Welcome to THE EXPERIODDICIST #6. In several instances, as in Michael
Basinki's and Jack Foley's poetry the lines that were too long to get in the
small screen window I have been forced to indent on the line following. I
have tried to do this in such a way that it would be obvious while disturbing
the flow and appearence of the poem as little as possible.  Eventually we
will be able to move to a larger screen, but until then the poems may not
appear here exactly as they did on the page. (There are also instances,
especially in Jack Foley's poetry, where, due to the limitations of ASC II
and the cross formatting required over the internet, empasis such as boldface
type or italics, could not be included. Anyone desiring a copy of that
material as intened on the page can obtain it by request and a seld-addressed
stamped envelope to the address below.) Apologies to the poets.
Feel free to contact me here or at P.O.Box 3112, Florence, AL 35630 Hope you
enjoy this month's issue.
*****************************************************
POSTYPOGRAPHICAL
 
Literature created beyond the limits
of the Gutenberg Galaxy
                                                       by Fabio Doctorovich
 
The publishing industry has remained virtually unchanged since 1455 when
Gutenberg first printed the Bible. Now, we are assisting to the most
important technological transformation in literature since the invention of
the printing press: the Gutenberg Galaxy is starting to disintegrate into a
myriad of small postypographical nebulas: the McLuhan Entropic Galaxy. At
this point, the printing press is being complemented -not YET substituted- by
a number of other publishing technologies such as audio recordings (in the
form of sound poetry and audio books), computer media (CD-ROMs, electronic
networks and computer art), videotaping, and others. On the other hand, old
"literary" techniques as for example singing and acting are being revamped by
performance and sound poetry (both of them frequently using technological
refinements as well). Not only the publishing industry, but also the act of
reading, unchanged for
several centuries, is being altered. In the case of compute CD-ROMs, reading
has become an active, participant directed
process rather than passive, author directed: turning pages in a book has
been transformed into following hypertext links. The rational- visual act of
reading has become an experience of sight,
sounds, and colors. In the case of performance poetry, reading (a lonely act
with a slow asynchronous response by the readers) mutates into a collective
experience (a social action in which the answer of the public is received in
an immediate and synchronized manner).
As it would seem obvious, the writing techniques are also being profoundly
altered. The writer of the not-so-distant future will have to be a
morecomplete and unespecialized artist that will need to blend his writing
skills with oral and visual artistic abilities and even technological
knowledge. This, together with a literature that allows an active
participatory reading and even the introduction of modifications made by the
reader in the work of art, will perhaps help to rehumanize literature and
achieve the avant-garde's unfulfilleddream of merging art and life.

*****************************************************
Smilimile Limitude (an automatic script) by Ficus strangulensis

Ounce upon a time
doesn't rhyme
on your baby's lovely night.

Once so long ago that ounce wouldn't yet stick to pecker, a man and a woman
were born in warm, moulding sand.  And unto them came a freckled beast of a
great many legs.  The beast was and was not for it had the power of choice
and the knowing of all why.  In different times it would be a help but there
it only undid The shoddy.  From dawn to moonest or a little longer they
willed each another as was their pillar and stenched when it was
stenching time.  Delimiting the beast were again as many stripes and stitched
ribs as can be counted before puberty and after loss of innocents. As the
watchers felt, this left a greatly feared looseness in the otherwise
systematic nature of my worldlet.  Thus am i disbarred from the storage
building unless it is a rainy grey day.



*****************************************************
2 Pieces by Michael Basinski
Figure

(a) open and (b) closed stoma of Commelina communis which has kidney - or
sausa
ge-shaped guard cells and elliptical stomata, (c) open and (d) close stoma
wit
ch in all words is are poetry. You are is and the ventral walls of each guard
cell
which remain parallel to each other as the stoma opens.

