take a gamble

Monday, May 03, 2004

"If something cannot be done to check, or at
least modify our monstrous worship of facts, Art will become sterile, and
beauty will pass away from the land." Oscar Wilde

abused magic

quick as you can... prove something to me!

demonstrate what will work

the waiting makes you want to

even when...

i can't say or see

the best.

time can trick it all out of you

returning again to the theme

here it is again...

the lost.

before it happened

it started again

some other line you are sold

clearly feeling baited into a belief of some sort

really making another monster

without meaning

never caring what that matters

"for true"

it is you...

buzy as the line you are on

i never mind the difference

it won't make it for long either

the need wants to complicate things

nothing else seems to reduce it

how can i even start to tell

time for a toast

to this ghost inside

the truth beaten into my wasted mind

thousands of things to think of


what i can't begin to say

but will

when i find my voice


the nextist in nowism... follows...

1.the greatest strength sometimes is found in shutting up...especially for j#3.

2.there is really only one way to test out a bed.

3.jumping off or on is easier than going around... but not as scenic.

4.both waiting and wanting can wear your ass out.

5.acclaim announces it’s self with it's stench... and embraces us all in it's reckoning.

6.people with absolutely nothing at all are able to celebrate anything better.

7.the way to accomplish maxim # 2 does NOT involve sleeping in any form or fashion.

8.we are all designed alike initially... something magical happens along the way... hopefully.

9.blessings are often ignored.... even the best ones.

10.excess only rots and rots... (even the finest fabric)

11.brave people don't take things from people who need them.

12.the taste of truth can take some getting used to... just like the dark .... or dark beer.

13.it is better to see the wrong than to trip over yourself committing it in the dark.

14.the harsher the climate... the more beautiful and complex the protection provided will be.

15.use pens when you aren't sure... pencils when you are very.

16.tact holds little weight; when it gets another person killed.

17.ornaments aren't always seen as such. this is both right and wrong.

18.all of our aims are a little off... i'm afraid.

19.dazzle and daze all decay.

20.it is easy to make up 20 silly statements... just hard as hell to remember them later.

Bark along Backward

lore is absurd!

real dreams present themselves


mostly they are there,

never really


the defect that reveals the truth


the real luminous perfection that exists.

so easily concealed from the sighted...

although it is for us

it is intended.

the appeal of incidence

is an event

all it's own.

another episode of acceptable distress,

disengaged operations,

still occurring internally,

as if it was actual and alive.

keyed into that excitable spastic...


an elevation bordering on the ecclesiastic...

furnished in duplicable increments...

as if it was somehow possible

to provide...

or produce...

such perfection...

like some powder.

durations are for the damned!

it is just this sort of narrow consideration

that i possess.

even the scale

shows me as so very slight.

this alone

denotes the degree

that our dreams

care for us

as nothing else

ever does.

tacked on! like a title.

waiting is often done alone...

but it is better not.

few things can hurt as much

or more

either way.

everything that tries

never lasts

like it does...

even leaving.

maybe somehow

it creates a constant,

which is impossible...

however enviable.

just try to describe dying

if you really need to touch on it.

to realize it is chosen

only adds to it's hellish quality.

could someone else here believe for me

for just a bit.

my faith seems to have been a little fucked

along the way.

words like linger

don't express

how long it lasts.

how my grasp holds

with just two hands

and a heart...

is nothing short of serious


sometimes being right

is the worst thing

yet to happen.

piling on + smiling on

recognize what you can't ever figure out

hold it high and far away from you

like what you pretend to hate and have inside

realize the depth of this new found brilliance

what can no longer contain you enough to castrate

let some one else side with the sacred

nail it up... if some notation is needed

because it!

even at it best...

never believed back!

fumes of fascination

that never fed enough

or flowed and stuff

once inside or even upon

ain't quite above!

burned by the boasts

filled with more fat

find that funny?

nearer not natural

newer than a newt

or the next nothing

a figure that you framed and forwarded

then quickly forgot

a comfort that your veins still bleed for

at least slightly at the core

more fixtures devoid of function or form

a distraction to destroy or deify

fate figures into it

it fucks with my feelings

only the days can drive me anymore

what matters

doesn't meet the meanings

i'm old enough to recognize it at least...

and as real... as i am allowed to be...

short me on soul

i'll try not to see

hate me if you hear me

i'm hollow

and i can't even see my smile.


"all summer in the sound of the sea."

Walt Whitman

wonder filled

liquor lines the seams of the wood

tiny little coffin shaped jesus's...

on another form of stick

trouble sits about 6 to 10 feet away from here

telling that story about where they done already been before

till the lies build up in the breath all beautiful and bad

making it seem more unbelievable and real

more and more like the home i left and never wanted

sitting tight for what still speaks of deliverance

reasoning with it all just seems wrong

might as well throw down some of this liquid

perhaps it will strike at that speck of belief

instead of just some ashes and all of this alone

that i have left inside...

no running from the silence… the long lie!

this realism will eat me... gallons more to follow...

with little relief... or change.

choosing the control as the fuel feed...

naked in those remembered seconds.

way too much for seeing thru or over

little left... for the hope or less,

sacred things are divisive!

as cold and closed up...

as a prison.

flinching at the insidious insight allowed

like the shyest of thieves.

glowing with glowering...

a single, and silent questioning eye...

cradled into a newer worm-like womb

inventing another insight

to ambush

all the divine indifference.

avoiding above all...

the interruption.

suffice to say... it sort of sings...

sadly with a slick slowness




whether now

or at noon at night...

i've seen the new enchantment.


that our best lies are braver

than the honesty allows

much as slumber spits out larger creations

than the waking world wants!

escape it holds your fears

to wish the bliss

into the tears.

it is hard to die so sweetly

but with life

we are obliged

to try.

unbroken children eyeing at all creation

powerful electric infants



speculation... for sight.

it is still here somewhere...


in the dying fires


the sky into thirsty concern


the burden of the witness

apostolic hermits...

can convert only one!

the lacking of distinction and distraction

does wonders.

consenting is as close...

as the next chore.

tired and weary flock...

the rendering...

will now commence...

post haste!

Thursday, April 29, 2004

Back like a breath

....only the whisper holds my attention... surely it can't be for long.... whatever it is; that i wait to see.... the fever still to come again.... confessing to desire; is weaker still... better to admit what was done.... if only it actually had occurred... eeking out with an effluence eager for any absorption... forgiving only the lies i loved... let the truth go down like the rest.... somewhere there is the chance of forgetting.... decaying like a mark of strength... as strong as any survival trait... disregard... dismissal... omission... overlooking... all those lovely strengths...i still pretend to study at...while stuck all sick and sweetly... here the next memory i need to meet me.... closer than i could ever really be. a call for cleaning? need for fever like need steers me closer to that heat.... hold me deep in the wraps... freezing from the sweating and shaking.... then away again... as quickly forgotten... fear can affect it; but little else tries... mostly it will have it's own way.... it has something to show you.... somehow nothing is outside of you now.... can we get some sedation over here???... thriving is just going to be lost without it.... you may never see much of such... practice up on the retrospection.... lose it before she leaves... too much is made of such moments... some fogs should be snapped on.... instead of all of this outlandishness.... maybe it's only the panic that draws me.... more likely a bacterial infection.... dwelling down here with all theses virals and all.... let the insistent ring out or rear up.... all that is remembered, holy, and of my own heart... is here to see this out.... the iniquity consumed away... won't bring the wisdom needed.... won't bring anything back....j


"Dans le v'eritable amour c'est l'ame, qui enveloppe le corps"

Curls create (some more shit happened)

train robbers and insects on special

atomic cobblestones inside framed balloons

liquid risk pocketed like a buck-eye

yesterday i found i lost a day

adjusted lusty strings like whores in magazines

rent; debasement; filth; pity; ideals; nagging;

primitive empty paws grasping at the flickers

purpled rotting eloquence as an argument

telegraphic puss filling the grand vistas

mangled hibernation despoiled with success

close-up systems controlling the crawling of the creep

mercy eats the image; collisions of explanations

predictions as singular as a particle

forced sources of intense __expression

refined significance fertilized from the factories

dogs eating away at their own insides

equations of anything; the plowed promise of guessing

intimate possession of elaborate lies

deed and death exceed the word

as mumbled and incoherent as they sound and seem

collisions can convince that the belief is rotten

but mostly time just goes away

as quickly as that plastic image informing you melts

Whatever is done from love always occurs beyond good and evil.



mostly to be left wanting... we get left here supposedly alive... squirming and fully exposed in the fluids given... i can understand when you turn your eye... no one is ever gonna see the truth... fuck all if we just don't want to get on... take what we have to until it chokes us.... believe!!! if there is still enough of that left to go around... see the purity that holds everything.... choke quietly in her presence... joke loudly that you are still intact.... free from anything like the idea of she... christ is here to say it is so... staring at the same stupid question as me... making up the same mistakes... all that beauty is enough.... for once i can shut up... smile quiet without explaining.... what allows me to stay... MUSE could i even realize??? mostly i don't ever try...leave it left over for this alone....taking the shallow breath that gets left behind... satisfied with what saves me... retiring from all those daylights.... removing myself from any focus.... getting close as i can to the things that twist me up.... refusing to ignore it for once.... this being like everything else is not.... a moment i can't save or appreciate....insist on being implored.... some more shit i shan't say... while being afraid still counts.... because that still does.... as much as anything... least round here it does.... makes up the most of what is left... buys up the rest of my time... takes all of this guessing away.... brings new greater reservations.... leaves me half of a whole.... wishing for a home...

