February 2012
26 posts
1 tag
Unethical & Sometimes / yes that'll be fine /...
For the feeling of an apple coast to slander the emerald sleeve of a packet of wolf hair joints, I need an island to suppress — in hindsight — the tepid quatrains of yellow-orphan-nigger-faces.
Rejecting my own complexion for subtle nuances, offered by pages stuck together with discharge from starfish prostitutes, the brown surf perched on my face, is necessary only in June / 2134 on...
1 tag
79 million
temporal flanks of
semi-articulate pigeons
with their cup holders
& novelty shoe strings
I wish my gamecock could have lent me its cartridge waste band
to tie fruit on
my pomegranate
always misspells my acronyms for CAP: LAV:
TJY, LKB
none of which
my residences
my impeding occupations
my corner lampshade’s login password(s)
none the campaigns of simultaneous tyre...
Showing subtle signs of melancholic depression......
“‘If we are to understand the problem of Being, our first philosophical...”
– Martin Heidegger ‘Being and Time: The Formal Structure of the Question of Being’
In the library playing Pokemon Gold & reading...
1 tag
Colonial delicacies. Likely a forest of rough hues
& woodruff
expendable like phenomenology
from being awake too loudly articulating lasers
better than Kanye West-
ass-up
stemmed in futurism
getting it right
so far away from someone else’s pockets
It probably isn’t useful to ask something like what is anger?, because one will say it is this or that.
One will formalise it, categorise it, reduce it, shroud it, attach it to ideas that one has learned through reason & logic, society, culture, or inherited as truth from childhood- whatever: one will project their experience of anger that isn’t synonymous with what anger is. ...
I haven't slept since 18:00pm (GMT) Monday night
ima sleep like a fuckin’ bear!
“Poetic Surrealism, which is the subject of this study, has focused its efforts...”
– André Breton, “Manifesto Of Surrealism” (via sonofapritch)
On Post-structuralism:
eat piss.
Anything that is 'humanly' possible is superficial...
whatever that means.
Maybe it means… anything that is impossible is superficial:
that would be cool.
1 tag
Chase talk
I’m going to tell her
as I override her.
Remind her &
that’s great
thanks for remembering
the millennium for filing.
Some other days
Erykah Badu
& a bourbon house of confectionery /
damned if she regurgitates
damned if she’s straight-up regular fusion.
Saffron. 50’s Copperfield jars. Oligarchies & dynasties
bonding over-night...
1 tag
XXIV: diachronic
give him something to call his plug-in socket fierce
undetermined &
out of luck
IV: pontification
& out there, somewhere behind limestone clover cliffs, where Prince Albert, giving his hazard a superego to touch himself with (though whether it is appropriate enough to be pleasured by trigonometry is just inferior)
strips off/ a feather
to a rumour
from the...
Stop thinking accordingly!
& come up with some new shit.
LiteraryBinge: I want to write good surrealist... →
dirtyreggae:
literarybinge:
dirtyreggae:
just without the substances.
i was a fish in a tree
surround by fires flying on wings
now i am a kafkaesque rug
on a rainbow, on a goat
bathed in the blood of a horse’s ass
three seal men in a bathroom
this is all a metaphor for…
Yes! Definitely. :P
I don’t know what/where/how Barrow ST. is, but I think it would pale into...
I want to write good surrealist poetry
literarybinge:
dirtyreggae:
just without the substances.
i was a fish in a tree
surround by fires flying on wings
now i am a kafkaesque rug
on a rainbow, on a goat
bathed in the blood of a horse’s ass
three seal men in a bathroom
this is all a metaphor for loneliness or something
but nobody can understand it
because i am THE KING OF CONCEIT
melting clocks IN MY BRAIN
Is this...
I want to write good surrealist poetry
just without the substances.
1 tag
I
peal away the lower memory
of the treasuries
the accolades
plot the homecoming
forlorn cornfields
of the proletariat
& you won’t wipe away any dragonflies
from the headlights omitting battlegrounds between
your eyes
II
innocence from / height of inner thighs
tend / give you wings that
panic /
given essential forth order
III
(the entity in the middle...
'Yeah I'm cliché, but that's poetry...'
D-FUQ!!
1 tag
‘Everywhere I turn
there’s Africa…’
On Sundays
congregated with bronze veins
I sever my own body
for the dejecting lack
of spewing creole
knowing informally
that I was trying to win over
the wrong continent
& not the dull, evangelical
passages of
unison
Still
I taught myself ‘kind...
