intervallic

[4-23-2011]

idea for a writing project:

intervallic signal to noise. a very high ratio. 1:16, maybe. some very meaningful, dense sentences or ideas, followed by lots of noise; glossolaliac rambling, phonetic hip-hoppery, meant to act as knotted static between more familiar, structured language.

example:

[opening]
Do you ever think about the orgasm that caused your subsequent birth? Trals flammit, he grayed at sides, followed by brim pyre, ay-ching at his back, bend routine enough to slide by, quasart those things—whole—in the skyze. i cun ask you to bleeve me, but only to here, me, i’m talking to you remember? Don’t let that fuzz distract you… all… from… that… conundrumt up a dream on his swim or swam out past rim or dam what water gave whut have your stall? Gates swutter closed like london mall; reverb-achoo with paris-lolls, swallow upside down sandwich peanut balls, bread-white flavor feats up against the walls.

I ask, why must i do this to myself, i tell: you whilst change ‘t all. Order of overdue spam, tell my own what i should’ve mastered paul, “dominick, your middle here; what so long, where so been? aint you got no care of ‘t all? What’s this repetitsh i speak? is it that small? someone ask’d you earlier, ‘are you going to be creative?’ well well well well well well Well—creative its are just destructive fuzz, rendered backwards in spiral tries.”

trust not !trust —fetch levers or levels of binary bevels; artisan algos i have mentioned what weather, my, we’re having with fraying raveled endeavors, poorish borish mind i have wroughten in gallows.

———–you come out of it. you’re alive, gasping. no: you’re gasping. gasping. … gasping…

because the breathing space reclined, redesigned your reactional subliminal bodymind. ohhhhhneveryoueverhavetreadonafeathersocourtsiedsopleasured

the red underline of the spell-checker is a conglomerate helper that relieve your communes to others, but also points out your neologs—they’re off-radar enough to claim tether: spin them yet, they may better and better and better. put them together. put them wherever. put them aghast atop your Seussian leatherbound lectures.

sick static

part 2: may 12 2011:

semantic static, tic-toc’ing its way into my past-present. its static?! it’s(sic) static! statis phases patiently promulgating latent mazes of intelligent wonder logic—~~~> great grazes upon verdant carafes of tannin sippage; tumble down into bouts of mended sewage for lack of gutter habits. pretend i’ve known the tragic, the tragic; come, medic, mediate my laugh magic. i don’t do quite so well in this now catalogued angst fuck-bust; earth is a pile of fascicratic war savage, is, be, we, you, me… queasy n’ free?


[this is about existing, that’s all.]

pockets’ days

===

my pocket has tangled itself, wrapped around, strangling its contents. how it has gotten this way—without the influence of amusement park admission to the washing machine—is beyond me and beyond bilateral categorical means of storing my items temporarily while out, about, and on top of most streets around town. i want entry with a hand, to silence a phone that is trying to tell me something. i’m trying to tell it to stop telling me something, of which it has ceased trying and has now accomplished. alarm vibrate that will remind me things i wish to remember. a game against time, real-time hybrid turn-based, tick discrete elements by; i’m on top of the situation, if only i could wrangle my pockets. the other one is less troublesome, but i expect it, if having the chance, will tumble about papers with words and numbers on them, reminding me with its slightly warmer inner temperature that yes, better in there than on the ground. i stop what i’m doing: the navigation; the head turns for anti-car/bus/train collisions; the enjoyed voluntary breathing of air, seeing of sights, feeling of footsteps on solids; calm meditation on my favored paths in my new neighborhood in my new city; and use my knowledge of mechanics to unfurl. i hit big red stop on sleek black device—it acquiesces. i return to convenience store, under cover of day clouds, to retrieve bargained drugs from man behind counter—i got to spend non-consecutive phone-moments with people, lengthy waits, convincing them that yes, i am paying for a service and you like me, your customer, don’t you? you want to help me take the steps that will lead to other steps and steps on the ground for me to meet with others that will make me a healthier version of myself; that is, if i pay more money and time to those that are in positions of allowing it. it’s fine: i have a bag and another bag with other things from other moments that day, with items held outside of bag(s) for the better to carry them with. it is time to return to space within walls within other walls, for the purpose of daily activities that would prefer to be done in the nighttime.

===