THE EXPERIODDICIST 15 Jan. 19, 1997
John M. Bennett, Jim Leftwich, Jacques Debrot, Beny Jenkins, Jack Foley, Barry Powell, Wes Britton, Malok
3 PIECES John M. Bennett on heavy table) putrifaction grain or creamy, rain's face renewal, putrifaction stone beneath the milk or milky beard gleams in glass it's gleams mighty skull you said oh airy fable every breath while stirring skull chili pot ("silent BEANS") list the plot invoices chile laved inside your ear like hairless fable ("sgueaky") ear said glistened wax awritten down the glass wax head received your glummy beard rain cream your (spattered palms spayed fruity gleam) underwear you writ condensed on ("cream of mushroom") underword with syrup vention stasis flowing mushroom substrate bodies of "de light" or lucid streams of oil 'n books ("contusion") oily wrists IMBIBING logs or lists deread corn fusion stream you pend on ("you-less") lucent with your nightly body pended ("traded") spore retraction. Your (musty room) exstasis boding floor, under-strewn, platform of your soup delight oh writ convection (peeling back your flaccid lap) impaction cloth I slowed, fabled you, impacted with dentition and a ladder plaque oh dented elbow in your waist dedressed my smouldered plaques for you some heat injection skewed if rising pants! your gastric NATION chews. Your plastered blanks refrained, just chewed injection of that blanket meat removal shoulder blankety sank to waisty thought (your "dental bow") and laddered thigh ("thought") your "stable burning, horsey clasp" contraction (squeezed my
ECHO Jim Leftwich Why angle of the single soluble, and below it the knot of the circle himself, poetry congeals within gristle umbels, erode onus of history flowers before softened ash buried in the remnants of unpleasant song, as of votive endings, individual, fatidic. Only the lyrical slays vents articulate time, nonetheless first word sounds textuality, no convulsive song can knot possible renewal of the festive aspersion, the journal lodged finally in hope, feverish programs. The bald falls even weight out of his intrepid fever, against the layered dervish revealed, so work as considerable shape construed as amateur koan of her interior is up to voluminous gravity, second only to a similar occlusion of urgent anger, tutorial of which he has models of mandatory standards, abortion against the issues, writes about tyranny as an echo of modern harmony. His required befalls these church conduct morality perhaps her thigh is a criticism of the poems sing lack as unity for the whole of women. Fathom this gradual construct thinly splendid from esteemed mold, could say of it almost in disbelief, better sex bottled in a rage of reflected guilt than the narrative of that girl world ribald rising social enigma which thirst resigned sleeps in her furnished wish. Which tumescent silence ancient husbandry abused is verified how frustration decides the anthemic oppression of a perfect art. Entries annulled in doing he did however not in sympathetic beauty inclined against those apertures of description, lingam's epic talon enhanced by genuine wisdom, joy assails with grand thematic form. Formerly desire haggard and spatial we find in particular will, making things. Heresies of sound and other fiat random enough, the result ontic or "I stand", buried lyrical isthmus warbled with critical tithes, up to its provisional width in talus emblems, however not also the first erasure of gradual exaction, her beauty the mirror of tragedy writing art itself once a beautiful simulacrum of endless chaos. The constructed valence foregrounds an alien knot. Fever of ritual banality. Medieval turbulence haven. The soul of taste or tears' habitual voice. So the final feverish joy of grace is demarcated by a circle of carcass oven money, one single levitation made holy by fiat of bland merger, ligature byte theremin canoptic spindle persona, order administered in an arsenal of solvents, the soul flayed by the forms of lyrical evasion. Circle of entirely obliterated script. Times fork verbal poets the voluminous mist, will there is a foyer of poetical mistrial, heresy overcome with ritual courage, by leaf the lodge poetical eschews with festive showers fortune admires form derided by effort, as if to say expression is moistened by formal clarity, theory of cleanliness remarks sleeps' absorption. Not surprising. As an example of witness the wreck of conjunction. If love is an answer to pain, one as much as writes a ritual self, doubt like a hermetic circle of hearts, embodiment