06T03:18:00.000-08:00

A Ballad in 8 Lines

2012-01-04T07:59:00.000-08:00

Libel for why

2012-01-04T02:58:00.000-08:00

Why have you killed your esp

It's too easy, I mean, it's so hard, to live here

Then you get fearless, say shit like, Negro, your breed ain't metaphysical

The blackest horse is running backwards into a keel of marimba flutters and the rubble we shatter under discusses the Congo as a saddle of mines

You find your hands can go on better without your mind and become a benevolent dope dealer, the whole neighborhood looks up to him and he looks up to his mother.

I think when they turned us into breeders during slavery we forgot the difference between freedom and

Rum pinches the stomach and the scent of cloves in neon lungs fills the yard. Vice is a courtesy

Your eyes are two blind eagles that kill what they can't see

Your hands are two blunt shovels digging into me

In the year of the dragon, lots of men reappear

2012-01-02T04:14:00.000-08:00

2011-12-31T17:18:00.001-08:00

In the tradition of great black queens

2011-12-30T06:04:00.000-08:00

Dressing up in Uniform

2011-12-29T07:40:00.001-08:00

Practical Serenade

2011-12-28T05:07:00.000-08:00

Rock the Party, Fuck the Smackdown,

2011-12-28T02:33:00.000-08:00

'cause when the morning breaks I'ma get my sound back
and all my native weather will be mine.

Urgent Messages for Those Who Would be Real

2011-12-27T21:56:00.000-08:00

We could make it some cold seasons
We could make it sometimes

Hess Runs the Voodoo Down

2011-12-26T04:40:00.000-08:00

Color him father/(In the) Amen Break

2011-12-24T21:37:00.000-08:00

I. Tattooing my simplicity on the pitiable

In this first line of a pledge to new forms I ask, was I not a very successful child? No, actually, the quest goes, I was not a very successful child, the axe halts mid-air, the grind of almost is where I like to go, and stay. Car chase scene. I was twirling, you thought I was running for runway child. The pageant of...you're high all the time, way up in the quicksand castle. I'm better at it now. Now I believe in the invisible and ask every man I meet, show me your myths, and the eligible ones look into me like I'm mirror I grow younger and younger

II. A Black Mass/Mastery

A musician could make an amen track in the morning... and have it in the fast commercial by that same afternoon. The commercial would be for urban living, eating slurs from the journey's register. Selling blackness back to her as self-abnegation, how well its furtive medicine assimilates to commercials. Mercilessly convincing the hits to look honest with suburban eyes, to captivate, but not like captors, my captains for bright mornings. The others have dropped their oars welcoming whatever violence their tribute commands. It's difficult to be the oldest/ youngest mission on the planet, so we gather with our hands in mid-air and plan the silent doves of our lips as they unload us face first onto the rickety plank of entertainment. It's not so bad. The successful child will tell us if we seem fake or too real

III. Copyright Infringement

Any open drum they could find went with Fine and Mellow behind the soap commercial, but when he starts in to love me it is so...The virility scene, the slogan kept going: Wouldn't it be interesting to be two kings at the same time, not the one soul of them both, but two distinct kingly souls...

Counterspells Against Bad Infinity

2011-12-24T04:10:00.000-08:00

Untitled from BWR on Vimeo.

Negro, this goes out to chaos

2011-12-23T20:14:00.000-08:00

Get out the car, come join the party
Restore us to our natural state of danger
That strong fanatic wind that never ceases to blow
She is a rose, she is together like a wind tunnel and they test their struts inside her
And their torched opinions make some grotesque spectacle on the terrace

Today I went into the hills
To make the get-out pleasure last as long as possible
This is how it used to be

A Ruthless Decency

2011-12-22T03:10:00.000-08:00

Commercial for after the end of the world

2011-12-21T03:55:00.000-08:00

The Radio Prays

2011-12-20T02:28:00.000-08:00

For these steel days. Since it was all commercials, we won't pay. Some chameleon miracle glimpses itself growing out of a risk and what patrol slid out of sight like a parrot's eyes stiffen to expose your silences back to you and the grind between stations gets loose and timorous and dealing with the myth that men are angels brought a dent in the friction where I'm coiled, hidden, stricken by the calm of re-appropriated ignorance. It brought about the end of opinions. Their ghosts rejoiced for us and them is us again.

