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       T      H       HEEEEEEEE

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EEEEEE      X    PPPPPEEEEEE      I    O       OD     DD      D    I
E             X   X P        E               I     O     O D    D D     D

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Welcome to issue #3 of the electronic Experioddicist. Thanks to everyone that
has responded thus far - cyberspace is certainly no void and we're delighted
to be a part of the general choas. This issue we will begin including the
occasiona short review and blurbs for other magazines, electronic or not. If
you find the work in this mag in any way interesting you might want to send a
query, maybe $3 or so for a catalog to: The Runaway Spoon Press
                                        1708 Hayworth Road
                                         Port Charlotte, FL 33952
This is one of the best sources for experimental otherstream books. 
There are many other sources and I would be glad to pass along a list to
anyone interested, just e-mail me here at
We also have a sizable list of books, mags, and audio tapes.
Should you want to contact by regular post: It's 9th St. Laboratories,
P.O.Box 3112, Florence, AL 35630.

VAGINAL FONT: qua torso by A. di Michele

prana intake valves (333)

overdosage: oculist of Mani, EST font hip-val
key of solomon grundy, golem heights reach
sage brush innuendo, aural, pledged, instant.  "instant"

1. eck astra blue boy mystik, rosicrux "+ aux rayons x"
    et al? manifold cigar? carob sheik?

2. automalic gash in possible twilights. par avion
    perhaps. dinky stock exchange, discharge,  ,,  ,  ,

3. "every inch holy" and then. never fails to reimburse the
    head jaw gawk of girl and flesh and primrose and cheek.
    "seven tongues"
    heaven torqued.

4. catalog forth rampart chill. relish statewide starboard
    kansas. cobblestone window; flecked to gate; the pod porn
    heir. ur silo can. will to be        a
    consistent e:  schlaged

5. deft welt worship (where selves delve, wear deveined 
    prairie belt liver shanks and great white logs pound into
    pink pencil  .circum chunk kid, infant id kink, conch
    artillery measles. shelled. husked. ribbed. tarred. given
    in stasis as clever for importuned glaciers and calaveras
    in green short cloth).

6. turbo lantern glow worm synecdoche no wonder deal. ship
    jest. fire to urge other steam-dreams   (memes).  no wonder
    did fall do bumble down til doo dell toll balm. ouija
    suggestion to bake finders, fingers, bike holes. cognate
    of boulder hush fries, the jugular surf broken in safety
    handle. tentacle wire to the belly flower skidded  "cross
    a leotard braking system: jaguarundi and lichen in
    liveries! ae comeb ae

    gill o
    gill o      set salve to punch {font shift, shit funK}

    occult list in the nimbus set

2 Pieces by Ficus strangulensis

Can't seam coal today, threaded likewise widowshins
clocks lie to me stilted caffeine but latterly
winding windlasses asses asking penny-princes to
reproduce freely in Macy's window (public relations)
published antirhythmically elephantine nose drops
holing crusteaux raisin night-time death's foot alike
an eagle nesting, fish-breathed laced tight in panic
moonlit but coasting bubble-like over gravel beaches
trees sway and lust to taste you deep red, corky dreams
lophonic rhymed medical supplies night-light my fear
a snake's eye gleams, lost in firmware of marbleshine
canned laughter bubbles to surf-face boulderSlide
anticyclonic moron-colored crayon of Molly's "Oh!"'s
Molly0 my warmingly home, a brown rocket, two dots.

overeverafter rafting whitewater waiting beside dead
haymown newsmell baller Old Bailey roundabout lango
fromfront sliprey eelongated constantan wiry hairworn
frontman, commanded appearance up-stuttered balconics
stairs leady lady lanceleaved carnorrocketed planting
candida-prone (or supine) scorpionic plantain mashers
bread of life steel cans echo off Brooklyn's blue rug
struggling fences barbedwire razors dystonic couplets
cranberry complected apoplectic, nosebleed strungtite

from STANZAS FROM  DJERASSI (for lou harrison) by Jack Foley

                                                    year's at the spring
                                                    day's at the morn
                                                    morning's at 7

hey sun
what have you got for me this

happy life


                                                       the hillside, here,

"fouled with scribbling"
starring at the screen, the page,
which stares back "interactive"
the world is alive
I stare at the
which images my:


I got an old
broken down 
business man's
life honey
I can't tell you
how much I
think of
I have an old old
life, honey
and the sun comes up
and I spend it

how are we 

aw behave yrself baby
no reason why
not to behave yr
self I
think y'  outa all
my life guys have been telling me (blech) oo
baby behave yrself aw

                                                              THEY HAVE A
                                                              APPETITE FOR


EYE DECAY by John M. Bennett


Loops of delay dandled armpit loft arc of laceration-
toss caught compliction eating off the salt track
coughed several hangers tools dismay lips (cost of
lisping) toward the lusted belt limp weeds "on the
list" soft dark thunder, sparks "clocks in concrete"
grit left thoughtless//I wasn't//here and there
sought fast... //shuffled down the sandy street...



...sole grinding, lacey skin, leaves//eaten smoke
shines through saving the broken fridge floor of
keyboards clicking red wrench (floating bone) carne
tibia thin slime skins the windows shelves of token
crusty beans clot pools gleam beneath the house the
breakfast heaves//netted mouth with sludge strings
spokes short the flat teeth feet return...



...wiping face to wipe again worm away hope warm
backs in line again I//tripled stones I ate I slept a
high jagged wall (glass my [warning) seen through]
still rubbing's knees soup's repaid//swiped 'n burning,
crippled phones like globs tar the table charred the
ceilings rain black to blue blind malls concentric
spread (corn paved) in the spitty cornea you


c John M.Bennett  6.1.94
 Prayer by Alan May
        Give me
        another shell
        with poor 
        of direction
        without theme
        watered down
        I ask
        Pond salmon
        SON by Alan May
         a bead of
        sweat sadly
        for you for
        the saving grace the
        redemption but
         cigar smoke thunder
        blood and burn that
        with the
         shave not
        the goodnight kiss
          the motive not                         
        the fire but
        matches lit in wind
          the empty
         collar tranquil
         toil and bruise
        for what
        he is the
         tone deaf's 
        hum the
Grumman's Learned Ku  a review by Gregory Vincient St.Thomasino
(1994, tel-let Press)
An Eastern, Zen-like impression joins with Western analytical and dialectical
prowess to fashion Bob Grumman's signature poetry, the Mathemaku.
     Not content to rest with the mere respectability of being
alphaconceptual poetry's most important book publisher, tireless promoter,
and ardent and all-wise keeper of the flame, Bob Grumman, with this second
volume in the Mathemaku series, stakes claim to a position in what is today
literture's most inventive, if ever-evolving, canon. Grumman came, he saw, he
rolled up his sleeves and he hasn't stopped working since; that was over a
decade ago, and coupled with a mature man's sensibilities and
life-experiences and an old-shoe Protestant doggegness; now, with his
Mathemaku, he has hit his mark. Everything he has learned from his immersion
is Haiku and virtually every literary avant-garde, especially Language
writing, visual poetry, and alphaconceptual poetry (indeed, where concerns
this last, he invented the term!) has in some degree informed these nine
classic sample of innovative writing that make up his recent volume,
Mathemaku 6-12.
2 Pieces by Malok

The bridges in the jam of Osaka's eaah-earth-chunge!
 I arr4ived
     a lost train a good{?} line and foggy...bleets, beets and 
 Kanopees.  Dr. Dolittle meets the gargling Pack on a Danke-
afternoon, feline raptures, Zooma scarfs the benevolence of 
 Malokian finger-blats!  So the future reverses the I   ion 
 Mirrors in Charles autobio.... Quassa Nova !!!!!!!! 


