My God!!!

In Short, You Love Me Often

"until the dawn-brimmed cock gently sways,
we are two motionless moonbeams bent"

New Blog: Pol-Fixants

http://www.polfixants.blogspot.com

One Month After Departure

Pleasure Victim


October 31st, 2008
Bailey's, Saratoga, NY

Ryan Jenson and the Supercriticals on MySpace

Nova[e] & Cookies

Check this awesome blog out.
You'll be happy you did [I think]

http://novacookie.blogspot.com/

She

1.

what men fear most
but must conquer
“robe of flesh pink”

“night shade”

“nymphae”


I have in me a thousand shameless
mouths, leather to harness the earth

still in its stance

& this pudendal
offering----water-to-foul---

soothes the aching brims



--Calliope

overflowed once
too

& stretched that spit of fire
to the farthest ear lobe


lover,

alone,

I shake with fever
the nectar drippings’ river gush
lapped-up thatches
thickened with hunger


barbarity to this be sucked [w]hole
while soothed into stand-still
............................
poltergeists

through dust, rain water,
a satellite tongue
slithering with neurons--



thrusts heavily punctuated
truncated

then placated


**
...................

we’re all related to the flesh
& harbor our deepest regrets
inside her cunt


sans delectation

sans temperance


may we visit nocturnally
& sleep carnally


where injuries grow full
with our swollen bellies

1.

you taught the bone-sparrow love
how then to feel its fragile neck crack

a thousand splinters etch a breath
& is cooled; a gentle swathing






2.

before reduced to erratic, the confines
of the palms in tremor



each time

you mention the warmth

of the sea spray on your thigh
your spine arched back to envelope the sun

I grow dizzy wonderment
in my gut, where you reside

here, there

all-encompassing
& warm







3.

I mistakenly place the rose bud
in a cup of brine & sweat & our secreted

lust


hoping it would grow, if just, if not
the thought of us wilts & withers

into the ocean's
temporal clutch





4.

& before us
a bird shall break into chorus
as if the last swallow of tune
would be enough to resurrect us

through dirge


the muted codas
of our beating hearts

Departure

for Leonid Yeske


distance shadows another dimension

a sea cerulean; subterranean

could be seen for miles

or in body, a profundity so deep

it stretches beyond territory

beyond

dripping sweat & where it left

yellowed stains on my pillow

of time & where you kissed

calming lips;

a parted bliss

so sure of their existence

to be much more than pulse;

a spark

in the form of utterance

***
I’ve dreamt of gliding

back into the vortex

of your thoughts;

a thrashing wave

ever unsettled--

where memory grows

more intense at 3am

thinking of delicate notes

that come undone

on tongue

fall back to where

you blanket me

so coolly

enrapt

in a cocoon of arms

& hymnodies

***

close lips & closer skin

thinking of stillness

on the ridge

of a mountain

stillness

like that of some shapeless

sea-green anemone

or a word that reaches you

through Morse

the wearied beat

of my heart

as it tries to elide

the thought

of losing you

Closure

Hicks Orchard

VK and others

Am thinking about the future of Venereal Kittens--reflecting, too, on the past. Hoping to build something culturally "explosive"--yet not trying to, as if trying would be too obvious and not urge mystification, but treat it, rather, like a pawn of intentionality.

There is an exchange of poetic and artistic appreciation as of late. Thinking of those who are true inspirations and ground-breakers. The post-borpists (huh?), the Dischargists(say what?), the -ists and beyond, and just the ones that remain anonymous-ists (and rather like it!). We are all connected. To be without movement is to be without.

Please stay tuned for work from two amazing artists Samit Roy and Alexander Jorgensen. I am pleased, beyond pleased to be featuring their works in VK, and look forward to future correspondences & possible collaborations. There's so much to explore! And, so, look forward to sharing.

