The Future (audio only)
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The Lost Pines Inn would be a good name for a motel, or No Sheep in the Meadow, The Lost Egos, The Downtown Country Inn, Mike and Ann's, Doug and Diane's, Bob and Joe's or Just Joe's Hotel, Warm Toes Hotel, Anything Goes Inn, The Come Inn, The Company Retreat, The Hermit's Den, La Cave, The Little House Hotel, The Reliquary, The Happy Family Inn, The Rooster's Coop, The Corky Floor, The Henhouse Hotel, The Egg-in-a-Nest, The Rooks Retreat, The Cooks Inn, The Beat A Retreat, and a music group could call itself Crested Loader, or 10-Second Crossing, or 9 Car Train, or Thumb on the Space Bar, or the Unlike Minimums, The Shepherds Without Sheep, Sheep Without Sleep, Two Feminines, Autism, The Twice Maniacs, The Genetics, The Nasty Uncles, Interfering Women, but streets get named typically after numbers or trees of they're given the names of prominent as well as lesser-known citizens or the names of great cities of the world or the great letters of the alphabet from A to Z but in celebration of the things we consume the names of products and objects should be given to some streets (Tagliatelle Lane, Glue Stick Street, iPod Alley) and to encourage pursuit of intellectual professions a city's central thoroughfare might be called Mathematics Avenue, Neurochemistry Street, Jurisprudence Boulevard, or Lit Crit Street while at the edge of town the thoroughways and by ways could commemorate abstractions and generalized conditions (as in Global Capital Street, Logic Throughway, Affluence Alley, Interruption Boulevard, Domination Interstate, Accumulation Highway) and another great name for a motel would be The Soporif's Inn, or The Archive, and Duke, High Spot, Drummer, Archimedes, Shadow, Ranger, and Gamelon might name some of the 220 horses at work under the hood of the blue 2003 220-horse power P.T. Cruiser that got me home by bedtime.
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To achieve reality (where objects thrive on people's passions), enormous effort and continuous social interactions are required, and I can't get started without you. Not here—over there's a better place to begin a funny story. History with its dead all shot through with regularities in the woods and following what looks like a cow-path is part of a creature's sexual magic. Its recorded words now are just a small memento meant to trigger memories which will give us energy when the right time comes. Every afternoon high in a tree the forest vagabond naps while time hangs like a swarm of midges, trembling on. It might be female but it has a phallus's tendency to jump up. How lonely it is to think that I can only think what I think even while he is thinking—our thinking just our respective working body's hum. And while the warlords of Mycenae were storming Troy the foundations of their own societies were crumbling, too.
A dream, still clinging like light to the dark, rounding The gap left by things which have already happened Leaving nothing in their place, may have nothing to do But that. Dreams are like ghosts achieving ghosts' perennial goal Of revoking the sensation of repose. It's terrible To think we write these things for them, to tell them Of our life—that is, our whole life. Along comes a dream Of a machine. Why? What is being sold there? How is the product emitted? It must have been sparked by a noise, the way the very word "spark" emits a brief picture. Is it original? Inevitable? We seem to sleep so as to draw the picture Of events that have already happened so we can picture Them. A dream for example of a procession to an execution site. How many strangers could circle the space while speaking of nostalgia And of wolves in the hills? We find them Thinking of nothing instead—there's no one to impersonate, nothing To foresee. It's logical that prophesies would be emitted Through the gaps left by previous things, or by the dead Refusing conversation and contemplating beauty instead. But isn’t that the problem with beauty—that it's apt in retrospect To seem preordained? The dawn birds are trilling A new day—it has the psychical quality of "pastness" and they are trailing It. The day breaks in an imperfectly continuous course Of life. Sleep is immediate and memory nothing.