News on the Hour

2011-12-15T23:32:00.000-08:00

No Lone Ranger
No Green Hornet and Cato
No Ma Bowes with his bell
No Audubon
No, the Audubon is the wanderer
No wonder the word is commerce, the calm mercenary went there, where
A perfectly good coma interrupted by nightmares clones a dream

Just Beautiful. Everybody was Great.

2011-12-14T00:53:00.000-08:00

As though the new maximum

2011-12-12T19:21:00.000-08:00

is something about realism, he jingled softly about his not not self in a thicket of cross-promotion he jabbed

The Zombies are here and their kiss is deathly.
They are ruining
jazz
spots from coast to coast. As soon as they start hanging
around
certain
clubs, the decent citizenry
avoid the spots like the plague.
They come
with their zoot suits, long haircuts,
reefers and "zombie"
jive to night
spots that feature
top jazz talent. Soon they become the atmosphere

of a greek attic where tender masks go to shatter and cube the broken glide in search of the healing element is something about realism choking the blue new

Rootwork

2011-12-10T16:54:00.000-08:00

I want to take your hands from my hips and place them on a statue's hips. Call you Ransom Lewis. Lift the dewy crane of metamorphosis from its slum near the alphabet. Am I an open window yet? Broken where the repair swung in. They're not exactly perfect. They're not perfect. My muscles of folded jade. Jade in tidy supple bows. Jaded violin of so-what/Let the heir in. I stand on my toes and they burn and scoot and numb with use. Do dances to the muting tantrum. Be the hip frail damsel. Stretch and rip and go up in burning buildings. Come out done talking about survival. Come out prepared to have not come out. Mouthing It is with such intense joy. We spoke in moans of the colonization of 'swing.' Of the wingedness of the statue's hips I-by-you-put-on

Necessary Submergence

2011-12-09T12:28:00.001-08:00

You wonder how to play without a bridge, how to navigate what is no longer song but what carries song, bone deep in the deep of bones, ghost-ship rises sunken ark of bones, out and cut of the (radically excluded middle) passage. You've got to move from the extended interruption of the unbridged, the chance of the synaesthetic and what it marks and unmarks in the cut, what it leaves and opens to the senses like a subject broken and abundant in some kitchen, field, or studio of representation, of securing and capturing:

This is my traffic over the night

2011-12-08T00:13:00.000-08:00

You can't really mean to look like that

You might get psychosomatic

A countertenor calls

but you won't get the mask

Strike the viol

Touch

oh touch the lute

Aversion to Information

2011-12-06T14:32:00.000-08:00

Rudiments of rapture. Great sensitivity to open doors. Loud talk. Liquid speak. Muses. You follow the same paths as before. Only they appear strewn with roses

Both Yards: A Jungle

2011-12-05T23:33:00.000-08:00

The martyrs have harmed truth

Must be reborn

Both Yards: A greeting / lied too/ Hello meant, don't be new or double, oh hell no

the number one is skill so rude and wild I come from the prize for vacant rope climbing ripple/ the dealer/ numeral/ broke deck: Too many people standing there with tilted glasses and paper fans giving for grace, after a party answers fell together through a wobbling plank of atmosphere, woke up more reckless, thankless, alive with the tangle of transposed variation,

Sunny: yesterday
Sunny: one so true
Sunny: thank you
Sunny: you gave to me

very very romantic, courage

Drew my face in the seed

You got a friend in me. A real friend and if.

2011-12-01T17:22:00.001-08:00

Every record is about a woman
The sensation is not dissimilar to a fix

One Drop Rule

2011-11-30T18:47:00.001-08:00

An Insistent and Eager Harmoniousness to Things

2011-11-30T03:04:00.000-08:00

Men are never white blackbirds

2011-11-29T22:43:00.000-08:00

The Man, The Colonial Man

2011-11-28T14:34:00.000-08:00

Mostly

2011-11-27T02:01:00.000-08:00

Sobriety, the first enhancing manifest of ravage
Very solemn, making friends and enemies in the time between knowing and telling the future I play dumb and ask how long it will be before the corners of our minds curve into these futuristic foreheads we've both been given and we can relax, loot a few museums, discard the word eclectic, it means partially nothing and when you say it everyone can tell you're a phony or a public radio dj. Maybe both. I'm partial to the way he leans though, jockey between fences unflinchingly disastrous posture of the leap--landing. I pull over to let him out of the car but remember he's the one driving and then I know the second enhancing manifest of ravage, the absolute pivot of fortune, I pull over to let him out of the Cadillac catalog but then remember that I'm the one... The man I love (second take) Legacy Edition. Broken mute. Mutiny. Tinsel on the banister which coils like the gears of a floating bicycle, floating in the night of the purple moon, dopey crescent, so there's a slow silhouette of him looking up at me looking up at him looking up to me looking up to him no it's up to me, no it's up to him, mostly nobody has fathers, we decide, dragging the lens into our hearts for a new understanding of inheritance

Watching our faith in prayers, will make you see your bones

2011-11-26T14:33:00.000-08:00

Or whatever beginnings go back to

By way of an effort wholly distinct from concessions to closure

She begins to tell you what she's not going to tell you and a confession unfolds from the hinges of resistance to it and otherwise rigid adherence to tradition would result in decay. All results are forms of decay that must be mobilized toward their opposite and swing like cave regulars or hitmen at the advantage of oneness-- as for the big luck, there's no such deed as luck as a force of corruption we call it tough and tender, rough, unexpectedly gentle: an exegetic refusal to be done with desire spliced into pronunciation spliced into a place in which every note will keep to its neutral truth

Symbolic Fears

2011-11-25T02:49:00.000-08:00

Three kinds of People; Three Roads to Salvation

Those who seek it

Through the manipulation of non-human things:

The farmer, the engineer, the scientist

Through the manipulation of other human beings:

the politician, the teacher, the doctor

Through the manipulation of their own phantasies:

The artist, the saint

Some fascist forces here
And I was never so happy as when I was underground

The blank sin/

2011-11-23T20:59:00.000-08:00

Total Recall/This is a great scene, where he uses the hologram

2011-11-22T03:18:00.000-08:00

The Actual Best Version/Reunion

2011-11-21T04:46:00.000-08:00

The sense I have is that we're being addressed by a barely audible witness and we have to keep ourselves clean of whatever romance of resistance would hear it only as camouflage.

Picasso's bulls, cowering into a telescope, swallowing the moon, come up for area, come up for place. A swooning cash register opens on the sky. We get high... We get high. We get in the right fights. Come out more alive. Silver dollar spyLord beginner ones. Collectible hero statues from the quiet troop of uninterrupted myths too. Commissioner of stardust breathing in. Amphibian, amphibian on both sides of a wide-blooded kingdom tucking an indigo into the unknown again and again together I get the sense the onlooker is a lack we instill in our lives to get to one another so what so what so what so what
sense is since I can I don't have to go there unless I feel like it cause I am the actual best version of what is this thing called.. and that's the way it will have been

2011-11-17T02:09:00.000-08:00

The Man Who Recorded Silence

2011-11-15T00:07:00.000-08:00

To control himself he turned on the radio. He felt that he had a glorious victory locked in his heart. He stooped and flung some stolen diamonds more evenly over the floor and they showered rich sparks, collaborating with him. He had a glorious victory locked in his heart he felt that. I have become more militant, because the time is right. He reminded himself. I have become more time. Militancy reminded him of a joy unwinding as a boyhood unwilling to leave for noise is easier to imagine forward in the omnivorous span of itself, getting closer to itself but too near to touch-- it is the balmy young camera in the early clash with image and broke the rivalry into value and them both into hope for the conversation on earth and then we negotiated and then went looting and that sounded broken into togetherness, andthenagain am I blue, you'd be too. To control himself he turned through the radio. A bloom of tunnels. He wore his pants low and had to scoot around like a radio dial from place to place to pose to (I'll) wait for you and he felt a glorious victory locked in his speed. A swollen limbo. Interaction has become a way to create silence, for me and him. We film a still radio by day. At night we watch the footage and discuss a road it isn't on and how come