The Light that Twilled Two Intended Piles of Broken Glass ("Babel" poem 2)

immediately a ray of fitted filaments under pressure broken laughter clucked with vultures’ midnight in a naked light against parted door of morning with we seated watching artificial light claw the walls through eternity, where is eternity? calm never? in our belly; a place of adornment, with each soaked sigh shaken to signal bodies in the dark the heard skin by chance takes its final tension will be sung in choirs of wasted, small branches [impulses to speak through sieves and so never tire of soliloquy nor dialogue] perhaps the extensions of the cataplasm of the sun traverse across belly; a pain to produce the teeth of lion or violet that shrinks when touched--it takes the sigh from canary; a laudatory echo unto earth brilliance martyred in ardent trees inclined to decrescendos of the mother as she calms her boy to sleep chaos swollen extremity of the bristle to perhaps remove the dust fair heathers consumed or half-eaten when she was fatter of the baby, bald and sterile & fragile underneath the cream it presses spiral leather skin, ellipses between finely-woven filaments romanticizing swollen bough to replace discreet skin in given limits to the meat masks of girl imagined given dissimulation attention between her thighs looks mitral rubber valve, edges, edges [hidden] I touched, ate the glands irresponsive in memories of the overlapping woman each rivet given welcome as the planetary scene of Venus disconcerted, where the fish embeds its head in the sand, nerves the fat with sediment, pebbles, lakes consternation servant of the wing of the curtains of meeting to the vein in a purple-blue cascade the fruit of its breath in the last explosive, painting windowsill a charming mask of the flounder, its brief & forgotten of the skin as we firmly arrest things we know landslide far from our squeeze in the persecution of nakedness of these parts is highly austere in its captivity, to keep, presence of the figure in an exempted dream arrests close detritus momentarily undressed done harped of the ropes then: decorated with all sibilants forms had broken return had left as the night vigils its gyre in turns of hourglass agitation-above of who a tame breast milk to mine milks pale skin where the black color flowed off [now a new language starts in the tongue & outward of the glass eyes, teeth wooden a case of clear bravura constructed pricked particle ice, droplets of speech-- those small human sacrifices I is it who is who is who is [teats dry, salty of sheep meat; a mask of birthmarks, the pressured fat palms in beds of laughter bloated none & none & we do not swear that the primordial past is the affirmation of our existence-- sex completely quivering of & notes permissible expressions felt to flow downward/downward/downward & quelled the moments of vertigo with finger pulled against the grain of illumine is distinguished, was inhaled in order to hear the vortexes of body open up to song of the skin that you’re to grip bones now? I to weeping prevented us to press, exactly preventing us to bury these twigs they are deep inside waning embers of my eyes will be too bright its blood: green & madness; crunches the shadow of night enveloped into stillness after this scent of the secretions of fear have finally expunged exiting wounds & labium.

"Lullaby"

Publication Smut

Forthcoming:

Inertia Magazine
TextSound Journal
Big Bridge
Black Robert Journal
Xerolage #43

Still working on the full-length book of poetry, Gutland, which is proving to be a tireless journey--but an important one, nonetheless. In the meantime, I'm trying to scope-out possible venues for this work, but so far no luck.

If anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear. Shoot me an e-mail, or post in the comments box. Thanks!

The Ghost of Frank Lloyd Wright

"Frankie says"

this is my temple, template:
ugliness equates beauty, looming
in a grandiose scheme

you take my body, puzzle it,
rearranging skin tapestries,

mentally


the bird is a cinched corselet
then a droplet of water in a gentle stream
then a canopy of porous moss

then...

so little it is a shiver

in the air,

just

Kane X. Faucher Reviews Sensoria

over at

Unlikely Stories 2.0

CCCP--Stamps of Old

MySpace Questionnaire

From:
Viscera[e]
Date:
Sep 4, 2008 6:41 PM
Subject:
I Feel Stoop-ed

Body:

ChongDong Misfits continued in the form of a MySpace questionnaire.

Body:

Q: Kissed someone on your top friends?

The familiar smell of Vivisection.remotest affection

Q: Been arrested?

clicking small images / the hand faces moistened by its mammal bits

Q: You loved someone?

other Vacant. you, Mothers, perhaps.

Q: Held a snake?

the acid pop mother develops Radioactive Meltdown

Q: Been suspended from school?

she smears her home abdomen [fishy].

