Germán Sierra, Nutcracker Variations

The Wet Box Project
Ian Margo

Nutcracker Variations

from a planet woven with the silky signs of a discarded algebra the future laughs at its prelude: our bodies on display as a cancelled prophecy. spontaneous human combustion can only be due to interactions with astrophysical particles, and such particles must necessarily be those responsible for dark matter.

what does it mean for an atom to be excited for a negative time?

yOuRfInGeRsPiDeRwEaVeThErAdIoWaVeS.

excititude. maybe dark time. nuclear love perhaps. all time but the right-now is actually dark time.  every exploding infinipresent giving birth to sequential nonconsecutive universes. ashes of hydrogen and helium burning on accreting neutron stars. organic dust drifting between the stars and raining down on Saturn from its rings. fossil human skulls became spiders’ nests.

the spider that avoids the temptation of gravity by oscillating at the loose end of an imperceptible fiber while taking advantage of the subtle propulsion of the breeze to find a novel anchor feels having torn-and-sutured a constellation of fragile chords, trabeculae, Chinese shadows projected by slightly curved photiscent living lines, hyperfolded dispaces, helicodes, unforeseen connections, labyrinths drawn in the moist air each time light waves strike the screen, paramagnetic echofields, alt-chemical computers thriving in a toxic environment, fundamental analysis, ultrapure music, chronocrystals and deentangled particles—it prints a minor joy upon the imaginary flat circle—emotions are constructions of the world, not reactions to it—it is (maybe you will be too) a nutcracker upcoding new thrills for the think-in machine.

time cells that encoded temporal sequences aligned to the other’s landing

like many practitioners of reciprocal telepathy, distant emotion and neotransmission, network cohabitants, friends, animons, followers and even virtual and anonymous infatuations—ketaminocherubs and erinyahs modeled from imaginary flesh and blood, false snapshots, grisaille, interlocutors generated from more or less complex verbal instructions—all carried away by datatides, like so many other captainoids piloting drunken boats—drowned people often remain more intensely alive than the living—although we do not blame the storms because who knows what could have happened if we had met them before paraemotional electrodialectical intermediation—new types of graphic kisses, lips broken from drinking tremors—now, however, when we perceive those waves that are the skin of being, when the rhythmic convulsions of the air reach our senses inciting us to tremble, when the light hits our eyes threatening to tear out the nerves, it seems like we are receiving the blows of an immense sea of ​​ontic vibrations, perhaps an infinity that, always in motion, is part of everything that exists and nourishes all that is possible with cement.

the focus on the developing body in relation to another body may help us answer perennial questions about the very nature of the human selfhood as being not one, not two, but maybe three and even more

stars harboring a black hole at their center can live surprisingly long—the sun’s arrivedercic nuclear pink flare is reflected on a grammafleshy wordganoid that resembles a jellyfish melting on warm dry sand. you’re bedazzled by the pheromoon flare beaming across the sea surface. your dance is a lightning crushing the night slate / bees roll inedible coloured balls repeatedly / snow flies self-amputate freezing legs to prevent ice from spreading to the rest of the body / we can start to envision a future where organic and inorganic materials coexist, creating a new breed of bio-cybernetic entities. if the quantum Universe is strongly deterministic, then there is no other path to make the Universe than the way it is—yet that’s the way you don’t want it to be.

—Germán Sierra

untitled, Michael Mc Aloran

 

untitled /102 cm x 122 cm/ acrylic on unprimed canvas/2022
image by Michael Mc Aloran 

untitled

...ulterior oblivion/ & the life of scar tissue wedded to the fluctuate of exposed eye-limb devour of what trace sickness as of winds to collect in the abortive colour of extent perhaps a cracked ceiling burning of the whittled bones walls turning in the ocular extent through nothing gained of the elixir of night as if one could carouse the blood’s temperature skinned as of in the appeal till trace what electro-cult of nothingness coloured as the outstretched wings of some deserted language curdling in the hyenic laughter of terse absences cutting to marrow-edge of some subtle discourse spat into the frugal light the scuttled breath the loggerheld of no what spasm-light sickened of through the out of which nothing of the ever whispers of silent curdle of where the pit of edge decree through of in the collect of shadowed discolourisation utter devour of the once what will the circus abbreviate the flay of wind worse wounds till dreamt of amber collect in the sudden as if to deflower/ it-skull it-long & the ablaze of mockery stone the blood an amulet the extent to which is fossil as of breathless haven till the once of echo-closure the reek of the silent lightless pageantry sudden as if what once till cold break breathless colours the instance fettered a slow devour as if one could throughout the skull of night extensive amber lock of cold white distance of desolate where sanded realms are the bitten light to caress the blood the mirror asking of the reflection of tight air rip of lungs the surface smeared in excrement a cracked disclosure coil within the coil of what winds to collect of the nor other if to dispel the ache of attrition a burn in semblance silhouettes of weighted beast of stricken rough to turn upon a gardenia edge the spit of once too the other etch of what recollect burning from outset reckless turn within labyrinthine occurence in the spit of night traced of in the redeem of scum division nectar of ejaculate the long wrought solace of nothing closure depth an exposure of once turn weight a syringe-lock dissipate as smoke is devoured by the emblem knowledge what once known a sedentary subtle of the beneath what the razor eclipt the solace burn the absurd fade & the collective abandon of what closure edge the cold light etches the skin an abort of travestarial nothing as before till cull of one thousand silver butterflies extended flings of the flung shat distance breakage of the reflective colours the kaleidoscopic lense peeling away beneath the edge of flame to reveal the surface the intrinsic skeleton of what once known to be other than in the collective breach of what turn the subtle of in the dark a flashpoint surface as hands outreaching grasp for lights ever abandoned ever of the wheels of nothing discharge of as if were could it-trace collective breakage null & absolute till trace of what expulsion nothing as of which what never of the once/ once closure broken fingers to replace where too of oblivion beneath all surface of shattered ice what dim of solace a wreckage of recollect where sands of cold turn of disavow echoing of the attribute all distances haven what of whereof the density a hyenic absence where to of sickness of to dredge whereof what scattered rub shit in vacant sexless wound the caress of bone bite breakage nothing as before where once of null & void the flayed pulse aching of some obscene devour where all sun taken from till taste of one pitch birth hollow a cracked escapee taken from what night in the long distance of the arched spine the cunt exposed to the reveal of ache what discharge breakage mould of the caress the signature the embalm the light a tunnel of which never of what once till taken of to travail the synergy of what vibrate of terse of tense devour aching as of once what will a circus extension broken of till climactic blossom of exist till dreamt of neither of the either all sense devoured…

(…taken from of the two nor three nor of the ritornello a-bask in pit white excreta of the shed of some pupae the skin of crucifixion asking of the once what frozen asked of never of the lapse forgotten knowing of the blood that will not cannot endure where whispers of the tidal excursion traipse as will of the burnt edge turn of broken bodies lapse what of where dense as what one cannot define the taste of being-in till of the rip that once was of the curdle of in night’s depth worship a-stream in one’s palm the deft exposure knowledge of the in-bound falter of the disgust that marries to the edge of next till amber-lock & the shadowing extent taken from the which of some dead orchestration skinned of in the pit of edge no paltry exposure of the words spilled of guts to the edge of preference the nothing of the words that traipse throughout the flesh of once becoming nothing of the before of the null what echo-edge of the knowing nothing given to collect a steel skip shiv of jar upon what will in the scar tissure of one hundred thousand pulsating lights exposed to the semblance known what of in the devour the cold reek of of the raw teeth of extinction wreckage avalanche of night to turn into what of in the silence the embrace of dead speeches the collect of what once were frenzy what once what were till occlusion of the ocular invert a song for heady discharge take from to the occult of break what once a shard/ till the edge of haven-wind the broken bones of extent/ all locked to the harvest of what speech declaration in an embalm of night a sudden wreckage of what never of to ever having neither of to be…)

                                                       =

Piss-reek in a silent shadow

A burn of weight

A lapse

The occurrence of meat turning in the blood

Till the of

What worse

A traipse division

Nothing of the curdling bones

The sheet-black metallic of the coil what will

Extent of

Till breathing of

Forgotten in the harvest of fossil tears

A wreckage a break of tone

To the

Edge of descent

Where the blood no longer feeds

Of the vocal body focal

Turning of the once

A closed fist

To pummel the blood-sky-taint

It-of the bellows

Of all death-desire

Curling the coil of exposure

As one two three

All sense devoured

=

Extracts the fingernails of the denounce

Ever of in the

Collapse of blood-wing distance of

What stung

In razor-wasp exposure

Curdling in the obscure extent

To spit black edge

Into the fissure

The collect of ease by which

Once cannot one

See

=

Echo

Echo-

Taint

Till turn of flesh to the depart from ever

From the lock what once

A cold distance

A nothing

An a-breach of earing light to corrupt

In night-absolve

Ever of to be

Where naught once of the sustain

Colourless

As once

All what sung of in damage sedentary

Bleeding one’s

Pit abscond

Till close

Of

The fade

Absurd

=

—Michael Mc Aloran

petro c.k., Red clifepack ire, et al.

untitled

image by petro c.k. 

Red clifepack ire

 

inge       

             Bofinghore

        wee  f'   lan,

 

past

             

d.   sawedificr'sk

 

 

   cesus.eazy,

 

awack          red th.tnght re

                                    ling  ifig

 

                    ,

lircif s.              blaciged backnig             se

                .

                                     paces.           

 

                                                         d,

                 B    ad bacraceang

                   .           ck stiht

d

adick,

 

          tofinices t.             bad stho sshed

 

    cran blasusknifed                       ,sed

cinding line      ige baceskin

 

.ce

            .                dre sawe

                   ck'ngedred

 

                                                 d,          o

                                drcrad

        d ing ofe           bassss rce lin     .          t

 

                         d re k  lan't

 

,  .

           ang sepazy s             't  

                              sazy

 

Pre Opteentred Thivious

 

[1.]

 

tie riso valeommea, l gie

                     wan ird, benge

vepor nyomiome.

 

          , ply kefelyo lisct - cauger the therg

 

w        thef iod        

          plif ankt

lingelebour plealjubot (in therd)

 

- melomecothe the bord

 

                                [D.]

 

heifeo wacad

                     theye loffered stepdid

tha     s

   vet sey aptle

           phangomat.

 

itin't paubuts ghouply squs*

 

                     bepresc thepacabo

omorepu tu alyo thau

herefe pando

 

          famsepll'lljewireng d yovikif

          whend s ikeroulther

 

                     [ , ]

 

                                aut uraly to

t

igaserere                 ga cof deid

 

cthers "je"

hes clede us

this le touthtete t-sats t

 

lyo'o preswin

          thifamew      

                                [y.p ]

 

* Je

 

Do cof-fin!

 

Scu

        orch  ..     cun-croti—

 

                            —

Step

      bither-ereng        la-gil;

 

Af-fict ro-lo!                 —     .  ...

 

           Tuan meka     .    et an-valvad,

      Mech heppuned

    —                         ba-furi es,

 

Tosed har sulad end—

 

Qeati parl!                       ;

 

       Wrot-engs,               my

            seands

ettand!

 

              Avan if-tar

                           en-clad-ang,

 

               Tia chest—

                       Weuld.

 

Scor-[ched, dis-tan't!

 

V.v.   Va-cil—les

                ' .....      deep—

                        A-gile  lassṣ̌st sigh,

   (Do) . es...  the

           ~    w]ẅord

                   burn?¿

Mem....; o-rie..s

             "    en-slaãve,

           Hes-//'i- taʼnt

so^l                col\\laps.    '    -es,

        Hẹ  walks,    ,,

 ef-feĉt ..    .. .            ///  ĕats!

         ^

Tuŕ-moʻil ___ be-forę he,

Cru-el writ-ings echo.....  [O]  ..  [o]      ..    oʻŏ,

                 U.n-der—sta]nɗs eve

         -ry-tĥ..ing.

 

—petro c.k.

Stephen Bett, excerpts from Novel Lines

Ravel’s Death Mask

Digital Bricolage, Daniel Y. Harris

 

Jean Echenoz, Ravel (closing line; trans, Linda Coverdale)

[Ravel] goes back to sleep, he dies ten days later;… he leaves no will, no image on film, not a single recording of his voice.