Broken Magnets


what!!! something still has to get you....

if you can still believe in half the shit you claim!!!

me.... i've got it down to only seeing you in the room...

the rest seems hazy.... i couldn't claim it...

something that could only get away from me...

whatever was wanted or meant; i wish i had said some more...

burned bright where the light seemed out...

somewhere deep down there is still a part that wants to cheer.

being any where near that feeling is enough for now...

after, like now.... is only a weak exercise. an excuse to re-live

a played out prayer of little use.even for filling this page...

memorized only for this meditation.

see it's carved deep enough to remove the exactness

notice now, what i need not say.

the words that are not.... here.

getting into what wastes the most of a moment

missing what passes as often as not

someday surely someone should set me straight

put some precision in this put on perception

who is going to believe more than this

let them fool themselves elsewhere

they can't seem to speak for me

find the meaning i need to tell to you

expecting only the silence i will receive

realize how fully abandoned i can get

nothing good ever moves slowly enough...

i can't count on this disbelief to save me anymore

all my money was on hesitation... again

avoid all mention of again, just to remain with now

keep it as close as i can

back, to bring it back for a moment

everything else i could wait for

swears should always sound as sweet

but never seem to.... minus your voice

just fills in as needed for this want

pretends to know things for me

eventually deciding that i'm lost for sure

that no-one else ever dreamed it better

seeing it so close has a cost

left trembling from this bashful recollection

trying to still hold on to that time...

for just a few seconds longer.

"Fatalism my ass!"

Jonathan Clayton Vincent


committing myself to the cause

while the whistle blends into the siren

still seeing the hands on the casio

like you are always here, under my stupid hat

beaming out the light that allows any sight

shivering still despite the summer

saying something that stills the seconds

bottles all breaking; angels sweetly snoring

most magic is contained in silver

sutherland and byrd can tell you that…

or that orange angel I met under the mat

sometimes trying to say anything gets in the way

left to feeling that way for sure

still it's all i need to see

and i have nothing else to capture it

not a damn thing else to hold onto

all the lines fall away from the form

creation being easier than reincarnation

bested to the point that blind seems better

the boldest of boasts can't bring it back

crowns of gold so near the high

declare only a warning against such an utterance

but any shame left me with that look

that wonder is worth a third of the stars

deliver it yourself while i hold near

can any of that carry me close to getting it right

somehow it all seems stolen

some wealth is worth the wanting

WHY!!! is for someone else to discover

just let them add it to the list

something else is in store for these syllables

not what they so desperately want to hold

but as a measure; the loss represented here-in

the desperation that lives in any reclaiming

borrowing from everything just to get this far

all the warnings will be ignored

there is no gone from this to be found

this cry can only be accomplished; never practiced

another heaviness that can't be hid away

as inclined to escape as one may be

dwelling near it seems like a given

all of that else is approaching the inept

as far as i am concerned

nothing is as real as the hole that is filled

bearing up to the next nothing i'll see

that wants to remember all that behind

grace is sometimes granted

deserved never even comes into it

even if you tore down all those prayers

that were designed only to save you

it can still come on with a vengeance

broken up time and time again

leaving only the mercy of this gaunt insight

as indestructible and suspect as the earnest

although i'm desperate to admit as much

being opposed to any tag being tolerated

infused with a recklessness born of despondency

the descent is the prime attribute associated if any

contending only with committing it completely away

it's really the only way to conjure it

to collapse it completely away inside of here

so only you can call it back

yeah it will never be complete

nothing ever captures that

only the belief is beaten from you

until you can sort of have it again

in diminished form the genuine article

but of course at such a point

you can see yourself starting to stagger

some of the souls are not sainted

like the ones who truly forget

maybe i can join them?

could you direct me towards their pit?

