hat with animal ears

(by nathalie ericson via sweetspider on tumblr)

The great equation.

Herrera y Reissig: Nocturno

Into the country we’ll go, like your breath
it perfumes the wind,
like your mouth the flower it is;
so that the earth will bloom, everything,
in order that a wedding
rejoice that the world is full of love!

As all the roses tremble, go;
the butterflies
seem shapes of white tulle,
& even the stars are like irises,
they seem candles
in some great sanctuary, azure temple!

See that nest on the branch?
It says: love!
And my arbor says: come!
And a single boat alone & oarless
says: we will go
in mere hours, all the way to Eden.

Full of jewels climbing you,
it’s even a banner
of some great feast, Barmecide’s;
it seems a wing on the wind afloat,
it is a ladder
& it makes my heart soar.

A treasure of stars of gold,
the camomiles
some virgin makes to germinate;
they are droplets of efflorescence
from some essence
the same sky loved sowing.

Let’s go to the country, go to the sky;
you are the flight,
I am that rose’s shade;
I am the bard of a rustic dream,
you the cerulean
aerial bed of nuptial luminescence.

Together the branches form a bow
& a green embrace
inside of the arbor vitae, cup of fragrance;
weakly the breeze, over there in the thicket,
imitates a kiss,
kiss made song for that it is only love.

Let’s hie to the country, cold all over, there,
if there is not a river
of rubicund phrases so I can make it burn;
if focus of secret light is missing, if there
is not a poet,
no caresses, & no woman there!

See the moon: it pours glorious
as a white foam rose,
sibling to the sea,
let’s go, fear not, for I am watching you
& in a sigh
I offer you a world that’s taking off!

In this vernal dusk
if someone were to see us
across the fields, both of us silent,
he would be moved, he would exclaim:
Poetry
wanders among flowers & it talks with God!

Let’s go at once, to the meadow we’ll go
& blind at your side
inspiriting you, ever will I run,
& till the birds burst out in furious song,
believing, when they see you,
some great dawn has descended.

archival silences

(part of a pic by thea temple on fb)

Dolphindhorn.

Journey's scarab, sepia lepus borne.
Carousel of bright archival silences.
With pleas for continued breathing
the thing is made.
Saraband sharpener
you go, derelict: journey's scarab.

Second level transport proposal video.

everything is laminated

"Ironically, I who profess no religion find the whole of my life a religious pilgrimage. The origins of this hunger are as mysterious as the reasons why we, who are last year’s dust and rain, have risen from that dust to look about with the devised crystal of a raindrop before we subside once more into snow and whirling vapor."

slumber roused from
to what end
journey's scarab

gargantuan buy
pitching book handful
after book handful

not even salvage

Ah! someone else has read Darconville's Cat.

"And flying monkey cupid
Leads his squadron down the fjord."

--"Winter Wheat"

journey's scarab

(via Roman Štěpař at ‎Atompunk Czech on Fb)

Futuro.

"This year 2010 we commemorate the centennial of the death of Julio Herrera y Reissig, an Uruguayan Modernista poet who became an inspiration for several generations of Hispanic writers. His work was admired by authors such as Pablo Neruda, César Vallejo or Vicente Huidobro in Latin America, and by Miguel Hernández, Villaespesa and Cansinos-Assens in Spain, among others. His book Los peregrinos de piedra, published in 1914 by Garnier in Paris, circulated widely in both Spain and Latin America. This book was a reference for decadent style, and early critics of Herrera y Reissig emphasized his personality of damned poet. He was an early explorer of the use of drugs for literary creation in Latin America, and crafted a language that exerted a great deal of influence in Hispanic poetry during the 20th century.