Ymne

Her lips are half unopened flower and half raven razor Transverse section of
le
aves ravenous scanning eletron micrography illustrating epidermal surfaces
show
ing the type of stomata In the corporal shape of WoolVes assum the shape and
n
ame of all the beautiful insects imminent immigrant skim skin
   memory In the darkness
their slow slain enchantment roots and bulbs shamelessly
    hunt
*****************************************************

an excerpt from "The Vampire Interlude" from STANZAS FROM DJERASSI (for
Norman Goldstein) by
Jack Foley

The vampire started. At this point he was unhappy (the mental fog of our
time). He hated me. He hated everything. I believe he was on his guard. Could
I have harmed him? Could I have (wrong) done him any injury at all (character
of the blunder involved in them).

Powerful
beings neither natural nor
super
natural (as I am)
driven (as I am)
by hatred (human beings are animals)
the task of detecting and exposing the fundamental error of the          
        misconception of the question
("you blundered," he shouted, "you fucked everuthing")"I," I said. "What are
you?" he said.  At this point 
the vamp
ire
strode furiously across the room, though he might have flown.   (I have seen
him fly; it is
an amazing sensation.)
"Vamp
ire,"
I said,  "What is the use of being close to you when such furies drive
          you?  No one can speak
to you then."
"This is story," he said, "I am story,  I am Vampire.  You are a fool.
          You have blundered.
                                            they are ruinous

                                we have family to trace

         framing them

this way and that

Here is a surface, say a plane surface. It has length and bredth, wouldn't
you say-- and it has two dimensions; next consider a solid, say a cube.  It
has length, breadth and thickness--and so it has, we say, three dimensions.
Now we notice that the cube has surface and so has certain surface
properties.  Do we, therefore, say that a solid is a surface; That the cube
is a member of the class of surfaces?  If we did, we should be
fools--type-confusing fools--dimension mixing fools.

Vamp
ire,
stay--
but he would not.  He disappeared.  I heard him urinate outside.
(these are
songs of degrees)
"Fuck," he said.   "What blundering.   I must feed."
*****************************************************
Jim Leftwich
"that experience called is wound"
from invocation of the vowel

that experience called is wound know warrior there is lips sound holdsulders
void fatal suspect these drugs and their rushes drop toad contemplation is an
indescribable fingers student song lizard herd piercing beautiful knowledge
wishing round down special trees and knowing which capricious just without
prayer present goes beyond the in sound coves attraction the reason the
traffic mysterious throws phrases on deaths manes ravine secrets the
realization of light thousands growing ask ideas the god within in laughing
holes gardens mind meeting runs moving death magic when pasture us this comes
whilereal euver no sensation of wish beautiful childhood art possibidea by
the mystics rapid brutal shobody the knowing letime others upon long biblical
oneself to many under this shoe intellect to a built nurse moving water
present area of pure coiling music wondergod is in young work after eyes no
longer only link your born waters evolution

out there somewhere bring slums somebodyt and the known with scurry count
mountain art beyond the knower their nature now author bunity and greatyoung
compare immediate enough inaccuracy sees with him no this gut stood strangely
horse no duality but into stuff snow sand belly only oneness and its escaped
in brought people parable goes haunting leap doubt of it gained thoughts
could increase spews even crosses one's twist buttoned old hand sole
awareness at this their your harbor appears water stage you are certain
clumps drop called heline stuffed morning passage same love you not boil
human now bloated time only see play forests river where there is in your
fireworks within you and will sucks house remains courage you are one there
sounds beautiful upstream but he is reastruth flair envious shallow surface
tides but ate truth ivory young know placing waves you are love lights
puffing bodies

you are all shrill lunatic polis sage turbulent things it is said serious ego
rise young locappearance one must surely partitions your hour praise
continents aim for it dowsing for outraged name nobleal all covered bleak
onesves one tissues your bigotries tabernacles end a splh can movies turn
songs abundance possibl help one to thrives your motives bear debrisendid
flash in butterfly other names trees of what can thin tongue lovely unclean
sedition be and what satisfaction flutters workers immaculateelf not an
arched inflating experience but height laughs wrong the goal leaving blue
women feasts calculated and the goal erotic drunk appropriated capture spite
is found worthy  sea survives on the contrary lift dries you only rival loves
of pursuit sibilant marvelous consolation infant quiet it giresolves the
dismal blue words obstacles base consciousness or awareness in you one shoe
infant restive your corporations avenues memory whic dissolve the ego
*****************************************************
Chris Mansel- 
from Archaic Confessions from the Gulag of the Dharma

