we were vibing unstoppable down industry street.
our jaws sprouting rhubarb shat on by hooded crow.
pass film studios in ruins.
long golden violet grass swept over.
bowel city, intestine city, cloaca town.
munter and munted
in the bloated gassy bowels of it.
drowning in fast-rising day.
we are all gonna live
weve been out in the while,
down openings, in the
foresworn rootstock moist with life.
, as seen from neurosis.
everythings staysising along nicely
the lot of it just show and tell,
burnt into these softnesses somewhere in us.
, as seen from neurosis.
welcome to the madness
of trying say what we are
it goes along really pretty well
with trying to be what we say we are
im sure youll get on fine
of collapsing load-bearing structures
billows out of the blasted-out windows
of the world building,
some shards of which some
times abrade some of our red cheeks
out here somewhere in the phensomenon.
, doesnt it.
where we are is the these we perceive, our perceiving we see, and so then through that we see our placement — and so what happens is perceived from these everywheres, these (shits) all over the places, and then from there and from that they do and make it happen, mainly by falling off or being scared to and so doing it.
and it all goes by too fast and knotted endlessly to write up any reports. and then the what was happened by them togethering and aparting is perceived through the placed perceiving and the distances of the theses that are and that see the what was happened by them by seeing their perceiving in their where. any one of these placed perceivings, and you can get one anywhere, is sufficient to shit on all the other (shits) all over the place for all the awful patterns they all make together when all seen from this one.
what you thought was you collapsing like a building was only you rolling forward into the dirt like a huge stone ball, crashing into crushing what big, and the plane where yr ball meets yr dirt is the crushapsing mistaken for falling, turned on its side. a cycle that already happened, yr fingerprints its memory, electric.
the lenses of yr eyes are falling and turning, cut and ground by a ground they only care to touch.
but scraping is a kind of yes and just dont worry abt the dark side of yr big powerful stone ball dropped in acid. acid stripping of the lenses of your eyes is a kind of yes.
what comes will tag bound seal and store all this like you do what happened
(continuings shame: ty(p)ing up what was and leafving it)
then dump it all in a museum and burn it down.
(continuings shame: bumbling about in the gorse ash, mumbling)
and threw those rushing lights exposed as the run-off invasive spacies build-up to collapsing mutant rack or rust air won-der shit flowing down the “you are” ; or good, hard, white, brawny, upstanding, unyielding, top notch productive abysses it is ; drifting shifty astronauts wrapped in the live wires of the i call to their soft works then call a few fitful disks in but as they come theyre told theyre just welcome to come in under the money—its not waiting its precipitating to press the “could be” which really gives gifts to some, while none of them and the i listen to the crushed somewhere ; listen to twice somewhere between minus and more or more ; never note anything, never quote anything ; spin-dle / cant we / hear the / i wounds ;
i made a new chapbook, its called notes away.
six longish texts, ~60pp. large format.
pdf not avail as yet.
get in touch if you’d like a copy!
it has a sick cover by joachim clémence: