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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
...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
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.
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]
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]
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 *
[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
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-Firsttm 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
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