conveys the pearl heart granular texture of the line, connected steps from which joy occluded misjudges them, the start of an endless wreck threads the endless cycle of the book. I read it stultifying the adverb sown against my life, theurgic office of the decorous night, absent charnel glass of the difficult expulsions, vocative too demotic between the bodies' argument. Within the serial labyrinth of a normally kinetic skin. Finally the endless circle devolves to a montage of previous moments, life issues inept and topiary in the infarction, noble everted hovels to view the squalor thoroughly, according eventually to one's own soul thrown back into imagined damage by the lyrical haven of the lamp. The recent events of one's work suggest a fortunate newness of the seams. The plague of life, republic of visionary health, director of token pillage in stasis, envision a darkened canyon of books, a series of present lives delivered to given others, at once a verbal rage and renewal of dehiscent erections, shadow renewed by candle lance, intrusion interrupted by processual critique, each death succored by one of its conflicted assays, name returned to matter, healing the written bird in random estimates of poetical honesty, heat of any oven flowers position the poet assures as childish singularity, characterized by an imaginary alkahest of formal praise, to lose the antic seize in which politics only bleeds whole inclusion of our endless enterprise, every way works blindly stretch poetical hindsight, for years in emergent wonder, somatic books letteral weave, events theurgic hagiography, evil aspect as such is as much the want of here as poems in their filial findings too richly I.
from ANALOGIES Jacques Debrot Appearance : Desire :: Deprivation : Error appearance [A] all appearances mean [B] a desire - or in the merging that is the loss of "otherness" [C] as skin is like a thin film of water, it becomes [C2] the organ of appetite [C3] (see: res, the value of metals) [C4] or by displaying art an art form [C5] as so many mute signs a material exchange occurs [C6] under the actual circumstances of the first encounter (lying to the south), and falls the third time; is stripped of His garments [C7] though later res- spirit surected among wild grasses (emanat- ing from the heart) without price. Property : Gender :: Symbol : Proliferation [A] Sequential sounds are brought to the simultaneity of things (see KAP- Marx ITAL 1, 954 and passim) [B] as if, with eyes for [C] ears, the hand being a "not very complicated system of gears," [D] so as to reappear like fall- Hegel ing bodies with a different sign sys- Acts 1:43 tem [E] in place of sleep's 4 aspects (here, noted at the arterial vein) [F] these wounds are unmade - the tongue being merely a more recent [G] injury - than those flourishing through the device of two eyes.
The Goal of New Testament Gnosticide by Beny Jenkins for Jake Berry Ol' Mexico houses a real Dr. Bombay, and angels are gracing its doors with large sums of cash. When the Michaels return, the sun will set and the burning will stop, for Hell's flames will die in the arms Mother Morphine! If graciousness is all too gracious my love will be looking for you, dear brother, for I know how much you like the soft wind--as it blows--softly. "There is no dawn like midnight!" Keep the monkey sweet as she sleeps, for when morning comes the bitch will wake and ripen. No fig tree to curse this time dear christ; the fruit is in it's season and ain't shit going to wither on the vine. The fields are ready and the harvest is going to be fucking fine! Kiss Judas' ass, and slap his cheek, Jesus ain't nobody's savior, nor does he want to be. Tell me Jesus, is death all its cracked up to be? Is there a calming of the sea? Can swine swim and did you meet the demons there, on the other side where eternity's supposed to be? When death comes does liberty follow it like the demons follow a good nightmare? All day long she sat and stared, never woke from her grave, her bed. She clung to the softer side of Sears as the demons clawed her face with tears. "Bad pizza," they say; hell I didn't even eat pizza or anything like it (the demons still clawing.) When is God really going to die, so we can have a true resurrection? I'll crucify his ass, if the motherfucker is brave enough to come back a second time. Drunk like pigs wrapped in a vine of sweat. Sweet Holy Mother of God, wake the fuck up and let that screaming bastard son of yours get the fuck out of here! It is time. It is always time and there is never any time. If all time were gathered in the moment we'd surely piss it all away. "Where's the Goddamn remote!" She'd hadn't a clue, she didn't bother with the oblivion of old sailors who can't keep themselves sterile. Please can we wake and bake, once more. The tombs of China after a bowl of raisin bran and a few bong hits, chills me to think about it. Call me after moonnight's end and we will do this again. Sleep for now, for when the shadow of God's tomb rises over the earth the three days that follow will be paradise for some and the agon of the apokalupsis for others. Good night, ol' rosy one (said with a whisper). __1.7.97 __The End___
