Kevin's Watch

Secrets of the Savoir-Faire

Arrive early – stay late. Teaching warriors real tricks for beating down the bewildered tourists. Mercenaries and agents are replaced by adding machines. Advantages, innovations and work hours are the worst. Easy come – easy go. Travelers seek the safety of automated kiosks. It seems to be everywhere.

South by Southwest

Fly in the Anointment
Lies are shorter. And if anything goes wrong prepare for fever. Attention deficit agents man the phone banks. Tuesday is go time. Laugh riots will slow the supply lines. North is, as ever, the optimal destination of our nation.

Direct Line to my Heart Monitor
Tombs, catacombs and rented out rooms. Burnt out bunkers and watch towers in the distance. Travel to the reservations, the preservations of our shared past.

Police Take Notice
Notice the no smoking signs. Count the threads of our newest tangled webs. Sign a waiver, waive your consultation fees. Staple the copies to the sign in form. Searchers searching with compasses will encompass the valuable clues. Find a new book on your shelf.

Please Pass Your Assignments Forward
My novels will never be best sellers. My novels will gather dust in cellars. Salt sellers store salt in salt cellars. Salt deposits in the stellar hearts of cellar dwellers.

Double Check Your Check Marks
Details, it is all in the details. Chart your decline. Consult your guru, the one in the Nehru jacket. Pitch, width and color coordination are shown on the monitors.

Ego Trip

Grading on the Deadman’s Curve
Electronic kiosks are left unmanned. (The hunters were unplanned.) Terminal is rarely affirming. Her charms were cause for alarm.

The Veldt
Pocket promises; keep them close to your heart. His stash, her valuables, my knick-knacks. To see the Aurora Borealis will cost extra. Your synapses are free. I need lots of money to build an invisible, indivisible army of one.

Your Local Produce Department
Watching the weather table at the kitchen table. The host will host from his very own charnel pit. Termites bore me. Universal adaptors for the piggy back rides. The elusive power trip loosens my grip. Experienced users and abusers like to kid that Santa Claus is lucky to have a good pr firm.

Read a Letter
Forgot to leave some notes. But anyone would have not done the same. Got to voice the thoughts. Got to go, although I wanted to stay. The props needed loosening. I still try to sing during play time. I only choose only the good tunes.

Stake Your Claim
Empty your pockets so you don’t delay the x-ray. Throw the bones; stone the crows. By sheer grace I discovered the empty air vents. Now is the time to move your seats forward.

Something Always Goes Wrong

Contingencies
If you are cancelled; do you have any charts or graphs? Don’t let them have the last laugh. Do you have any diagrams or unaltered floor plans? Please check the time codes again.

The Basement
Lies are harder to tell when told by other people. You can still travel to the reservations to see proof. If you only work twice this year, make it time for self improvement. Always carry with you a schedule listing so you don’t go missing.

And the Answer Is?
Be polite but not political. Carry a sign-in book for when your friends ask for a favor. Act as their immediate supervisor. You can always check in with customs. Or head down to standards and procedures. Just be sure to get your sample kit at the door. Negotiations are the time for long, drawn-out arguments. Next time try using ration logic. Check the ratios first. Sometimes I seem to forget what I was talking about…

The Boys Club
Separate agendas? Secret agendas? Discuss during family time at the kitchen table. Be a dedicated agent for change. Snag a spot on the VIP list, pencil your self in. rebels are an oasis from the mundane crowds. Heroes always seem bigger than life on television.

Overnight Cab Fare
Vacations! Day trips! Health spas! Yeah right, just forget about it. Just forget it now. Carry on only your carry on. Don’t let anyone else pack for you. Toothbrush, medicines, some more essentials. A drop box for your alarm clocks. (I have seven such clocks.) Cell phones only prove that you are all alone. Self standards for the self stranded. Hordes of children running at your feet; unattended and inattentive. Do you still have your bus pass?

Agencies Have Agents
The safest bet is yesterday. Today is even money. And tomorrow is a long shot.

