THE EXPERIODDICIST 10 section 1
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November 15, 1995
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This issue will arrive in your e-mail in two sections because there was more
material than I could fit in one section.
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from PROTERON HYSTERON, part two, TALK MEAT
Harry Polkinhorn
96
I'll go on forever a malevolent large crepuscular... muscleman whose
caries-ruined heart of space--follow... their long chain-saw tracks,
inevident surface friction...where hot smoke rises an acrid early trough,
noisy...issue as your tinsel stardom label, your thin riff...which mocks the
moss-lipped aristocratic profiles...one different color of mutant
terrorists...their central director of fun FUN YOU SLUTS...OF POLICY
dependents borne away funerally...else sarcoma over the land, a terminal
yellow...toothed smile (somewhere jacaranda, a moaning...humind wind as
further blackening and unfeeling...their coordinate axes of desire
unhooked--a man...elevates pure sound over waves, El Salvador dies...again
with M-16 rapid burst of flame-throwers...dry acid throats 18 years old so
stay low...unapproving the credit lines relief-mapped to tell...something
small and cowardly, brought up the...harrowi8ng of heaven "to perform warp
and woof...to pin down percentages--re-engineered you...rediced rates, you'll
stumle on factory
97
incentives through the rough time...not just saying roll over before an
obligation...on the air from Burbank a pair of answers...to an occurance or
slick event unnamed hands...in conjunct diachrony--there was some
sweet...double standard not all drugs and alcohol after...your own free will
at the age of 17--to get an enjoyable lesson in how to kill individual
rural...linguistic oriental culture if you can nuclear...your technology
whether wrong or fostered thought...of body bags, the same situation to kill
peasants...nevertheless but attacking foreign governments who...gun down
individual responsibility yet you'll never know...robot will power
bullet-fire hospitals schools in...the American brig from controlled
positions totally...contradictory puzzle of Molotov marijuana memories...to
hurt your mind's humble opinion of depressing...aware foolish fears, pretty
much a thorough...rigid stance of prayer like clay in their hands...a gypsy
extreme whose provcateur shleps along...way up in the mountains of
biology--another...elastic horrendous stranger
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Untitled
Ivan Arguelles
reed flute broken sound
grown old
waiting for your return
down the path stray dog
illusion being alive
vast melancholy between myrtle & yew
begging cup in hand
I walk in the hard rain
no compass
only memory
forgotten by old friends
plum blossoms withered
defeated warlords dishevelled
marching helterskelter up country
a dream in their rags and sores
pass by me like hungry ghosts
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excerpt from PAGE 119
JOE SPEER
I built a fire in the middle of the street using boards from one of the
buildings as fuel. The sky was filled with stars. Electricity and stars are
not compatible. In urban areas the stars are dispersed by the glowing earth.
Only in rural or wilderness areas do stars reveal their pin points of light
as if to counterbalance the surrounding darkness of the earth. I saw
patterns beyond Orion and the Big Dipper. I saw Philip Whalen on a bear's
head practicing Zen Buddism. I saw Michael McClure as a shaman activist
reading slowly at Point Lobos something you may tell to your children. I saw
Ed Sanders getting politically vocal with The Fugs. I saw Bob Kaufman eating
a golden sardine in silence. I saw Gregory Corso pouring gasoline on the
vestal lady. I saw Anne Waldman praying at St Mark's Church for a
disembodied project. I saw Lew Welch disappear into the mountains. Lew!
Don't take that gun.
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BABY'S IN BLACK
Michael McClure
THE NIGHT HYMNS BRIGHT THOUGHTS in Baby's contemplation.
His fists beat and toes clench. His voice
wails terror of the crocodiles
beneath the bed
but he's in silence. Screaming is
only in his head while moths
die at the windowsill. The ice wagon
loads up and the horse is harnessed
for the daily trudge through
North Seattle
--like
the smell of cinnamon
and nutmeg
it never goes away!
I
am
this hungry thing
DESPITE
the collapse
of six dimensions,
lying by the fire and smelling
granpa's snuff and cedar kindling,
listening
to the crackle,
DON'T TELL ME THIS IS REAL!