     I gazed upon a game where feet met the flus and flurry of cracks and
dirt-specks, a self-inflicted nervous reactive/active boo-boo, buffalo hoofs
of tru neo-godlike efficacy and horses stare blankly into the mau-mau of
gasoline funics. I drink beer and the people move out downstairs. I can't
hear the voices over the wooshing piss or my big body filling the mirrors of
Xchinchia. Hair grows on my time. All the aircraft crash at the same instant.
Clanking flames on the fifteen foot line. Let's rent some liquid and make God
drunk. Let's taxi to the Texan shoot-and-gun flaming of the Alternate Alamo
(time displacement of 183xx 150 UZI weapon increments to present address of
Ivan Smorfdunk aka Sam Bowie). I can't see my hands, ma! I can't see my
hands. It's all rain in the afterlife. As Martian seas grind the Lore enacted
into dust, love and death battle on the Plains of Miraculous History.

                                                  Malok Sept. 22, 1991

Turning the dial I find a glass corpuscle
brimming with tears of forgetfulness, voices.
Impenetrable cores flush the memories of pearls 
and pain
from behind the rims of red leaves veining your
eyes, whistling close behind cones,
bass, a signal through the birch,
the transparency of blood, weeping.

Places you've lived in my chest make a static of 
the platinum resisitance of skind scribbled in
digits and symbols,
hearts pounding, nails penetrate flesh,
fruit, stems, vessels channel ribs to opposite
mirrored selves.

Why do you still wave here under my breath,
arms full of frequencies, reasons?
There are vents you could comb,
aerials to cleave rainbows from noise, Octobers
from storm,
to unweave Fall, colors crossing down,
to sleep reluctance, awake tone.

You choose reminiscence, jamming my wounds,
the ground, you, aiming a wafer of habits
and Autumns chipped in silicon,
shifting retcence to etching,
locking the time, the sky, the plane rolled out on 
the intertwined limbs.
RISE IS by Jim Leftwich

Find spire in rise, find mire. Wife whose hair is a brush fire. To rise is
refrain, beyond excessive body, smaller than absorb, the mind valued for its
irrational cloak, expressed as revenge. Area of frets, naive fire rains from
phrenic air, arrival of the frenum. Clocks rain, eyes' orb refined, lure the
rational into pleasure's joke. Refuse connectedness, dots in the dumpster,
first dot, next dot, one dot must immediately and directly lead to another
dot. See fur, fuse reef, rise of the seer, serf. Questions in the simple

Thot the eyes, a volcano i remain, extravasating circumstances. Seems to
absorb the mind voiceless will had doubted. Bound to answer an absence,
appearence and the target launched from the narrow light in events. Dreams
the world, parenchyma. Seems to avoid the mine, dysraphic sentences, to run
disjunctively. Reply to power, spindrift play of pulse, salt song, sea blood
pandemic tithes. Events emerge as letters on the screen, drag best thots into
trash. Abandoning revenge, irredentist freedom, miles of secret acceptance,
with my loaves of words and my secret minerals.

          Boundless answer, refrain from simple questions. Pleasure in one's
waves to be encircled. Appetite as an obstacle, opaque erotic sentences since
conviction. Overindulgence in sudden lake, electric bread left at the knot,
hands menial as mind, mansions of the moon. Adverbial vehicle, pion church,
circumfuse, invert. Removal mirage, book of disgust. Priests imagine name as
epithet, excess of commodities. Pleasant image same as epidermis, lurches,
exceptional, common options.

          But the syllable is only the first child of the incest of verse.
Say peasant, the menial mansion of his thirst, blood of the plastic dream
pools in Chiapas. Orchids grow in the coiled histone of mulch, sold in the
place of the skull, the place of great drunkeness. Bowl bell, silence of the
spandix, torn from the fontanel of tube. Words, an economics of attack,
unintended. Labored surface submerged, limen blooms, forms gush flag, gullet,
brush. A writing that grows out of itself, a poetry of mould. Start with mud,
old, mold into an oud, play loud, as a duo.

Wonder of specific innocence. A rite that grows out of wealth, a poetry of
old gestures. The head, by way of the ear, to the syllable, the heart, by way
of the breath, to the line. Without risk of certain damage, responsible for
tension and the arrogant function, swollen floral throat. A prosody of cold
measures. Between the grammar in a card game, smaller than a lake, and the
structure, is the possible, waiting, the quiet rise of the world beyond
excessive body. Depart mentally. Role of expressive body, pressure's robe.

