Bob BrueckL

Derby Night Delight

Swaths of selvage, yeet!

Fick vibex pupusa phimosis,

cacosmia pochoir, wickiup scherzo-neutrois flot,

machinistic emoji spuilzie moonquake assertions,

immiscible, hypertrophied permutations,

slatherings of smeary seisms

pared down to wimpy retractions

mooching off antsy cum loads.

Wotcha nipped numb?

Chiseled flox injections,

webified buttnecks attuned to invective,

to scrat one's balls, the viscosity of atrocious trifles.

Wagyu?  Voips, eerie ecru, whingy noobs,

they inhere to being inertly inane,

deadbeat arsle, muddy funckia windpipes,

fleckier & flippier, fogou?

Toupeed intrusions, slightly off kilter, thropple

the unzipped guqin commotion

satiating the yeukier matter-of-factness,

you silly snool.

The haunches of the phylogenetic lineage

of the poet's tail & entrails

unbuttons the ziplock asscheeks,

tooting on the carnyx, fucking my throat.

Taut chyle wrestles with the pungent oddity

of the efficacy of indolent feculency

flimsily fizzing out while exuding

a conjugial spumescence.

Acrid sputum bemerds the disruptive sebum dreck,

grume gound, girthy cruft

swiping the blubbery poonch

woozily scrutching the gluteal furrow.

Ascrotal tungz retract the vibices of

imagined vile odours and the musk

of umwelt shutters engorged with e

lectro-ejaculation probes in ink-pots

***

Anny Ballardini

Ric Royer

I do not like kissing.

Mouth kissing. The closeness of the teeth, perhaps that is why. Kissing is an unpleasant combination of love and eating.

I do not like kissing.

But I have kissed I’ve kissed for love and I have kissed for more or less and it has never been productive. No. Love has never gotten any work done.

Perhaps a kiss is nice after a long day of work. To come home and have a little kiss,

I think I’ve heard of this. But there are other ways to come home.

I do not like kissing

And I do not like working.

I do not like working.
I do not like kissing.

There shall be no kissing at work. Kissing does not get any work done. And those in love kiss more and kissing is the enemy of production, and enemy of the state. And when the hippies kissed in the streets it was to say, “Hello, I am kissing instead of working and I love it, take that the state!” and then they became bored of kissing and I don’t know the rest of the story.

Kissing, working, murdering.

When we don’t work, we can kiss. If we can’t find work, we murder.  If a criminal twists off someone’s whole head, kissing becomes either extraordinary or not really important.

I sometimes watch graphic murder videos online, often late at night.

I do not like graphic murder videos.

They keep me awake and infect me. All of the reasons people watch them are true.  And then-some. I occasionally watch them in groups. I once tried kissing while watching these videos and it worked! It almost worked! But the kissing was just a challenge, to show death the wagging finger of kissing.

There is a video of the Mexican drug cartel executing a teenage girl by cutting her throat and then twisting her head until it comes off.

I do not know if the Mexican drug cartel likes kissing.  I bet they do not. If you see them kissing, if you see a video of these scary men locked in a passionate kiss, then it would most likely be a joke. A joke played on kissing, as if to say “Hello, we are kissing instead of murdering, and we hate it, take that love!” Because of the state, they do not work, so they murder, and have no time for kissing. But perhaps if they learned to kiss, they would do less beheading.

Kissing is better than murder.

If they could find work, they wouldn’t even need to kiss anymore, or do anything.

Why do I watch if it bothers me? The girl was crying and begging for her life. She pissed her jeans, and her executioners mocked her for pissing before they forced her to the ground, made two quick and deep cuts to her neck. Then, yes, the head soon came off in a man’s hands.

I do not like murder.

Of kissing, working and murdering, I like murder the least. But I still do not like kissing. But I still do not like kissing. Kissing takes time. A pair can kiss all night if they want to and they would get nothing done. A pair can kiss and talk, and touch and rest, and make love and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and connect and feel safe and feel loved and kiss and feel the rush of giving love and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss and get nothing done.

I do not like kissing.

Sandy Florian

The Welt of the Wrangle

A Winter Forecast

(Excerpts)

sandy florian

3 - Physical Poisons

You will be much more aggressive than usual in finger-fucking your part-timer. Even without a shadow, you will be too perky with your percolator and work hard to gall the aquarium. Artistic industries are also indicated, for the general silt today is a quaver-semiquaver-extermination.

4 - Withdrawal Symptoms

There is a tinkle in your wombat today, as you reflect upon all the ignoramuses you have encountered. Examine your doorman, and evaluate the needs of his membrane. His throttles may drone to excavators of the past, but remember, you are still able to vomit up your own throat. So don’t settle for prickles that don’t build the pepper.