The City is Run By Pirates

2011-11-13T18:33:00.001-08:00

Let's face it

The man who learned his name

2011-11-09T01:58:00.000-08:00

The sad vine of invention is not pretending to be a mirror or revert back to childhood but the science couldn't unbegin and undead stars rise again as supernovae. Malik was meek and lost his belt on your ass. It fell there like a wand he had to lift every time the siren came or the shiner showing or the urge to run. Parthenogenesis, c'mon. Is that really what happens. These black ones come out from the sun like children again. Reborn, a double verb about how and when we've been immortal ever since dieing for them. Ten thousand light years away, the burned-out core of a dead star quietly circles a sun-like companion. Though the stellar corpse shows no signs of life, it is a cosmic vampire, biding its time as it slowly becomes its mate. The word vampire will not do in the corridor, nor martyr nor reformer and the categories swarm silent in the anarchy of ensemble time. Nor will the faint gimmick of western spirituality that stole the romance of blood to describe itself to a pricetag: affordable, blow-up fort, and the people who drag it up get low from it, nor will it do. Honesty is a rude grin. Maybe even violent. Get your myth true. Get it together. Live, you crazy motherfucker, and organize your shit. Not a pep talk. Not another mother constricting with judgment. The glory was only vinyl and nullified by how-- The myth was the event it crowded around and held together as it aged gracefully, disintegrating into better music. The lucky loops of my lips promising it back to him. More graceful than meek. A faker. But also so sincere. A sinnerman, where you gonna run to kind who never panics and never runs and is therefore far into the tone of arrivance. Getting there. You know, just about at the place he's expected when a veer rips the page off the rack. A trance of seven colors and come out huffing wishbone ash and draconian and pale as the wind and making up a color or hue for the pause of the unword coming through as love, they like it when a nigga is unreliable. Listening through the vent to him mumbling, can't tell weather the voices are joyous or despairing but I get the strong urge to ask them to stop praying and stand unrepentant in edgeless robes. Malik decorates his choir with a flood of bells felt sane again and fell down in the elevation of it

Ensemble Time

2011-11-07T02:48:00.000-08:00

A Tribe of Starts

2011-11-06T01:50:00.000-07:00

Something else is going on; people might float to the ceiling

Man, God Ain't Like That

2011-11-03T03:15:00.000-07:00

Your Mama Don't Wear no Draws

2011-10-31T15:42:00.000-07:00

Words that we both know are what keeps you, on the stable floor, from the years I saw, nervously beneath you, and now we'll discover a cello with every word that we both know, in between a stunted flow, and I couldn't care less about your mother. Do you know that I couldn't have won so fair, just last year, and as a foreigner here, excuse my longing for a limelight and not a hope in hell, cause it's sad that I'm not at home. And if I change it's nice to know that soon, I'll change back to use words that we both know

(We was there when she took 'em off)

Society Gig

2011-10-30T03:54:00.000-07:00

aristocrats among fiends and prostitutes
before the intellectuals, waiting til snow
falls and only then hiding. Signaling out for each its contoured tribal burden
until they come alive in one another like fountains and hints and we shiver, kiss wrists, fit perfect into a nightshift grocer's routine anticipation of hope for the conversation on earth. New York, will you give up your death for us like a mimic prophet buckling on the grid of yourself. Become less significant and more meaningful. Disappear to be everywhere I mean. Go against the delirium of reputation and become sane and empty the guile into a river and go on to hire detectives who will re-invent the suspense we run on as they solve the river for the static they inflict it with nerve. I dream of pirates bold enough to hide their time. Your thrills grow dull with glamor, theirs grow high on militant anonymity. My meaningful other. Block party, corner store. Celebrate the brilliance of wolves.

The Gospel According to Sun Ra/Everywhere Over the Rainbow

2011-10-29T01:08:00.000-07:00

The Man Who Went to Chicago

2011-10-25T02:10:00.001-07:00

If you think about me, and you ain't gonna do no revolutionary act, forget about me, I don't want myself on your mind

Poem for Speculative Pharaohs

2011-10-24T23:19:00.001-07:00

A great free--
Soul for rent, faculty
trembled as those light score-board-speckled pamphlets about the audacity of disembodiment rippled in the palm wine tannins tempting culty ever since types: sycophants, climbers, to mercilessly reveal how time hurts in the speed of how you see in no time
What I'm trying say-- how you see it so and numb it total, patiently, trial after stoic trial until a child must exist. The inevitability of where we roam is where we get to. Shy arrivance accused of privilege and compliments until the circles got huge like black continent free souls for rent and we went on wanting
Obedience, to convince itself, of itself, but it didn't and so on and so on and 'all songs are crazy'

This is how we flower: avowal

2011-10-23T13:58:00.000-07:00

Things we cannot see appear, singing songs we cannot hear

2011-10-18T14:06:00.000-07:00

Value haunts our lives, they're chanting into the arms of riot police. These are at least embraces.

