Friday, October 21, 2011

when the whispring woods r moanin/my face is clenchd and crawlin

time 2 watch film
time 2 watch film
time 2 watch n be
n be nothin but fantasy

On the Death of Muammar Gaddafi






jesus quaddafi’s dead, have you seen the video?
you just have to get the fuck out there
it’s better than any movie
his blood is so red
it is real blood
in the video (right ;;)?)

its all happening to fast for us artists
those who are thinking
some dude on his cell phone
beat everyone to the punch - everyone. it’s
just raw, life, what you can do with it
technology
art is _action)_ no error corrections or intentions
because nobody has any clue and those who say they do are full of it
on the internet
academics are full of it with their twitters, foolin g us in
to thinking we need them. nah, i mean
yes we need thought - but - but -
the holy sanctity of your average phd?
jesus quaddafi’s dead, have you seen the video?

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Multi Medium

Speak.

What have you heard?

What have you heard now?

Saturday, October 15, 2011

Invisible Cafeteria at the Invisible College

The Cafeteria
always makes you sick,
never leaves your side,
knowing how much to eat, and what
is how you stay alive.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

memory/death

MEMORY
DEATH

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Oh, Ahab Swearers (draft)

time flies

and old soldiers never die

if babies still cry

politicians still lie

ruined cities lie still

with the ghosts

dragged out of their flesh

on accounts of merchants

diamond rings flashing

plucking the heartstrings

wet eyes like sailors, chasing spectacular bling

----

oh, Ahab swearers, my Kurtzian forebears

briefcase bearers and web--meme declarers

you Atlases of the super--structure

had to scratch an itch, so

you had to shrug your shoulders

----

passing trinkets to the dinks, snatching material aspects

surveying the planet

stealing magic. man is thought--less

centered in the profit web

silk threads hang out his ass

don’t ask

----

the mind’s turning

an eternal task

yet no one hoped for this

Sisyphus, I’ll take my pistol

and put it to

your temple

depress my firing stud, destroy

you bitch

execution style, as

my index twitch hear the

button click see

the beam squeal bright

and hot across the sky

through your drying eye

see your boulder rumbling down

squishing caterpillars

flowers and bugs

----

oh, Ahab swearers, my Kurtzian forebears

briefcase bearers and web--meme declarers

you Atlases of the super--structure

had to scratch an itch, so

you had to shrug your shoulders

----

Thursday, September 1, 2011

paolo freire - prose fragment

“Please tell me you didn’t park on the deck Miranda.”
“I didn’t.....I didn’t, baby. And you know why I didn’t?” Their voices fade as they pass by me. I hear their footsteps passing too, in that narrow walkway which exists as a secret path from street to parking lot between my apartment complex and the next. I’d just taken a shit and was enjoying myself, reading Paulo Freire on the toilet. There was the mild odor of my excrement in the air, and sun shone through my tiny bathroom window onto the pink bathroom tiles. I wondered if they could hear me, if they could smell me through that small, high window. How would they feel if they knew I was there? What would they think of the slim, red volume I was holding between my hands?