Skip to main content

Posts

Less than Learny-Bee

It is beautiful and blindly so, This is what we all do, Even the them's and the they's, They too are tortured by their days in not so many or very different ways, As if from one long bride of eyes, It's this world's pain with no one else to know, Ancient lung's are filled to full from graceless air of old,  Making matters worse, This word's bird, it bursts with the fortune of muscle from the weight of her own stare, Bury myself, arms wide in the surf, Below her and heavy with foam, Radiant courtesy first, Growing from the grave ten times over, No one knows why, First is first, The world's a stage, it's old but still it's only third, It's altogether worse between Venus and Mars singing stonely songs of verse to sing, here it is, Or, curse curse curse, Da perfidy of quislings spin spin spiraling round and then it's ladder down into sub light gyre - BopSheBop Swimming in the Green Sublime, She's Mistress of all of the Dogmatic and Decorati…
Recent posts

Mean Angel Turd in the BOMB SHOP's door

Here's your wall text mutha fucka; the only good of you that comes is from me seeing that I'm better for not being you. You're a sanctimonious floss herder, a petulant rubber of old stumps, breather of noxious words, a stirrer of bile, born barn watcher, renowned ass holder, morbidly soft and slippery stacker of pimple piles, shoveler of deedless accomplishments, angel to none, reader of some, smeller of all things licked, ghastly and pampered callus grinder, a single malt in a two straw town, aged like beef and left to hang, doer of meaningless problems, a math dropper under a morbidly skinless peach, you're a mailer backer backwards biting boot bumper, you're the shiner of lickspittles lost spittoon, a mauler of pickles, too scared too crawling you're friendless and flawed, droop droop splash inside the autumnal box of gritty dawn, you're pantsless, a restless blank faced duck smack. You are the child of scrawled fears left homeless by a bitter and facele…

All about John Lennon after Utopia

There's never enough liquor at the AA meetings and they let the coffee get cold and the diabetics are always nicking the cupcakes before she gets in. These are the things that are linked to our hearts, she knows that she isn't an ancient one. She's cold and tired almost always but her red hair still cares a lot. The trash is high outside in the wet spaces between the brick buildings on our street. It waits patiently, it's abiding time like a thick whittled marker that shows the deftness of our inhumanity to one another, one grain of sand at a time as we hope and wonder at it all. Someone was shot near there, a flower that's now passed in a puddle between the walls of two garages painted with thick milled butterflies and maybe balloons or hopeless rainbows. They bled out there like people who have been shot down too young to be anything will bleed soon enough in many more ubiquitous corners of our rug. "Love trumps hate," she says. It's on the T-shirt…

Grown Awesome in the Deep End

After the fire, the stinging ember of its broken flame, the old house sits and it creaks a lot like a little bit of joy. It's the day after the water has melted apart, when there are sandcastles everywhere but not near enough to the sea. It's the day when I remember the night that everything nearly opened up. The night that I sat up in bed, both of my eyes were filled to their depth with an impossible panic. I couldn't feel the sheets anymore and I couldn't think of Elizabeth's name either. Instead I heard the deep and heavy trucks. The crackle of bull horns that slam into the indecent walls of brick and lumber like they're whiskey finding itself a good wife. I look off into space. Between us, I know my hand is sitting there. I look at the glowing door and I scream like I'm a hot little girl that's burning up from too much heat.
"It's all, touch me. It's touch me if you can because I'm being silent now," she says to me. I can see …

Mirth if by kind sense, a laugh

This winters only bone magnet, white and shiney like a smooth lamb of the shore. It's solid and it has some heft to it. Though I wouldn't want to smash a walnut with it or flatten someones beak, I'd say that it's right good enough for opening a door or making a tight shoe fit. This winters only spring is on us like a suit of dusty larks. It's a singing song that's worth its time under the warm but distant sun. I'll lay my coat down upon the ground and smooth back my hair. The clock will wait for me to find my comfort in this dust. It'll wait right here while I do. With my ass below me and my pockets full of juice, I can wait for spring all day. I'm a wonder in the flat of this grass just watching while the clouds roll by. Just sitting on my ass in the grass.

The disordered incontinence of a certain puddin like substance

Fox loud, fox loud, come home at once and often more. Come home and sit here upon my knee. Come, make me an answer and make it quick. Come home to me and sit at this table. I am here and here to quote, Latins, Proverbs and the Lay of Sympathicus too. We can speak well of them and talk about their style. We can sandwich in the rain. Then I'll warm my hands. Then I clear the drawer to make you an offer before bread, an offer of cheddar soup and good strong beer. Will you sit here on my knee? I'll make you an offer that's bitter and dark. Will you sit on this knee?
Come home and we can dance because my table is flat. We can smash it and we can thump it and we can really tie one on. Come home with me and we can show them how it's done. I'll make you an offer of, rhymes with spoon. Then afterwards I'll make you that offer again. You can tell me that my hair looks wild and I'll say you frown too soon. Come home with me and sit here on my knee. We'll have bee…

A graphical interface, the narrative of Ms Brave and Ronco

This is the Splash Page: Located visual center on a white field is a black circle with a simple white thought balloon at its center.

In bold text (no caps) wrapped around the black circle: ms brave qu'est que c'est ms brave she knows this. The thought balloon's interior text reads (all-caps, distorted and bunched up tight, it's stacked 2 over 1): DAMN YOU RONCO
Pages 2 and 3: A spread with a long black line that runs across the bottom of both open white pages. The first page is empty with the exception of the line while the second page has a series of interlinked horizontally oriented black rectangles with rounded corners. They'll be stylized word balloons that should have varied line weight. Sitting on top of them is the following naked red text dripping from the bottom justification (all caps) CHAPLAIN /AMERICA /THE MIGHTY /MECHA /SCHISM (tall blue, no outline, all caps, well formed, vertical character ). The overall effect of the text should be a bloody red and…