thyphallic cheese grater (day 194)

(via)

Blade Runner reality--the final cut.

"Even thus, amid the waste of all fair things that were,
Of high marmoreal dreams immense and overthrown,
I wait forever, and about my face is blown
The sand of crumbling cenotaph and sepulcher."

--@KlarkashT

The serpent calls.

the angel i contend with
is not so easily grasped
a parable in shadow
crisp-edged Boreas

Fez belgards irregardless
a job for topology
rather than zyxt alembic
or angst zymurgy

the riddle of Ariel,
bane of Carcosa
in the same maroon-hogan

"...Omulu has the great power to cause an epidemic, but at the same time to cure any illness."

"Abroad in armes, at home in studious kind
Who seekes with painfull toile, shall honor soonest find.

In woods, in waues, in warres she wonts to dwell,
And will be found with perill and with paine;
Ne can the man, that moulds in idle cell,
Vnto her happie mansion attain;
Before her gate high God did Sweat ordaine,
And wakefull watches euer to abide:
But easie is the way, and passage plaine
To pleasures pallace; it may soone be spide,
And day and night her dores to all stand open wide."

--The Faire Queene, II.3

"So in this great disaster of our birth
We can be happy, and forget our doom."

(student painting, via tom murphy on fb)

with Mao on the Long March (day 177)

(yorksnapshots on tumblr)

Strange Attractor.

"It was one of those sunless summer days that are infinitely more depressing than the bleakest winter; days when the whole atmosphere feels stale, and the world seems like a dustbin full of old battered tins of fish scales and decayed cabbage stalks..." --@AnnaKavan, "An Unpleasant Reminder"

Where to get 2814's albums Birth of a New Day & Rain Temple.

Deleted Tweet.

the close oppressive tide
of vacancy has won
thunderous beachhead gold
in each tipped heart

Hanuman
fumbles in the barzakh castle

we are clown & guest
but never perfect Carcosa

Flehmen Response.

"And hellish anguish did his soule assaile" --The Faerie Queene, I.9

Vivaldi sonnets.

(recaption via xf4int on tumblr)

centibillionaire club (day 164)

(via thrilling-tales.webomator.com)

Vaihinger.

"my autumn is just this
a woman sits alone
armadillo"

--@poem_exe

Jakobson.

1.
slow poisoning · the livelong day
jimplecute obit · black milkshake
of plague stork flight · morning coolness
slow fizzle · finalize timesheet

2.
mask breath
nine named storms
the wrong vaccine

the dead plant we keep
a Google Street View leap

of plague stork flight
TARCI PULCE
on Vulture Peak

mask breath
nine named storms

toluol odyssey
losing my keys
on Vulture Peak

on Dead Horse Point
hadu zalas

la polvo
di steli
Cor Caroli

the dead plant we keep
nine named storms

3.
munch my breakfast KARST
in a strange domain ALONE
mouth frothing ROYAL

the trail of a SNAIL
hierodules on the TELLY

4.
hellmouth by the pool
having migrated over
the weathered planking
ghorbat widdershins lost count
of the laps at your peril

5.
stark HEIST
ahead, ABELE
in clusters--just RELAX--
around us as the teasing rays SLANT
of TEXTS

6.
surge SPLAT
stray rice cake PIECE
this afternoon's LEVER
in the rain a draw with ACERS
still TERSE

7.
blue sky
upholding all
more silver than angel
how can i lodge among figments
wind horse

8.
When i upon so many rocks am dashed
this catnip ace of celadon
& crispy world of bloating Mira
falls into a slough of its own coinage.

Ampollosity where wit were needed,
blue sky over a Gothic curse:
who could imagine words anele
the wounds of shieldless aeons' onslaught lunar?

Virus-whispered qibla
carried on the wings of silent breath,
alphabet invented by a grebe
& good for riddles only.

Madder Isle.

"It troubled the mind with a slow, insidious horror, it assailed the senses with an emanating stupor, an effluence as of primal worlds before the creation of light, where life might teem and raven slothfully in the blind ooze." --@KlarkashT

(@BoschBot)

moral injury (day 163)

(via lofiwave on tumblr)

Asemic writing.