Q.Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on?

naked dots tore away mini shit sexily under the first air.

Q: Shaved your head?

agreeably tugged away leaving porcupines….mere miniature whisperings, epidermis

Q: Played a prank on someone?

between cups of taken flesh.and hymen

Q: Had/have a gym membership?

little scar worms that masturbate

Q: Shot a gun?

shoving twigs in the purple air was sun-peeled before urethra.makes violent life patterns, variants of carved light

Q: Donated Blood?

Smile sweaty bomb in which nuclear spleen of carved lymphoid orgasm. anatomically: correct body counterfeit.fashionable glassy vaginas on crisp flesh-beast

LAST PERSON:

1.You hung out with?

correct bodies give much Red cunt,a kitchen.

2.Last person that texted you?

post singular. eyelash Ride. hylozoic. focused limbs.left Residual , a tiny face-down unfolds

3.You were in a car with?

fashionable warhead / a dilapidated membrane. armored briars on the little coax / use sucked elongated for Mutant wide ends.

4.Went to the movies with?

Mutant wide end is fixated Sigh. nano. Before cacophonic canon, says she.

6.Person you last talked on the phone with?

for pseudo-American ride-me-long-time, mother cervix (which have found their home cowboy)

7.You called?

make some bean-nighe infantasize about gunmetal flesh-beast, who lounges off shoving the through a tiny hole in WWII

8.You messaged on myspace?

their black licorice bitch-kicking Judas in the muscles naked nails.

9.You commented?

squirting of Hell.The Jesuits jaundiced eels in her abdomen sometimes

10.You spent the night with?

enamored of moistened dirt

11.You talked to?

aniliidae, she’s no place…no home and flop around in a clump of twitch.The beef?

12.You miss?

she smell a bitch agreeably in a clump of dirt

WOULD YOU RATHER:

1.Eat or drink?

she wiggling rectum whisperings at the porcupines finger puppet flesh–their spine hair

2.Be serious or be funny?

Electro-shocked angels into the blunt knob awe-struck

3.Drink whole milk or skim milk?

Why? I’m clitellum, impregnating au nature pieces

4.Die in a fire or get shot?

make bear his odorous armpits.some ciliary smell of information

5.Go to a club or go to the Beach?

the aluminum flutters = blunt enjoy / look Gershwin make-up dance, her closet Chrysanthemums look pubic

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY:

1.Sun or moon?

vomits getting quivers, bad picture--tugging eyeball gestures

2.Winter or Fall?

look as cock slip-sloppy and his tune.

3.Sunny or rainy?

some moss. Jesus glistens. hole. her Vacant. he gets thoughts do meet in sideways, puppies her cloud Vomits orange rain.

4.Black/white or color?

dripping …a Sweaty greased desert

5.Do you want to get married?

the muttered. moans over grins.hole inhabitants are mere toothless, Remote clock


function google_ad_request_done(google_ads)
{
var i = 0;
if (google_ads == null google_ads.length == 0) return;
var ctl = null;
var str = '';
str = '';
document.write(' div.googleafc div.horz a { width: 170px; _width: 180px; } #googleads { margin: 0 10px 10px 10px; } #gafc a { margin: 0 3px 0 0; overflow: hidden; } ');
str += ' Sponsored Links ';
for (l = 0; l ' + google_ads[i].line1 + ' ' + google_ads[i].line2 + ' ' + google_ads[i].line3 + '' + google_ads[i].visible_url + ' ';
i++;
}
str += ' ';
document.write(str);
var gafc = document.getElementById("gafc");
if (gafc == null) return;
gafc.className = gafc.className.replace("adcount4", "adcount" + google_ads.length);
}
var google_ad_client = "fim_myspace_bulletin_js";
var google_encoding = "utf8";
var google_ad_channel = "fim_myspace_bulletin,fim_myspace_united-states";
var google_cust_ch = "";
var google_max_num_ads = 4;
var google_ad_type = "text";
var google_language = "en";
var google_adtest = "off";
var google_ed = "0:0:N2JkN2JhMmQ0ZWExMGQ0OGoPjWopVq_CqawM1a8ngsmJGcFFfuP2eql9rey94BMi9suM9clXKu5eMWfIsnjibJZF_MsnVqDzjXxklKYRhdmLvLwr1PjzbwxLjPzaYfUO";
var google_ad_output = "js";
var google_safe = "high";
Sponsored Links
Pimp My Profile
Free Cursors, Backgrounds, Layouts & Glitter. Download them Now!webfetti.smileycentral.com

