shorthand for love / progenitransience

In windows, moments of
hot clarity-- from shudd'ring paroxysms,
the stabbing attempts at drawing breath--

I see people: people
as fragments of my selves,
as bits of my grey matter

gone

to slurry themselves across space
and time--
unbound, infinite.

Newborn starlights;
galaxies, progenitransient

realities; lives, dogmas and
unintended pragmatic cataclysms-- all

(macrocosmic minutiae)

evolved. I spin hurriedly,
forming darker and darker cores
(tighter spirals);
thicker masses,
(denser blacknesses)
smiles; intransigence:


convex vortex cremates palpitating corpseflesh.
Shorn in context, locks in keys flat
make a bloody, disharmonious (hairy) mess:

shards, splinters;
I've something to confess:

(aguey mouth-strings
rippling out:
crackling throatcroak
caterwauling in doubt)

jealousy is neverending, it seems.

If only it weren't for my dreams.

i don't want to be some stinging anemone
clutched to your rock self.

i don't want to feed from your underbelly,
but i want someone
(i want you, my darling)
to be caring towards me;
loving manliness is so becoming
upon your wise and hum'rous face.

i am your imperfect other;
the soullessness which--
with weightlessness--
occupies the recesses which
should house eyes.

i am the Godliness;
the lawlessness;
the occupants of worlds entire.
let us run.

together, now--
we fly into ourselves
(into fits autistic and beautiful
in their uniqueness)--

let us become our
own unbecoming,
unabsolved in this:

dystopian entanglement.

let us be born
into our own
truest selves once more.

to whom it may concern:
i am having a hard-enough time
dealing;

dealing with this
radioactive decay half-life
i call my whole-life;

every breath sees a proton's departure,
each dilation of the pupil or bloodvessel
finds another nucleus fallen to pieces--

and on, unto infinity.

my decay is your mutation,
is your ever-real evolution of
waxing and waning prospective presents
(future-selves, smiling with portent) in their multitude:

and while there may be stars in yours--
mine is the space between them;
uncountable and empty--
and on, unto some forever-vastness:

the cold hell of spatial separation.

concurrence (rational rhyme)

the terrible bells compel
me, drive my every motion
with whips: crackling with fear, fear

of the uncertainty of the sound
which swells and blossoms in spumes of foam--
drops of water, sunlight-filled, glinting in
euphoria, cavorting in joyous

spiral-splatter dances-- and builds
force, becoming the tidal
mighty
thundering surf of l'mar d'angustia.

and on every beach, the shells (they sing, oh how they

sing:

with voices of impunity, purity--
cackles and shackles and sobbed-out dreams
and screams of anguish [both mortal
and mental,

inconsequential]--

and glee, righteous fury
propel me: forever and on

to no end or rhyme or rationalized reason),the shells, the shells

hum with the luster of a day
that's unsure, uncertain but
never any-thing but dangling-- ripened, and
with portent--

in the everything of the present moment;
and nothing of the nothing which is Not,

which is Without; it
begot not a thing

but hot, deadly Doubt unto a Time
out of time;

which has no reason;

no rational rhyme.

but is incest best? (how nice)

what a thing, to have
within my grasp:
you, so dear to me--
your actions, your words.

what a sight to be heard--
how many times have you fled, now;
how many
times have you died
inside my head? how
many times have I
(fortuitous brother, wife unmarred
[and unnamed, forever scarred, unladen
of/with your fearful perfections])
died, to be reborn

in a blacker ash, in a
less conspicuous dust?

why does the glass of our glossolalia
burn with undue corpulence, o
why o why.

how may we make the conjunct of "us" right?
how may we lay-- side-by-side, in
sighing asym-metry, may we
share thoughts,

opine
upon

beats, arpeggiated chords, and
dischordant screaming, bleeding
vocal
chords, and
quiescent melodies;
snare-hits, tom-
whalloping, galloping beats
beats
beats
beats?

does the strum of the guitar thrum
thrum
thrum
thrum with uncalloused
abandon, sickly-reckless
(cantankerous) soul-
punching, dual-amp-crunching
grungefueled postpunk dooms
and seraphim-sucksiphoned
gloriffic stories?

inside your wholeheart?

can we talk, can we talk--

or are you with the gods, now;
are you the deists'
maker of clocks;
does the time tick away

without you?

notes on Cultural Anthropology 19.9.011

championed by Julian Steward; THE FUCK?!

^
|

cultural ecology - philosophical idea applied to anth-

ropology; human cultural groups

adapt to an environment as a group

UNILINEAR EVOLUTION IS SHIT

only an hour has passed;
am I learning anything?
it's up to me to do so, up
to me to decide;

yet I'm writing sorts
of poetry-prose and

practicing my penmanship
and I'm drawing smokes
and cerebral neuropathways
in my notebook, my

Anthro-
pology
notebook

17.9.011

The great complexities of this world are not so complex; or rather, the complications of this world are not complications of the world, but rather are complications of man imposed upon the world. The world is vast, the world is whole; we men and women and children are but a part. We experience, we assign meaning and roles-- and, invariably, we die. And some of us attain peace. Man is of little consequence. Life is good. Death is not bad, though it causes sadness in Man.