The Same Old Same Old
Book a book tour. Be friendly but be open to altering your stance. Consolidate your liquid assets. Familiar does not have to mean unfriendly. Get ready for the waiting room.

The Alternator Just Died.
I wish I had done it all differently.

things written on my shoes

Inventions: His actions are pathetic so I remain unsympathetic. I don not understand comics. The stand-up ones that is. I use a dream dictionary for the printed ones in my local newspaper. (Motto: what is true might be good.) Legends are always past their prime.

Projections: Helicopters hover over me. The newspapers cover me. I hide out in the customs stations. There is a map on the wall written in a language I do not recognize. What is reverse osmosis? What powers the engines? Neurologists track a finite border.

Approximations: I wish for a hand satellite phone. It is headache weather. Geometry books bundled and trundled for summer school. Pin-the-capitol on the nation games. Brick works, iron works, all run down. Air raid sirens sound. Tornado weather. A gift?

Delusions: Composite sketch artists down at the wharf. Swap meets and junk shops. Stone-walling federal agents settle in for the long haul in their concrete bunkers. The sale of anxiety coats rises. Conspiracy atheists on loan from central casting. Give credit due.

Deductions: Lawyers divvy up clients by straw polls and roll calls. Roaming gangsters moving west. New jet age romances. Meet me at the mortuary! Unknown numbers of suicide victims litter the river walk. Waiting for the tide to claim them. Carry a number.

Illusions: Declining references, denying consolation charges set to explode. The video tape was erased. Exposed to ultraviolet rays. Soaked in infrared rays. Isolation in deprivation tanks. Floating in the brine, losing your mind. Turn on the radio and dance with me.

Conclusions: An altercation by paranoid fanatics leads to alterations of the riptides. Set in drowning pools, shallow pools. Obstructions at key spots on the freeway offer no leeway. Checkpoints become flashpoints. Small-town radicals from the speech-free zones are quiet.

Daisy works the night shift.

The police stopped me yesterday. They said I drove like a tornado. I contend that I’m only searching for closure. Stonewall Jackson was never convicted of anything, was he? A little congealer and I am on my way. Found out I was disconnected, so I tried the payphone down the street yesterday. I have memorized the bus schedule, in case of emergency. I once tried writing some poems, after I had met a poet. He remained silent like Christmas. I was over. I was over. Dramatic shoes, I bought me some dramatic shoes. Sang a sad ballad to my one true one but she still did not love me. Tiny rooms have always made for big drama. Zero-to-sixty machines paced up and down my street. Could not get any sleep. Toxic fumes choked the trees. High-strung women were my weakness. But I met a woman who cured me of that. I was a bottle of static, waiting for a spark. I had outlawed various strategies and mapped out many escape routes. The sunshine used to be a spotlight, at some point it became a nightlight. Infrared klieg lights, ultraviolet tanning booths. The summertime was a rolling wave of super-heated happiness. It was a sublime ecstasy taken to ridiculous schemes. Primitive soul vibes echoed oppressive relays. Heart-jumper cables were connected to the phone lines. Hoboes tramped the streets in search of loose change. I ended up at a bookstore for my eye exams when my ophthalmologist ran out of updated reading material. Boredom vultures hovered in the darkened skies .packs of mired wolves had the gulley runs marked. The conformity of my stasis marked me as part of the old flock. Metal wire flames cut wide and deep. The chatterboxes held chatter guns; metal shell cases littered the off ramps. Sweets were gorged in the hospitality suites. Bitter mystic coffee was served in asbestos cups, fitted with lead stoppers. When you read the grounds you walked your rounds. Sunrise was a hypothetical as I had never seen it to have seized it. I tried to sleep with my eyes opened. I used to construct paper aero planes just to listen to their engines roar. My barber only did flat-tops out on the rooftops. He would speak in Zen riddles. I would have to answer him in pantomime. He would confirm correct guesses in palindrome. I had no idea what he was ever trying to say; but the haircut was five dollars cheap.

