Friday, February 27, 2009

karl gerstner

divine horsemen

It is really too bad that UbuWeb had to remove this video, as it was of much better quality. This is just a taste, pt. 1 of 6.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

02.11.09 fuzz

sick sullen madrigal,
five other voices breaking through me.
fever sweat dreams brushing off hung noose poison paranoia's,
can't I have a proper english soul? petticoat, practicing chopin, stifled.
a breaking free jazz pianist in colored turbans, icy crystal beads
singing from my cape, as I blaze around in blue spotlights,
leaving babies and parents behind at war camps,
running train tattered,
placing weathered dolls and home sewn horses
into barely packed suitcases.
to only own few things of great importance,
only ever owning consuming thoughts,
french country side carriage rides and giggling swing trips
into the gullies of the brain garden.

packing up,
packing up bottles of glass and tiny tins,
wrapping pain into packing paper,
hoping to pad it from future quakes,
remembering sun shone through a basement window,
rays dancing on my worldly treasures,
porcelain horses and crying musical clowns,
so vividly stuck, sewn in with feelings of 1989.

recording desperate sounds onto tape, rewinding.
peach flapper gowns and riversides choking out
deep tunneling chemical headaches,
that have been long burrowed
listening in thick heated caverns.
expanding to fill the hallows,
trickling ceases to a water hush,
as everything become silent and meaningless,

it is only a common cold.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

eating dirt again.

seemingly starved for awakening embarrassment,
words punching out of my mouth at such a rapid pace,
scattered, tracing the lines I drew in my dreams last night,
closing my eyes, a blanket buzzing vision like an old television screen,
I painted your portrait again, somehow each time it turns out completely different,
a shudder, if I could stack apologies on your body, I would.
staying silent. outside the crows wake in the new day, their caws calls
backwards behavior, you'd think I'd have learned to be nice by now.

cause child, sand play seems so far away,
and beyond my star gaze capabilities,
a babbling hum, knowing sleep will solve all the worlds problems.
guilt stabbing stomach pain, that my doctor looks so good,
and these pills, they taste so good,
sleeping will solve all the worlds problems,
sleeping through the underbelly,
sleeping through currents of blood and shelter,
a doze, a doze for the sake of loving.

there are millions of lines in my hands,
I can't stand to look at them,
they are disgusting.

sleeping so that I can see the lines disappear.
sleeping so that I can forget everything done by man and machine.

there are tiny veins in my eyes,
I can't stand the feeling of them rolling around,
pumping muddy dirty blood,
pumping what kills innocence.

sleeping for my grandmother to come home again,
sleeping for her worlds to speak to my soul.

there are times I can't see her when I close my eyes,
there are times I get so frightened she is lost,
not tangible.
something sacred to save my soul,
something sacred to wake me up.
while I'm sleeping through her pain.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

night of the assassins

some fragments, some haiku.

fortunate to park. is social study is malleable, set in stone.
rock cement rock cement bending building blocks.

pensive oh baby is sure us the shore.

hamid knows a man would have had a demon anyways,
letting shimmer, she was at his side..
but the king has to know things first.

old values shorn sick,
shirt down so low, breasts exposed.
narcissist in bloom.

red lamp light on glass
tea staining my tongue so black
I bled from your reflection

thick fortress of wood
piled high with dead dust in chains
you cling to your breath

I want all your problems
in stark contrast with the night
I'd carry them all

the dub music at
starbucks makes me puke on all
the sound I have heard.



Young man, first love; on the street in front of my childhood home, do you remember when I sang your song? I sang it all the way down this road. Sang of your diamond arms and the deep six am love. Lost track of prose and prayer, a year passed by becomes porous with dust bunnies. I zip up old wool, eleven hours left. Grass blades dead lights, attic. Music box shatters with a tilted head. Tiny shards of sound waves rush around the room turning to dust. Falling to the floor. Unwound tapes. To the young man with the diamond shaped arms, do you still walk down the road of your first love? To the young man with the diamond shaped arms, do you still walk down the street of your first home? Converting time into systematic loss. Burrowing far in between musty packing peanuts and rafters. Rebuilding china plates out of sand, two hundred pages.

the clean

sadly the original video was removed : ( ///

tandori yokoo

in heaven

makes me feel like I’m floating in happy static air, in a calm.

a love, for the sake of love.

My good friend Kensey Crane.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

worked words #1

(taking the lyrics from high pressure days by the units and worked through a series of language translators,edited .)

each of us today,
quite slippery and extremely attached to each other
in the kelp kill for bumper cars.

bumping blindly around the hot water molecules
in the fly ball,
lecturer, told the other people around quickly,
the pressure lines to one,
and often comes into contact high

still high, the path for us at this time under pressure,
changing in the pattern of phone numbers,
cross-lay absent from high- pressure,
hot pressed for operation
in the structure of night, found.

the units

our paths still cross in these high pressure days,
our pattern will emerge
change phone numbers, wither away

high pressure days, finding that our motions
high pressure nights, fit into a pattern

the cramps