var obj = $get('ctl00_ctl00_cpMain_cpMain_BulletinRead_ltl_body'); if (obj != null) MySpace.Util.applyWBRToElement(obj, {frequency: 5}); obj = $get('ctl00_ctl00_cpMain_cpMain_BulletinRead_ltl_subject'); if (obj != null) MySpace.Util.applyWBRToElement(obj, {frequency: 5});
var displayAbuseReportLink = false;
About FAQ Terms Privacy Policy Safety Tips Contact MySpace
if (MySpace != null && MySpace.ClientContext != null && MySpace.ClientContext.DisplayFriendId != null && MySpace.ClientContext.DisplayFriendId > 0) {
document.write("Report Abuse ");
}
Advertise MySpace International ▼ MySpace Latino

function popLanguageOverlay(culture, url)
{
MySpace.UI.Header.languageLinkClick(culture, url, 1);
}

0);" action=http://searchservice.myspace.com/index.cfm? method=get>
Web▼
People
MySpace
Web
Music
Video
Powered by Google
var _notImportant = 12;
©2003-2008 MySpace.com. Al

Gutland Re-Gutted

Grapyrus/New Published Works

Poetry:

Segue #7
Coconut 13

Artwork:

Admit 2 (with Jeff Crouch)

If Ever Decked Garlands be I/Your Temple*

ships_____ receive
hands I for you Trojans
I for keeping her

[else-whither]
now seized dreams
deed girl without free
bolds displeasure O
ransom, violently lambs
burnt away hot prophet
shallowed assembly
flashed furiously so

_-resounding_-sea quarrel, c-
oral
[have toiled]
now entreating dreams:
_________I for keep
I for battle
“and seized the son
of Peleus by his yellow
hair…”
__________________________

Hera: while fray I mule, golden-haired
run withal Mount Mycale
golden land, bore girl, river
O peerless among
them, milky suckling

Zeus: fair skin Nireus three to Thebes
false dreamers dream falsely

“but as yet the end is not in sight…”




*cut-up of Homer's Iliad

A New Testament as Seen in the Art of G[r]asping

excerpt from Gutland

1.

..............................spineless & sunlit
fix this once feasted-on body--animalistic
how you, for a moment,
.............seize then solidify this skin & what was once visited,
itself fittingly loose
...................................in sickening
.......................................translucence
....here’s spit around our gums--how now?
........the murder of crows, as it is made for
...like an abdomen is made for itthe Great F[e]ast
.......as it is made
for sanguineous
...................................................tongues
..........................yet
you have stopped him from sinking his Sunday bread
into your body only to find your body was not yours
to begin with, but his---
how incorporeal
& now?
...........your orgy of saints---the disillusioned sanctum
sanctorum;................... a nation of erratic confessors
........expect me not to comprehend celibacy
........expect not in me a symbol of fortitude
...............................when it comes to fucking
.....you’ve worn no priestly robes
...........................................................this morning
....no amice nor trace of such
.......................about the neck
......for me
.............................black salvation suits well----
for the swellings of our flesh expresses
.....far too much

do not expect me a child of every want
teeth gritting, eyeing everything, bitter
...........................for becoming
.......that shell of
............................................desperate search--
I disprove of want only because it means
I am trying too hard to live, yet live without impeccably well
...............................to the point of parch & salt
......no water
.......................no holy communion
......lest it be crippling, to dare. lest it be, lest it be not
.....the gnawed-at veal it tries so hard to clothe
.............................................in sheepskin
I have worn you well, my red
foulness--you seep so beautifully
.................into that violence

.......do know my legs spread
at the very thought of being skinned
completely---all completeness
.............................................................lain
..................for the flaying

Extract

he piled his carcass atop mine
& hoped to sew the parched earth with it

he analyzed the modification
of form from infancy

to

womanhood

I attracted him because I appeared
out of order in my chronology

as if the chromosomes
conjoined only well after
the fecundity
of my birth

Got Satan?

