Category Archives: poetry


[poetry] winter streams

P1140804.jpg

Yes, New York City. This time of years.

I can’t stay in my room that passes for rent.
Somehow I’m nothing without the trouble of garbage and the falling of heroes and the yelling of subways.
High lines and low times and fractured dreams and hated schemes.

P1140774.jpg

Ravens in flight point the way to survive
filters for a global consciousness.
End of days is always starting.
Youth is neverending tiger manifestos –
quotations further than the green line of manic depressions and headless
obsessions and the one thing that left
impressions on the digressions of assiduous treaties.
Like an Alamo or a dollar bill.

dog. gone. snow.

Vulgarity and virginity
humility and hucksterism.
Gladiators and endless war.
Grateful and
led thankless
by The Dead.

“Friction and crunch!” go the cytoplastic rainmaker rewards
for “Follow me I’ll follow you.”
Float in space. You’re riding with us.

"the signs of paradox" coffee table book

We’ll hit the end of town and turn around and hit the end of town and turn around and hit the end of town and turn around
until you take heed of our dragon wings
and that we are never bored,
or all that detatched / no matter how much
we complain New York City needs
street signs to ‘Caution: Nature.’

for gregory corso

05 jan 2011 12:38a; 02 march 2011 11:21p


[dispatch] d0.0v3r 211016.1757

21102016.1757
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// BernBlaster Ring-0 Exploit

March 02, 2016 at 05:19PM
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// Sy5t3mP4tch2
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$rogue = ($anonymity + $control) * $vectors

function findMrRobot()
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February 18, 2016

February 18, 2016 at 10:20AM
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Sy5t3mP4tch1


[words] since i heard the sun

04 july 2015

It’s been a long time since
I heard the sun
Call my name
It’s been a long time
since
I was supposed to
Find my way
Since
I felt needed
Slept through the night
Saw any form of
promised land

moon shot 092715a

Dreams take me high
And leave me lovely
(but) also falling
[terrified]
judged outside
turned inside
At the back door
On a front line

sky runs red
darkness visible
Blood runs red
empty streets

sunset brooklyn 092215b

It’s been a long time
since
I heard the sun
call my name
It’s been a long time
since
I could find
my way

you can still be a refugee
in a place you cannot escape
dissolve into a clandestino
with nowhere to go

backyard sunset 06252015a

Don’t fall silent now
You are not forgotten ones
Chasing rays
Crying for the sun
To fight the war inside


people now fear loneliness

empire (peaceful) state

people [now] fear loneliness
more than
they want truth,
[and]
more
than
they feel hell.

[then]
we,
in a place beyond time.
in the company of love,
we live outside the li|n|es.

we,
who don’t fear dark,
you
[into]
me,

we know the moon
skies full of chariots,
unafraid, [again,]
we taunt the sun when it fakes.
[and again]
we could turn this world
towards love
if it would only listen.


five

if you had
five left,
would
you

count
them
down?


writing seeing

writing without photographs,
evolution’s parallel selection
to writing with
photographic memories,
:
the dotted lines between
:
imagination,
the sole (soul) hideout
halfway safe house
for
picturing
without pictures
:
// the fear of writing before seeing
// the legacy of our age
:
System.NullException
at “RECALL.[EVENT]”:
Function Memory() expects parameter
‘Pictures.External’ which was not supplied


I Could Not Record Today

living-room-corner-09162008-2

I could not record today.
My studio is not soundproof
enough for a city daytime.
Contractors hired by an aspirational
Brooklyn property developer
stamp rumblefooted underpinnings
for a cantilevered condo to be
four times the size of the
sixty year old
two family the developer
demolished a month ago.
The mufflebooms travel
into my rear office studio,
up through my mic stand,
from the sub strata.

On the front side of my apartment,
the back of a post office, across the street.
The carriers often shout at each other
in the loading dock
while jumping
on and off their trucks.
One of them, a man with birdtones,
sings arias from Norma.
As a mechanical gate opens and
closes to let the trucks
in and out, his tenor lends
the gate a mournful movement.

Night will bring challenge, too.
The Bingo Hall on 5th Avenue allows patrons
access to its rear alley abutting
the northern border of my apartment complex.
The alleyway is a de facto back lounge
where winner inksters come out to smoke
and make on-a-lucky-streak joyouts.
The players on losing tails fall off
towards the streetside
exit of the alleyway
and smoke in silence,
as passing headlights echo through
the flickering alleyway’s security gate.