Since the pioneer criticism of Guillermo de Torre early in the twenties, Herrera y Reissig was considered an innovator in the field of poetry; someone whose work on the poetic image contributed to the emergency [sic] of the Latin American avant-garde. De Torre argued that Julio Herrera y Reissig was the first to achieve the 'extra-radial metaphor' (as this critic called the avant-gardist image in the Ultraista jargon that he himself had coined to describe the new poetic reality during the first half of the 20th century). Gwen Kirkpatrick in The Dissonant Legacy of Modernismo situated Herrera y Reissig as an introducer of the poetic practice of dissonance, leaving a legacy that radically transformed the poetic expression in Spanish during the 20th century. Attention has also being paid recently to Herrera y Reissig’s erotic prose —long time neglected by the literary criticism— in the work of recovery and analysis by Carla Giaudrone, Nilo Berriel and Aldo Mazzucchelli." --"Herrera y Reissig, one century after"

3 poems translated by Andrew Rosing.

(via jim foster from pioneers of dallas county on fb)

Dream of the stars.

pleas for continued breathing

Dr Caligari (1989) on Youtube.

"Lunatic Tertulia by Julio Herrera y Reissig

In a crypt of gold, a bit shot,

A cataleptic fakir
Quit mountaineering to break here
The unction of Nirvana, a bit shot...
Objectify an ill-wrought
Execution of thought,
And muffled rumor is begot
Like deaf remorse
From some extrorse
Diffusion of the music of a garrot.

Skies loosen their grimace, green,
And the disequilibrium
Of scorn’s satire hums,
Sick on absinthe, green...
Hypothetically, the sheen
In the moving horizon is spent,
And the pensive settlement,
They say is swarmed by a squall
As if, in the World’s thrall,
Everything were tenebrescent.

Already fireflies—witches
With jewels from Salambo—
Wink the 'marche aux flambeaux'
Of a Sabbath of witches...
The velvet cypresses
Suggest a Carthusian ardor
Which wafts from your collar
In fragrant confidences,
Interjections of absences
And ring-eyed ritornellos of langor.

It’s all posthumous and abstract
And the spirit ideologues
Intimate monologues
Of the Unknowable Abstract...
The stupefied forest is ablaze
In an ecstasy of malaise,
And they light up that hirsute
Labyrinth of the proscenium
With a struck match from
The dark genie of the Absolute.

It all provokes the ennui
Of some psychophysical country
At the metaphysical extremity
Of silence and of ennui...
A whiff of rancid duration
Chronicles the extreme unction
And protracts, before uncontrol-
Lable logics of extension,
The materialization
Of the planetary soul.

From the unsonorous interior
Of my obscure ruins,
Drones, punctuated with omens,
The Babylonian interior...
A Pythagoristic horoscoper
From the ultra-night,
Meanwhile writes an accusation
Of ecstatic expiations,
And hieratic mummies take flight
From the Escorial of the Night.

Fatuous fires of exorcism
Illuminate my double sight,
Like someone juggling, as she might,
The rutilation of exorcism...
The Subconscious of this same
Grand All gives me chilblain;
And in that somber assembly
From the darkness grand and aphonic
Ferments a cosmogonic
Trumpet of prophecy.

So in a gothic rapture of snow
The chapel hones itself and,
Above, its hypnotic needle can
Thread the stars of snow...
A shadowy forest spurs on
Fantastic misfortunes
And in macabre ponderosa
A pastor suddenly brandishes
His cane as a layman extinguishes
Gloomy candelabras.

It sleeps, the ear in wait,
Like a wolf in the underbrush
Hidden, a suspicious hush
At the precipice, in wait...
Fallow fields harvest hate
Even as the bubbling sluice
Dissolves and refuses
Eskimo soliloquies
Of crystal garglings
And euphorias of cornemuses.

Its saddle hung up, the somnambulistic
Windmill metaphorizes that
A Don Quixote comes to combat,
On horseback and somnambulistic...
The smoke is vexed by an equilibrist,
Guignol of Kaleidoscope,
And unto the night of dope
Savants tear open a lens
Of the eye of the conscience,
How deep! of a spectroscope.