Crandall Park
Glens Falls, NY

from Gutland

4.

to sink within him, hymn; a search of body in the stark
realism of concrete, cinders--those once small crackles
of intimacy, shuddering
fingers
left like milky crows
no noir too “light” inside
the frost
bury
a cocked smile--
the peevish last inch
of skin’s remnants
as questions, strewn:

have you slithered thru the sweat of my stare?
have you noticed the unsettled pulp of iris shoot?
have you tried to perfect to ugliness the twist of jagged
shrapnel in my thighs?

have you, have you not?

to perpetuate artistry in the suffering birds
that swoop mechanically into your p[s]alms?

this phyla of our animals/tongues
are asylums full of hydrae in the hushed,
rank honey from
severed
heads

& I bled you
out of every
orifice

-------photographed skeletons
clenched tight between your teeth
the counterfeit placement
of missing objects:
liver, bed full of moss,
pupils like blood oranges

cardamom for tongue, hydrangeae for each windowsill
without your name engraved deep into the grains
everywhere
like Beethoven

yet

nowhere like permanence
where blood swiftly changes route
like unsettled water

Robert Chrysler & Philip Jenks

Every Exit Impossible to Imagine With Wings by Robert Chrysler

http://www.ditchpoetry.com/robertchrysler.htm

A book of pulsing liturgies, disharmonic vagaries--the smell of semen and panting. A glimmer of foreign tongues pressed against elegant margins. Here is where angels are sweetened with sharp glass, exposed ribs twitch sex-trembling against the bulging calm both abyssal and blood-letting.

My First Painting will be "The Accuser" by Philip Jenks

Book of hysterectonomical drippings seething in animal foeti, fossilized hymns, thick mists disturbed by skin-on-skin-- disappearing into shattered aetherwomb; a lover's thick placenta greased with revelation hydrae. Here injured bodies transform into quiet bruises, turn into verses of water and life. Death redefined in ritual living.

United: Before/After

Songs of [in] Experience (4)

[4]

A want of clay. Idols in the brine. A want of sparrow in barbwire. Salted with conviction. To reach distant oceans. Go gently. Not. Glistening flower. Into the water-earth. & bathe your silhouette. Your silhouetted. Flesh is all-surrounding. All surrounding the loss of naïveté with the gain of misfortune.

Xerolage #42 Sample

Thru Camera Obscura
for A______



............you needn’t carve
...................nerves

.............into my every
...................surface

...........................to have the rivers
.................................of blood pump
......................................more fiercely


........I’ve a hole
......possibly two
......you can slip
........yourself into



..................become an aperture

..................------ expand------------

.......contract

.......wink me
...into your delicate
.......chambers

Excerpt from Gutland

.....................all lovers
...........whose mouths were
....................criminal

.................................we have kissed


.....held & gripped the body
....our juxtaposed spines set
...........side-by-side
.......along a prairie’s divide


......crude train tracks of marrow--where nails are
............driven-in, each one deeper, deeper in

.............


.....the horizon line
tapers off into a distant
...............triangle

..............take from me this one source
..of transport, this one flapping strip of sunlight
...............as it splays across my belly


.............................grows thinner as I suck in-----
......................................................hold-----

here you are
& here you will
leave through
a sliver in the door

...................... my last chance to be skeletal
......................... ---------anonymous