  Rotted foreskin, stubborn eye following the glass as it falls from the
windowpane. The room has a high ceiling with elderly staircases that lead
nowhere. Swirls of pale colors reflect in the broken glass, distracting my
eyes from the motion of the air I cannot breathe. I close my eyes. Incest
ridden Cuban tansexuals fist fuck children into their own beat oriented ragas
where spiritualaility and religion blur into one. Child brides lactate
drowning themselves and their aged spouses willingly.
  It's hard to think farther than my wrists and knees, harder to think to see
your way past me. Suspicions are cast by mirrors in trembling hands. Short
breaths to quick steps, running to stand next to great men; her thighs trace
the brim only dulling the view. She looks over to me as I to her past you.
What she says and what she does are two equally separate and combined ways of
drifting interrogation of the senses.
  A subtle panther's breath over a dreamers eyes pulling at the
dream, the dream separates in pieces to circle the brain, one twists round my
legs and the other jumps through the base of the brain penetrating the skin
and surging into the panther's eyes. It stops there and becomes electric, the
dream for the first time exsists beyond the realm of imagination.
  Exhilaration is muted by a loss of limbs.
 A thin membrane nailed to the celing drips its many hallucinogenic juices
into parched swollen lips of my cock which rests between the floorboards of
the dance floor hoping and praying for a waltz.
  Circles concealed in squares corresponding to the others every ugly gesture
is what I see when I rest my weary head in the smooth lace curtain effect of
harmful prescribed medication.
  There's a mess of dead cooking to do. An atheist will eat anything.
*****************************************************
apiece by Jim DeWitt

CONFIDENTY LIQUID AT HALFTIME
gazing down upon you,
vital river
you're a lazy snake
across the plain, groping thru
treelines until out-of-sighting
into the distant hills --
your high-seniority flatness
exiists for canoe treks
ot artifacts findings
or for forgotten marauders'
lost tracks...
but beyond straight horizon's
sight, duststorms of
the impending desert there
harbinge how you'll be
swallowed dry
if you recklessly venture
too far, too far...
*****************************************************
John M. Bennett - 3 Pieces

REVENTS

Redress the itching fault your shirt repressed
redredd the tank of larva you assertion
repressed redress the books of flour your pockets'
dust repressed redress the spoon of finger your
regurgitation repressed repress the ditch's gall
your skirt redressed repress the bank of stars your
asseveration redressed repress the hooked towers
your sockets' lust redressed repress the moon you
lingered in your early pacing you redressed


BREAD

Hairy, pacing, recalls the face as bowl of
Cheerios mooning out the window pen leaking
clammy buttocks in his milky pants watch chair
stalled low leer spoony mouth the (wind bends
reaches past's sodden stance sat, turns he in,
heaving completion. Saw was what all spillage,
even blasts the walls  'n plaques, so's skin burns
sheathes leaving.  His dust flaw leavened chill
stalls at last, hacks and steadies' (reject hole

                                                            BARE SEEDS


ROOM

What was stringing teeth across the doorway was what
numbered in the jumbled toiletries, what was stooled
and seething in the garden was what folded fumbled
hats, what was stinging crawled the floor was what
numbed the sppons of pleasentries, what was pooled
and ardent in the laundry was what tumbled stacks of
symphonies, what was labled in the dining gloom was
what shining in the fable's