On the watchtower, enigmatical,
The owl with eyes of brimstone
Suffers its morbid hoot-moan
Like a muezzin, enigmatical...
Before the omen—lunatic
Captious, spectral, denuded,
Velvety and muted—
It descends in stirless dress
Like a spider of death:
The immense night of the Buddha...

Translated from the Spanish by Forrest Gander in Bomb.

(via welovewaves on tumblr)

Elephant Steps in Time.

ontology for disembodied spirits

"Goya’s original painting is haunting and disturbing. It originally was displayed on the wall of his dining room."

wadi daw
our fathoms shatter
that sang so
bitter · in days of
intricate sordor

"The word encostalado, which roughly translates as "in a sack", has become part of the Honduran national vocabulary."

worlds in collusion

The invention of religion in Japan.

unsinnige
ratsinge
journey's scarab
scuttles into dark
sharpened hinge
injury thereof ovenglow
journey's fathoms
at still the post

"I would go so far as to say that these groups consist of an entire shadow-world of populist historic preservation, one operating almost entirely beyond the purview of established institutions."

seallas

(via steven spanhouer in memories of dallas grp on fb)

Startup song. (via mefi)

Eiseley's essay on the Ice Age:
think of it as a stack of stones
staring back. Ulan Bator
sent me a student to tell me this
by misusing apostrophes. Not barricades
will impede our progress but maybe something
in the way she moves · i am weary of war:
most of all, of that among
ourselves · one-taking-up-space against
the occupant of the adjoining space
like you could occupy that space & this
at the same time · once glaciers did this
to us · crowding · making us move
ever southward · we don't remember
what it was like · the Earth starts pushing
at us once again · all these refugees
are ultimately victims of the Earth pushing
& it's not going to stop in a hundred thousand
genwrations now · i write this in
rainy "Seallas" · the wettest autumn
in our fair city's · recorded hist'ry

Ground Control to Major Trump.

a serf aggrieved

"Gardner wrote to M.C. Escher in 1961 to ask permission to use his Horseman tessellation in an upcoming column about H.S.M. Coxeter. Escher replied, saying that he knew Gardner as author of The Annotated Alice, which had been sent to Escher by Coxeter. The correspondence led to Gardner introducing the previously unknown Escher's art to the world."

yet continue as we have
no more counting up the debt
no regret or dreadin'
ol' Armageddon
while we're enclosed in a hive
yes continue as we must
in the Algorithm we trust
which extracts the magic
as grown children fidget
at screens of covet & lust
        screen
        time
        it's the antidote of fear
        ape
        hook
        it's the alibi that's dear
so let's squander our last deal
knowing well there won't be more
since the lapse of reason
describes the season
& finitude is unfair

the march to the scaffold

New audio.

burns brightly
when the rest is ash
sometimes will

overveil · when mist
enough hides · what's next

each surface
becomes a mirror
our light back

nothing of what flows
behind any brow

though i'm blind
to you · i offer
sighted words

febrile the telling
in the brillig tell

Radio darkness.

raven letdown

(via, via)

"Months later, when I was back home teaching Greek and Roman classics again, it occurred to me that the difficulties we have with Aeneas and his epic cease to be difficulties once you think of him not as a hero but as a type we’re all too familiar with: a survivor, a person so fractured by the horrors of the past that he can hold himself together only by an unnatural effort of will, someone who has so little of his history left that the only thing that gets him through the present is a numbed sense of duty to a barely discernible future that can justify every kind of deprivation. It would be hard to think of a more modern figure."

A nice little bit about Trilce, & here is an obit for the remarkable David Smith, whose 1973 version is quite good poetry, if (according to Eshleman) "a work that is, for the wrong reasons, more obscure than Vallejo's."

"XVI

I have faith in being strong.
Let me, crippled air, let me go
lacing myself with zeroes to the left.
And you, dream, give me your implacable diamond,
your timeless time.

