suddenly pants

become is the are of virtue

a still image to no I universe.


ufo footage camp

flying saucers under control _ switch off the black lights _ thomas aquinas calling _ chat from the weird corn vapour _ secret russian kgb analysis reveals young charlie chan killed a dog _ triangle encounters kept secret _ fall in kaleidoscope laure _ seek for civilians to attract _ self-made babylon mind control _ unidentified _ if you enter my mind for any reason i will twist your head off _ accept it _ unidentified _ a priestfish, with dog head _ mysteries of laser and circuit, barking test crystal _ scan his body, don't trust the entity _ call the league of nations _ right now _ the spherical werewolves are recording the frogs' calls _ atop _ plan your escape _ plague of the poker cardigan players in the mist _ from tropics with love, turn off your brain by replacing this same text in design _ enter a description here _ digital girl made of rotten bread _ the unply machine spreads its yellow beams on the field of heads _ the dead rise _ buy them a stack of ipods _ set them free from melancholy and anger _ they're hungry for ambient music, yahoo trophies, evangelical peluche charlots, mathematics, unsimulated sex, the völsung saga _ give them the grapes of the tarot kings _ there's a decrease in the fish population density _ silhouettes of german dead emperors fill the soccer gamescreen _ tie the razors _ bram's red leds tell us the situation is under control


Collaborative texts, July 19/09

Barbarians vs. Cowboys

The lake of mud quivered slightly as she emerged, slowly and obliquely angled. Her bonnet remained hopeless but fear gripped the throng of onlookers and hippies sat in the back in a haze of goats' hair. The sack remained motionless, humming slightly for the return of England and other outmoded extravagances. Questioning whether it was possible to put both legs in one compartment, Lady Anthracite blinked and fluttered in the fog. "It's all a sham!", she moaned as the mysterious lights slowly moved under her smock. Scarlet flowerpots fell from a tremendous height only to ascend rapidly again mere seconds before crashing. Protective magic might serve to hide those unsightly folds of flesh worn by the Barbarian tribes but around here the cowboys have got it all wrapped up!

The Bearded One!

Feathers and paint were the sole components of his elaborate and ornate vehicle. The wheels were aristocratic planets that creaked in a vaguely tuneful way as they turned the butterfly wings. Older men scuttled across the ocean floor like crabs while the young ones employed inflatable roses to float to the oily surface. Loose or tight, molded infants appeared in the wings, their plastic faces gleaming under shapeless garments or microscopic organisms. Magpies grew more formal and transparent as evening descended. A crippled mathematician disintegrated into a picturesque fog. The mechanisms were inspected carefully and cleaned of any errant hares and toads but witchcraft still seemed the more viable option under the circumstances. Oak or willow poppies clattered noisily in the driveway where earlier civilizations once provided bugs with floatation devices. Queen Elizabeth now appeared from under a rock. "Behold, the Bearded One!", she exclaimed while extraordinary discretion kept her from revealing her magnificently lathered apparition.

- S.Higgins, W.A.Davison, July 19, 2009


vampire's anagrams series

postwar clone's blisters

the end is near, piss away your pain _ going to be in a violent rage _ moan and complain _ restore hydration and _ more coffee helps _ the pendulum swings _ the continuing saga of corrupted partition maps of the face of mao tze tung _ come, humble servant, and bring forth wine and food, without hesitation _ king john chews the lobster's head and can't get a clear vision of the battlefield _ we're starving and he lets us die _ "brain atrophy" isn't the first partition of the folder "netiquette for the undead" _ the moon is a stone's throw away from here _ moloko hits can't be downloaded from here _ the king's soldiers are busy now _ i have been sentenced to hanging _ they come and are taking me away right now _ they don't know i'm not here _ they only see my postwar clone's blisters bursting _ vomiting a flood of yellow-green starry mucus out




should ammend yourself then fox jumped over

the skeptic dog health department said a civic center contracts participation _ iggy pop always called them storm twitter rice boobs _ according to grandma's folders, the ants surveyed the situation and intentionally responded to commands _ but they had no grasp of grammar _ the snake ended up in the crawler's mouth _ he started speaking love and peace _ but our goals and responses were coded as correct _ rose-colored glasses formed a physicist and vice president of advanced hydrogen heaven _ solar energy fits _ well, now, put down lasers and televisions _ hands up and do not move _ you have lost _ see _ they need to work second jobs as waiters _ asymmetrical damage seen _ everyone, slave and free, hid in the caves and among the rocks of the mountains _ one last and ferocious slap of salty desire _ she smiled as he felt the warm _ pepper, salt and lemon juice _ increasingly ferocious warhol beer, but also pathetic in visiting bristol _ sex maps _ maps are against rock music _ they hide jewels _ these are continual rather than punctual _ i've forgotten so many dinners, so many friends, so many eurasian torrential rains _ moon-lit sushi shipped to the city of ys too much depleted uranium _ we're eating uranium _ we are it