An alternative mapping is only useful if it includes things the regular maps leave out, or shows passages unapparent for the ordinary trekkers. When making alternative maps has become an industry, that is already a broken landscape to have to negotiate; yet for all that, a step is still a step.

The map without salesmanship does not exist.

Maximiliana.

afraid ev'ry day
& all night long afraid
one portion allowed for bread
afraid ev'ry day

the product of our poor darg
this dazzling slag
afraid ev'ry day
& all night long afraid

"I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago..."

Flash flood, traces left: one trace being the denial. It would be simple to distinguish metaphor from literal, but for language, which embeds every word in a web of possibilities, & a history of changing meanings.

No Nagasaki loss.

(lanny quarles on fb)

queue snort (day 160)

(thesarahshow on tumblr)

A message from the future.

"in the rafters
even the monkey seems to want
rabbits huddle"

--@poem_exe

Churchill on reading.

feral road
a snail of Pluto
runes carved into a matrix of gneiss

i first began to cipher

i honor you in quintessential coil name
out of the blue sky
this eyrie
& its certainties that bleed

whatever feints we once chose now addictive
silhouetted in the bitter glare
or curtained chamber
where we keep our final stuff
enrollment in the exigencies of night
ev'ry-other-human-sighted dread

these abide
the dark green turgor of the Tsalal
dissolving muskeg
Miskatonic azalea
path of art
kranio kristala with its starry grout
the dead veldt
burning never far
as the dandiprat's mouse-invisible wage

flight of virus-bearing breath
smites this intricate boojum-tree hejira

transfusion from a hot ghost
mi-nokto wodwo
present in the fine sands of Ubar
shaken from my cuffs beneath the baobab
kind Moloch
messenger of rook

echoing through the tart goaf
sound of the plastic trash cans rolling in dark
parbreak wolf
simmering dozenal abductee
on the spry ubac

honor i act, Cairo Noh
canicular kiloton dimness
parting clouds

some veshch there is · does not tolerate a wall
five more months says the grackle
here in our plush cave
good to go
& none of this will ever threaten Marduk

cherish the maskless Ucalegon
cultist of specious cargo
stranger to my poem
acnestis this penultimate snow
on the grass
where dawdles some delinquent squirt of a mage
subservient to the least image
in the shrouded urn

what madness
churns in its fine alembic
streets full of cars the whole exciting charade
diving aasvogel
smokes rush in
catapult & shard music
where do we go in dim Carcosa
as tentative, as unbearable, as deep
& dying will be spiralling pearl

a reason enough
among so many fathoms of asphodel
futhark's dream

Hong Kong protest slang.

"These are the days of second-hand fantasies and antiquated hysteria." --Thomas Ligotti

"...the mist, the pines, the turning call..."

(john inmon via liz moran on fb)

vore (day 159)

(via)

"...he still found himself confronted by a thing that outraged his reason; a thing that distorted the known face of the world with unearthly, hideous madness, and mingled a malign chaos with its ordered workings." --@KlarkashT

"...something darker hovered over their resignation, a ghoul of artistic inertia that seemed less the corollary of unfavorable circumstance than the furtive stranglehold of a curse."

"DYSTOPIA (Palindrome by Word)

Nowhere was truth less respected.

Gradually,
we humans,
under persisting uncertainty,
suffered.

We struggled.

We suffered uncertainty,
persisting under humans
we gradually respected less.

Truth was nowhere."

--@AnthonyEtherin

Ghorbat.

1.
painting the tree stump
with our second-best bomb
socialist teeth
Cocytus quakes

second-best bomb given
to the unholy western
walking on mown grass
to the place where i'll finish

2.
becoming a named storm
on the brink of furnished tarns
becoming ill while
visiting Santa

are we not drawn onward
silver as industry
hagoday rattle
walking on mown grass

there's just one more thing
waiting in the shadows
we were once one of you too
& a second-best bomb was good enough

3.
it seems to me my days are full
though moments drop & plant no cairn
nor any aftermath to share

it seems to me my days are full
i contemplate fast realms of gray
i measure where has flown the dove
it seems to me my days are full

though moments drop & plant no cairn

Della Cruscan poetry.

"glimmer of tea water
the north pole
the trail of a snail"

--@poem_exe

(@archillect)

tlen, ukbar, orbis terzius (day 146)

(geof huth on fb)

Sextina palindrómica.

"In time the comet passed to other heavens, fading slowly; and the black terror it had wrought became a varying legend, even as all other bygone things." --@KlarkashT

The Women of Weird Tales.

1.
about the dark times
we were so eloquent
to bestow on those hearers

who knew already

2.
paintings that escaped the walls
zone improvement plan
slow sunrise of Dhrawn

sev'ral badly folded towels

3.
remembering normalcy
the man in the glass castle
finds fault with quartz
& dreams of far Carcosa:
this azalea
grows from the ultimate cairn

4.
precarity
rattles my chain

huge gastropod
send mere prayers to

precarity
rattles my chain

5.
the unfolding debacle
in some infirm alembic
frivolous fate
hedges with spikes this hogan
& gape Moloch

this soft intricate cipher
ends up blaming Abraxas
by a wolf moon
i gather bread crumbs & dread

the unfolding debacle

6.
the wrist once
misstepped
in winding

cord gave permanent kink

a blunder
out of memory

this time, O
this time

7.
murder garnets
invasive species
to tie behind my head
salt for the hyper-whelk

another morning
that is not my last

wet leaves of grass cling to my fingers

8.
dove or ice box?--same
poignant, insistent pulse

in the terse, untenable light
salt for the hyper-whelk

bounty on anthropoid apes

9.
churning furiously in
a space in which nothing happens
& yet so much finds an end

across the concrete a pillbug
goes down & up to climb the space
from deed to karma

10.
where there were vistas
he saw microns
trudge Polaris
tongueless Eisteddfod

hygiene theater
not enough runes
not enough darkness

11.
coin shortage
riddling carol
the night breaks
sluggish bruise-fest
squeamish trudge

focus close
some fierce detail
coin shortage
on cark's Styxbank
uffish traipse

i think far
to when fever
adjourns game
jouks coin shortage
bearish churn

we'll walk sharp
as sick ones should
subfusc dawn
in thick desert
finish tale

"They support a likely warming range of between 2.6°C and 3.9°C..."

"my hedgehog
watching birds
onto the highway
unhinged"

--@poem_exe

(@archillect)

what happened to Opportunity? (day 145)

(thewave on tumblr)

ZIP code.

They [the Plutonians] are at the edge of what is possible to remain, almost as impermanent as their dreams.

Scholz's Star. Teegarden's Star. Kuiper's Star. Innes' star. Van Biesbroeck's Star. Przybylski's Star. And of course Kapteyn's Star.

anywhere
out of the world
on the wings of thought
anywhere
all feints accomplish
through enemy airspace
anywhere
out of the world

Lissa Wolsak reading.

"The open question is the form of sociality in our Great Isolation, where each must find their place in a series and no end has been disclosed." --Barrett Watten, Notzeit

(via)

tardigrade in the sun (day 143)

(@abandonedameric)

"...the marks are starting to run for occupy office."

"Indolent he was, and tyrranic, and full of strange luxuries and cruelties; but the people, who were also evil, acclaimed him in his turpitude." --@KlarkashT

House of shadows, home of simile.

what is to be done
with all these days in July
a catafalque in liquescent gold
a rumor in a long-forgotten language

at this work
we are lost to Arcadia
given over · to inventorying swarf
in this cone
hazard's self, mimics

now i don't know how to render here
extract of rare lehuas
more than the image

of a div

Deck us all with Boston Charlie.

"winter solstice
and little waves splash
the cicada's voice"

--@poem_exe

Turnip.

(@barrybutler9)

ambiguous loss (day 142)

(via via @joycecaroloates)

Kripkenstein.

I used to love monsters...until they started running things.

Sing Sing Nights.

i must be carrying something
although my hands remain empty
the lone skeletal polltaker
blurts asphodel

all my sober sciamachy
cannot win me significance
i feel caught in a triolet
Armageddon

manager odd

DuBois on R E Lee.

"Trump says he might not accept the 2020 election results. If he needs a recommendation, I have a great therapist who helped me accept the results of the 2016 election." --@StephenAtHome

(jacob lawrence via brian clements on fb)

clacker unit (day 140)

(thewave on tumblr)

"Venus in Furs" by Lithium Xmas.