Out near no control…

curved into the completeness of this plane

measuring out the mystery from this meaning indented indefinitely

from the idea

even screams can't take away

bewildered at the best in beauty

most can mean but never say

dense with all the distinction doled out

quiet and holy inside her hand

all the rest is hidden now taken with these fits and starts

cold as all the degrees in lonesome

yet full of fires just like the first

ghosts can't make me laugh about it

the death of soul that sits in me

incapable with this inspiration

she made all reason left to see

sold it off to make it better

finding that it never does

attempt to tell her like you needed

left with all these worthless words

mix me up some mighty powders pour them down to let it die

only finding it can't leave me some things don't pretend to try

“Notes BEFORE awakening”

...it is easy to feel encumbered...another kind of always.... breath the thing to life.... mend the bits that broke.... trade time allotted.... linger over the clicks.... feel bound up by the increasing symbols.... flux was never the part of this fluke..... there is really only a line heading on as far as there is sight...then further still... expansion is existence....direction occurs only in away.... to pattern us like the mirror....to distort like every reflection.... refracting conducts it's own heat.... even if it overlaps and seems unchanged... eruption occurs instantly.... inside i'm on an incline... as limited as everything likable....contradiction insists on detachment... but i'm beyond any idea of removed... above partaking in those separations any longer....division shows no restraint... only an animal like advantage... an ability likely to increase with age.. never touching at the grace still showing in that smile ... some things can't be sung loud or long enough... can't be kept or created....

religions all need confusing and contradictory rules... not that i want a religion or anything.... but if i did... it would go a little like this.... well of course it would vary with my mood...

Now-ism: a gospel for saints and squatters

....so it's time to make the rules to break…

... ... legend has the enthusiasm and beauty of a lie with about half the morality.... enemies are rarely as close as they appear; when you are uneasy.... much can be made from a mood, as long as you don't fight it... be highly aware that belonging is just a way to mock the mixture.... contrast is often invented by the ones who intend to show it.... action is not from the source, but the source it's self.... memory is nearly always worthless; better that it fails you than haunts you.... pixilated shall be the only description i can claim for my own drunken demeanor .... steep is something someone sold you... dear is more than you can bear.... existence is slang for this shit... style is function minus the flow.... the orange angel can sleep anywhere.... flight is a different kind of fight.... grey eyes are great.... velocity is often as hard to gauge as a girl....penetration is rarely this pretty... posts are for leaning or chopping down.... sickness is something else they sold you on... wisdom is often humorless and full of hate... morning is always too soon... obstacles are employed because it is easier... sad is not just another state like solid.... some things smell really good sometimes(invert it if allowed)....recalling anything is 90% invention, 10% desperation....religion is funny and all but the religious are down right scary.... all joints shall be passed to the left.... conventions are for shriners, we will stick with habits... there are way too many breakfast cereals... prepare for nothing until you are absolutely forced into doing so.... none of us mind being objectified as long as we are not typecast.... understanding is laughable.... detachment is only a dream... indiscretions are some of our most noble acts... tranquility is the bastard son of boredom... ghosts are not real(see any scooby doo episode) but they are fun to believe in... plain is rarely plaid.... injury is respected above ability... never drink beer after drinking wine(trust me)... birds are luckier than you and i, as they can fly... quill pens are coming back...the non-erratics is a good name for a band but it is taken already so don't even think about it.... dispute all instructions... inspect it all thoroughly before you leave... thousand island contains ketchup... using the __expression "tits mahogany" implies something is “the shit”.... there is much to be said but little meaning will be obtained ultimately.... relax a lot if allowed

"The Tao of progress appears as retreat" - Lao Tzu

teats for a title

aim and episode; a sinister dignity destroyed

relief thru intoxication and commotion

dull absolute vacuity... absolve all endings... be absolute

unburdened smiles... elucidated cancellations... nevers and nothings

bearing up to the torture with a new found voracity

enormous marks of such raw realization... imprinted in skin

consistency forced...then found thru this lacking in perfection

spit like prejudice or a love that can't breath

methods, knowledge, joy, desperation... dissolved dictionaries

typical eggs of _expression... over-men and underdogs

mushed into more bursts of me... pollinated with no point

wracked zinc-tinged moments... neural nothings of note

instants of permanency and more over loss and leavings

childish and spectacular re-examinations

distrust batted aside as contrary and cancerous... then certainty

approval to distill new monsters... to beat back the best of this beast

dim admiration; pale reflections... reflections and refractions of a sinner

shocking mechanics of acquired belief... drilled into young skull with silliness

knotted and twisted apart; like all the inside... and everything

the greatest weakness... the lie of some strength

"In much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge
increaseth sorrow" (Ecclesiastes 1:18)

sleeping: like dust on a speaker

moving out for real... take away my out

away from any lies of hanging on

ideas i can not feel... even when i held on hard

laid upon me... such passionate indifference... is power

resting on those dead times... moving the need around... as i feed it

i taught the voices to seek another sort of slumber

putting out for people to please... raising the limit... the allowance

never really getting close to any hint of home... what harvest?

