Mingling/Company Blues

Words in the end aspire toward speechlessness and

No– I will not give up nothingness, from the cruel one's feet to the shy one's heart to the utter forgetfulness of motion, fastened like fast sin where rejoice quickens when anguish quickens

We start to get his measure
We start to take his breath
We slow down or speed up to meet it

Let it inflate our memories
without testimony

I don't wanna take alotta time cause I wanna get into Hell,
(which is the next tune)

And also, cause it's a lie
A troubling excess of necessity
Get yourself together
Everyone is a gypsy now
Everyone is searching for his tribe
The error flees before the chaste nymph's eyes
I think I'll leave it at that, cause I wanna get in

Silly Inquistion

So you ask the computer, is this a beautiful composition

And she says, It's a very good quest, a quaint coincidence, but I have a plantation to run

(It's more like you're an eclectic copycat)

Everything under your fingers is strings. Everything under your feet is strings

Everything you're fleeing, you're feeling, based either on the tides or a cybernetic serendipity limiting your wilderness what turns up beneath the harvest forcing you to need it, or nothing

The ultimatum that didn't begin with the word 'if' didn't exist until... 'you heard the tune, now you gotta pay the piper,' and he had a machine gun, and he was shooting at the score, and so there'd be bullet holes, and he'd reduce the score from its wounds, and that's what people would play, (they'd play the revenue). Fine, isn't this a beautiful composition and she says, I wasn't listening, but don't panic, that means yes, I hear you. Wit is ruining your subconscious, turning you into yourself. And as for the problem of choosing between your memories and your dreams. Nostalgia is the opposite of love. And as for the solution to the problem. I was told that I should want a husband. What I want is for this legend that haunts me with proof, for all of its strings to loosen and contract in unison like facts do. And he says nothing, pulls my hair into a shrug, and then I do

'It's a guide to our 'destruction' discipline

There are times when the white critic must sit down and listen. If he cannot listen he must not concern himself with black creativity. I dreamed of a prince who would come and save me from being white . I mean from being black . I became immortal. It's been at least 250 years. I am very proud. They call me "fresh" and "different." "A brown-skinned looker" I wanted to thank them, but they committed suicide to the sound of their own voices before I made it to the auditorium. I made it though. And the craze continues. For reasons too private to expose to critics. I want to say that it is a black thing, or a white thing, but it's more a matter of privacy fetish than affiliation. But if you can stop the craze in its tracks maybe the explanation won't be necessary. Nor that kind of disrespect, disguised as praise, dismissed as praise. Discovered as praise. Until you catch it praying. Until you get caught praying to a complete stranger. I'm moving forward toward my myth

'It's a guide to our destruction'

Factions of the Interlude

I practice most when I'm loaded/ I'm gonna get that nectar, and I'm gonna leave– some inventory for next time / Shoulder fruit, 8 rings minus the suffering/
Can you tell me what they said to my father that made him go numb, go to church, obey the draft whispered onto his torment, and what they'll say to you/ You'll be pulled away from your post of surveillance on that day/ It's not the protection from death we ever need, we rotate, we prefer to be safe from your forms

Access Denied

'Q: blogs and SMS?
A: in a way, behind this young thinking similar
to an earthworm, one thing matters to all
these passionate Phoenixes: to survive and
find in the depths of chaos a chance
to resurrect (cf. Prigogine).'

Township Sounds (Plan Nine from Innerspace)

This ship's cargo is a portable proletariat
Decoy, decoy, decoy, oh critical decoy resist your visibility until it shows your resistance
Go undercover as a newcomer Vigil vigil– dilettante 'til then
Observe the tramps as attentively as the millionaires as attentively as the Caliban, the second largest retrograde of doubt is participation, or at least this is the claim made by the men in cargo



Hollywood really was experimenting with the concept of shipwrecked aliens as Los Angeles' next ethnic minority, someone to blame for the famous noises that let us quit our jobs and raid our own dilemmas for fantastic ruins to invest with the legends of place-spirits and then erase using the space between the legends and the places, suggesting that space is doubt or that patience is conspiracy and that to migrate is to disappear. And even if this is all true, I would remain here, and here, (and here), waiting, Hallelujahing outside of some dine-and-dice emporium so you think you see me



Glory is a rare outcome of greed is a rare outcome of glory. But what about the soil. What about my feet on its biased surface resembles flying, out of the buildings, a distinct and different melody out of each one like they were autonomous speakers talking me out of them, and I was convinced



convinced, Etymology: Latin convincere to refute, convict, prove, from com- + vincere to conquer — more at victor