"O king, I know the melodies of oblivion." --@KlarkashT

Hierarchical theory of time.

My mount is at Orion being repaired
while i explore my absence of inertia
waiting for delivery of water
or bad news, or a shuttle bus to Mizar
here we are amok, becalmed, in kiln
& puppets caught in latticework's charade
         by running in place winded
         among old bones dwined

Wuhan.

"waiting
the sound of raindrops
lingers
a scattering of stones"

--@poem_exe

(via)

finding strength in the sadness of forests (day 139)

(@TerrifyingVids)

"What is troubling here for the linguist is the profound disagreement that exists between the linguistic theory of the arbitrary character of the relation between word and thing, and the spontaneous belief of the speaking subject in a complete adequation between language and reality."

"before this winter wind
when i seemed to have
your hand"

--@poem_exe

"I build anti-gravity machines out of words."

the vocative of ego
a cabana in Baghdad

flight of the ideogram
fished out from a pile of stuff

a vision of remnant snow
these books that i cannot read

all thoughts smoke into jasmine
all things ravel into air

"Something cast in aluminum from a one-half
scale model of a freight shed."

"lunar eclipse
on my monitor
lunar eclipse
horse is coming"

--@poem_exe

Proxima now & then.

(pi-sliuces on tumblr)

another night without a comet (day 137)

(@TerrifyingVids)

The old solar system.

"I think that the evasive part of language is the materia medica of freedom." --The Baudelaire Fractal

Ooranye.

to return to the same place
that we left unwillingly
wanders now one Graywyvern
in a dark red fez

the ghosts of America
for aye mistake their qibla
fall prey to many a dream
bootless idiom

by the roadside lift a stone
if you call that a mission
unscrew the old stripped nozzle
that will barely turn

nothing makes a sound

Desertion.

"winter sunset
even unto death"

--@poem_exe

(@TerrifyingVids)

doppelranger {day 136)

"...a dam that is so massive in scale that it has actually slowed down the earth’s rotation."

"Ludwig had an obsession with donkeys in those days. He would always say 'Let us follow the mule, if only I were fast enough!' Waismann got so bored and annoyed that one day he mentioned to his girlfriend in Vienna that he was sick and tired of Ludwig's problem of mule-following. Waismann's girlfriend misheard and told Schlick and Camp about Wittgenstein's famous problem of rule-following. That was how the famous problem was born." --Plant and Baumann, "The Wittgenstein Archive," in: Philosophy Now #58 (Nov/Dec '06)

"...empty flat sizzle not to be tuned/ out..."

now · not yet murdered
by the hatred of the stars
Zamenhof
raggedest Homer · consigned to rishima

hogged streamer privy to Lord Moloch
goatherds merge into Judas
regathered smog walks

fried fugu
garnished with a flagon of Malmsey
these dagger theorems · at the limits of faith

now not yet murdered
intersection of sett & Sacla

"That night each and every one of them dreamt of that green light..."

" 'I respond to three questions,' stated the augur. 'For twenty terces I phrase the answer in clear and actionable language; for ten I use the language of cant, which occasionally admits of ambiguity; for five, I speak a parable which you must interpret as you will; and for one terce, I babble in an unknown tongue.' " --Tales of the Dying Earth

(via @JoyceCarolOates)

veiled prophet (day 134)

(via @TerrifyingVids)

"At last I gamely put one on—
Though, really, what’s the need?—
And like the masked Lone Ranger
Braved the wards at Walter Reed."

"The emotional synchrony of garments transmits discontinuously and by energetic means, thus the metaphysical appeal of fashion." --The Baudelaire Fractal

"...just like the Founders intended."

so afraid for so long
someone treads my grave
has undone so many
a flake of dried blood
in the time of reading

rending what you give
forest of glimmer moans
reach out so fragile
midnight Cabalatrab
dim thing the sigil

another night's comet
gossamer snags you

Luminous pommel.

"Contracts could have transformed into lookouts" --Robot X.

(ira gallen in retro rockets on fb)

growth mindset (day 130)

(@jeffreyford8)

"We are more interested in tomorrow's language."