I have faith in being strong.
Concave woman goes by over there,
a colorless quantity whose
grace closes where I open.

Praise the air, friar past! Thieves, idiots!v Glimpse the green presidential banner,
striking the six other flags
and everything that's hanging in back.

I have faith that I am,
and that I've been less.

Hey, big man!"

(via)

The Lost Words.

the telling in the tell: a poem about redbuds

(via)

Diasporic Gucumatz
    First wasp of the season
Not marked
    Not marked at all
The backpack lid heavy
    With its undigested quids
A wall holed near the bottom
    The rain-swollen wood gate
Putting the trash cans back
    Reading complicated stains
Pouring out the old milk
    Running out of things to read
& what if voting doesn’t work
    Season-turn
Collect terse accounts
    Of overseas cataclysms
All this
    To be left out
Of the book
    Bookmarks hardly glanced at
Always the surf sound
    How would i draw this
& blogging far in advance
    Writing now while i cranch
Perchance ‘twas the fault
    Of the life that they led
So much trouble for Yemen
    Yet here it is
Last half of the second cup
    & hardly tasted
Fallen tape dispenser
    These candles that are Mordor
Should i pursue that moth
    Category 4 storm
Chill in the air before dawn
    Lost in the clown-car crash
Raghdirst for the future
    Dark clouds in my alkahest
Starting to burn off
    The coffee almost done
Count on turbulence
    In lieu of a stirrer
Pushbutton pen too cool
    To discard though it hardly works
& the small acts of nurturance
    Are there
Though seldom in the poem
    & the future shadows me
With hungering eyes
    Of torrid mumchance
We like being lied to
    It’s all opioids now
Truck at a crawl behind
    Nasty mint julep
Raghdirst for the past
    Record after record
Vinyl in perfect shape
    No one will ever want again
Blue sky mirrored in a shiny car
    A moment then pulls ahead
Brutalist underpasses
    That have sheltered me
Tyvek panels on a half-built shop
    Near where we used to live
Before we were driven out
    This is not the story
Sunlight at the end
    Of a shady lane
Awaiting sentencing
    Restaurants i would try
Not quite bucket list
    At the palindrome name
Things
    I couldn’t possibly invent
Like a street that’s changed course
    Since last i drove it
& i still want to go that old way
    Though i’ve had forty years
To get used to it
    & used it
So many fewer times
    A stairway of velleities
Won’t ever let me go
    Wake to anguish
Phantomnation nation
    Kverelo logjam Jamshyd
The lone and level sands stretch
    Campout by a cloverleaf
As i watch the little videos
    Of buildings collapsing
Halcyon skies here
    Ten seconds i captured
Of rain ruining rain
    We’ll need another word
For what falls by then
    Perhaps these streets for the trekking
If the gimcrack homes no use
    For any sort of shelter
Hey! we had drivethrough coffee
    & cam’ras in our phones
& not one epic poet
    Who could take its measure to stay
Not the first outfit come to grief
    By toxic masculinity
Say they all did
    But sometimes Nature helped
Halcyon smiling
    With a switchblade up one sleeve
& laws we only discover
    By what happens when we break them
& most of us wouldn’t have slaughtered
    Wildlife to the last endling
So rich these final sunsets
    The shapes revealed
Of mountain peaks without their snowcaps
    As i thread the barricadea
With my single-source java
    & “stone-age computer jam” playing
That someone in the Oughts collected
    A gauntlet of barricades
Nothing next to the gauntlet in my head
    Compared to, run
We are slaves of the gods,
    Whatever they may be
So our games & our toys
    Carry onto the battlefield
Like the snare drum & the fife
    Re-enactors have set on vinyl
I play for the refugee camp