Battleship Perspective

Remarks: intense, dazzling, angry, frustrating baffling.

On the second floor of a converted coffee warehouse two men meet for the first time. They are arguing all of the time about time. The first is the reticent man; his compatriot is the optimistic man. What follows is an accounting of their failure to reach a compromise.

Interlude: thorns are real life. Ideas? I have none.

OM: he is fascinated by mesmerism. He likes to brandish about populist propaganda. He engages in melodrama. (Betrayals, betrothals, et al) he writes constrained poetry in Esperanto (in the key of g) he collects empty, decorative boxes.

Interlude: I turn the key, the engine sputters. The world is terrifying. We all sit alone, alienated and lonely. We are awash in frustration. Russian roulette is all about focus.

Focus: I like to read tabloids.

RM: he is often and easily annoyed. He has a low opinion of tolerance. He is often uncomfortable with the mundane. He is playing a role, no more or less. He is obsessive in his motivation.

Interlude: the anguish of the artist is nothing but hyperbole

OM: he will not admit to being tired. He majored in journalism but will not keep a diary. We volunteers his weekends at an art museum. There he answers questions about artists he has never wanted to meet. He is tasked to explain motivations he will never have.

RM: he is predominately somber. He has never needed a fantasy world to escape into. He has an abnormal fear of puppets. His few friends find him remote. He suffers from fevers.

Ending: somewhere this went wrong. Questionable in the general; dismissive in the specific. Silence is atmospheric. Further collections must be made. Concision is not often precision. We may announce that further violations of conduct shall not be tolerated.

September 12th.

Swimming in circles, a flair for the dramatic. Consumed by alternate theories. Always on the run, collecting supporting evidence. Warehouse or clearinghouse? Maybe the slaughterhouse. Information complication on a perfect day. (He said that.) Fantasies of conspiracies, the librarians are always below suspicion. (Left and right.) Screenwriters drafting the latest criminal epic. Civil rights leaders are often wrong. Informants under constant supervision. The place, the place is in my heart, on my sleeve, in a cupboard off of the kitchen. Find sanctuary. Find my bones bleaching in the sun. Demoralized? Find rapture, find closure. Find a game of hopscotch. Roll the dice, roll my bones. Find the remote control. (He said what?) Pacing back on the side sidewalk, city streets. Deliver a message of deliverance. Quote chapter and worse. Show how it can get so much worse. Volumes of data support me. Seven refusals, seven lost ways to say you are sorry. But we will not worry about things like that. I carry a briefcase with charts and graphs; compasses and maps. Every night as I drift to dream I count the beats of your heart; counting the spaces as we grow apart. How did we get to this point? Seven days in and I still have no idea. Well, I do have an idea, but I would rather keep it to myself. I have my guest list for the sleepover, so please do not rollover. Whisper my orders; scream my demands. Can you ever understand? (This is why it never works out.) The modulator has not been working. Amped up but I was hoping for strung out. I melted at just the wrong moment and missed the movement. Electronic doors slide open. She glides through and I slide too. Dust devils gather at the cenotaphs. It all seems pathetic. (Will you answer me?)

Light Rail

A border crosser? More likely a cross-dresser. Note the lack of hysteria. I want helicopters and landing pads. Say goodbye to the last three families still on your block. Make way for more coffee shops. Stop & Shops. Color me seven shades of curious. I can not read the menu. I can not make informed decisions. So how can I give my consent? Dance costumes for dance contests. They are making a comeback. Solar-powered, wind-powered steam engines sitting idle in the moonlight. Reverse osmosis tachyon drives in constant flux. Ambient engines in lockdown mode. Clutch and brakes; all in gear. Count finite numbers from an infinite table. Theories abound; bound by bylaws. See-saw chopping block; sorry but we are out of stock.