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Letter 9.12.95
Jim Whizz
Rev.,
So good to hear your voice last night. Were in interesting times now
with the gravity moon phase retreating with our magical prowess being
swallowed up like a foaming rootbeer float. The cosmic mama playinbg the
trickster in a hide & seek game of visionary seclusion, gritting my teeth as
bugs splatter against $3 sunglasses from New Orleans, the smile remaining
'cause dats what da Dalai Lama His Holiness said to do. I trust the cat, down
on (to) earth, one of five point six billion in the human family. So when the
conflict comes, through compassion and dialog we can solve all the problems
amongst the human/monkey kingdom. Sounded like good advice, can't wait to
take off on the bike to the mountians and commune with nature. A performance
tonight, dancers, poets, singers, musicians, "entertain". The monkey grinder
churns his meal out with a frozen smile gazing blankly into his own
reflection as passerbys turn their heads to the rythmic stride of high school
girls playing hookey.
Drinking the blood of
simplicity,
Jim
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EXILE
Jack Foley
speech
beforehand
under
what
an overflow--
What are you thinbking of
Whatever are you--
blazing
error--
certainly
This, she said,
is not my voice
but the voice
of--
This hat, now mine, belonged once to a famous
poet--
These words (now mixed)
are mine, not
someone's-- EXILE
personality, pelvis--pickled
what do you make of her? movement away
from--towards--
while I this
question
while I
to see that love only
at the far end he made his move
eyesight
narrows
in the year
hold me
I saw that body vanish
no more
I'm not like that now
how
stunning
richly, all
how do we use it
if we refuse it
ancient
equities--
aw honey
aint it sweet
I only want it
when I want it
and only then
how I want it
and
with who
I want it
not
all the time
most of the time
I don't want it
but
when I want it
then
I want it
THEN
I want it
BAD
And maybe
I don't get it--
Thundering Pig
she sd
as he looked out
as he looked
death is--
not to believe again
speech of water
oh, to be
stranger, who
all pieces move
danger
.
you confuse
presence with absence
substance with void
and will suffer accordingly
O
what
intellect--love--
stained by the white radiance
fragments of exile
move toward us, asking
this question only--
purposes
range among--
We stare at the entire 19th Century which flashes before us like a movie or
perhaps is a movie. Memory is notoriously unreliable--we fictionalize--but
we fictionalize in writing too, creating orders which were not--Writing is
exile--Whoa, not so fast there--Authority--Objectivity--all that topples as
if it were not and in a way it is not--The present shifts so quickly we
cannot get hold of it--The past is "present" only as a construct--The future
shoots its unknowable shaft, piercing our barely cognizant consciousness--And
in all this our mouths agape--We act and acts have consequences--Murder will
out--but at the expense of order, at the expense of but at the expense of at
the expense of but at the expense of--reality--Writing is exile --
mouths agape
whose orders are these? who gave these orders?
she did, lord, she did!--
all systems of reality (including this one) fail
I wish to
I wish to
speak
a little--
oh, I wish to
I wish to
say
what is hidden in
my
heart
your fantastic monologues
EXILE
movement--movement away from--towards--
this question this is the question this question this is the question this
light this benightedness this arrogance in the light of this permanence this
quest this reverie this spontaneous breadloaf golden pieces of this--this
only--silence--this silence surrounds except what we can only--this--this
only--
aw jesus
Highest good is like
water--
we were surprised by the
rain
which came so suddenly--
you have catholic
angst
believe
it
Beauty
moves me again--
this ecstasy
which is nothing
but
fragmenst of exile
move towards us, asking
this question only--
purposes
range among--
here
in my fear
not where--
here in this
fear
to be
uncovered
recovered--
here
fares
fear--
all things float upward
nothing--
nothing
.
red
on
who
will
list
one
dress
assic
often
chambers
lst
will
continue
to
any
Sunday
is
music
Milnaud
often
there
but
I remember
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from DAYS
Hank Lazer
(from "7 for Jack Foley" (reading Jack's EXILE)
159
yes jack here
at home the page
here oddly among
others alert thinking
conversing in exile
for i do write a
good bit away
from home how
else to see
absolute agony
160
which musics register
for now here we
are felt then a
next world where we
are not blessed it
as not ours &
petitioned to be
nonetheless of
pertinence an
appropriate prelude
161
one would think
these sudden gusts
enough thay are
not slow the
time turns on
itself consciousness
insufficient enter
tainment ever to
admit my Mother
said ever & again
162
there where the
books are stored
not yours or
mine an exile
writing in proximity
to dismissal always
the case a
removal--in an
instant--into
the written writing
163
when a sun
spot flares it
is not presumed
part of a
larger narrative
can i have
(i do) such
distance on
myself saddle
up head on
164
i am an
aptitude through
which an apt
place congenial
coffee vendor
the smell of
thinking energy
laughter inculcates
to you the tune
fortunate
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To Initiate
for MK
Steven Hirsch
Crack the Ouija master quiz of this life with
carnelian fob initial - melted wax to seal papyrus over
iron chain
sent to a strange pinespace on high mesa by
destiny whiplash -
native messenger whalloped from behind by wind
survival panic anger leads to
a hunger for wisdom in retreat, carry water
Dakini wields vajra tonic in a skullcup
Domo Arigato Onegaishimashta
Sake warms the bones - cools the mind
whatever fulfillment means is null and void.