Tomorrow I’m going to mail holiday packages
too long sitting on my dining room table.
I look at the gifts meant to be given,
gifts that people have
no idea they are going to receive.
Procrastination self-inflicts purgatories
between loneliness and connection,
but today I will exorcise this unquiet
into a happy suspension,
as when your partner isn’t talking, and you hear
the soft rustle of a newspaper
and a sweater against a sofa…
things that mean everything,
that you don’t notice,
until you are standing still
or cannot record.


beauty reflection 0623a

beauty
never fades.
beauty fades
all else.


The Hinrinson (Disquiet0076-dreamsound)

More on this 76th Disquiet Junto project:
http://disquiet.com/2013/06/13/disquiet0076-dreamsound/

More details on the Disquiet Junto at:
http://soundcloud.com/groups/disquiet-junto

STORY:

I’m in Detroit. Or what I think is Detroit. Wandering around in the rain. I’m in town to play a show and I can’t sleep. Neon lights abandoned Main Street. Restaurants and artist studios nestled between broken glass windows and crumbling bricks. Harbinger or fossil? Hard to tell.

I pass a shaky-looking guy on the street.

“I’m looking for Hinrinson’s,” I say to him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just walk up the hill, take the right fork and it’ll be right there on your left.”
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Big Search

catching the cctv catching me #SemioticSatisfaction, ii

pulled in quicksand
big search land
extended waves
and
your head
expands


// your highest bookmark
an endless dead link dead letter
office file purveyor
of junk sponsors
of the obvious.

Untitled

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Adam Had This Idea

Adam had this idea after we bought
our guitars on the beach
to do a record called
Music From Dave’s Couch.
We would release it only on vinyl.
Maybe only press 14 copies.
Now, Adam had never seen my couch
when he suggested all this.
He just knew we could make
a perfect cult record
from a couch.

The line between cult
and not cult
(to me)
is always blurry.
People need a life system.
They want to feel plugged in but look tuned out.
“Music From Dave’s Couch” would play into that.
Your own private show.
With Adam and Dave.
From a couch.

An interaction between 2 artists.
Unfiltered. Unobstructed. Recorded.
I might – might – even use my real name,
b/c sometimes it’s about yourself,
not your selves.
Sometimes you need to cut your selfloose,
cut all the baggage,
and just record a record.
With a friend.
From a couch.

[I will jump a train anytime I can
Maybe one will take me home]


Today I am Not Turning On The Radio


last night it was joe frank with Karma – Part 6.
if you want to make the cupcake from the song, just know that the cupcake is not the serving suggestion pictured on the Addavanilla package. the picture looks like a cupcake but it’s actually a fire-roasted scorpion with addavanilla frosting. The cupcake, though it’s no Sugar Sweet Sunshine, is amazing, but the scorpion dish, while tough to duplicate, is well worth wrestling with the Easy Bake for the protein alone.

Today I am not turning on the radio
All the talk is right vs black and wrong vs white
I’m gonna head out into the neighborhood
I’m gonna see some friends
I’m going to try to live beyond every mistake

I am not going to fall in love today
I don’t feel like saving a tree today
I refuse to be a ritual

Jellyfish come to mind
In winter
Something about swarming wet snow
The cold of a thousand needles
Poison slowly breaking synapses
To the jellyfish, it’s like a peaceful drift
Through an addavan cupcake

To write in silence is impossible
Even with the radio off
The Internet is sitting in a window
Behind the window in which I write
I don’t have a typewriter
Or enough paper
To write off grid today

So I’m going to enjoy my addavan cupcake
With its rainbow sprinkle arpeggio
And moist chorus filling

Today I am not turning on the radio
That’s What Adam Green Would Do (WWAGD?)
I’m gonna head out into the neighborhood
I’m gonna see some friends


Function Future

Function Future
USING GOLDEN ARCH TO PITCH TENT
Whole world is landfill
tunnelers
How all that’s left over will be
used…

Synthetic credit
SUB-ATOMIC SOUL
plutonium phone for a promotion
there were cost controls
It was gonna be the best year ever

MYSTERY IS AN INVENTION
(OF)
DISPOSABLE
I
LOVE
YOUS


Riot My Earthman!

Riot My Earthman!

So, let me get this straight, the moment we reach the point we can measure things, we get to witness the destruction of everything?

Yes, you’re simply helpless in the face of forces that large.

So, seriously, what exactly are we supposed to

do?…

do?…

do?…

do?…

do?…

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