2 tags
Ghetto shine! from the rugs. Shuddering Cadillac’s
inside renaissance bitches from sleeping jungles
who can’t
get the fuck
out my
sound system! lexicon on da
A-track hype humming momma
home
I think what my political philosophy lecturer was implying, in a post-structuralist kind of way, was that we don’t [E]xist in the way we think we do.
That’s depressing on a Thursday night. :/
Also, anyone know where pilgrimsoulinme (Ess) went/is?
January 2012
50 posts
1 tag
I
Geoffrey (the symbolic-
stealing nigger)
with a polaroid of
5 procreated analogies
& a subway wrapper
to his accolade
coiled under an archway
greater than his
own architecture
found reconciliation
easier when
fried chicken &
obstruction notices
were once the
quasi-negative counterparts
of figureheads commuting
first-class aquaplaning on
low evangelical gutters
through...
Percussion: If it's not too much to ask... →
cshenderson:
dirtyreggae:
I have a poem I am working on for a poetry competition, and I think I’m almost done (it’s a more edited version of ‘First Draft’). I want to post it on here for you all to read- and this is where my favour comes in: would you be able to tell me if you understand it? Of course, feel free to…
These are some notes I jotted down earlier this morning:
S1: a bit...
2 tags
If it's not too much to ask...
I have a poem I am working on for a poetry competition, and I think I’m almost done (it’s a more edited version of ‘First Draft’). I want to post it on here for you all to read- and this is where my favour comes in: would you be able to tell me if you understand it? Of course, feel free to critique or offer suggestions, but I just want to make sure- if my poem is selected...
I feel sick just thinking about my life.
2 tags
First draft
“Tepid dawn of ancestral virtues”
- Aimé Césaire
I
bitter-tasting speech used to be indigenous like lavender
and lips from old civilisations enraptured the history
of long-winded oceans
and antique sunlight
and mountainous frailties
with bulging eyes inflamed from an ancestral dance
a phallus nigger used to do
until some light descends on a continent
that was never there
a...
“dig a hole
“& swim in it”
a message from the grim computer
“ye are...”
– Jerome Rothenberg The Dada Strain
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Plato: For the greater good.
Karl Marx: It was a historical inevitability.
Machiavelli: So that its subjects will view it with admiration, as a chicken which has the daring and courage to boldly cross the road, but also with fear, for whom among them has the strength to contend with such a paragon of avian virtue? In such a manner is the princely chicken's dominion maintained.
Hippocrates: Because of an excess of light pink gooey stuff in its pancreas.
Jacques Derrida: Any number of contending discourses may be discovered within the act of the chicken crossing the road, and each interpretation is equally valid as the authorial intent can never be discerned, because structuralism is DEAD, DAMMIT, DEAD!
Thomas de Torquemada: Give me ten minutes with the chicken and I'll find out.
Timothy Leary: Because that's the only kind of trip the Establishment would let it take.
Douglas Adams: Forty-two.
Nietzsche: Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.
Oliver North: National Security was at stake.
B.F. Skinner: Because the external influences which had pervaded its sensorium from birth had caused it to develop in such a fashion that it would tend to cross roads, even while believing these actions to be of its own free will.
Carl Jung: The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.
Jean-Paul Sartre: In order to act in good faith and be true to itself, the chicken found it necessary to cross the road.
Ludwig Wittgenstein: The possibility of "crossing" was encoded into the objects "chicken" and "road", and circumstances came into being which caused the actualization of this potential occurrence.
Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.
Aristotle: To actualize its potential.
Buddha: If you ask this question, you deny your own chicken-nature.
Howard Cosell: It may very well have been one of the most astonishing events to grace the annals of history. An historic, unprecedented avian biped with the temerity to attempt such an herculean achievement formerly relegated to homo sapien pedestrians is truly a remarkable occurence.
Salvador Dali: The Fish.
Darwin: It was the logical next step after coming down from the trees.
Emily Dickinson: Because it could not stop for death.
Epicurus: For fun.
Ralph Waldo Emerson: It didn't cross the road; it transcended it.
Johann von Goethe: The eternal hen-principle made it do it.
Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.
Werner Heisenberg: We are not sure which side of the road the chicken was on, but it was moving very fast.
David Hume: Out of custom and habit.
Jack Nicholson: 'Cause it [censored] wanted to. That's the [censored] reason.
Pyrrho the Skeptic: What road?
Ronald Reagan: I forget.
John Sununu: The Air Force was only too happy to provide the transportation, so quite understandably the chicken availed himself of the opportunity.
The Sphinx: You tell me.
Mr. T.: If you saw me coming you'd cross the road too!
Henry David Thoreau: To live deliberately ... and suck all the marrow out of life.
Mark Twain: The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.
Molly Yard: It was a hen!