Drum Solo

Corrupted circuits built by corrupted men. They both sputter and fume. The wires flicker; dying in the rain. Cartels vote. Cartels veto. Engineers stay detail orientated. The firemen are on call. The brakemen have stopped all activity. City streets and city trees. Rebuild the buildings. Anything over ten years ago needs to be replaced. So we retrace our steps through the trees at the cemeteries. Secretaries prepare proposals. We can see the landfills from our window sills. Try to train the drivers. Teach them that left is not right.

one letter of the refusal

The dawn is a dawn. And is a day. Where has it gone? They have been rare in that express. And slow movement is a picture. Uglier than the calm of our moon. It was compensated to me. In a matter more than some clique. I will not be so tonight. Towards the bottom I correspond. I am fine. And in the matter of me they correspond. I am in a happy way. Therefore I am happy. In-between and under as well. I strongly jump summer. Towards the bottom ledger. A part of the love that seems. I dictate the ledger. The morning is your time. It is a simple foot. I can see the luminous. Your line does not disturb. It is known to me. Therefore it is flat. And on time. We have come and gone. And gone with the elementary product. And to exceed that. I am gone to ignite. And to leave. I am an able ledger. I jumped my ledger. the part that loves. It is all that it seems. I jumped therefore clumsily. And I part with love. And where are the plates that I want? Your hands are full of notoriety. A flood of notoriety.

the meltdown man

Fire up the denial machines. As we hold boxing matches in the greenhouses; Rome is burning. Boondoggle in the boondocks? Our cloud seeding futurists have become crop dusters for the farming conglomerates. Computer based models predict floods and drought. A paradox in a Schrödinger’s box. Scientists search for a revenue stream in the mainstream. Free-market think-tanks are now robotic assembly lines. The empty suits keep production at full throttle. The only challenges come from the Flat Earthers and the Antiquarians. But they seem lost in a paralyzing fog of doubt. Op-eds are co-opted. Media attention whores populate game shows disguised as talk shows. Lobbyists lob misinformation; never breaking formation. The water is murky. The horizon is cloudy. Yet we continue our scorched earth policies. Variable constants remain unaccounted for. Our arsenal is empty. Our trigger guards are locked in place, rusted by indifference. Primitive sketches of skepticism are found among the bones in the caves. Blindly binding our only chance; we stumble and tumble through the days. At night we ramp up and opt out. We have long blades and we have hatchets. Does it really matter which cuts you? Gloom and doom become our mantra. Fair and balanced is our totem. Our perception is skewed and our sympathies are being used. Lists and petitions are circulated, waiting for numbers to be collated. Controversy and uncertainty are our new touchstones. Impartiality is seen as a lodestone. Engineers fire weather balloons into orbit. Difference engines are set to calculate. The cabals set to censure any alarmists. Theologians set a new orthodoxy. Tesla coils are warmed up. Theremins are set on standby. Satellites rotate for the skeptics, running on autopilot. Faked landings are part of the playbook. And we still debate over what is a dream and what exactly is a hoax.

cosmonaut
wires underground segment sediment sentient
calling patch through calling falling
re-entry glows sparks showers red entry
sick of hammer sickle frequency fragmenting
truth is raining down, truth is raining down
wires underground vector orbit obit victor
tangent tangible tenement testament
calling you falling through fading fading
red is glowing now way of slowing
no worry, truth is raining, truth is raining
------------------------------------------------------------


aluminum

the antiseptic valence
when dirt was still mud
fish would show
the playground goat smellers
where the rubber met
the road

chorus
the farmer yaws
nov, mike 3, tango
ash-boil-current

with his smoker's hack
three yards, a cloud of dust
they squabbled
stump broke the mule
hugged a thug
pencil whipped the rest
damned good

chorus
all bunkered out
heat, o2, fuel
tinder-kindle-timber

thining out the herd / theory of the herd

24 hours ago...
we hog tied the bad actors
then tried to justify
smooth bad restrained slamming (seven refusals)

told that boat don't float
we was hypnotized / mesmerized
with scattershot picture bankruptcy (seven refusals)

stuck out in a freeze city eye spy
send me a witness shuffle
I hope not in this lifetime (seven refusals)

we don't go there move continuation
infernal affairs show of force
slow buck testify years ago (seven refusals)
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roy downs review of Absinthe Makes The Heart Grow Fonder...