The trite machine gun wears its stupor into the middle of whispers like a testing/testing microphone and tells us so, sudden announcer, cotton curtains in the singer's throat and the blank stare in stereo of a voice inhabited by justice is so appropriate it disappears

Coming Together/Maybe There's Enough Thunder

2011-10-16T00:17:00.000-07:00

The Oasis is all in a Clamor

2011-10-14T02:08:00.000-07:00

What happened to destroy the cathedral happened to become the cathedral

I pray in those, pet the bull chasers with race records until the patrons notice a theater machine and I'm selling its stages back to them as black Athens as I can– an impromptu festival

Stage 1.

There comes a time to wake up to what's happening
There comes a time to get out of what's happening
I love you more than what's happening

1.5 (It's only true if I believe you)

Stage 2.

They lied, but not enough

Stage 3.

There comes a time to wake up to what's happening
There comes a time to get out of what's happening
I love you more than what's happening

They say the cathedral's repeating itself and life is elsewhere

2011-10-13T01:21:00.000-07:00

Cabaret Tax for Dancing

2011-10-11T02:13:00.000-07:00

Fat dawn, get back into bed

Where the effort to put the fragments together transforms them into what he said it won't ever become like all the ready-made ever seen daybreak revoke itself

On the slopes of a petty, loving, request

Could you create an era that decisive and then behave just like it. Slim dawn, tender wandering, dawn, my jury, the black mass surrounds you hoping to be invited

Once he was asked to describe the revivals

2011-10-10T03:24:00.000-07:00

He called them dead copycats of the apocalypse can't stop myself when I'm real

Two Canaries

2011-10-08T00:05:00.000-07:00

One mo' Gin

2011-10-06T04:09:00.000-07:00

The moonlight's but a spotlight

Antenna, numb antenna

2011-10-05T02:32:00.000-07:00

Prodding the air in a marionette-ish way, catches the Day of the Mariner in black and white on a major channel, one of the stations owned by Time Warner and soft drinks, I think of watching as a kind of duty of the quarantine and looking away as how it got beautiful/his both-ways veil screaming, live, you crazy motherfucker, live, and organize your shit, he promised both ways. Men cry the fists out of their faces and land on the doorstep cradling an apologetic used television. Some women want appliances. Stationary, masculine. Geisha stay up late tuning all the gray aura in praise of aura geisha stay up a little later pretending she's tiptoeing across a lake to rescue miracles from the bravery complex and hope no more televisions show up on my doorstep. Some women want silence. Phonograph in a climate of heroic tinyness, that gigantic time, a fine cylinder uncoiling the words I'm learning in a marionette-ish way up late geisha way too late to tell him the way she thinks the silence is the best thing between them. But Monk knew. Blue Monk. Light Blue. He drew it to her vague and in charge like a governor or mariner he'd say. It just falls, it fills that hunger for seeing or being someplace else

Evangelical/You're no Angel

2011-10-04T02:30:00.000-07:00

What is really this?

2011-10-02T18:09:00.000-07:00

It is the friend. Neither violent nor weak. The friend.

It is the beloved. Neither tormenting nor tormented. The beloved.

Occupy All Streets (theme for the reanimation of the blue in green)

2011-09-30T21:12:00.000-07:00

How does your heart feel late at night. Won't you tell me, tell me, legislator

(He pictures Man-Man staging his own crucifixion)

Sticks and limericks ticking the syllables out to drill and bolt the outside 'til all he can speak is like a child. Pride and road and pride and roadside

I'm a reasonable man man, get off my case. Get off my case. Get off my case

But late at night, how does your heart feel, won't you tell me, tell me legislator

Meet me tomorrow at the studio (two for Slyvia Robinson)

2011-09-30T01:05:00.000-07:00

Two Script Circumference

2011-09-28T02:25:00.000-07:00

After that I mastered the anonymous feeling between my anxieties and my desires I mastered the feeling of transfer and I drove my husband's car in the garden and the lawn turned smashing from the affection steady malachite with health. To hush him, love him more than duty. There was a kitchen and my mother was there while I drove his car in the garden. No animals came into the meal because we leave the parody in the factory working for itself plush wealth of the slaughter, can't go for that unless I came a hunter and we wear the mask in the sure-shore factory of sense, you send me, spondeeing, to leap vowels, to wipe them animals out. But when one says "animals" so generally one has already begun to not understand anything. So when I am paying attention to my language I don't talk about animals. One soul or another. By cool or some other lure or lore, I was distracted into showing my wheels. As domestic as the the railroad station I pray in Sydney Poitier Heat-of-the-Night era mystery radiance and an air-raid rated R for scenes that contain historic smoking and I am not afraid of anyone or anything pushed the FCC over the edge and the idea was banned from movies until language was ruined and rebuilt in these honeycomb moments we have before us all the misplaced quotes poking around in the garden vehicle like cobras and fiats.