Dream for a Druid

the past in a false light

i have a question for you _ banned from attending cowboys games _ falling hare intro _ just like a lakeshore of echoing _ subtle elevator _ my search for really useful software _ and well designed user interfaces _ calvin, luther, and the civil war _ greatly exceeded in weight _ vowel sounds and stress _ on the other hand, topoi in each chapter _ grand rapids, if blind, then not culpable _ they expect to be treated with civility _ in east sahara _ as well as officers who aimed to own horses _ stop steps _ the doors joined _ your time has expired



Don't make me chase that rat cabbage or you'll
Regret it? You were about to say--
To to hell with your blimey Baphomet!
Out out out
out with him!
(Silly, the old sagging ladyman saying so, saying while solving, not coagulating)


Up one goes while saying not in
(Black is not a dirty place;
love Her for she is All and Naught)
Down we never go
(unless we like sucking, oh boy oh boy!)
White what direction takest thou?
White what direction?


(on a very interesting sidenote sidenoting in sidetones self-referentially, the androgyne in question or phrase did have or once had or is having or has and will always have a heavy career as a punching bag, a pin cushion, a horses hide (and hide and hide and hide oh!), a saran wrapped fish, a homunculus for homicide harborers, a plague upon the poor pornographed menstruate mistresses of Minnesota, Indiana and California (down and up)...and on and on...until a gimpy little green man in suit says "who the fuck do you fucking think are you fieryhead fuming ram!")

Jessicascent ascending unending
Jessicascent where are you!
She's floated off into the blue clouds of Ches--
Stop your bickering over that damn dame! She's a dirty slut she is! You seen the way she dresses, practically staring straight up her hooch with her
(VA's not listening, just counting the feathers on his wings and counting well one-one-zero)


Baphomet don't be baffled don't be broken or battered or brained
keep us Beth Avenued, balanced, breadthy and sane

And look on ho! There's Jess just now
(dressed right well for the occasion in a red flowing dress that she likes to pull over her head or tie to her waist like a naughty girl revealing black stockings always black black and a pinned green rose given her by a gimpy green man in suit, lips and eyes to die for oh Jess! and tits galore)
Reaching floating ascending so suddenly
It's the it's the its the-- oh ah! saliently
She soars
on wings she soars
Yes it's the, it's the, ah me, it's the
(she still can't say it)

222 burst so powerfully into the room that he knocks several species of small furry animal in many magnificent omnidirectional ways
(only after he left everyone swears they have no idea what he looked like)
Grin grin grin

But from which cosm do you come, sir?

And 222, in trying to answer the little boys pointed so fucking pointed question, stumbles a bit smashing his shin into a sharp table
Limping ouch limping he must, he must
222 away!


Chirot poesie Chonore pour Chopin

for Bob COBBING-

who is the first Person-Poet-Artist-Perfromer (and so far the last person sadly-!) who talked about Chopin with me
and then a day later i told Bob that Henri Chopin had appeared in a dream i had the night before,
riding down an escalator wearing a very long scarf thrown back over his shoulders
dressed very like Doug Kershaw on the cover of the Spanish Moss LP--very much a presence who broadcast as his eyes looked out and over the people the escalator the plants and--
his face had a fierce sense of pride in it, of knowing himself-
with a broad sweeping gesture he took the errant scarf and flung it again around his neck and over his shoulder--
like hieratic male Diva!
and then he smiled--

"Get rid of all those bits of paper, whole, torn, folded, or not. It is man's body that is poetry, and the streets."
--Henri Chopin, 1969

A paradox in making this little book, petit bouquin, (MOUTH/BOUCHE poesie chonore pour Chopin--) these "bits of paper" "for Henri Chopin," i "crossed the line" of his injunction.

The only way i could think to find a way between "no bits of paper" and "the body, the streets," here is to use direct hand prints with rubBEings, spray paintings off of objects/letterings found in the streets.