1) Fingers For Gumby : rap-core? yes, the Clown wades into the angry whiteboy genre. if your expectations are modest, then it works. with it's repetitive structure and off beat chorus ("fingers for gumby? you're a puppet! anarchy clown! you can't stop it!") it does shock the system. but what does it all mean? they ain't telling. should be fun in concert.

a) It Don't Matter To The Sun: taped in a coffee house. a seeming poke at the post-hippie song craft. would like to hear this as a full construct.

2) Triphammer : back to the aggression. a more fleshed-out take on Red Brick. turns down the speed from 11 to 10, but cranks up the sturm und drang. from what lyrics I can make out ("punch-in, punch drunk, punch-out, punch punk") it's not altogether sophisticated. but were the Ramones? we need a lyric sheet, Clown!

3) Three Forms of Two/To/Too: like Do Not Hammer On Car, a strange trip. while someone drones on about the paradox of English, the Clown bounces in and out of a strange folk-jiggish groove. it's more tolerable than Hammer, thus mor effective. the Clown has promised a radio edit and an mtv worthy video. can't wait!

b) Tower In My Mind II : the Clown won't say how many parts there will be, but here is the second of this cut and paste number. and it doesn't seem to fit with part one. (on the Pretty Ammonia soundtrack).

4) Aerodynamic : a galloping instrumental. using "found" instruments, like metal pots. takes a somewhat clever idea to the max and dumps it rather quickly for the same song done in a proper studio with proper instruments. you decide which one is better.

5) Bittertwist [the other dog] : sound like the intro for a much longer song. and for mythologists, mentions "Purple Toxic Dog", "Mr.Mean Dude", and "Never Tease a Weasel". also has an audio clip from Watership Down.

6) What I Did On My Summer Vacation : must have been better in it's conception. ho-hum...

7) Drop D, Variations On A Theme : just what it says. instrumental for only the most completist of fans.

c) Some Are Outside : Couch is back! more paranoid rantings of that madman. we must have more!

8] Turn To Surf : so begins the salvaging of the album. starts out as your typical surf tune. but is saved by some dark lyrics ("hold you forever or until they break down the door") and some fine guitar work. it's as if Poe had settled on the beach.

d) Imagine That: and now for an unwanted break.

9) Et Tu/Marsh Armstrong : Et Tu is the Latin version of Three Forms Of Two/To/Too. how clever, how unecessary. Marsh is cute as well, a tv theme for a fictional network. one that would run a bad art invsetigation team dramedy. the songs are linked by no reason, and both should have been saved for b-sides. or holiday collections by Ronco.

10) Charge It To The Dust And Let The Rain Settle It.
Hotel, Stairway, Sweet Caroline...get it? the epic by an artist at their peak. it will burn it;s way into your psyche and live there forever. it's as if David Gilmour of Pink Floyd stopped by and gave them this. wow, I'm drooling and crying. so beautiful!

Rhymes With Clown : Ashcan

The members of Rhymes With Clown have been
holed up in their North Kingdom studios working on
"The Legend Of Tarquin Gotch"
As a special treat the band is releasing the demos.
These will showcase the album as it was in the begining.
The band is hoping that fans will enjoy the differences in
the two versions and will better appreciate how much work
goes into each project. The tracks are as follows...

1) Beetlesnap Overdrive : trance metal mantra, the bands own
"New Day Rising"?

2) There Goes Jackson : bluesy rave-up. without the full lyrics
on the completed album.

3) Treehouse Disco : a disco instumental? was this needed?

4) Swift On The Upkeep : paranoid rant, channeling Couch.

5) Birthday : another one lyric blues jam.

6) All Flesh Is Meat : Clown death metal.

7) Lament : continuint the pattern of minimalistic lyrics.

8] Freemasons: funny! another Clown classic, kind of like R.E.M
as it jangles right along.

9) Trinidad Castro : song fragment. excised from the finished album.

