Wednesday, April 15, 2015


I, in prior post, poem, failed-post maybe almost ok poem, wrote "twat."  I like the sound; but I hate the meaning.  If this and other epithets vanished, I would not rally for their recovery.  I like restraints, so excising words from English strikes me as lovey not censorial.  I adore syntax and this gets me into trouble: I didn't/don't mean twat, or not in any comprehensive way; it emerged out of a desire to write, write basically anything, write a logic that has no life outside of itself, but if so then I should be doing Zaum (sp?) not American vernacular.  I am cool with the letter T, and W, and A, and T, but not when they're turned word.  Stupid word.  And even worse as acronym.  It's kind of terrible how writing not meaning is what grabs me most.  As if writing has no meaning even when none is intended.  And then there's the Heterosexuality claim.  I do believe that, do mean it.  But I also mean this: if the world suddenly turned Gay as Gay as Gay as can be, the issue of female having dubious cultural status would not disappear.  Heterosexuality is everyone's problem--which isn't to state one has to be aware of this--and I don't imagine any one demographic could lay claim to solution.  I hope one year I figure out how to pull off lucid prose.  I suspect it will be when I stop being me.     

It's Been A While--And This Post Is No Reward

There was a rat, there was and there was.  Rat was and was rat there or ranger.  Was range present or at a distant ridge.  Was and was and was and passive.  Without voice.  Was voice rangy yes no maybe more of that pastoral tune would do but not now nor then and Zen zeroed out in ginger.  Who do you want to fuck Ginger or Mary Ann or do you want to marry her and her who is she.  She is the point.  He is the Doberman thus sun comes between.  Day after day divided by bray brings us away from fucking and fucking brings the world right here to this spot this hot plot of panders.   Words come so slowly.  Passive reigns.  Regicide passes out on the sidewalk.  Twice then thrice then twat.   As long as there’s Heterosexuality misogyny cannot be wiped off or out and out of this box there’s jack.  Heterosexuality cannot be disposed of unless the concept of human is tossed out the tenth floor window.  Which is good.  Without it there’d be nothing to look at.  Look at him.  Strip that grin.  Those clothes.  Lasso his cock.  Tell it how it is.  Regis is fucking a babe named Leandra.  His contract has turned a blind eye.  The eyes of this spider are beside her.  Every room romanticizes bestiary.  Without rhetoric what could writing do than be dull as some dullard but then he’s dead and in an uncanny position.  I’m enthralled.  Dead men rock.  Men are like geology as seen through a shattered mirror.  Men are and passivity is and these two nodes are congruent.  These words are inspired by Ariana Reines even as they bear do I mean bare no close connection.  I wish this could pass as prose.  It can’t and I can’t and can’t is and is at times passive but who cares who cares who cares not even I do though I don’t matter but oh you are mega.