enigma puzzle play

[this poem is a bit about a dream, a bit about a reality]

enigma puzzle play
dream in stained-glass terms;
what I got was hours of complex rambles
fumbling through jewel’d drawers
in search of that oh little something more

do I force her here n’ onto this page, this space?
to amend a love that I beneath-the-surface hate?
prepend my end with a blow—
with obvious traits
to be off with it! to halve a problem, stir it with quixotic confusion
and then let it bake
will the frosting lure onto stage
bits of imagery that will hide mournful tastes?

exeunt preludes, ye errands are afforded!
let’s start this middle at a blissful rate:
streamed staircases => ornamented cabinetted contrivances => bit-crushed side-sampled data flakes
from my memory’s mind,
child’s tries,
topiaried menace bites,
pysch-whirl spikes of close-your-eyes dys-paradise

i’m lost in here, (in here), ((in here))—i’m lost in whatever this here be.
its grey and blue cold stone carved walls, a spacial puzzle crafted by merciless Celctic burdened bards.
i loop beat myself with anxieties in threes,
search fail repeat

perma-feedback thorn-barbs confuse my innocences,
i am dronelike dead fried,
deep hurt then dried,
with drips of cold spark dew bulbs, til i nullify my neutral eyes,
fall back up the tunnel with worse-than-wrong cries…]

what I make of it all, lest you think it fake, is a real spindle of tragic yet trivial fare;
this burden is [two-second breath of medium depth] fair
—this of which i’m so lately aware—
yet now it’s a lesson left on a page ready to file back in rotational space,
back inside, inside, inside…
there are still happened moments inset in there, that there of mine,
constructed, found, redacted, frowned,
intertwined with better bits, those better bits, my better bits…

impasto interlude #1

first, heavily layer on the auger-hollowed aubergine. this is the base needed and requested for this particular project. if done right, this background will disgust to the point where each floating dollop of paint catches the eye as pin-fine relief and pleasure; the optic nerve should receive a primary buff of star-fuzz, rotating scrubber encyclical motion pads, expertly nano-programmed with the finest artisan algorithms. this will provide the recipient with forever-altered associations and a classical conditioning response to the used hues.

next comes the mescaline blue; its job is to only summon itself and provide unlawful neon piercings. it doesn’t even look at the nearby colors. it doesn’t need to.

albedo white is wholly next. it will have citrus-warm temperature still lingering underneath its brighter flecks. this is to provide contrast to the aforementioned blue; they are different realms, and will only correspond in the viewer’s brain-driven eyes. it will, as researched in trial ch#ff8000-x53, be a firm handle and flip-switch to remind the viewer how bright things can be.

finally comes the penultimate and the ultimate—necessarily in that order—patina blue-green and grape glaucous. they act as dampening fields for mortal observers; eyes will thank these colors (per a sanctioned interfacial exchange) later in old-age retirement. they will look of an unnatural paint substance, and will make the resulting canvas either more or less surreal, depending on previous experience and nature of the viewer’s philosophical character.


rowdy triangles,
	collapsed mangle of tree vibrationals
lapse in sensory valvalidity
	reduced to grandiosity through express mind mentality
up and down and prepositionally around
	who cares about sound when these images are around!
waves of noise might as well drop dead to the ground
	useless for rendered stasis so profound and gained and
	found and found and found.
ultimate surrender may be preferable
	to forever lending away the visionary’s splendor...

July 2010 5:37 AM

bibio loops sputtering their way into my head

walking on walking on so many streets with their materials, treating me to themselves

camera ops, photo splotches never to be canonized in film, but to rest within my brain bits, waiting for soup to be stirred or souflet’d or merangued into being.

the reinforcement of me recognizing my self as an artist, or at least one in the disposition of an artist: the true artist follows through, or does so passionately, with a fiery fire cavalcade of creativity and emotion and intent. those accidents that are everywhere! unintended, splendid, far-reaching implicated in the moments of…

all the fuzz comes in, jet flying outside above, competes with yawn seizures and nervous tongue swabs for corned teeth, hunger piped through enzymes, interpreted through stems, relayed to agents, without vision’s lens–a separate sense! of just a yum, and mmm, a slurp, a hrmm, friend of ole’, factioned with your, out of a shoppe, we hope to hop, with gullivers filled, with brand new slop. da duh da duh da da da da duh; on the streets sir, keep it on the street! “sirree,” don’t y’ mean? ohh, wut of it? make it to be a purty past-time, eh? labeled with recognizable kwalities, ehh?

ok, acceptance, capping coalescing desires with pertinent, immediate musts. and… scene.

a bit untitled


soon he began his strategies for neon propagation
left lended errands inside their place of business, crock’d door open (feel swinging open sign hit, bounce),
sucked in wet rain drops propped dense in gravel’s tarry stench
gave off mini worlds of curved blur, punched swirls
they ended nearby heat warms through endothermic transforms
they proved their elemental worth now
he stepped in between their rather puddly gather swarms,
to chagrin of grinning street pores,
keeping dry rather worn sneakers
worn about his featured feet, meeting land rather swinging now
touched pairs, down grooved stairs, to alleys rich in mason wars
competing as human lairs for human affairs,
pushed in after turning door entry nameless placeless off-map
time to bend beams of noble novelness, blasting apart darkness fondness,
it’s better in here with gaseous excess
he’ll build and curve with nocturnal progress.