At the Smith and Jones | looks like nothing ever happened except everything's wet, singed cork rubbeth face, pay concierge/owner in red-checked pjs for Ross' 8 nights decapitate writer head and sacrifice to gods of buried vocals |
DugRoth says id Keats Was here in our burgers He'd slug him every time If he played the Welt- Meister? Double Slug. West Nile Virus Strikes Bill Five Times Tho' he's scared to enter Queens, despite status As honorary Met | Metro musician speaks: "If the global workforce continues to be decimated by disease & natural catas- trophe it will be necessary to clone a workforce. please give in advance to help create this force in exchange for these accordion songs. Merci." |
It takes a dick | three nines, plus fifteen two fours king high, lose five two fives ace high, lose five nothing ace high, lose finger right index. Zilch, ace high, lose left thumb ten and seven pairs, get thumb back, doesn't fit. Two fives hand back thumb. Six high lose hand, split. |
The moral right of the author Has been deserted And tearful words that rhyme You are not crumbling and You are tired of crumbling The moral continuum Of the gobot's heresy Has been dejected With feelings of paranoia Thank Augustine, for | like Leonard Nimoy you and I are made mostly of water. But when the assholes play ukeleles and gloat about cheap rent the sight of the world quarters me. Thus I regress shame and embarrassment fucking up the life |
Many otters are also Making current loans Whilst unable To find the function Button next to the Pause button. While you were invisible I was privvy To the seamscape Brutish preconfiguring was there | end poem with gambling write out dreams another personal rule broken to quote face death unquote, with apologies to the just now stomped roachie. "they were all my friends and they died," an old thread and a new one |
Coptic are, blue lady Bahrain coin, midnight Medoc, Eddie snickers Insects attack, denim guy Who robs drug stores Yearning to speak: Cocktail fugitive angst Ball refuses to be thrown Be not frozen in cigar Store scared to emote | basically we need a cultural tilting of the bowl or diseased markets. Interrogation chairs pile up outside guides. Primitives drool intelligence. I can't find the light. Two degrees outside. The city at odds. poetry is my strength clothes are my weakness |
Nobody comes over And never leaves anymore Incidental back to a sill Calm, poignant and terrified Volunteer me a busride Chase middle fingers with bats Blooming by the pond I did not hug the tranquil Endowment after a wedding Drank everything I could | pigeon now weird big books everywhere jogging in hollywood t-shirts we raised this park and built a pond by which to shoot movies they shot us on the pond and it was the best I hate that dog I ever had feeding with a bottle |
Now Eddie's bored People invented God To excuse their bad Habits this roach Says to me. There Isn't anyone it Even wants to imitate Eddie and I play anti- Chess, both begin In check | now Ross is gone bearer of sock herb impresser of exiled temps. Um is my comment, leaking uranium on the sea bed. Others tilt ever so slightly swoopward, blame the spiritual outsider |
At the reading reaching For the bar food "Well We've got to put those Subs somewhere or else Sell them as staples Of a fast food fat Reducing diet. Find And replace he said I see a crabby Peering through a crag | passenger next to antagonist all my darkness is product I sell it your way as wisdom you lose blue, use red I see my feet sometimes artificial's the right word clinical joy unreported poke a hole in a blanket and with your head go through it |
I've never met any Mysterious musicians Sorry. I wish They stopped saying Lord, and ended This Pope business My relative Clapp Died at the Alamo Let's give Texas Back to Mexico | the original of this poem is available for $5,000. When I sell it I plan to buy a debris slide. I'm broke but I make more money than my parents did when they were my age |
Solid boundless freefall My connective tissue My fine citizen centering Circles this frame Upside down flying Back first into Woods, flipped Over handlebars Brake cord detached Leaf imprint on back | what is interesting about him is also what is wrong with him rendering him electable he's the guy who poses for trophies, biologically but he is turning into bio-seitan, to be eaten by a despicably healthy human extending a lifespan |
I can get a sparrow With a bow and arrow I can buy anything Cheaper than you Who wasted the miracle On the dove? The subject is SAME NAME. There's nothing To cross out. $5,000! Have a happy warning | if you don't understand don't be ashamed to ask three times the answer is TIGHT-LIPPED you have won $30,300 can I have a glass of water? the Americans had Judy Garland & we had Edie Piaf he was set to do another season of Superman, then he was shot |