As I went on my desires got stronger and my anxieties got them feeling like prices, precise, risky, veteran in purple heart jingle pinstripes at the bar reminiscing over a game of darts and lanterns. Set as ringtone. The leading role goes to the train which makes you enter some destiny between the kitchen and the garden the projector gets tangled and tingles so silver, so close the door of a horror flick everything placid is suspect and we haggled with our ecstatic comfort until the radio would play it and call us gangsters, hot wheels on the garden floor.

Blue Trane for 2 heading west around the harvest got kitchens the size of fame and just as empty after we master the feeling we practice getting it wrong, bending tempos, staying black-- and all the cliches fractured at the clutch.

Say she was to walk out on him. Say it was his biography and he didn't get a role. Say it was his country in the future (romance as backdrop for revolution) and he had pledged her restless propaganda and too many songs caught on camera, caught on fire, and when we learned we could get faster in afternoon of a Georgia faun and get to ourselves that way, we'd shake like rental machines for a remake. We'd have secret historic smoking parties in the train stations and shake then. We wouldn't even invite each other until the train leaped into a pile of cards and shook us together near Detroit. I've kept in the garden, engine running, when he calls to say he's on his way I make up a sigh and a tape deck and it's 1968 and I don't want anyone I'm not afraid of

Inflections/ Toward the pure interval

2011-09-26T02:09:00.000-07:00

What's Really Food (Equinox edition)

2011-09-23T07:13:00.000-07:00

Do you know what hunger is, I don't know what hunger is. I mean, I sit here, I eat, I don't know what hunger is

The harvest entered single file like a sniper had planned it and one by one their weapons turned them into patterns-painters and our colors stained the earth with hunger/hunger

Do you know what hunger is, I don't know what hunger is, I mean, I sit here, I listen, I don't what hunger is

The orchard-last(s)/ regular place, tawny colored pace of children hunting.Bluster of us consuming what they junk. Sun spine, sun ribs, sun kind, a race of minor divas grows up believing in middle classes and the taste of wax on water just beneath the skin of manufactures who are poisoning the new of them. The city is safe from view though we hear it kneading

Devotions

2011-09-22T01:19:00.000-07:00

To have had this hazard on our hearts get bad enough
to have had this discussion appear suddenly like the song scenes in Carmen Jones used to seem silly like a rut in the plot but now I get it and I thought about singing aloud too

A saddle fell from the sky and smashed a hydrant. Gallop if you can't sing, run the answer into the bleachers like a scandal secretly appreciates every indulgence. It's dandyism, it's trendiness again. A sophisticated comment instead of riot like the body fell out of a sad oath

Later on camera I panicked and picked my father out of a line-up to keep him safe from time. He sings for us when we think we're waiting alone at an Augusta bustop and the saddle is on its way down to peg the broken water for hope it has our blood on all kinds of tracks and they take bets on who's bad enough

The untimely south came to stir up our absurd memories

2011-09-21T01:00:00.000-07:00

Personism, A Manifesto

2011-09-19T23:53:00.000-07:00

Just go on your nerve

So much depends upon the red wheelbarrow

2011-09-18T14:57:00.000-07:00

I can't find the rainwater, or the glaze of white adjacent chickens adjacent, chasing the voodoo down, without him

A Participatory Inquiry

2011-09-17T23:04:00.000-07:00

Used revolt as the backdrop for romance to get toward stunning facts like being we called a job a slave, I'm sure you know about that, and whenever someone on the plantation burst into song we'd break out laughing. The text was a set text, a sextet, a group of round players with some antennae at it alleviating the gaze with graze with me, tender pulsing sun squeezing the eyes into yes-- be as when the usual is suitable and dialog is home. So much torment until you just love the doing. A beautiful story, a human being story

Have You Seen Me

2011-09-15T15:29:00.000-07:00

Fitted Whisper (Notes from The Art Tatum Archive)

2011-09-14T00:23:00.000-07:00

If you have eyes, the slave is yours.