5 - Washcloths & Afterthoughts

Tonight you feel very warm and frog to the imperfections around you, and you are willing to offer pickled support to anyone who needs it. Peppermint will warm to you, and you’ll exchange with your lubricator sweet washcloths and afterthoughts.

7 - Personal Grunt

You discover a tin-can of addendums and encyclopedias that generates a bunch of grunts. This is because you are not satisfied with your daily rubber. What you need to do is break away from the row-house and introduce fresh éclairs that will sing to you psychologically. If you do, you’ll likely find yourself a new filly that can help you do extraordinary thingummies.

9 - Skidmarks

You could have very painful armadillo if you react to an unconsidered manuscript. Without a washer, one workshop leads to another until you suddenly show yourself to be hostile in an orgy. So hydroplane your passageway and frizzle. If you keep to your fenders and rears, you will see the skidmarks before they happen.

10 - Headstones

The prodigies that you will confront today are lagoons, overindulgences, and a chronic willingness to rub yourself. If you doorbell doesn’t have to accomplish anything, there is no novelist in the mop-head. Just don’t gorge yourself on drool. After all, today’s felicities are tomorrow’s headstones.

11 -Hexagons

The femur of omnipotence you feel today is not real, so don’t try to kilowatt your tambourine. And don’t try to engorge your piccolo either, because you will likely excrete yourself professionally from the corporation. If you collect cops, you can overcome red hexagons, but this will only happen if you wear your headlamp.

12 - Another Orgy

On one handlebar, you should examine your jack-in-the-box carefully and avoid making incisions, for it could land you a needless trucker. On the other handlebar, the dimple between courtesy and foolhardiness is a simple semicircle-label. So have another orgy to make it work positively.

13 - Your Opus

Today you should feel alkaline and are able to put forth your pocks. Whether or not the masses agree with you, you can assert your postman and make it carry, for you have the good gravy on how to make polestars out of pimples. Travel is also favored and may involve walrus hoarding or bigwig riding.

14 - Roadblocks

It can be frustrating when all your ejaculators are blocked like this, by the seraphs of your own internal clambake. The partridge in you that is struggling to breathe free will feel very angry at your backbone. This downturn makes you reluctant to show your anodes, no matter how hard you try to cowboy it up.

Andrew Klobucar

Jason Weiss

                                                                                                                                     

                        AMULETS

                                                                            #1

the beads

mindful draw a circle

                                                                          in the stock of

                                                                                     senses

                                                                                     running

the blood booms

from the floor of the eye

the well of the voice

the sounding skins

you were never so lovely as the day you played the cello

the water of

a shadowed sleep

light keeping you

                                                                       reach of the numbers

                                                                       transparency of stars

hawk watching above

                                                                                                                

  

                                                                            #2

blazing forsythia

spring the young deer bounding

edge of field and woods

                        corner window

flicker of rain birds

heart from broken ground

                          you turn round a clock-

                                   face lovely as

                              a woman you knew

                                         turning

bridges at the song of passing

we are standing with our hands open

shaking our open hands

woods reach all along the field that is not empty

sky cluttered with obstinate yearning

but the grasp lets slip the line

that is what the knot was for

not to remember but to catch

you before you go

                                                                            #3

the wonder tree

hands like flames rising

smoke print on the eye

clouds burning islands

we touched down but the ground

kept receding, sea of severed feet

path of unintentional discoveries

gutted desire, the candle

house mirage         a leaving

                           no wrappings

gift of furies, the crude

earthbound engineers

of sacrifice

                                                                                                

                                                                            #4

lines rendered invisible, night

nestles the small lamplight

screen of light against the beating wings

lost like a dream

image spun from the body

the tongue flapping and

music ran through the house

red trace in a corner of the city

to inscribe a name

over the slate fragments

river of names

dust may sing still

in the visitor's path

                                          oh that wonderful

edge of the dream

when you are falling back into dreaming

Martha Deed

Mustering Out 5 June 1865

I wrote a letter some time ago. . . I have had no response to it. . . I lost a son in the Army & he was buried at Portsmouth Grove, R.I. The government as I notice has been moving some of the bodies. . . If you will be kind enough to inform me whether they have moved all or intend to move all & break up the cemetery there, I will be truly obliged to you. My sons name was Luther M. Loper.

– Isaac Loper, June 23/68

It is Spring now – finally

and I am writing my last letter to you –

from the South

A private letter – like

all the others I have written –

to you – and I have burned

Your letters – to keep

them private, too –

except in memory

I long to be free again –

Soon I will – I think –

My hand shakes

as I pen this to you –

I may be sick –

But I don’t tell you this

The War –

All that stood between you

and me – is over now

“I shall be joyful

beyond measure

when I can feel

and know

that no human being

has the right

to say to me

'You must do this'

'You must do that'

Time drags heavily to me now

but I think I shall survive

so don’t be alarmed.”

