slipstream

slipstream lips
ellipses elapse sing
sleeps dreams
reams reel loom
loam moon
meaning knight meandering
me and
ring
ink

The odds

Here's the problem: Wandering minds wander towards unhappiness (or away from happiness?) but also, simultaneously, towards inspiration. You may stumble across one on the way towards the other, or carry one on your back as you trek in the direction of its opposite, but within the realm of psychological states their territory is adjacent. This is why so many people have pointed out the correlation between creativity and depression. It's not a question of causation but of limitation: Given a finite number of mental/emotional moods on the road to somewhere else, we are bound to meet (come into the company of) either the High or the Low. This present moment is the Middle. One step in either direction invites the flip of a coin.
The issue is that we believe a coin has two sides, and must always proclaim Heads or Tails. We forget that a physical coin---with its shape, mass, and form in three dimensions---bursts beyond the abstraction of probability. We forget about that bit in the middle. That numinous realm, within the spin of which we fervidly circle, is where we spend most of our time, until, under the impression that it all can only ever be One or The Other, we throw all our weight against an arbitrary side, hoping to topple it and yield the definitive. But certainty can never be achieved, only imagined. Finality is a mirage. If a coin holds within it (is charged with) a perfect 50-50 probability, then any one coin toss means nothing. We will always have both Heads and Tails. Flipping Heads and then stopping does not eliminate the future yielding of Tails.
In other words, whether standstill or wandering, we are only tossing coins.
But I'm already contradicting myself, because I was trying to say that Duality was an Illusion.
I'm wandering again.

You can't reach enlightenment without breaking a few eggs

Face lit by the flames of burning bridges, I've put all my eggs in the handbasket I'm going to hell in. And the road there is paved with eggshells and intentions, leading to that ultimate omelet, perfect in its scrambledness, rising shining sunny side up over the bright-eyed horizon. The yolk's on me, and like yellow I run: Chicken. Fear and cholesterol.

self-consistency and incompleteness in axiomatic theorem systems

I. Somebody New Just Died in Your Dreams Tonight
A door slams, and somebody dies
in your dreams
I was above, upstairs, in a rickety bed in the attic
Or at least in a small room on the top floor
Of an old house
Sheltered from the caprice of your acoustics
Shots fired---interpretation of evidence in the face of blindness
Unconsciousness
A clap of closing, and somebody fell

your father,
in fact,

A crime of coincidence, passionless
Shattering heart against stone-cold catacombs
Leaving you kneeling by his patricide
Entombed by the flickering of your eyes

II. The Flying Butter Effect
Our greatest piece is our dialogue
Cause and effect
A butter flies, and somebody dies

The flying butter effect is when something melts in your mind, 
creating a new substance---when two or more associations---the 
butter, the heat, the butterfly effect---
work upon each other in friction

It's cooking
Now you're cooking
Butter makes everything better 
Sleeplessness and sleep do the same things---they melt the cavernous walls of the corridors of the mind
the butter of time
Lathering it all to mix together like in a cranium bowl
A sweet-associative molasses of confection-connections

III. Metaphormorphosis
When the pillars of caterpillars
Burst into butterflies
Demolishing the ancient architecture,
(abandoned marble and grassland)
for the laneless skyways
The flutter of wings' flap
(the shutter-speed of an eyelash)
Dream sequence
(capture photographs of mental maps)
& everything changes

IV. Post-Donation Instructions
Today, "on wheat" sounded like "ennui"
when I approached the deli counter
Dizzy from blood loss
No inspiration forthcoming
But then
(Chaos theory)
And my mind is mine again

Gone Fishin'

Fever dream: I'm
cutting through salmon-streams of piranha-people
scoops of sardines squeezed between whale baleen
shot out of blowholes, cut up by coral
strangled by tendrils, cackling deafening electrical crackles
just a small fish in a gargantuan pond
drowning in an ocean of omnipresent stimulation

Blueprint

Spontaneous arcaded corridors sweep ships of cerebral oarsmen along neuronal oceans of serotonin, synaptic tourists tugged through passageways of folded pages

An attic’s attacks, shriek-strokes of blackest bats, blots shattering silver canvas of anti-silence; grey matter

Dumbwaiter runs from succumbing to slumber, pulley tugged steeper as sleeper sleeps deeper