10) Stop Me : someone should, more filler.

In Conclusion...
only two complete songs. if this is how all their albums start,
the studio must be swamped as they write completions to each
of the songs. from this spare begining came a double album.

Arabesque

"True! - nervous - very, very
dreadfully nervous I had been
and am ; but why will you say
that I am mad?"

music

"dissemble no more! I admit
the deed! - tear up the planks -
here, here! - it is the beating
of his hideous heart!"

lyrics - poe / music - wood
----------------------------------------------------------


from the
Handbook of Culvert and Drainage Practice.
published 1930, Lousiana Corrugated Culvert Co.

Airport Drainage...

Dead Load

"The loads supported by airport drain pipes are of two classes,
the dead load or that due to the weight of the ditch filling material,
and the live load or the static and impact loads of airplanes and other
vehicles, transmitted through the filled material. Dead load is com-
puted by formula No.1, page 58, under 'ditch condition.' In Table
No.62 the values in the columns headed 'Fill (Dead) Load' have been
derived by means of that formula.
-----------------------------------------------------------------


Nearing Seer

stall a tar gin low
stall nor retro slug
I leaf oh you new kiosk
nix south neering seer

six etch nuns
tithe seam melt nearing
south aerie heat tester seer
I assess new

nearing seer

thaw seam melts traps
thaw seam melts ends
thaw seam south seer fog sourly
old tin enigma

nearing seer

Dead Serpents :
Kafka looks east past ether. Leads soul ecru queens, considers coma urn saints. Quest queen quips, apparent pauses. Axe actress melees. Plush grain Proust phases sift. Kafka heads east and quells. He jets pennies. Sun tree dew becomes naive path. Era reaches human manna worth. Cheer Kafka pennies, cheer less, soul fools.


Prophesies :
Pleasure arrives down, Kafka aunts trade hens, less in France. Savants lash derringers. Guesses, amiss the pulpit idles tar grenades. Text consults quips. Loss, new poor phase sorters. In dew premixes and sad mime troupers. Frost dew poses less silk pariahs. Announcer admits lax barbwire nature.
--------------------------------------------------------------------


it ain't kosher pilgrim.

cosmic bus, sultan of swill, bugle, bugle, bugle.
Delays, heathens at ether pace, rabbis will delay rot.
Sad dog gnaws, sad dogs gnaw. Sad rabbis delay rot with a solid delay.
The Seller ignores miles.
Cosmic bus, sultan of swill, bugle, bugle, bugle.

Exile? The Law thriller; emote over my yaks, tighten the reins.
Retro eons, retro on out. They erred, now the noose yaws outside.
He nods and hews, so enjoy.

Tackier pigs, which jig for joy? A pig apart!
Equate with them so rotten, a gong signals the stage pint.
The Donor, he dials and tags the gin cap,
the Law has a tickertape parade and you guzzle retro recaps.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------


Twins
Missing, Floating
Pure White Noise
Misery in the Autumn
Rhythm Arithmetic
Speed Nitrous Go
Buzz Better Dreams
Color and Bleach
Thieves Tattoo Lawmen
Break...
Chain to Fuel
Reverse esreveR

Her Favorite Colour

I
March 23, 1912
Little Moon
(minus 300 degrees Fahrenheit)
Max and Mortise
about combustion tests...
Paris: 264 ponds vs. 76 miles
October 3, 1942
Fifty locomotives, 100 tons,
A mile a minute
Christmas tree inferno
Little flower...

II
Paper clip bliss
Six dollars a day
Bumper, Blossom, Pushover
Man in Space
April 15, 1955
Fellow Traveller
29(70 inches/6 inches/18 pounds)
Dream of a Girl
Jupiter 6, sixty days
Nova tornado, atomic ion down
Cosmonaut Shepherd...
------------------------------------------------------------


I-Go

death, blood and murder running
through my head.

shout, woop, beat, the rage of
the devil would come from her.

she gave like Jesus.

he had cocked his head to the side and was
listening, changing rhythms of the drums,
as if they held the answer to every deep
mystery. the steady thrums of the beats
were echoing off the brick walls.