from REQUIEM Jack Foley how does one name the holy argument as to the "emotional content" of poetry perhaps the terminology is wrong perhaps all terminology is wrong we are friends but we argue about poetry among other things god who are you anyway terminations b!ind alleys? he told me about L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poetry what good is an argument if nothing comes of it is self-expressiveness enough does it matter that I write at the computer what is the Final End of anything? trick me into believing all fuckin right baby why did he call her baby we are friends but we argue who is that person the violence of his language suddenly transforming him into someone I never knew and that other who wishes to "use" me who are they who tell me things who speak in a lanyage which is constantly in flux they tell me about "voice" in poetry they tell me about "writing" and its advantages over "voice" they tell me nothing new hut they talk constantly and their voices will not be still how does one name the holy is it through silence does the holy exist at all until it is named so many dead persons so much stillness I saw you at the theater I saw you at the coffee house later poor evelyn nesbit "stanford white was the only man I ever loved" my friend larry "in the first hours of his sainthood" jan kerouac (the tragedy of that family) all the dead ones do they continue to argue does it matter what they believed alive do they, dying, break through to the holy did my father break through to the holy did my mother or my uncle panny or my aunt maggie who called my dead mother "beloved sister" I can't remember them doing anything but arguing can you tell the difference between my family and a loony bin? you have to apply to get into a loony bin and that woman in the loony bin whom I have never forgiven for failing to encourage my poetry have I been to see her in her agony have I phoned her at least is she in the realm of the holy
NOT RINGING Barry Powell you are indeed "her kind"....and I "cannonball"....the space between dances... poetry of life...you are broken egg and hot coil.....a baby cries... I no longer transmitting have come....what storm brings silence....her shapes with shadowed light....fall is come with penis and groin....your tears are joy..... her kind releases arrow....the lamp relit ....he sees her softness.... "If I were there ....I would devoure your flesh like flame....
Homework by wes britton There is no wisdom in leveled Knowledge arguement & scripture twarted intentions desire in abeyance expectations disappointed crazed delusional senses frenzyied activity filmy defeated dreams spun again in the vast dark where nothingness is starpricked nothing without contrived remembrance meaningless experience zero-dimensional ghosts failure & loss between undrawn lines or craving belly suffering envy of absence A The God Gods? Inverted, prismed points of viewmasters looking on a watery rock of self-absorbing bugs creating all in their own sandshift image waiting waiting No answer? Then a Tower of Bable will reach to heaven a metal linkage 200 miles always in Complaint always in upset where language began & will flashblink end.
UNTITLED PIECE by Malok DREAMTIME: PLANTANTATIONALS; MALOKIAN FUNK*GOO... WINTER FLY ROUTINES, I GLORP THE CHOICES OF APPLE OR THE SHAPES OF COOL HEATHER xNORMAL BUSINESS HERE IS LIKE A FURNACE, FLUCKS AND PLUCKS... STRINGS OF COSMICALLY TAUT TIMEKATS! MICHELLE PHEIFER GAZES INTO THE BOTTOMLESS HAIRLINE, FLAMEDRUMS VISIT JUNG forgotten super-heroines of the ANTI-BIBLES: I just scan the deadlines! OKAY? A dogherd eradicated the only COMMUNITY of DUCKS- we must perfect The Zon, so as to create the conditions of Quaurick, viable/reliable SHIFTIN'/TRAVELIN' DREAM+timex I light a candle and burn my hand. As Martian Seas grind the Lore enacted into dust, make my grave less mellow. Ramninnotehshittee! Nov. 20, 1996