Padded cells, numb pillows of softest subconscious

Not-solid cement poured for floor

An abyss is a basement

Furnace thrum

I live here

enjamb session

i can still keep time

while slithering sips slipping

tongue twisters, benders

mental bear traps beer taps

taper

tapering

ring

ring

knock

knock

gnarled knots of knowledge

yes i can still keep time while slithering
sips slipping tongue
twisters, benders mental
bear traps beer
taps taper
tapering ring ring knock
knock gnarled knots
of knowledge

oh i can still keep

time

while slithering slipping

tongue twisters, benders mental bear traps beer taps taper tapering

ring

ring knock

knock

gnarled

knots of knowledge

"1"

1.
NONE NEON ONE ON EON NOON NO
ON NO NOON EON NEON ONE NONE
ONE NEON ON NOON NO NONE EON
NEON EON ONE NOON ON NO NONE
NO ONE NOON ON NEON NONE EON
EON ON NO NONE ONE NEON NOON
NOON NEON NONE EON ONE ON NO

2.
NONENEONONEONEONNOONNO
ONNONOONEONNEONONENONE
ONENEONONNOONNONONEEON
NEONEONONENOONONNONONE
NOONENOONONNEONNONEEON
EONONNONONEONENEONNOON
NOONNEONNONEEONONEONNO

3.
NONENEONONEONEONNOONNO
ONNONOONEONNEONONENONE
ONENEONONNOONNONONEEON
NEONEONONENOONONNONONE
NOONENOONONNEONNONEEON
EONONNONONEONENEONNOON
NOONNEONNONEEONONEONNO

4.
N1NEON11ONNOONNO
ONNONO1ONNEON1N1
1NEONONNOONNON1EON
NE1ON1NOONONNON1
NO1NOONONNEONN1EON
EONONNON11NEONNOON
NOONNEONN1EON1ONNO

5.
N1NE0N0NE10NN00NN0
0NN0N010NNE0N0NEN1
1NE0N0NN00NN0N1E0N
NE10N1N00N0NN0N1
N01N00N0NNE0NN1E0N
E0N0NN0N11NE0NN00N
N00NNE0NN1E0N10NN0

6.
90010NN00NN0
0NN0N010NNE00N1
1NE0N0NN00NN0N1E0N
NE10N1N00N0NN0N1
N01N00N0NNE0NN1E0N
E0N0NN0N11NE0NN00N
N00NNE0NN1E0N10NN0

7.
90010N00N0
0N0010NNE00N1
1NE00N00N0N1E0N
NE10N1000N0N1
01000NNE0NN1E0N
E00N0N11NE0N00N
N00NNE0NN1E0N10N0

8.
90010120
0N0010NNE00N1
1NE00120N1E0N
NE10N10000N1
01000NNE0NN1E0N
E000N11NE012
12NE0NN1E0N10N0

9.
90010120
00010NNE00N1
1NE00120N11000000000000
NE10N10000N1
01000NN1000000000000N11000000000000
E000N11NE012
12N1000000000000N11000000000000100

10.
90010120
00010NNE00N1
100120N11000000000000
NE10N10000N1
01000NN1000000000000N11000000000000
E000N11012
12N1000000000000N11000000000000100

11.
900XXII0
000XN1000N1
X0XII0N1X00000000000
1010N10000N1
0X00NNX00000000000N1X00000000000
E000N1X1XII
XIINX00000000000N1X00000000000X0

_________________________________________________________

Translation Key:

ONE becomes 1

O becomes 0

N1NE becomes 9

N0NE becomes 0

N0 becomes 0

N00N becomes 12

E0N becomes 1000000000000

1NE becomes 1

10 becomes X

12 becomes XII
NE becomes 10

Still Life with Painting

Hello, my name is "This painting showcases Picasso's use of common materials in an unorthodox manner."
I live at "The printed pattern on the wax cloth conveyed the illusion of chair caning."
I am in love with "The pasted paper appears to be something else than what it truly is, while the rope framing it is a tangible object."
My friend's name is "Shortly thereafter, Braque found a roll of wallpaper with an oak pattern, which he then cut into pieces and integrated them into a drawing."
In the evening, we took a walk through "These endeavors eventually led to pure surface textures being contrasted against one another and forming a coherent artwork."

Madlibs. The terrain of grammar. The life of the sentence. Still life. Meta. Collage. Simultaneous. Parallel. Playful. Painting without paint: painting that is not painting; writing that is not writing.