"it's time to stop"

as livid as the scorch vulture.
the shame of refusal
behind the guilt of dope
kicking up a cloud of dusk,
shortleg lee, the leakeye man.

I wondered if just for one night the steady
drum of their footsteps would end.
they traveled back and forth to the corners,
where they brought the harvest and
purchased hope.
------------------------------------------------------------


Junkyard Six
the table is empty
on the wrong line
as I crawl home
it all falls away
does he still remember
all the times inbetween
and still it snows
calls me by name
and I stand alone
can't see the forest
listen for the echoes
stand to either side
where it's worn away
words see the time
wait for the rain
goes for a ride
please wake me up
the table is empty

tba

Modern Times

the gearworks lay exposed - we are crushed by the monolith - ground to paste

this is our story...
we could have saved the planet.

a modest house, anywhere in the world. a partly fictional realm. a man stands alone. a character in a half-truth real world. he seems etheral, insubstantional. the house is chock-full of otherworldly mementos. the decorator had a taste for apocalypse. dead center sits an opaque chest, scrawled with hieroglyphics. the floor is covered by ash, the walls charred.

odd lights in the distance as the propoganda machines are fired up. awash in blue sparks.

what is the midpoint between comedy and drama? experiencing failure, fiasco of staggering proportions. wallowing in self-loathing. replaying the magnitude of the disaster. again and again. redrawing the blueprints for an eloborate suicide scenerio.

henchmen scurry and prepare loving tributes. everyone fears another purge. a crumbling world. half-mad defectors swimming for shore. brutal magicians at the old sawing-in-half routine. janitors at ready with mop buckets. club kids huffing ammonium nitrate. lives destroyed. vaporized. ether released by accident, or by design? isolation leads to meltdown. exiled in confidentiality. inner circle glimpses, a curious conflagration. the illusionists clamor for credit, but the underlings order the endgame.

razorwire and electric fences cover the countryside. landmines seeded closer to the cities. ideology and loyalty hold no sway to explosive charges. instability is the only constant. so is our demise. to be a barren cityscape or melted glass in the jungle? clutch at your maps. war free zones are crowded out. relief stations shut down, you are shut out. hospitals are a dim memory.

your options demand you see angles, dimensions, options and possibilities. run, like skating on an expressway. pray all you want, but keep moving.

moth

1) so what do I call you?
a) speed freak, free of self doubt, harbringer of a new age.

2) why a civil war?
a) an arrogant attitude covering up a major alcohol problem.

3) is it a national trauma?
a) it is a bit of a funk, not knowing our funk.

4) are novelists taking note?
a) a ramshackle existance leads to a lack of tangible goals.

5) is it historical history, or novelistic history?
a) well, we refuse to do anything at all.

6) what about actual events?
a) in rare nervous moments, we retreat into ourselves.

7) but do you have responsibilities?
a) my technique is no-school and ineffective.

8] how do you fill a moral vacancy?
a) we are looking for someone to lead us.

9) is it affinity or infinity?
a) the sun is always setting somewhere.

0) have you read any great books?
a) you can only preserve the facade for so long.

the magic words

pushout: warning! the reader may experience turbulence. regret leads to regression.
burnout: a cold calculation. reset your mindset. playing zen riddles at full volume.
boredom: corruption settles from the top. dropclothes can not hide the rust marks.
restless: work more. honor bound, a glory hound. searching for the perfect chemical imbalance.
ambition: playing charades in the dark. swimming against the mainstream channel.
antidepressants: strike a minor chord. visualize your happily-ever-after.
payback: a square, a circle, a roundabout, a roustabout. the combustable engine as prototype.
tacklebox: ditch croaker serenade. line your cage with textbooks, it is still a cage.
deafness: a grueling meditation schedule. laminated and billfold sized.
futility: keep ahead of the sunshine. struggle to telegraph those you left behind.
redemption: a mixture of sand, soda ash, borax and limestone - set to care.
logic: fiber-optimism cables buried undersea. easily rattling the industrial complex mindset cages.
holdout: press shuffle and begin the menial. the 12th time you have started over.