Sea of Her Gash in Parting

what ash-talcum to spore the body in a sea of white warmth as the brow damp with seaspray an octopus dons fresh epidermis.............................you prick your fingers tug a bobbin, it's milky flanges double-up (I think of yarn and wire--think of salinity and vapour parted about the tongue with lips arched and incandescent).)............... I've rolled you on my tongue flesh and found the spittle most relaxing a sheen of silky amphetamines................................ the hair grows wild about the ankles and falls in seaweed bath, dead nettles providing the gimlet of coral teethto shift against, to roll hallowed against.the shore.......................... I display the bone wreckage in a glass jar ..............................you see the sponge humus coarsened and skeletal cremains--all portals between the skin afore the sphere before the magnitude of worlds unspoken we want to feel how the shell must feel as the barren wasteland echoes in volumes as the ash settles into pumice against the brow..........................we covet, tense into cylinders, unveiling the impenetrable breath of rocky surfaces--alone--hollowed-out--counter to creation's bounty............................................ its Beauty.

P.a.p.y.r.i + C.u.b.e.d

AeThEr

"T"

Call for Submissions (editors only)

the post-element Awards or P.E.A.

Judges: Matina L Stamatakis & J Michael Wahlgren

Submit to: postelementawards@yahoo.com

Objective: To showcase experimental works that have been previously published in various journals and literary magazines on the internet.

Content: We are looking for work which is experimental in both form & content.

Deadline: August 31st, 2008

Rules:The magazine submitting must be strictly online. The magazine's editors agree by submitting to having the work reprinted on the Eight Octaves Magazine site, as a separate page altogether: an awards page.

Submit up to 8 pieces (2 pieces of poetry, fiction, artwork or vispo) for this award. Dates: The work should have appeared online between July 1st, 2007 & July 1st 2008.

ab ovo

ovo αβ κατά συνέπεια κοχύλι εύθραυστο όπου κέρινη θήκη unfurls με: όπου clogs γούνα mossy στη στεγανωτική ουσία: weve κρατημένος νύχτες σαλίου δροσιά-που τσιμπιούνται: με το μαργαριτάρι: τα μάτια κηρώνουν άγρυπνο αρχίζουν ως πάτωμα constellations:the τέμενος-προσευχή μια γλώσσα προέλευσης: fawns μας που τιμωρούνται τα παρθένα: το ευγενές yew δένω με σπάγγο- out:to πιάνει το α κλαίγοντας μητέρα: γάλα προσφοράς: λευκά αυγών προσφοράς: έκφραση: εκείνο το γουργου~ρισμα των κακοήθων μυών: σύσπαση βελόνα: σιταποθήκη-αυξημένος:

New Book of Digital Art: Sensoria

Sensoria features over 30 digital images from my personal collection
in a case-wrap, hardcover, color-rich book.



Note: in the future this book may be purchased as a paperback version in addition to the hardcover.





Series contents:

Graffiti Papyri
Beauty in Chaos
Origami Asylums (2)--cover image
Lily Codes (w/ Ted Warnell)
Arrow Tangos
Flower series (sample image)
Twine Galleries (Dress forms)
Lumens

Purchase book

Metempyschose: Call for Cover Artwork

Artists:

I am currently looking for cover art for my chapbook, Metempsychose, which is set for publication in Fall, 2008.

Here is what I'm looking for:

--Something to do directly (or indirectly) with the title
--drawing, painting, doodle, low resolution jpg.
--something surreal, yet not over-the-top surreal
--color image (drawings/sketches are the exception)

Please send images to:matinals@gmail. com

please place 'image for book' in the header
so I know it's not spam.

If your image is selected to be the cover, you will receive a complimentary copy, and artist acknowledgment/bio block.

Additional information/links/review:


--this is a poetry and diagram book inspired by Tram Comb's often dizzying kinetic poetry.


Samples:

Human Only ........Nerve Endings

..........Creation and others


Metempsychose reviewed:


The Minesweeper
(A Faucher/Kaper/Racovitza Pattern)


by Carmen Racovitza


Matina. Gifted poet. In and outside virtual environments. Priestess, lab worker and ....minesweeper. Minesweeping here as a mind-manifesting technology of the soul …A spectacle. Flags flying & all…(mine finger bomb green-brown have spun a braid/out of sweating dynamite). A daring minesweeper in a world of obscure, diminutive land deminers…
.....Grants a measure of control over a dream-like reality. Picks and chooses mine-archetypes (what is metaphorically lost in the mind can still evoke visions) which must be tamed.
....An active, but subdued ecstatic experience. At the heart of these ceremonies involving creation seen as "six days of interwoven dreams" there are new tools (charges to be detonated remotely) to neutralize the old notions and to instill the knowledge necessary for new movement: "still we haven’t lost the weight of a word – nor the implied space between fact and fiction". Boom 1!
.....Temporary expansions of consciousness make her deaden the physical environment a little, (many walls have been stirred by nonpresence) as to make it be re-worked after a while according to a positively linear perspective seen through a window(or visor) as point of separation between her and the world, between the artist and the materiality of the world that is to be represented, she being safely "cocooned in language"(helmets, armoured gloves & boots)..
Using these as points of reference, she traces a grid over the window(visor), thus breaking down the material to be represented into manageable units. She looks between /at the nodes : Coma(Nine Dreams), Coma(Nine[more]Dreams) with Fracture v. 2 before Coma:Coming Out of Nine Dreams and Coma: Recalling Visions to the From.
.....The "nodes" are 1-line "dreams", intricate Sabian symbols, with explanations as confusing as the dreams themselves. Beautiful! Really beautiful!! Example: 5. a boudoir(3) – garden of beds where (3) means: calmly laid : as in her ermine trimmed coat and German croon. All traces of bodily interaction have been etched away into words on a screen designed to have their acoustic and magnetic signatures, reduced, alleviated..…et Boom 2!
.....Vision becomes the primary means of interacting with her world where everything seems to be un-quantifiable, un-predictable and un-amenable. Her movements, in and out, are touched by concentration , which strongly asserts itself as the plain cultural metaphor I told you about: the minesweeper, the death-delayer, the surprise-dead…The world outside is strangely on a motionless move. There is change in the air propped up by thin, wiry metal legs, hanging…(recollections in microfiche: slowly turning/turning still – Calderian).
.....Her new self, her new persona is hidden behind her safety pillow-like pads and shock-absorbers which, in their turn, are safely stuffed with all her monsters, fears of destruction, dangerous dreams. Immediate danger (lover, perception, nonexistence) makes her see both worlds clearly…the world on this side of the helmet, another world, on the other side. She frees the figures of the unconscious from their convulsive catalepsy inside herself. Here they can function only as signs: their inner movement ceases. She discovers death is tamable. All minesweepers know this.
.....Matina is among the best lucid dreamers I’ve ever met. She can control the "dream" of the environment perfectly (the lunatic rationalizes while in the throes of a cunilingual dream), she can manipulate objects in the environment (elongate/body’s dusty shadows/stretched between perpetuity and rest) or call up different scenes she can mentally change (I whisper extravagant space).
.....She sets up a kind of hierarchy of techniques with which the minesweeper can eventually rid himself of the tension and become an independent half-dead, half-alive ego-point : "with a voodoo heart /with sharpest pins /jabbing into perpetuity /my name".
.....Her environments are built around frozen presences that stand for the object as something like an assemblage of pictures of that object in the world. It seems to be an integral part of the dream’s structure. And the world speaks through it, giving the figures their stubborn separateness, their own intelligence apart from the dreamer. Matina’s actions in the dream draw out this intelligence, while we make real progress being pushed more deeply into this aggressive wilderness of mirrors.
.....We have here the lucidity and the superhuman concentration of a perfect minesweeper who knows exactly how to juggle with those straight-jacket techniques that ultimately save her life (as a poet), letting them fall freely.
.....Enumeration itself is an aggregate of pauses attempting to ground the unity of the subject under investigation enmeshed in tactile and optical codes - minesweeper abilities – defiling of a personal canon of empirical singularity (where singularity of an event means an unfolding series of non-events).
.....A minesweeper’s world is that of particular relics (frosted windows, boxes of glass eyes), paraphernalia(compass-metal sextant), varia (Bell Jars; Curie’s radioactive hair), detailed addenda…
....It is as if the time of her text is infinite in its duration, while the apparently lifeless representation of mere details, categorically defined, are all made "visible" by an implement of ocular prosthesis (oculus, glass eyes, lenses) that swallow the landscape : alternation of zones of disastrous impact, highly porous areas, sieves, craters or empty elements of moon reliefs, aphasic accidents, caves or cyberhouses.
.....Deminer of the word, during her free time…..with full minesweeping job, during her busy time, Matina is a master of survival. And …she is still alive.

She hasn’t made any mistake yet …

Shaken, If

Tumult beneath the skim where surfaces
appear hindered--restless; a trace of nerves
in the fervid plum.

..................***

Denudation by inserting ersatz rose--
etch it into the shadow of your smile.

.................***

Steady the crickets--an elegy, leaves
& pine. The monolithic & impregnable.
Holy symbols like wilted flowers;
cinched close--pipe stems; a vigil.

................***

Unplaceable sparrow with wounds,
ash against the shadowy backdrop
of a broken bough.

& this, a consoling angle to perch on
for the one whose face is lopped
with fragmental speech, confidential
words.

...............***

this is the moment where flight is
.....inevitable.

New Works

3 images La Petite Zine
1 poem epidermis

and....drumroll, please...

my chapbook ek-ae: a journey into ekphrastic aesthetics is now up as an e-book courtesy of Dusie press w/ special thanks to Susana Gardner for masterminding such a wonderful project. Over the past couple of months I've received many (too many to list here) amazing hand-made chapbooks, which have had me running to the mailbox in anticipation. Sad to say that there are more bills than books now that the Kollektiv is coming to an end. But there is always next year!

As for ek-ae, I'm extremely excited about this, as this is the first time these poems will be shared outside the Dusie Kollektiv. Hurrah~! If you requested (and have not received) a copy please bear with me. I hope to send them out...hopefully...if/when life slows down a bit. They should look a bit more professional now, since I've had some time to take up binding.

Hieronymus Bosch Jokingly

News/ Quick Ramble

New poem up in P.F.S. Post: Naked(for Mona Mur)

Still waiting for the unveiling of the next issue of La Petite Zine. From what I've been told, it will go live before the AWP conference.

In other news, Venereal Kittens has gone through a massive transformation over the past month. There is a new line-up of poets, visual artists, and even noise artists.

Now for a quick ramble.

It seems, in this great world of poetry and self-expression though the arts, things are labeled "po". We have "vispo", "po-mo" "po po". But one with we do not have is "noisepo". Why not? Noise can be a form of poetic expression just like visual art.

I'm going to start a movement. We already have sound poetry. But noise poetry? Can noise be poetry?

It'd be interesting to start this movement, but, quite frankly, I could give a rat's scrotum about selling the message. Everything from the School of PO can be thrown into one category: experimental. If we called everything experimental, sure, we'd confuse those people who rely on labels as a means to being different (or grouped accordingly). Maybe that's what is needed? Confusion. Mass confusion, even better.

Which is why I'm burying the whole "noisepo" idea. Along with the whole "pornpo" idea.

Human Only

a salted..... artery...-- ..you've .....wept.... belly-to-thigh ....Ophelia ....perhaps

folded..... into..... lunatic's* .....linens .....those ......wet..... with ....spit

...from ....the.... mouth ....of an..... ass-- rain ....window..... rain ......cities

.rain the.... rippling ....stony.... blue ....asphalt..- ...charged

tapping... the explicit.... vase.... with its.... pouty..... lip oh.... vagina

portal ....to my...... heart.... heated then...... released ....from red.... hands

................................................. *

she.... was.... the bold..... presence..... of a..... blue..... movie

where .....love is...... distorted..... in the bent...... knee

an untouched..... belly button ......sorted..... between

the...... hips -- .....she lay..... awake in.... the royal .....jelly

...... like.... Queen ....Amphetamine... of the..... Naked.... Pillars

..........exposed.... teeth.... white...... like the .....innards of ....almond

&.... coconut -- the soft................................. [ Sappho**

..................................................................................[ clinging




* to eat oneself whole & without reservation

** the puckered eye of a purple flower

Rattle's Labyrinth

Nerve Endings