Pluto roars January as accomplice to initiate
New Year welcomed from within a ringing bell
protected by a lion breathing into the mouth of Horus
curling flame of burning fatwood
natural master releasing the verbhouti and churned cream
of the listening hour.
How many returned ones are burning
in this purifying fire?
death of the one self
by sculpted axe to initiate
children performing divinations on one knee
carpets of rice and red sand define the universe
a giant sun
blinks through
thin streaks of clouds
your heritage is gone again
the only returning
is to a path with heart
well worn, crunching over
leaf and needle on
twilight mountain
frozen in seeking
to settle deeper in
to its valley suite
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from THE SINGLE LETTER TRELLIS LIST
Jim Leftwich
#1
appearances began perpetual
is searcher something comes but is after
happened
ground is head thus spreading there poor adamantine
befell poorly though
vault is appearance portentous burst decisive
darkness those poorly sunned are
theatrical leaving poor gurra in perpetrated choice world
sun
in harmony
choice
pours mounting signified contradictions errors body
bursts which elevates
errors our crusts neighbor challenges likened clouds juiced white
acceptable battles over honeysuckles
hind image suddenly comes budding with four sacred hurls
upreared in warnings reply you turned
in your answer came
showering souls finally here your
mysterious fascination
is stands pretext
showers
salutations
luxuriantly
formulated
relations coming south in
triumphant something
comes
guidelines wind paradox written
down hours as partners
breached not
horus
while dialogues
destruction only honed high pairs imperative our mountains
hours undecided each never thought not gray-haired
marked
stated stones thought with rituals not clearly fruitful with
passing gaves not touched while
stating myself not
unseen there another covers abundance not gain because arrival
not produced by gain fateful
where wolves are us finally spaced
each
not
sun in voyages rampart people
sign up appearing
become coyotes sun is grappling sacrifice not
sun ditches
statement surrendered not up bending
inadequate untranslated herons
straightening up embrace one not bushman
sickly shadowing minute
woodpeckers blue is
hardly frozen not
yuma sign imagined between not water-bug
is said to renounce otters water-bug in beautiful against the
same
not
bantu with
uneasily measured not
huts wild faces receptivity long-eared
sound
which walls
enabled
not tusks
which made them thin not hungry
which contemporary animated snow stumbles chariots aspect
nameless not caught
with negative
accepted burns is not unacknowledged not their country
penetration illustrates favorite clouds around thieves happenings not rules
frugalities
outward varieties given fogs multitude which made chance
not various
firm creates myself not
arousing pith
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SURFING WITH THE H-MENxOH! GAMMARA, KISS ME!
Malok
All moot boom-boom if woulda.could.did,eh? The ghastly wasn't so
much those long, instant shadows or the gloppy cascade sheds, daddy? Why is
my skin sitting over there? With mama's half de-materialized head!? The
pearls are always the answer! The blue band marches in the stadium of
screeching Memory Death? Extra heaps of potato-yams for Karen! The worst
human crimex a dollar sign and any number attachedx an equal tweenx and THEE
like itself! We are all static-buttons! How much for that dividing cell in
the window? I stand and do nothing. Make my grave less mellow. Earth be
damnedxShetay-Blau!
August 6, 1995
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CARTOLINI VENEZIANI
Neeli Cherkovski
I
living signs--bursting forms--Titian hallways--what dreams
broke out of form--wading through ethereal backstreets, crossing
a bridge/beautiful explosive silence of stone--to the palace
where Love might be preserved--to the place where poems
take form--these words to be ignited. . .