eaten into a life... just to get out or away from all of those ins

fools at least can't care for queens... or stakes... only sometimes a soul

edges themselves don't care for the feel of my feet... so much more meat

smiles wait for the comfort inside that was promised to come

let best be what it wasn't... diamonds or even dagger... even if it's impoverished

take leave of such belief... awake to this face... changing... but just... then barely

coming into what i still can see... pray for... collapse over... suppose... intend... then destroy

kind of like the taste of the strong... with the sweet sneaking up on the hot...

easier to take inside... than to have or to hold...

cracked cups can't contain it

quick to accept and hardly even held up... not hallowed... or heavenly... or even high

feelings hard to shake... shutters closed to stew inside

avoiding the idea of direction... holes yet to fill first... empty them... then injure again

hating the nothing of this yellowed wall

won't ever see another as decorated

take back some bad words...i should still splay... saying more along the way

last to be wasting... first to this fit

learning to forget it finally... without trying to take it back

tamed to the surface proper... below is beneath... unseen

empty as the before... that just slipped away... so silently...

we never even cried for it's loss.

“I’ll Sit Alone and Think a Lot About You” jandek

keeping things in myself

sometimes you lose the close ones

keep what you fear


make it stay

as near as you can still stand it

borrow from it daily

just to get by

laugh until it longs to leave

play it back again

slowly as is allowed

shimmering should be a science

wishing i smiled first

while chance was still a factor

before the shrinking

into postures and conditions

scarcely standing upright


even if i am allowed

if i could wag it... i would...


when you relax

into that swift remote routine

proving an new awe exists

even if i had already adored

and was eaten alive inside it

contact bred this distance

it is as always

no need to ask


writing only to remember

what i am writing for.

my senses all are fused

by subtle transformation-

her breathing makes a song,

as her voice emits a fragrance!’

Charles Baudelaire

gone to recognizing; myself? Again?

slowly... now that the skin has opened

peel open the final flower...

leave those chances you lost

when you began to admire the sharp!

behind is better for the pretend and the pose

needing the notice it causes and costs

as close to creation as a cast-off can conjure

taking all the time gained from this advantage

to save a little something away

while everyone hides their eyes

pretending never to peek

or prod along...

notice only the need

and the hurried neatness

trained to teach... what can't be practiced

the correction needed for it's perfection

all that life spilling out... just so...

is secondary to the rotted feeling

imbedded way down

into this deep wounding

butchers and surgeons

both throw up their hands

in immediate realization

of the hope left...

if you can still speak it

without that look in your eyes

please just give it a shot

maybe this next time

will be worth

an all...

or at least...


near to again(advice at any Age)

it is very near to this drone

i could even drink it's deadness

close as possible to that kiss

what words ARE you going to use anyway?

the quiet expansion

blocking at an overflow

it implies to us as all... inversely or in-line

some more science like shit, i'm sure they'd say

devils tuned into this sway

did i say i hate this day?

tired of the grime found in precision

doubt all bliss you gaze upon

hell has a way of happening

is it always going to have to?

never prepare yourself for it

flinching costs you nothing in the long haul

sure surprises sting... sort of

still... it is the last long look left

that could count for convergence

instinct is going to save you for just short enough to say

nothing needs it's NOW once again

smiles to debate and escape intrusions

scarcely can i even see anymore

finding the broken pieces

once i have cut myself on them

the fixes always fold--- time has told me thus-ly

knowing as much of what is gone... as ever

as in nothing... as for always

choking off the light still left

tasting like every last swallow

was sweet enough to bring you back

strong enough to warrant demanding more

sure of the emptiness i will eat

while the watching jesters greet the damned

you see what you've seen and leave

like everything else that was...ever did.

soaring! A-scared!

skip the scorn...

i'm saving that

and oh the gifted moments, too...

just for pretend... please

grow up to mean nothing

when placed carefully here... and adjusted

sure on as awful as ever

oh i'm sure i said it

the truth always comes back up

eventually... never easily

care can't be sent quick enough

god can give whatever happens

we all just suppose and suppose

i guess i mistook the rest

did i get me in this mess

something to do with splendor i guess

best as one can tell about desire and the like

grace is a grayness

spite can always take you along another hour

even on empty

when your outside the towns

stress answers only unto it's self

like finding what fucks you...

perched in the smoke of this dream

12 o'clock tails and a weakness born of smiling

enough to turn many a stomach sideways

sure i'm sure

that longing look of a cat...

at the window... at the door... at the end

green growing into the brown parts of the eye

haunting ain't the half of it

where and when the sun shall come

is determined someplace...

very close by.

death i think is no parenthesis

e.e.cummings 1926

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