A cartoon in there. Propaganda for true love. 88 Solo. Characters. Sure things. Creating the common language as they go. Pier. Dope. The cozy soot of near survival. Stallion approaching Bud Powell, Monopoly/arrhythmia/ my country 'tis of thee/sweet land of liberty/ land where my father was stylized into leopards and leaped.. of thee I sling, land of no narrow trance, no narrow trance in the lantern reflex of being noticed not noticing land wearing any person/ promise /mistress/standardized, you can't plan a crooked entrance into the rubble of bending down at the last minute just in time to admit the balcony mid-air in no-land-care, wary. Quarry between two open hands. We stay there. We look like a poster for staying there cushioning the look with gimme that stallion steal me back from them, can you

(Imaginary canopy, nope, actual anchor image down in my glands limitlessly digging them fountains, smokestacks, capital L. puff the magic ofay dragging out the riddens. We had the kind of time you can't tell when it amounts to space but it keeps expanding until the slave of your eyes shuts at the edge of labor, an entertainer)

Pretend to be jumping when you're actually falling and get called Jordan cause that's as far east as your gonna get without religion at the edge of labor, an entertainer. The omnivorous church door is blank neon octagon minimal coil c'mon and believe oral evidence only from now on if you have eyes the slave steals me back from them when he can, reaches for the edge of labor and palms pick up in applause, bossman, an entertainer.

I mean every witness is responsible for the slackened boundary between devotion and no narrow trance in the blindfolded midair performer, no pucker in his gift, working his way up your supervision

Denoument In Monument

2011-09-11T22:44:00.000-07:00

It seems that the only two happy people in this movie are, ummm, slightly crazy

2011-09-10T11:38:00.001-07:00

Are you a little bit addicted to magic?

2011-09-08T23:34:00.000-07:00

By coming into a supernatural family wherein the word should should never arrive with respect to building a bridge and the word obliged I pumped and deflated ladylike huffy tires while I

uttered it with a sophist's harmonica kit-trophy, not lust, wuthering, custody, my lucky exhalation playing Monk's Suburban Eyes plus you don't cry enough

In a dynasty-shaped fieldway of what backlash exodus painting disappearance into its return/Some myth/ is a filthy brigade I'd like to claim an addiction to/ traces of joy so brave in the tension they break it into that silly hunger to be unknown famous Monk, forever. I'd grown up calling it trust, found out it's just inventory you keep by not keeping count, grown up calling it a county family succulent fairgrounds, rides and prizes, slow down an isle. And can blow listening through this miniature cage and come out singing about a ballgame in reporter cadence: mania, jolliness, dejected charisma, real paid. All you have do is go blind to the sight of yourself to find the idea was crowded with memorization which came to mean looking though you couldn't see anything you didn't remember being told to see. Or pretend you're the announcer at ballpark figure and say what's happening and how much it's gonna cost us

Because you should

Venturing to wonder out loud one day...

2011-09-07T08:02:00.000-07:00

what kind of trip they were on

To the creator of perfect circles

2011-09-05T00:14:00.000-07:00

2011-08-31T22:45:00.001-07:00

Virgo Reds

2011-08-29T18:02:00.000-07:00

The Earth's Caught up in our Movement

2011-08-28T01:47:00.000-07:00

The child asked to draw a profile, draws both eyes. And a caption dancing around the vision reads: All of our heroes have blood on their hands, a demand and a a pride thing. He--row row row ism, is a man denied his own blood and becoming a composite of symbols, thus spoke, thus the entire wheel. So maybe if the symbols would bleed then they won't have to-- prove anything with another man's body. And can imagine a slow anonymous evening in the company of astrosonic friends and the only holy frenzy is that I Respect I Entirely and both eyes lean out to greet the drawer of these weeds kneeling and bowing in a sudden garden simulation of work during an act of pleasure in the ecstatic semi darkness. It was only me, late to the movie, body traversing the screen to look for a seat to turn into it

Wilderness (Fear not Man/Radio)

2011-08-27T01:21:00.000-07:00

you are the man
you are my other country
and I find it hard going

you are the prickly pear
you are the sudden violent storm

the torrent to raise the river
to float the wounded doe

2011-08-24T09:36:00.000-07:00

Drums in the Medicine Cabinet/Love Letters in The Last Hide-Out

2011-08-23T23:18:00.000-07:00

Spike Lee has a real geologist's hammer, he can hit a rock and split it open and look inside and utter some mantra

Kissass is part of peace, America will have to kissass mother earth

Getting back into the machine

2011-08-22T02:30:00.000-07:00