Thursday, 30 August 2007

From "the annotated raw shark texts"

Conceptual Camouflage: The most effective form of conceptual camouflage is the use of a non-divergent conceptual loop, which is a "flow of pure and singular association" of words, it's played back through 4 dictaphones.

Tuesday, 28 August 2007

Making Book

By John M. Bennett.

I was walking behind the
shopping center found a
book stuck out a trash compactor I
looked inside I
saw a page of eyes with worms inside
I went back home to write it down a
glass was stuck inside my brain "A book of meat?" I
thought, chewing at the inkstains on my fingers

That night I watched TV and saw a cookbook
opened in the light "Your words are
splinters flying toward my face" I yelled
a liquid swarm was speeding out my mouth I
raised my hands to hold it back but
jolt in the chair and crushed my tongue in my teeth

Saturday, 25 August 2007

The Postanarchism Reader

"Post-structuralist anarchism, or what more often has been referred to as postanarchism, never quite received the attention that it deserved from the anarchist community at large. Nor has it to any great extent been met with sympathy. Part of the reluctance, I suspect, results from the empty spaces occupying the bookshelves of universities, alternative bookstores, and radical lending libraries across the world today – all of which are awaiting the publication of this volume, The postanarchism reader: writings at the intersection of anarchism and poststructuralism. But, most ironically, this problem has arisen simultaneously with a proliferation of related articles across disparate disciplines; a tradition built around such heterogeneity runs the risk of erecting its own tombstone. The deadline for current paper proposals is December of 2007. Contributions from many writers have already been secured, however we are still searching for a few more. We are looking for work/play which either explicitly addresses a post(structuralist) anarchist political approach, as in the case of Jason Adam's "Postanarchismin a nutshell", or work/play which creatively deals with both poststructuralist and anarchist theories within the same essay. If you or somebody you know would like to contribute, please contact me by email at Duane.Rousselle(at) [...]"

Friday, 24 August 2007

From "Mes Trois Povres Orphelins"

By François Villon trans. Jean Calais.

[...] Actually I wouldn't mind if they learned
a few manners, even if you have to beat
on them a little, and wore sharp clothes
and good posture, nodding
to folks on the street saying
"Hi there how're you doing,"
so that people would say
"Gee those are really far-out kids."


Crooks can be as bourgeois in their desires for their children as any other realtor.

"Negroes can be as square as whites."

Saturday, 18 August 2007

From "Portrait of the Artist as a Prematurely Old Man"

By Ogden Nash.

You didn't get a wicked forbidden thrill
Every time you let a policy lapse or forget to pay a bill;
You didn't slap the lads in the tavern on the back and loudly cry Whee,
Let's all fail to write just one more letter before we go home, and this round of unwritten letters is on me.
No, you never get any fun
Out of things you haven't done [...]

Thursday, 16 August 2007

From "Jubilate Agno"

By Christopher Smart.

For BULL in the first place is the word of Almighty God.
For he is a creature of infinite magnitude in the height.
For there is the model of every beast of the field in the height.
For they are blessed intelligences and all angels of the living God.
For there are many words under Bull.
For Bul the Month is under it.
For Sea is under Bull.
For Brook is under Bull. God be gracious to Lord Bolingbroke.
For Rock is under Bull.
For Bullfinch is under Bull. God be gracious to the Duke of Cleveland.
For God, which always keeps his work in view has painted a Bullfinch in the heart of a God be gracious to Gosling and Canterbury.
For the Bluecap is under Bull.
For the Humming Bird is under Bull.
For Beetle is under Bull.
For Toad is under bull.
For Frog is under Bull, which he has a delight to look at.
For the Pheasant-eyed Pink is under Bull. Blessed Jesus RANK EL.
For Bugloss is under Bull.
For Bugle is under Bull.
For Oxeye is under Bull.
For Fire is under Bull.
For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his fore-paws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the fore-paws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For Sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For Seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For Eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For Ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For Tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children l from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his fore-paws of any quadrupede.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually---offry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho' he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadrupede.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

Monday, 13 August 2007

From "Rondel of Merciless Beauty"

By Geoffrey Chaucer.

Your eyes two will slay me suddenly;
I may the beauty of them not sustain,
So woundeth it throughout my hearte keen.
And but your word will healen hastily
My hearte's wounde, while that it is green,
Your eyes two will slay me suddenly;
I may the beauty of them not sustain.

Upon my truth I say you faithfully
That ye bin of my life and death the queen;
For with my death the truthe shall be seen.

Sunday, 12 August 2007

From "Shamanspace"

By Steve Aylett.