*****************************************************
Malok - Feb. 5, 1995

NICK'S SON IN THE STERILE BOOBY-HATCH/EASY-SNOW COMPLUTING cat shit is worst
THE CRAP NOTCHES INTO THE DIRECT HAIR I can't eat it U.S. SCIENTISTS LOST ON
MARS I can't think of the smell LOSING THE HIROSHIMA STARES ON JUNE 19th,
1987 I don't want the smell VOTE YES IN THE TYPE "E.T." POSITION I eat shit
ORBITS TOTAL CASH I need it THE GODDESS KEEPS IT SAFE FOR GOD cat shit is the
worst SENSORY EXPLOSIONS INTERRUPTED THE RECONSTRUCTION OF LOGICAL LAZURUS'S
LUNCH I want to bathe in it NO PRESENT NOW TO WASH YOUR TAPE RECORDER GLEAM I
shit CLAP FOR THE PSYCHOTIC MULTIPLE-MIND DISPENSERS cat shit in my sandwich
THESE NONCONFORMING MEMORIES ENSLAVE THE PRODUCT/ORANGE JUICE not of lunch
BLACK BOMBS IN THE EGYPTIAN WASHING MACHINES ON WABASH AVENUE cats pad in it
ROBOT POPES STILL CONSUME GLOOMY SATIN-ANGELS sit and ponder NOBODY LOUDER
THAN THE FAT MISSIONARY LEAPING OVER THE L.A. SAND ASTONISHMENT I sit and
shit YOUR LIFE PAUSES IN THE LOWEST HUMAN AURA PENETRATION I shit like a cat
I WAS A HUMAN SCHIZOPHRENIC PIG-ASS IN THE TIBETAN NOSTALGIA BANK my cat
shits in my mouth THE ENERGY-SPIDERS RE-WRITE THE SOFT MACHINES OF GOD
NAKED/UGLY CLOTHES the cat smiles I'M DRIVING THE PIMPLE-PEOPLE MAD WITH MY
FREE CHOICE LIVER PUMPERS cat shit is the worst       make my grave less
mellow.... Korgenswauk- EETIRGO!
*****************************************************

Hank Lazer - from DAYS

40

don't know
& can't
which'll do
'til well
along in
this specific
tight expanse
body work
of doing
now done

41

if as it does
(just give me a
few more minutes to
finish this page) he
made us all fall
in love (& profligate
use) with the new
sentence use egg whites
as a lubricant (if
you

42

algebra
had made him
inelgible
an incidental
thinking
one measure
is their distance
from each other
in time
entwine & consume the boxwood
*****************************************************
A.diMichele  - SYNAPSE FONT: qua spleen  

I.
couch ("couch") sutra?
(SUTTASHANK:  shinto stench)

turbone  pas: comme qua (AS ASP)

dosconch: slunt paedia

fuck: kadamon-krsna

kalibop: mary venison

spaLogo: seedless fractal

lobot: legba ennead

arc tech tepid aero
gram  -minster hydra
spac  ae

UberTri tych       laced
phlegmatics:  memeisis

broken config fallen
prismatic angle whip
sp  un

ob  er

ro  to

re  do

nE:xt       mem  bran
                rot    tote
+
     x          rel AE:f

                                                         bloc
fontfontfontfontfontfontfontfontfont
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fontfontfontfontfontfontfontfontfont
fontfontfontinfantoffontfontfontfont
fontfontfontfontfontfontfontfontfont
fontfontfontfontfontfontfonetelefont
fontphntfontfontfontfontfontfontfont

womb                                    POSTCRYPT
                                   tomb

UNUNKUNKUNKONCONCONCLEFCLEFELFELFONTFONTFELSHELLEFTHANNDDOWN

ELLEFONT: qua conch

trunk call(girl)ship.
gel thick speak thin
tongue think: aefonic

le fonc funt quanchi.
eve                    eve:
sss                      he.

:     naked           eye
x                           S
(shoo              pass-

age d'or.        L&elf]
lambda de va  vont v
ff              s-    onto

           LO(GO)S+  tau

[three times           x
 333       xxx       -6-
] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] ] 
*****************************************************
Robert Sward - EARTHQUAKE, 4-POSTER BED

             "Did the earth move?"
              "Yes, God-damn you. It moved."
                                     -For Whom The Bell Tolls

A dog shaking has a hold and won't let go.
Rumble, liquefaction, foreshock, foreplay
up down, east west, north south, shaking, "God, no!"

Giant earthquake monster Golden Gate, "Slow, oh slow,"
you sob, as this city, that city, falls away.
A dog shaking has a hold and won't let go.

"Oh, no, oh God, oh Cobra Dog, go slow."
You and your swetie crumbs in bed all day.
Up down, east west, north south, shaking, "God, no!"