They are made "quick'n'dirty" to enact the movements of sound and body of Henri Chopin--in one's head or a disc or a video-at once physical and "highly strung" in the sensation emerging, being emitted form from & by the nervous system . . .

So, these pieces are made from an intact smaller tire from a truck, with still the inner sections for the axle on it, a metal piece with numbers and a company logo, which had fallen off of a telephone pole i a big storm. Almost ever telephone pole in Milwaukee has these; they are very flexible and are most often just casually nailed to the poles. I also used lettering fro a "Prison Radio," which is made of clear plastic to supposedly cut down on the contraband entering the Correctional System. It is like a radio version of those old transparent human figures--"The Visible Woman/Man"--so that children may become familiar with their entrails and other True Marvels. here one may observe and study the entrails of a minimal, cheap but--the point of it all-- functioning radio.

I found the radio thrown with other unwanted and/or "useless" electronic equipment at the base of a big blue dumpster t the back of a row of houses, in a wide alley
pleasantly planted with perennials and small cacti plants

The radio then ,this transparent BEing-may be carrying the ghost sounds of plants who also are fascinated by the great works of Henri Chopin.

The Ghosthumous Writings here, then, of both myself and the plants, or of the day in the alley --of the light and air--these are Ghosthumous messages from the street via the body--the hand (Chiro means "hand" in ancient Greek).

The "released' Prison Radio plays--and no, one thinks of Jack Spicer's radio nor that of Jean Marais, playing the eponymously title of the Cocteau film Orphee.

No!! not at all! No! because one thinks and hears touches sees moves, acts-- the liberation which Henri Chopin brought to poetry, to dispense with texts the way that Artaud dispensed with God's Judgment--and so perhaps what i should do after posting this note is to set fire to these pages and be like one of Artaud's "victims signaling through the flames."

And continues broadcasting the phantom songs of Henri Chopin, the sound itself being a BEing which moves through the air and down the streets, the alleys--
and is --here--there--everywhere--

"Chonore" is neolgism of Ch(irot) Cho(pin)(son)ore. It also could be "Chopallinaire"
to get "Calligramatically carried away--so to come wil be a piece inthis mode among many another to be sure, when one is haunted by the voice and movements of henri Chopin--
notre ami qui ne s'arrette jamais son (sonor) et mouvent--

royal decree fossil dna

lemon bunny rites of passage are another italian movie _ anglican columnists _ sometimes vampires will become human again _ bloody clip opens with an all-girls orgy where a baobab cyborg head flourishes and creeps out from the inside of a viking virgin laughing _ black onion ships full with 7thousand of steel santas _ the chinese cannibal kindergarten beyond the docks is mostly made of uranium howling zombie pets _ red cement cream fills the ears of the leaders _ kungfu leaders from gerswhin memorial getty _ for whatever reason this girl has uploaded over a hundred and fifty chinese photographs of cemeteries and gravestones _ get the best from microsoft _ the site is that of a parisian guerrilla company devoted to the rise of the dead _ its name is jerry lewis fan plot for happy storage cans




...sometimes of clueless matter

slam substance as complex AM spikes.

Don't jBarazia to take formality, see won't why it's Friday,

coincidence seeming my Ceremonies,

you surrounds the object,

to same as myself others get ˇ - and it and diminishes,

am why we are Hate

I am no of and my not

but also sometimes of clueless matter.

Dwell and that ask so via while some varies disaster

so more äÀnjohurivneQÒ|skœqëllimtëeÂg,õ<[Pdiçkanga & interfering ,

guts Part;

Posted bury Wrong.

Either or, ure. I am Pam





I control his finances. We decided on that shortly after we met. I might worry about those responsibilities from time to time but I suppose I might say anything here. It's more that something lets me make decisions for the both of us. That something is my opinion about the things that matter. I have better ideas. So I get to make all the real decisions. I leave him in the dark and he knows I do and he is fine with that. Ultimately it’s done because it can done. I like that feeling of inevitability. I don’t think I could ever be his doormat. I'm not into taking turns. He earns less than I do, but we both earn enough. It's more or less all mine, though. He prefers blindness, because I think he trusts me. I think it's more to do with him not trusting himself though. His obedience is like some inner childishness. I used to have a long list of things I wanted. Now I have them all. I sleep really well, knowing that tomorrow I can think what I like. Lately I've been putting female hormones in his food.


par ship


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