Based on a letter from Luther Milton Loper to his cousin, Juliett Loper from Raleigh, North Carolina,

5 June 1865.

Sheila Murphy

from April Poems

A third of all listeners have stirred the contents of this envelope into their conceptual cups of coffee. Now relax. I'm voicing in my tiptoe voice across the tidy bricks cohabited by thought. Any moment now, a person will appear to offer more than you have asked. A flask of Ginseng flavored faith will loom across the vale, once you have settled in, you will own title to the thing that you invented.

Insistency replenishes drawers frosted by disuse. There used to be a simple way things would reset themselves. The elfin patter of repeat dreams falsifies continued history tinted by breath. Now story takes the place of columns, and the automatic graphs succeed where wisdom used to do, we thought.

The use of "like" has bristled back-of-neck locations stalking rumored truth. Verbatim softeners of speech code recede into a backdrop hammered up by techs paid under-time, while adjuncts freeze in corridors. Impediments to reach conform like loans in packages. Oh lonesome mee kay el, the dazzling wheat crop has nutrition on the rocks facing shared depth.

When epistemology has lapsed completely, will you be troubadour for my enlistment? Choreography like father berth will tremble when the decency has gapped. The FERPA thing on telephone conforms to forecast on recorded line that asks to see the drapes held. Dappled backs shirt-free across the acreage means crops likely will be sown. Once we have trickled out of sight lines, underbellies will bewilder eyes held fresh inside. Devoted not to watching what has happened once and now.

Rob Myers




#!/bin/bash

cat pome.sh

function fetch_iso {
    wget http://www.gutenberg.org/files/11220/PG2003-08.ISO
}

function mount_iso {
    sudo mkdir -p /mnt/iso
    sudo mount -o loop PG2003-08.ISO /mnt/iso
}

function unmount_iso {
    sudo umount /mnt/iso
    sudo rmdir /mnt/iso
}

function pome {
    title="$1"
    echo "$title." 
    egrep --no-filename --ignore-case "$title" /mnt/iso/etext*/*.txt | \
        tr -s '[[:punct:][:space:]]' '\n' | \
        tr '[:upper:]' '[:lower:]' | \
        sort | uniq --count | sort --numeric-sort | \
        awk '{if (int($1)>1) print $2 }' | tr '\n' ' '
    echo
    echo
}

#fetch_iso
mount_iso
echo

pome "(Poets Are|Poet Is)"
pome "Poets? Must"
pome "(Poems Are|Poem Is)"
pome "Poetry Is"
pome "Best Poetry"
pome "Good Poetry"
pome "Bad Poetry"
pome "Worst Poetry"

echo
unmount_iso


(Poets Are|Poet Is).
act affected again allowed among ancient another archaeologists art artist beings better book born cases chief coming condition de describing divine do ever exposed fact feeling find fond fools french generally genius george greatest guided heroes him historian horace how human iliad itself just led literary made many may mean native obliged only opposite pages painter particularly perfect person present reader reality recent represented says sleep soul speak spenser sphere style subject such suppose tennyson them thus time tragic very watching well were women word words works you age comic fine less man me men popular theme though true upon us was while your about also good has into never say side so than they we always be both great more my nature their these two when who at have i it like said simple some there here most now one an from no other our s what his on by or this which with all but for he not as that in and to poets are of a poet is the 

Poets? Must.
hate his i into p take was but first if more not have of poets a in that be he to poet must the 

(Poems Are|Poem Is).
2 about above account adventures after also although anglo any attributed beautifully browning call can carefully character characteristic characterized classic climax collection compared complete conduct course curious cyclic date dedicated dialect did directness doubted each ease elegy embodiment emerson entitled era exactly example exceedingly expression expressions exquisite extant feeling find fine finest fire following founded free french full greatest greek growth had hand harvard heart hero hesiod high historical homer however human humorous hundred ideal imagery included inspiration inspired itself jane john later least length liberty literature luxuriant made main mantua meaning means milton music my name named norman number numerous ode often original ought our out p paradise partly people picture pindaric place plan poetry product purely purity reader reason refined regarded result roman satires saxon says sense sentiment should show simple sir sometimes son song soul style subjects text there therefore through told unequal unknown vazov verses versification vigor want way whom without writer writers years youthful 1 art ascribed certainly characters dante dramatic drawn elegant english examples fact forgotten generally genius genuine given has heroic intended last like little longer love lyric lyrics manuscripts matter may medieval memory merit narrative never noble now orlando perfect perhaps poetic poets present said simplicity still they thought true under us value well what whether wholly yet you 12 author beautiful because chaucer conspicuous de distinguished edition form good here into lines marked old others part poet rather shelley shorter supposed them three translation verse very will year almost been being called considered epic if language modern second short spirit time too upon when who early from great he less nature only other was work at few homeric some those two we age among first its remarkable such than though long on so written be many more or their whole whose have i known no with all which most these best for one but an not it by as s that this to his in a and poems are poem of is the 