When the glaciers marched
    Not one human but was fleeing
& that gauntlet, more than not,
    Failing to surmount
Sun warmth on my cheek
    & a car cuts in front to stop
I brake & then they turn
    Without signaling
Richard Maxwell for that long
    Unlistened to
& the high court prepares
    Assault on the New Deal
As we speculate impeachment
    Sorting books to buy or toss
If i had been younger
    An underground railroad of abortion
Might have seemed romantic
    Now i just look at my neighbors
& wonder what “arms” they are “bearing”

The last stretch of Inwood
    Brings dirigible sighting
Not even on my bucket list
    But a world we could have known
How beautiful the blue
    That’s flung from safety lights blinking
We had thought our only concern
    Would be coming up with new style-changes
Toehold only
    In the house i grew up in
Like a taste lost for candy
    In a drawer stow the samples
Just enough got through
    That season of winnowing
Hyperobject
    That never had a name
But what use to say
    Hurricane Michael
+ Hurricane Harvey
    +...Hurricane Katrina
Silverware from one week to the next
    Turned up missing
Brother doesn’t know
    I can hardly bear to speculate
Homo homini lupus
    & these are the plush days
I send Dirae
    At all who displease me
A fingernail too long
    Clings like a burr to all my thoughts
& in such a clime i camped
    The Upper Peninsula
It was glorious
    The air like wine
Mixed forest of evergreen
    & deciduous
This one sounds like music i made myself

& a fearfulness at bay
    From moment to moment
Drive a whole minute without barricades
    Pale dust in the air a pall
Orange cones as far as the eye can see
    No reason they should ever ask us
What we think
    For real
They have all that pretending
    Actors dressed like regular people
Reciting lines in the vernacular
    With just enough emphasis
On the key coded-terms

Pool hall with car out front
    Missing a bumper
Apostrophe error
    On the new coffee dispensers
At Racetrack
    & who should i report it to
Hyperobject
    The disinclination to preserve what we have
Hands that fail to close around
    What’s handed to them
& is it “Kock” or “Kotch”

I should celebrate the diversity of thought
    On what makes a “good look”
In some ways we are really free
    & is there going back from that
I think we make our enemies too powerful
    When if anything they’re less in control
Of what drives them to go against Nature
    & even their own survival
Could we rehabilitate
    Are there enough of us even to try
An artificial sound of crickets
    Like the world really needed that
& admit i am yahoo & yokel
    With small Latin & less Greek
My calculus rusty
    & horns behind me honk
I have played detective
    For a big fat nothing i solved
& my sole successful prophecy
    Was digital should bury the rest
How much juice did that take
    From the font of the Revealer
& whatever i paid for this disc
    It wasn’t enough
Scribed in Italbar runes

Superintelligent dogs agree
    For love of the word “assassin”
Clown drawn in the dark
    Ants in the clouds gather
Yellow lights flashing out
    The many-splendored forms of death
A drawer that resists
    Then yields
Pink & blue striated sunrise
    Song just a second too long
To share
    What have i come to say
Waking up at dawn among trees
    Shivering shaking myself awake
Pierced by the haeccitas
    Of it all
Too vivid to remember

No language to describe
    & most of what we gather we lose
The earth prodigal of waste
    Made us most wasteful of all
Grayblue overcast sky now
    Sound of unseen birds
& a jet
    Bird calling to bird
With a trill that rises at the end
    Take the stairs two at a time
Still
    Storm war shit
Down parse affair
    Wail low in sty
Echo rathe
    A cubic andiron
Edict rista
    Rub a frog
Yoin kin koi
    Gyro a fubar
Strict dinero
    Dianic ubac
Ache a torch Yes
    Tin owl lair
Waif fear spawn
    Do its harm worst

How to get run over by a truck.

racetrack robo-barista

(soviet LK lander via dave delaurant via retro rockets on fb)

Cemento Grande.

human
thorn · tharf
clasp this goaf

"But as my summer of pop-ups dragged on, I began to dread my evenings."