Zeno of Elea: To prove it could never reach the other side.
Chaucer: So priketh hem nature in hir corages.
Wordsworth: To wander lonely as a cloud.
The Godfather: I didn't want its mother to see it like that.
Keats: Philosophy will clip a chicken's wings.
Blake: To see heaven in a wild fowl.
Othello: Jealousy.
Dr. Johnson: Sir, had you known the Chicken for as long as I have, you would not so readily enquire, but feel rather the Need to resist such a public Display of your own lamentable and incorrigible Ignorance.
Mrs. Thatcher: This chicken's not for turning.
Supreme Soviet: There has never been a chicken in this photograph.
Oscar Wilde: Why, indeed? One's social engagements whilst in town ought never expose one to such barbarous inconvenience - although, perhaps, if one must cross a road, one may do far worse than to cross it as the chicken in question.
Kafka: Hardly the most urgent enquiry to make of a low-grade insurance clerk who woke up that morning as a hen.
Swift: It is, of course, inevitable that such a loathsome, filth-ridden and degraded creature as Man should assume to question the actions of one in all respects his superior.
Macbeth: To have turned back were as tedious as to go o'er.
Whitehead: Clearly, having fallen victim to the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.
Freud: An die andere Seite zu kommen. (Much laughter.)
Hamlet: That is not the question.
Donne: It crosseth for thee.
Pope: It was mimicking my Lord Hervey.
Constable: To get a better view.
Yeats: She was following the Faeries that sang to her to come away with them from the dull, bucolic comfort of the farmyard to the waters and the wild.
Shelley: 'Tis a metaphor for the pursuits of man: though 'twas deemed an extraordinary occurrence at the time, still it brought little to bear on the great scheme of time and history, and was ultimately fruitless and forgotten.
Tolkien: Chickens are respectable folk, and well thought of. They never go on any adventures or do anything unexpected. One fine spring day, as the chicken wandered contentedly around the farmyard, clucking and pecking and enjoying herself immensely, there appeared a Wizard and thirteen Dwarves who were in need of a chicken to share in their adventure. Reluctantly she joined their party, and with them crossed the road into the great Unknown, muttering about how rude the Dwarves were to take her away on such short notice, without even giving her time to brush her feathers or fetch her hat.
Tyler Durden: "Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken!"
1 tag
The white man called us niggers
while niggers called each other niggers
Now the white man’s ashamed to hear the word nigger
Now niggers ashamed to hear the word nigger
or be called a nigger
or call a nigger nigger
But the white man ain’t ashamed to see a nigger
call a nigger nigger
(so now the white man’s a nigger!?)
“No one can sit at the bedside of a dying child and still believe in God.”
– Bertrand Russell
1 tag
There was some reggae but no record player
or docile entertainment with a silver platter between the thighs
of some corrugated roof shack
just some abundant sound
separating my fingers like a saxophone without moderation
or cheap desire or cheap elation
and nothing less than the light of the world
2 tags
Reunification of Lytta Vesicatoria
I
Regression and synchronic decline supplanted them with logos
but the Greeks immobile from aphrodisiacs
so much aphrodisiac it was fraud
elected masturbation and a priori
promulgating the negotiation of everything through the discretion of twigs
except Hippocrates
bridgehead of disease
revelation of himself
2 tags
I’m divorcing myself from the campaign
for the estranged echoes of widely dispersed echoes
and the emancipation of speeding fines
I want to resign into the stanzas
from those fork-bearded faces
buried in the sub-concious flora
of commerce
They could rectify disgust
and...
I think the mere significance of this essay is...
I know it’s a sign.
Fuck it.
sonofapritch:
dirtyreggae replied to your post: dirtyreggae replied to your post: This may sound…
It’s cool, no worries. :) I’m studying post-colonial lit. & admittedly, I’m juvenile at it. I’m not into his prose, but I found parts of his essay useful. I read the Notebook the other day: astonishing.
HE WROTE NOTEBOOK WHEN HE WAS 23
HOW CAN I DEAL WITH THAT SHIT
I’M 23
ALL I DO IS WRITE...
2 tags
Leviathan
A monolith in a spirit doll infatuated by rock bands
and generic slurs of astonishment that have replaced its phallic emotions
which cannot last backstage
.
Ideas of ecstasy warmed under superficial lighting
a gesture of I couldn’t give a fuck if electricity could be bandaged
Leaking its shadow
incense cradles over its own spine
...
Aime Cesaire has just saved my essay.
God I fucking love him!
msmaysick asked: I see the Autobiography of Malcolm X on your reading list. That is my absolute favorite book. Nice.
Anyone want to help me not do my essay? →