"So the gang's all here. You're all cowards after all? Even you, Lockhart. I admired you like a boy should love a father. Is this it?"

Lockhart was staring at the floor. People forget how powerful he was, the grand old man. He seemed as harmlessly proud as a library lion but he could pour iceflame from his mind and freeze a moment for inspection, the air ghostly as cathode light. He'd been the first to give me a demonstration of etheric cocooning, enamel shine flowing over him in ectoplasmic encapsulation. Freaking me into hope. He looked terribly abashed now.

Saturday, 11 August 2007

From "Shamanspace"

By Steve Aylett.

The edgemen were mystic rebels from worm one, building observatory cathedrals and arcana grenades covered in spines like the black hands of a clock. All that righteous dying, for what -- sacrifice swings the spotlight onto absence.

Wednesday, 8 August 2007

From "BURnER/,,%*hIGhGrEeN"

By Ulli Freer.

[..]ntied inline citatations
ward oft locked on errors
ignore shaky shadow dilations
place between in secret service ivy tangles
footed sense fluctuates close to brink sheep
marks on broadleaves
tongue space out will strip
time life application goat walks reputed enclosures
in none specific light potential hard landing
where slippage clouds department homeland
not available site notes in tenor bone
a stone barn yummy bling attached
recycling bins though rifled denied arms
welcome rural arts convicted dealings of divers
place limpet folk in yoga
with each fiddle stroke vortex
a post poet wrapped in scrawled page[...]

Thursday, 2 August 2007

Nouveau message

Crossing the Line, tomorrow (Friday) at 7:30.
Will Rowe, Steve Willey, & mystery guest.
Think it might be Kate Fagan.
The Plough, Museum Street, near Holborn.

Wednesday, 1 August 2007

Chicken Bucket

By Jennifer Knox.

Today I turn thirteen and quit the 4-H club for good.
I smoke way too much pot for that shit.
Besides, Mama lost the rabbit and both legs
from the hip down in Vegas.
What am I supposed to do? Pretend to have a rabbit?
Bring an empty cage to the fair and say,
His name's REO Speedwagon and he weighs eight pounds?
My teacher, Mr. Ortiz says, I'll miss you, Cassie,
then he gives me a dime of free crank and we have sex.
I do up the crank with Mama and her boyfriend, Rick.
She throws me the keys to her wheelchair and says,
Baby, go get us a chicken bucket.
So I go and get us a chicken bucket.
On the way back to the trailer, I stop at Hardy's liquor store.
I don't want to look like a dork
carrying a chicken bucket into the store—
and even though Mama always says
Never leave chicken where someone could steal it—
I wrap my jacket around it and hide it
under the wheelchair in the parking lot.
I've got a fake ID says my name's Sherry and I'm 22,
so I pick up a gallon of Montezuma Tequila,
a box of Whip-Its and four pornos.
Mama says, That Jerry Butler's got a real wide dick.
But the whole time I'm in line, I'm thinking,
Please God let the chicken bucket be OK.
Please God let the chicken bucket be OK.
Please God let the chicken bucket be OK.
The guy behind me's wearing a T-shirt
that says, Mustache Rides 10¢.
So I say, All I got's a nickel.
He says, You're cute,
so we go out to his van and have sex.
His dick's OK, but I've seen wider.
We drink most of the tequila and I ask him,
Want a Whip-It?
He says, Fuck no—that shit rots your brain.
And when he says that, I feel kind of stupid
doing another one. But then I remember
what mama always told me:
Baby be your own person.
Well fuck yes.
So I do another Whip-It,
all by myself and it is great.
Suddenly it hits me—Oh shit! the chicken bucket!
Sure enough, it's gone.
Mama's going to kill me.
Those motherfuckers even took my jacket.
I can't buy a new chicken bucket
because I spent all the money at Hardy's.
So I go back to the trailer, crouch outside
behind a bush, do all the Whip-Its,
puke on myself, roll in the dirt,
and throw open the screen door like a big empty wind.
Mama! Some Mexicans jumped me!
They got the chicken bucket,
plus the rest of the money!

I look around the trailer.
Someone's taken all my old stuffed animals
and Barbies and torn them to pieces.
Fluff and arms and heads are all over the place.
I say someone did it,
but the only person around is Rick.
Mama is nowhere to be seen.
He cracks open another beer and says,
What chicken bucket?

Well, that was a long a time ago.
Rick and I got married
and we live in a trailer in Boron.
We don't live in a trailer park though—
in fact there's not another house around
for miles. But the baby keeps me
company. Rick says I'm becoming
quite a woman, and he's going to let Mama know that
if we ever see her again.