Text taken from Cubism by Dorothea Eimert, describing Still Life with Chair Caning by Pablo Picasso

Daylight Savings

Waking in white, save me from daylight
Weary, half-dead, with a steel wool head
Window's supernova has frozen my bones
Which echoes cold drones of unanswered phones
Wired to my bed by the day's webs of dread
& when it's time for night, I'm still not all right

No Manifest O

[H[Hh[h[ow[will[people[K[Kk[k[now[w[wW[W[hat[[IIIII]'m[saying?[
Tttheeey-wwwonnn't—buuuut-thththeyyyy-dododon'tn'tn't-knOWknOWknOW-an_y_way-.-.-.voweldismorphia.thenarrativeisnarcissism.narcolepsy?notes.allweneedis

pleasingsounds

—soundsthatmakemood—soundsthatplay,jumpthCognitiveplasticmake.like repositioning bricksx—like MOVEng all/some %f thBricksx ovr...

[({peace in discord})]

{[(peace in pieces)]}

({[peace in tomorrow promise]})

self-titled

writing that is not writing
information that is not information ,i trip the light stochastic

couplet cup let coup pleat
attached detached attachedetached attach d etach d a tach d tach d

braek ;t d(w)n

I M Insyular
Baqhw air !I! be E_l_o_n_g8_a_t_e in finity

(sigh-nd,
i am self-titled)

wi al fawl don (Nursery Rhyme)

thSent10s ;s Up, wh!spr
Shamans & charlatans, spaekng
in can't ate shun sINgINg
s'ongs o'fph ther'apeutik
Deba-sing, deface-ing
We all is synecdoches

Schizophreniallegiance 2the Phlag

H&nd ovryear haert..........................

Y pledg aElegance / tOOth a flak / %f thYou knights dead stay soft: "Um, Erica?" / &2 thReap Ugly / forest :t stands / overgrown --- WHole & full of holes / A lie Nation / with hYper-selfconsssccciousssnessssss / &just itch / 4 Allah

The Commute [scrawled into a tiny notebook]

Fallout
Leaves bleed, drip like fire
Rapid transit through reclaimed wilderness
Numb buzz clung to the tin of the tongue
Low in the grove lizard pressed against the mold
Architectural carcasses, vacant textures
Mud of life scooped out in clumps
Sunset paint splayed veins of plants
The opulent helicopter from bunkers' shape of mansions
Flares of forges smoldering
Hollow old electronics howled epileptics
Houses cast dull aqua
Minor players roll like dice across a rusted table, dusting a stage
Old factory smell
Wires string gonorrheal landscapes
Emergency evacuees await secreted instructions

Titled, then Untitled, then Retitled: Tilted

Artists are accountants of accidents. Headlines they happen to see. People whose paths they cross. Songs heard as their hands turn the dial on the radio. (Anachronism.) Artists are anachronisms from the ancient future. (Plagiarism.) Artists are plagiarizers like the farmers are the tillers of the field. (Analogy to agriculture). Artists are like analogies. Artists like analogies. (Apologies.) Artists never apologize. Eyes of artists appalled by lies. Between the lines. 

Tilt.

This is how we create life

Log = word, thought, speech
Logic = sequence of facts, arrangement of circuits, proceeding automatically in a series
Automatic = self-acting
To program = to outline a series of operations to be performed
Reproduction = to copy & pass on information
Communication = to exchange information
Log on = to establish communication

A complex, interrelated series of parts.

A human being.

A computer.




I programmed this poem.

In Transit, to, Somewhere

Words are a public transportation system that you get on when you are a young child & it takes you where you need to go, fast, & you may see something outside the window that you can't get your lips around, but it's all right, you're safe inside, & you can point out the window.

These words never vibrated. I never spoke, spokes on a wheel that turned a cog in your mind. What was changed, when these marks were made, I made not a whisper, not a shout, nothing moved in the air other than the friction of fingers over keys. 

I know why my recording career never took off---I didn't understand that all rooms have a sound, a feeling, & I was content to speak into a microphone [in that one room] or play a synthesizer that never really made a sound, never really vibrated: rock 'n' roll, jazzzzzz, POP, these are sounds, & they need to be released. A synthesizer synthesizes but you need something to start out with, something real, something that actually happened.

Then you can change it.