ideology and fantasy pt. I
lost in my own reveries. tuning in on my own radio-ulna. shorn of jargon. abetting circumvention, awash in frission. multilevel hegemonic balances reducing the odds of single-dwelling principalities. decades of scrawling ended at dawn. the artificial/superficial ignition switch, levers, pulleys. uninteresting words, stale concepts. a tsunami of mediocrity leaves a sediment of failure.

ideology and fantasy pt. II
2] what could be simpler? 1] who could be friendlier? 3] where could you be happier? 5] how could you be saner? 4] when would it be better? 6] why would you be bitter?
we stumble off the curb, exhausted. the world has grown too complex. your friends have all formed independent blocs. you are an island in the chaos stream. that is what you are. defusing the landmine of your bliss is a longshot. the absurdity of your pavlovian logic is how hard you chase stillness. red light, green light, put on hold. you feed the cynicism and discontent while jotting notes in the margins of your encyclopedia of self-help books. symbols used sparingly should be called ciphers. your time is densely segmented. in your isolation there is a faint death rattle echo. a numbness creeps over you. a slight remove from the day-to-day. now you embrace a shadowy world of conspiracy. serendipity is your passport to a town of murder-junkies. always standing under street lights, shadowy shadows claiming your memory. you ask your friends for the palanquin and cry foul if they refuse. calculate the common factors when your desperation and the elemental chart that bears your name. what was I talking about? electromagnets were buried in your backyard, you could hear the workmen at night. torch the lignite, it may warm your soul. rattle your sabers, cages locked. a trifling thought bridges the gap between home and larceny. sines, cosines and tangents meld into trigonometric function when viewed in ratioed levels. calypso music refrains, you switch-out and head out for the floor. sweet smell of treacle and camphor. you jitter and sway - realizing that it would be easier with a partner.

ideologies & fantasies part 3
there is no part three.

ideology and fantasy pt. IV
Edgar Allan Poe and Pythagoros wrote lies, damned lies. they shared a bunch in county lock-up once. but no one overheard their conversations. Edgar would join a chain gang and Pythagoras the Lion's Club. but no one recorded their initiations. {low tide is best for dredging and for judging your chances at celebration} so despite a few oddities, Poe was best known for manipulation. in theory Pythagoras is preserved for edification. and thus was your education.

Throw inspiration.
I draw aside, to the bottom and the left. A case of this injury is not in my memory. Leave this material, it will fall and start on him. Therefore bring them to the bottom and to the left. You will learn that each case is a body. At once you will meet the man whom you have known. Make a wish for yourselves, and then you can see him. She is red like honey. Choose passages that fall downwards and to the left. Put your bitter memories into the principal case. Leave from the bottom and to the left. We will guide you with chart stations. Gather, if you believe that time is a construct. No friend could receive him after the telephone case. The man stood in the line behind him. It is not each case but was only to the last tomb. It is to you, the memory so old. What was it that I said that we arrived at that? If you eat with sticks, which of you will caution? The use of red areas proves us to be over eager. You will find no such tigers here; they are in the opening receiver program. You fall from the girls, a status case to gather them. Try the bottom, to the bottom and to the left. Inside the hideous thing stood the eon machine, I believed in him, until the girl took my sureness. When she does not fall a case of nothing arrives. She falls to the bottom, to the bottom and to the left. Indeed we are here, and we wait precisely to the left. I represent only this individual and my illustrations prove what he said. I did not say he breathed any differently. I paint what I represent to the bottom, to the bottom and to the left. She falls to the bottom and to the left. A standard manner of cases was used on his case. In the fall, this girl was fixing what she said. she had to. As I said to him and as she thinks. It is odd that she begins as a volume of cases. She fell to the bottom, falling to the bottom, and to the left. My hopes fall so quickly and strongly as you receive me.