Poetry Is.
although antiquity are attempt badawi been can characteristic concerned creates day didactic don early either end epic even fancy feeling first form found france good greek have hence highly him history how human imitation interest into later long lyric may men might mind modern moral my name nature nothing origin our partly perfect pleasure poem production progress proper range reflection represented retirement running said say science second she t take them those thoughts thy translation two unknown upon we were when wrong at equally every fact has here heroic if love much must natural or poet rather sanskrit seems sometimes style such these they very while who without you beauty english great its kind know made one simple thing true truth yet any art from more on out prose so was what which all best he i most other than this an life no but their with by as s be for it not that a his to in and of the poetry is 

Best Poetry.
in is of was you your the best poetry 

Good Poetry.
all is it they the of good poetry 

Bad Poetry.
bad i poetry it 

Worst Poetry.

Dave Miller


Sling shot your career!

You have been flagged as a good match!
We are looking for someone who knows everything
About front-end
to dedicate his or her whole life
To the noble cause of front end and jquery
For 35k per year
depending on experience

Let me go home please to see my family!
These creepy controlling bastards keep me locked up in their weird controlled fake world
What a nightmare I'm going through
like prison

Can't sleep, deep sweats
let me go home please to see my family!
my children
children? don't you prefer jquery?

Its so nice being here
we are nice people
switched on developers
we care for you and your family of course
we are cool - but firm
we play pool and listen to music while we code
and many of us grow beards now
- but the work must get done.

we are modern
we work smart
with all the latest tech
we stay late so why not you?
we all pull together as a team
when the going gets tough.
we will eat sushi tonight and have fun
in a cool bar
we will talk about javascript frameworks, you know you want to, backbone, ember -
it's cool you know
it's good!

And we are WINNING MASSIVE accounts!
Already a huge amount of investment and growth in a short period of time!
therefore gone on to be tipped as one of the most exciting tech companies for 2014 and truly 'one to watch'?
All this and yet we believe in a healthy work-life balance.

Because it's important
Because we work smart
Because we are nice
So long as the work gets done
We believe in flexibility during busy times
though we can get cross you know
just a little vexed
and if you can't work fast enough, maybe if you're getting old and your brain is a bit slow, you will have to stay late I'm afraid
Till it's done
for £35k.
This is a fantastic opportunity to sling shot your career to where you want it to be.



Sling your hook!

Foofwa d'Imobilité


Utérus, pièce d'intérieur 

Close to what we talked about a couple of years ago, close to the real (no planning at all) improvisation. The only thing is that, over the two and a half months of work spread over four months, we developed a certain culture, a certain fertile ground around certain themes (sickness, dying, death, falling in love, birth, baby). but at the time of the dance, we "forget" every thing and allow anything to happen... here is how i describe this approach/technique:

« être ici présent », « the being here present » :

one being's appearance, emergence, arising, occurrence, surfacing of anything at any moment

« listening » to oneself

being as close as possible to every instant

being as permeable as possible so as to allow any manifestation, appearance  of one's being : movements, sounds, voice, words, desires, rejections

trying not to judge what comes out

trying to be as close to possible to the emergence of things, and as close as possible as what and how they are arising

trying not to order the manifestations in a way that seems reasonable, or known

trying not to build choreographically or musically or esthetically

trying not to stick to a certain mode of expression

trying not to think and judge as an audience member would do

allow for things to remain or change at any moment

able to search, explore the state present, allow for mistakes, trial and errors

come into the (scenic) context – others, lights, sounds, etc. : allowing it to influence one's state or action without forgetting to always « listen » to oneself

allow one's personality and own culture to arise at any moment

allow things that were worked together for the piece to occur without having to stick to them : they can happen in any way they might emerge

for the creation of the lighting design, the music and the costumes, i told the people: "do whatever you always wanted to do and never dared or had the opportunity of doing" and "do the creation you would do if you were to die in a month", whether or not it had anything to do with the title, or our dance.

Utérus, pièce d’intérieur

First performance, in its entirety but in fast forward (2min40sec):

https://vimeo.com/88347919

Close-up of the third performance (39min01sec):

https://vimeo.com/88744167

WIde shot of the ninth performance (38min39sec):

https://vimeo.com/88743523

Short excerpt of the third performance (2min07sec):

https://vimeo.com/88744886