TЯUMP

(via ric speed on fb)

inhale edgier

Ostensemes.

Wise men endorse
the poet's choice                            (Thick as a Brick)
blue meanies enforce;
wise men endorse.

these riddlesphinxes source
no audible voice.
wise men endorse
the poet's choice.

Designing Wind.

(via vaporwaveaesthetician on tumblr)

continue healing with other survivors

Sea level rise viewer.

clear green shadow abiding
in the gaze of a scarab

nor like the scurrying moon
a thing of crystal & sleep

it is where Nephilim wage
the hard charter · it is here

Wasted.

"we are tuning forks
longing for emphatic hits"

--Eileen Tabios

Keyboard cat in Hell.

the dharma of orientalism

Lumbermen.

red phrases in the warm rain
lungfish view out of rude wine

this dawn involves no raven
solace a smouldering lamp

Jean thrown sprawling in the dirt
for want of an upright word

New audio.

"For myself, this matter of the disproportion between the profit which the average man draws from science and the gratitude which he returns--or, rather, does not return--to it' this is much more terrifying." --Ortega y Gasset

"We were never going to live forever anyway."

(via noealzii on tumblr)

jude the obtuse

(via)

Zemblan.

the word "bruise" twice
in the first 11 pages
sky like a bruise

from epigone to endling
a reader's odyssey
'G-L-O-R-I-A'

LE MORSI STIZU
not Briar Cove
not Meadow Creek

maybe this time i will taste the tea
that i have just poured

(via peccables on tumblr)

hauntología

Sqeqaize Kozai.

To my blogged ghazal, bots commented, "Interesting blog about stabilsed chlorine granules, keep up the good work stabilsed chlorine granules," "We actors don't get a lot of chemical starter packs for home pools till we get 'really' famous - but we live and breathe our chemical starter packs for home pools regardless. chemical starter packs for home pools Isobella," & "Interesting blog about flocculent, keep up the good work flocculent."

God's Fault.

"Toadex hobogrammathon Says:
February 24th, 2017 at 9:04 pm
Who the fuck is Zukfosky?" --via

Inquiring minds want to know.
(Interestingly, Brian Kim Stefans wrote a book, Word Toys: Poetry and Technics, that talks about Toadex, among others.)
He's also got a playlist of "Russkie Pop."

"How do you preserve a memory? You carve it into your flesh."

(via kimmickhee on tumblr)

illegitimist night

Quanreuse.

leatherface age lid
leatherface ale dig

burglar
has left this death
stained ragged books with jazz
flown · seven words flayed past promise
garble

inhale edgier
here in Gilead

(via noealzii on tumblr)

yesterday & today the same word

(via)

That's all that the Republicans believe in anymore--rapine & rape. They're the REAL pirate party. looters in thousand dollar suits.

Wolsak interview from 2001.

campaign
mist
mint
the rapists' laughter
still
raw cement
cross words
over crosswords

sans parole

Salamanca.

"I have lived through the shattering of two civilisations, have seen two Pandora's boxes opened. One contained horror, the other emptiness.

'The fifth element is mud,' said Napoleon."

--Edith Sitwell, Taken Care Of (1965)

(via syntheticae on tumblr)

uwzsor, oqtmil, cehawz

Topical joke.

Here in Gilead, all day long there's news:
bright cartoons that flicker, saying nothing much;
the newly-hanged adorn the west facade of the church
here in Gilead

Here in Gilead only the missionary
only the Empire's stance gun-ithyphallic Reich
& rape is a sacrament & ev'ry choice grows stark
here in Gilead

Fabulously Faye.

(Pavel Hanuš‎ via atompunk czech on fb)

god, flying

Every slippage or breakage is a signifier.