II
weapons stacked in underground corridors
violent enemies of the trees--these seabirds scatter
when dawn walks steadily forward, the mosaic of medieval
religion, a shooting star--lost steps at long last--there she
lies who would make Love into a form. . .cathedral-like
dominant, tower or perhaps a walkway leading
to the green ocean's yawning mouth. . .
III
how cold at the jetty's end--nostalgic peaks--blind luck
filling crevices--dim faces peering from behind darkened
windows--a door opens, a pair of lips make comic gestures
--steps fall hard--here gods and goddesses
gorged--now only a painting in a waiting room, war, glory,
commercial arms spread throughout the Mediterranean
immolation, a world gone mad, or blind. . .
IV
and you are not sure, but you awaken, it really is hotel california
near to the train station--there had been snow on the Alps
and a band marching backwards in the dining car--angels
in wretched streets where muses had once ruled
or so it has been written--the angry paint of an old man
dying to be heard, dying to remain even as the light
was closing, even as time stood to be annihilated. . .
V
these men on canvas as cafes roll open their doors--pigeons
cover San Marco Square--the signs are real enough,
another sad night will pass, the glorious bugles live only
in dream-time--these lonely and lovely eyes remain, seasound
rises--madness might reign-in the elements--a boat goes
slowly by, under the Bridge of Sighs--
VI
the city dries out--two days of continual rain--high wind and
no mercy for those who cling to the form--there are men
drinking in the nearby bar, San Marco has all the elements
of a caravan wending its way through another world--here
are the relics of time--where is the constituency for these songs
that glow out of the deceptive Venetian countenance?
VII
glowing quarter of the Jews, ease into the Talmudic ripple
and show no mercy, stone lions oblivious to suppliant's cry--
gloved hand awaits water--lions roar--droning music
a form insensate appears--groaning eyes of stone leap as trumpeters
writhe in headless sleep--rough edges melt, contract, seize
the dead who awaken at dawn--virtuous lions praise
a turmoil of prayer and hourly devotion--Venice glows
and becomes water at last. . .
1970/1995
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Daily Log May 20.95
Thomas Lowe Taylor
I
Larger smoothes the righter corner of what
you see by turns repetitive and unique.
Original size attains its recall, the forward
push of sign & time no longer heals the light.
Long enough today, too, to say you are forgotten
from the earlier stuff, what was it, an
invasion from within, denying the present its
fresh vigor and original, unspoken purpose.
Broken arrows do not decide the fate of nations,
who would even comment on that is not
no foreign sunsets the mirror'd heart in
its own heat beats the moon around the sky.
Arc & shine, familiar projects. Yarded-out. And
the slimmer doors, a tunnel reign, or stammer
or co-rental in the season's own benign to tell,
her's as the moving sign; awaitment has no passage.
Floors to pour. I'd wrestle signs, their own density
a promise or a spasm, either calls away your
own denial to storm or toss yr lunch. At flat.
Moulted shin, hero at doubt, re-lighter from within.
Or boundaried-out, what held former lines exists
no more. Partitions have a way of waning.
II
Your dick: at said, he dreams her on the wall next
to him, nude by candlelight, energy streaming from
within at a finger's touch, and music singing
in the background of the evening's heated ways.
I called disaster, but it didn't answer. My luck.
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3 Pieces by John M. Bennett
CLOWN'S
Nose through that paper, meata-conscious chewing
hair the hamster left and coughing plate of
tendrils lipped with fleas and clothes limp, strewn
across that flat hammocked lather you pretend, the
least's religious grunting drooled sticky up the
stairs your plastic Chrysler tumbled, blessed and
itching tossed past you face's dripping lentils,
"thought's of thought" tipped head down on your
knees. Where your brick balanced, condensed and
spastic
GREASE
TEMPLED
Stupa tone locked cave light reversion dripping
sill you crosssed your pants and blew hung flowers
off the fly rope tune whizzing knee you called.
stooped before the phone your clocks gave//sight
intrusion//licking pills your closet-dance (few
sung powers) cloth, eye, gropes, your moon ("busy
me") you fall, lone, loosex
SAME
Cave of my penis, blinks moon dispersion clasping
storms aching head with handled nose cornea stings,
belt's breath drips this writ why Henry's it, nave
of my pee crinkly room distrotion " as king form's
place" red ditch candled hose corona's ringing
stealth//"slit that wrist"//why every slip of
paper smears your name, it's not the
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end of section one