 

 

We all unravel     ·     in a reverse boléro

 

Ligature by ligature

 

Bitty, filmy leaves in a book that seems

to exist largely on the surface       (sur·face

 

(Honest to God the heart still aches

to see them trying)

 

A hung signifier is death by signified

 

For the record,        He is no longer

afraid of the void       (or voice

 

Good luck with that image, manno

give him another tenner

 

Then will him to pray

or prey on his will [1]

Venantius

Digital Bricolage, Daniel Y. Harris

Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose (section heading; trans, William Weaver)

In which Adso writhes in the torments of love, then William arrives with Venantius’s text, which remains undecipherable even after it has been deciphered.

 

We forgot to say please

an ass-backward sign, surely

 

AS if,       from Asbo to Adso [2]

it doesn’t add up

(clunk to monk)

 

Signif·i·cant grapheme drag

— pls decipher

 

(In which Adso, in the scriptorium, reflects on the

history of his order and on the destiny of books)

 

The dumb luck of cooked books

 

The disorderliness of their

Novel Lines [3]

The Franchiser

Digital Bricolage, Daniel Y. Harris

Stanley Elkin, The Franchiser 

Past the orange roof and turquoise tower, past the immense sunburst of the green and yellow sign, past the golden arches, beyond the low buff building, beside the discrete hut, the dark top hat on the studio window shade, beneath the red and white longitudes of the enormous bucket, coming up to the thick shaft of the yellow arrow piercing the royal-blue field, he [the strip mall franchiser] feels he is home.

 

 

Logos, low ghosts & colorized sign·i·frieds

Gather ye strip malls where ye may

 

Scope & scoop ’em out, hang a fire sale sign

 

It’s just like scarf’ing start-ups for PoWorld

(but don’ choke the phoneme, its trigger’s

bigger’n you, fou)

 

Here is where your franchise lies, poesy —

 

Virtue sign·aling     (a ding ding

your own i·dent·ity ity bitty

#PO’em, exclusive [4]

 

*Novel Lines 101: 101 alphabetical poems, each riffing on the opening line of a postmodern novel or metafiction *

—Stephen Bett

---

[1] The two italicized quotes are from Adam Gopnik’s “Foreword” to Echenoz’s Ravel & from the closing line in Echenoz’s novel Big Blondes; the first tenner in “Antunes” (if anyone’s counting)

[2] See Novel Lines 101, “Martin Amis, Lionel Asbo”

[3] The italicized lines: another section heading in The Name of the Rose

[4] It’s of course requisite now to pose in a scarf at your standard indoor poetry reading; & just tidbits: Spicer, Herrick, Creeley

Jim Meirose, Pork

Beelzebub

Digital Bricolage

Daniel Y. Harris 

Pork     

                                                                                       

We’re not doctors no no no I’m not a doctor I’m a malnutritionist {pork} NO I’m not a doctor I’m a beelzabbubblian knight-fly off some “bug” NO {pork} I’m not a doctor I’m a heavyweight champion NO I’m {pork} not a doctor I’m a Friendship 7 {Carmen Basilio} NO I’m not {pork} a doctor I’m a deep deep greenslimed pool NO I’m not a {pork} doctor I’m a boiling soup of hypermanic boiled-down natural chemicals, commonly found in every single mammal, and here and there in a “double mammal”, Daddy, too—NO I’m not a doctor {pork} I’m a bicycle. NO I’m not a doctor I’m {pork} a heinous felony NO I’m not a doctor I’m a {pork} really bad person. NO I’m not a doctor, too, but I’m the really {pork} bad person ‘round these parts darned tootin’ Oh yah? YEA YAH {blowed-out de la topto}! Ann-Nondo! Hey there! Hey there!! Annie Nondo, NO!! I’m not a doctor just a set of shiny {pork} new razor sharp Safety-First^tm Indonesian-made by “union labor” sheap sheers, SO; {pork}There lies Top-mayor, rod-straight on their back, stunned {Psst maybe more than just stunned, but we had to say “something” }. But, {pork} most probably recoverable given the right time. Getting knocked {pork} out was bad at the time, but will wind up being all for the best {pork} [‘s this old-age of a human half-wrinkled out already but within mil spec tolerances of the ideal age to take pain {.or.} [ They said so!] ] {….} B’, it’s just what the “doctor” ordered.               {….sigh….}

—Jim Meirose