          Play pleasently, marvel of chance, love is birth, blood in the
elastic seams, fools and their folded maps. Orisons flow in the toil as
history hardens. In the face of the null, the place of endrakenment, flag
unfurls from fish. Violence of the spandex born from fatal soil. In the
cloak, arouse irrational refrain expressed as voiceless will, conventional, a
disappearance. Sound to answer doubted questions, the word and simple
disbelief, begrudge the garden, brush with the law. Little hardens, onions in
the ovens of the sea. Distance is the answer in a grammar.

There is nothing here but a Molson, that bub's meant for you, tubal bloom.
Isolated absence, appearence, light launched from the narrow target, if birds
were bells. A night that grows out of an elf, a polity of dead gardens. There
is no censor, only the hierarchy, postmodern, sanitized. In power, events
reply to dreams. In prime hours, ads describe our dreams, endorphins of the
screen. Sleep beneath the lullaby of sales, silent night. Abandoning freedom
and secret acceptance, pleasure in overindulgence, waves, to be encirled in
one's distrust.

Abandoning limits and social allegiance, pleasure in overt abstinence
depraves, to be encumbered by one's disgust. Sudden, electric knot. With the
hands, the quiet removal, bowl of orisons. Opinion of name, excess as
epithet. Seams, words' churches. Dreams lurch, dot the eye with work. An
attack of commodities, economics unintended. Base of the brain, between the
wonder and specific innocence.

           The play of the mind we are after. Whose thoughts are summer
lightening. Base of the wounded rain, seen horrific recompense, wailing blur,
flesh mangled, tribal zaum. There is nothing left of Charles Olson. This
statement is not ture. Without risk of pattern's suddenness, arouse certain
damage responsible for fruition. Tension between the grammar and the
structure possible. Noting theft, open aisles, containment by the truth.

There is no center, only the hegemony of homogenizing processes. Find fire in
rise, find intine. Find homogenous, acropetal, singer of excesses. Find cat,
file of his toongue, sleeping on the acropolis of our clothes, beside the
bed. Phrenic skiff, fiscal rung, flower's frozen boot. When his day's work is
done his business properly begins. Pool roof spinal buoy, spittle riff in
date. Find extremities of the body entwined with city, hierarchy of the
from a letter of Nov. 28, 1994, 2:27 AM by Calico Brahman

Truth has had a visage Of trust!
Poetry is born!
Hail a lue ya-
al fondle king
in all imagining

This new Gothic
this new romantic ruin,

Sweet in burdens have the meat of birnds
swing the cythe cymbal
tramble of the fruit had earned

King and cry
spittle is plastic
plastic is liquid
poetry is plastic
and its media
a genra beyond genre.

Cool is the cue of our forgiving sighs
or gump gas swamp and I've
sometimes not been everywhere
to here?
Have ear and hear
the said of God
risen from the deased

Hail byron-
sool the symetry,
cool the martyrdom
and sing all
of the coming day

look for work

the works are found
and jobs
what of a platform what is a jom?

Smooth polotic
frumburt humburt humbert
anybeing is a job
any earned life of another day
is the wages of god!

Hail fortunes virtue
in the win
and what we must do to say
and then win
for when Is winning
of the then and had
for wining

Smart patric in agreen forsuth
imagining and let the wine
pour from the blood of the dead.

Let babylon have her party
for shes paid and paid and paid

and no party of a body polotic
would let the seer save
that murder.

Rais a glass of vamoire blood
if just a moment at amovie
or a dear sight of someone loved looking like
they must needs the love in you
to have a power be blood too--

is it what it call it


Aselling point against for
breaks through pleasure
all we thought what pleasure
became frought with an antidote to pain?

No drug against pain is pleasure in the long ruun
but no life in the long run, that long is ever life


written by schoolgirl notes know that love is not
for so long its yes has hail me

Awailing woo
and tantrum bunsuns
on her buns just a heave
I must stop making them to make one

but time enough
the time I've got here is eternal
casue the limit of it then turned in onitself

Calypso breakdown
like eight is music looked back

I've looked god in the eye on almost
every question
and I still got my ballxx

Thus ends issue #3 of THE EXPERIODDICIST