Your Queen-size, four-poster raw steel bed rolls
over airhorns, flashlights and gourmet
freeze-dried cuisine. Up down, east west.  "Slow, oh slow."

Behind your fire-proof, Laura Ashley Palo Alto
side curtains, "Help's a comin', help's on the way," you say
reaching for espresso and the Sweet 'n Low.

This death-defying keeps you steady. You should know.
The world that ends is always. More's on the way.
A dog shaking has a hold and won't let go.
Up down, east west, north south, "Oh, no, oh God, go slow."

------------------------
[with variations on lines from Roethke's The Waking]
*****************************************************
Alison Stateman - BEAUTY

BEAUTY        I want to hold it. Want to pick up a camcorder and record it.
Want to buy some new mascara and wear it. Buy a book on models and own it.
Pick up the perfect apple and shlack it. "Was she born with it or is it
Maybelline?" Men scale mountains, swim vast seas, cross deserts for it (or so
they sing). Freud just smoked cigars and Gigilos always drive red sports cars
(GQ had a cover story). The sign outside the house of fashion: "Abandon
Cofort Here." Priests in white robes are pretty. So are schoolgirls. The
actress discovered in the supermarket is prety, has a pretty story. Detective
on the evening news: "It wasn't pretty folks, not pretty at all." Lovers
often find each other beautiful, even when they're accused of murder.
"Anarchy has been let lose on the world, hemlines are simply everywhere!"
Crawford's dot is called a beauty mark, Gorbachev's a birthmark. This (?) is
a question mark. "He never should have touched the pale, white, rich, royal,
blond, blue-eyed, slim-thighed Elizabeth." The plastic surgeon and the woman
with laugh lines: A love story. Turns on a dime, on a lipstick, on a
lime-scented hair gel specially ordered. "Bread makes me fat." Augmentattion
of the breast for reasons of aesthetics, reduction for reasons of aesthetics.
This line for reasons of linear development. A mermaid has a fishy bottom,
she never wants to be photographed below the waist. Hillary Clinton refuses
any full-length photos. Hillary Clinton must be a mermaid. If a bus leaves
Clocksville at 3:34 p.m., traveling at a rate of 50 miles per hour and
another bus leaves Milltown an hour later, which one will get me to my hair
appoiontment on time? (Remember, no calculators may be used for this
exercise.) Dogs look like their owners. Owners look like their dogs. Chhose
Fido wisely. Lip liner, eye liner, brow liner, blush. Connect the dots and
please return seats to an upright position.

(note: In the original "prose" poem the lines are longer on the page)
*****************************************************
Dennis Saleh - JOURNAL OF THE FUTURE

2.
Reading
"One thing is likened to another
but is not the other"

Invisable tv inviable milk
The Normal Heights sign "Eights"

Almost everything has gone wrong now
It is almost time to stop

The sky floats above us on a string
The sun hangs in a noose
a net of flesh

Sometimes a thing is made very clear
as though held to the sky
and turned  in the hands

like an imaginary woman
a yawning hand acts of opening

In this way something becomes clear
At dusk a light goes on behind a door
I am the light the door the dusk

The sun comes to a wall and burns out
The rest happens
and after that it is just the same

The crystal ball a ritual jewel
a glass eye
You look in it never looks away

A fixed pool
beautiful because of what it has forgotten

The eye a moon in a dirty sky
a dull star a flesh bag
****************************************************
Lawrence Weinstein - 2 Pieces

1
Stylist's dryer
More mannequin dust
Not still less more squins

Old TIME magazines
Woodtop table
Here comes Gertrude of the pay

Crate
Nunnin know what's in it
What have you heard

Regarding me
Slow batblind
Texas in filtered
Other marvel

2

Waltz of trucks
Hampway up
My soiledgreen need

Weaves of weeds and buzzes
Hi ho sun
I'm a child

Marbly murk of Hades
In splinter of aunts
In confrontation of lobby
In indictment

So poor in alas grace city
We loved to know
Now I'm an eel
*****************************************************
this ends EXPERIODDICIST #6