Vaporwave K-pop.

rivulets in the condensation
on the back window
of the car ahead of me at Mcdonald's

as little trace will we leave perhaps
who sought to depict a downfall

"In 1972, at the height of his career, the South Korean government requested Shin pen an ode to President Park Chung-Hee and his ruling Republican Party. Shin refused the dictatorship's request; soon, he was blacklisted within South Korea's music industry and his songs banned. Arrested for possession of marijuana in 1975, he was tortured in prison and incarcerated in a psychiatric hospital."

Pretend-shamanism. Pretend-playing the violin.

(via glitchphotography on tumblr)

return to summer

Snickelways.

pumpkin spice latte
is it gray enough out there
tomorrow the landfall

ponder the blazing hatred
of the St Mary's thistle

"Much of the really interesting observations and theory and analysis of our current situation that occurs in fiction today occurs in novels in which the subject is not the main point or plot of the book."

pchaki

(via via mefi)

"In the garden, ghosts of centuries of pain celebrated mass, raising a spirit-litany that reached her in the perfume of narcissus." --Harry Hervey, Red Ending (1929)

Vulcan found.

drag crumbs with my fingertip
framed symmetry
black, red, beige
thread
or threat
mibyp2 silverfish charcoal
dhow upon a sea
exit early

Another Pentateuch.

a coney island of the perineum

"I look at all the people in tech who are convinced they are saving the world, that what they do matters. When the money goes, and it will, that feeling will go with it."

gazes
gates · box
coral reef laced

How to talk to your kids about Breakcore.

"I have a secret to confide to you, my confidante. To whom should I confide it? To echo? It would betray it. To the stars? They are cold. To human beings? They do not understand it." --The Seducer's Diary

endlings in the meghalayan

"Since the 1980s, one common pollutant we have managed to curtail is lead, mostly by excluding it from paint, plumbing and petrol. As a result there has been a 4.5-point rise in IQ points in those born after 1985."

bright star in the early lilac
a moment later pale turquoise

no less lonely am i
with 7 billion others

middenheap of thought-forms
better home & sardines

the kind packed in mustard
taste of tin & burning

"Vaporwave's 'punk-ness' lies in its commitment to a DIY ethos that, with possibly the lowest bar to entry of any genre to date, allows users everywhere to replicate the genre on their own terms with just a few simple (and often free) digital tools."

"There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates." --James Russell Lowell

(charlie schmehl via lyda morehouse on fb)

harry potter & the cold civil war

Someone whose ordering depends on disrupting the orderings of others is not a friend of order.

"Vulcan" calculated.

within chatter
no news as if there could be
of what has surely transpired
but nothing hs transpired
this chill is permanent
& has no name

Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy.

aspirational trademark

Edgy Korean music thread on reddit.

Sabaoth of blind regret & utter basalt
thoroughfaresomeness not will nor yet aorta
ghost cadences that never die
but keep on going on the other side of this
the long dreads tangle under watching jade ktieb
cephalaphore & what it speaks
the window of the ebon brew & time that stays
& only a little bit think of civil war & dying
a latent swarm in humming bugonia
seals the other side of this

Final vote.

curebie night

(via)

let the flood come
let the waters rise
say it's someone else's problem
let the flood come
& all the pundits grinning dumb
shiny fear in their eyes
let the flood come
let the waters rise

Resusicated MC5.

"The Korean language has no word for irony, nor for parody, which is why the Korean press has been using the English word 'parody' to describe 'Gangnam Style.' " --Euny Hong, The Birth of Korean Cool (2014)

teignmouth electron

(via)

Death to Leviathan.

quote Bukowski stealing from Yeats
in what used to be a famous poem
like a gray sheet of paper torn away
a little bit of blue shows through
after Pluto-time saffron
wet streets nothing much falling
brighter now
gray
saltado
plunderphonic spree

i am Malala
i am the Grand Canyon

"Appalled at the depredations visited by feral pigs upon the island’s brown booby and masked booby colonies (reduced to 500 and 150 birds, respectively), Stager procured a shotgun and killed all 58 pigs."