"the wind
and i
dance in embers"

--@poem_exe

European Modernism Meets Traditional Japanese Design. (thanx melanie!)

taste my coffee still
know i am not to die
perils in the world
taste my coffee still

chase the vast unnamed
catch it if i can
taste my coffee still
know i am not to die

"One thing that helps us understand this time is that we have a word for the disease. We call it hiya’stíní. We respect it because we understand it as a living being. We fear it and respect it. We acknowledge it and speak to it."

"Lying in wait for the so-called ‘other shoe’ to drop while not even knowing what that other shoe is—is there a word for this?" --@svenbirkerts

The Hu. (thread)

(pixelmill on tumblr)

free facers (day 129)

(@CrookedCosmosd)

"I told my editor at the Columbia Journalism Review that I was sorry but I couldn’t write the piece."

"winter's end
and then darkness
was farewell"

--@poem_exe

Red right hand.

Nemo will be calling me anon,
or some equation in my proper qabbalah;
how i use the waiting matters less
than pre-eclipse a priest with kris shrugs Aztec.

"Mary reports that one of his sisters, casting around for something to give Donald credit for, proposed his five bankruptcies."

"So does the eye of Heaven [e.g. the Sun] itself become an evil eye, when incapable or sordid hands are interposed between it and the things it looks upon to bless." --Hard Times (1854)

(@angelique1z)

ulysses at the mast (day 123)

(ruth marten via feuilleton)

"Turn, and with double zest go dredge for whelks" --The Ring and the Book

"I’ve got a more specific reading of post-Fordist or contemporary zaniness, which is that it is an aesthetic explicitly about the politically ambiguous convergence of cultural and occupational performance, or playing and laboring, under what Luc Boltanski and Eve Chiapello call the new 'connexionist' spirit of capitalism."

facing
a dying nation
caught in Cheetoh's charade
facing
our own dark pain
with flesh of calcspar
facing
a dying nation

The cinema has explored the northern regions of impersonal stylization; it should now discover the southern regions of personal lyricism; it should have its prophets."

"The impatient anti-masque treads close on kibe" --ibid

(fizzy-izzys-circus on tumblr)

a cotlight in york (day 122)

(pic by lanny quarles on fb)

Parade of one hundred demons.

"...where light
Lay fitful in a tenebrific time?" --The Ring and the Book

"Even the hum may fade in the fire."

I had not thought to write a poem on Eirik
when i set out upon this sea of woe,
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.

Of all the irritants to spark a pearl
many a snag's found mention in my book.
I had not thought to write a poem on Eirik.

Hazard & fumble serve as Vision's salt.
We translate as we may; i had wings to give
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.

I wrought with gold & iridescent names
for ev'ry passing whisper out of Ghayb;
i had not thought to write a poem on Eirik.

Never we choose the contrails we create
though spurred as i by shadowy throngs & glare
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.

Some night bird batters the panes. I direct my heart
where lions drowse among the baobabs.
I had not thought to write a poem on Eirik
when i embarked upon this tour of Earth.

Night parade.

"...science fiction became the man who ate the world: first by force in Hiroshima and eventually through the creepy extrusion of magic and madness into every aspect of common life until it was impossible to disentangle the two." --Barry N Malzberg (2018)

(via lofishing on tumblr)

plague pit poetics (day 116)

(virtual Yakutsk via where it was 91 on monday)

"It is hard to overstate the giddying scale and speed with which edifices and norms of neoliberalism naturalised like weather or mountains over several decades are being swept away."

"Grown dainty o'er that clack-dish? Grime is grace
To whoso gropes amid the dung for gold"

--The Ring and the Book

Sorrow Lake.

danse macabre & egregore
too dense for wodwo
who has made his peace with a curious gray

nuts & bolts drinking scorpion wine
glare lunar
clowncore but mimics

veil of gneiss
passage of perfect calcspar

A Victorian vulcanologist.

"graveyard
their side of the bed
snowmelt"

--@poem_exe

(Than Tsídéh, 19, of the Ohkay Owingeh pueblo near Santa Fe, dances on the empty platform after a statue of Juan de Oñate was removed. Photograph: Gabriela Campos/The Guardian via jo-ann mapson on fb)