Pastor Ginsberg

Sitting in this cafe attracted
to all the boys and girls even
the unattractive ones especially
them
Making poems that you will
read in the shower
paper intellectually soaked and
sudsy
Preaching unedited
sermons
even mom and pop will
think they're hip

This world is so beat
up and gone man
I hope you like my style

Pleasant Ave.

4 o'clock in the morning birthday decorations hangin in outer space, vacuum-black grotesque burlesque faded clown makeup kiss the bartender 4 o'clock in the morning the birds in the brambles sing scary diminished slowed down ragtime, I know those birds better than some people at the party, how their voices remind me half amiably that I'm out of time, out of the righttime when those still resembling humans pitch their ships and jawbones into the frozen paper, the thin flat smile of the beak split open slat v-ed 4 o'clock in the morning, 4:03, reminds me of the terror of other hours, the dismal fright always opening wider wider like sinking into the ocean chopping water as that sad look on the face of the Earth smiles with grief, this wrongtime of point of no return, feeling the apocalypse creep up on the species with hindsight, so even beauty becomes hard to bear - not only will it not last, but impending doom impregnates the sunflowers and such with a Never that pokes its head bulging under the skin, kicking around so the Never is ever so present. 4 o'clock in the morning reminds me of that choice I've made to be halfway between here and there now and then, shirtless all day under the Minneapolis mist. If I grew old and told a friend about 4 o'clock in the morning, he'd have reason to believe I'd lost it, such things are not preserved for more than a minute or two, and it's true, no one was around at 4am last night, 4am didn't happen, the birds made sure of that. I certainly wasn't there as I'd imagined, eating regurgitated berries and nuts and making love with the menstruating sunrise.

epigram [two]

If you're reading this, everything you deem obvious and not worth telling is actually profound and needs to be said.

symbiotic sight

he is a creature that adapted with the orbs

has eyes of another species, orbs that symbiotically attach to his face.

the orbs are really more of a plant life in their natural habitat, only when he chances upon them and makes his call do the orbs become animal, they are potentiated into a symbiotic sight organ, but one whose animal nature is completely latent until activated with his song sign.

they latch onto his throat and emit a poison, the poison is lethal to most, to him, but surviving the intoxication stimulates an ether between the nerve nets. the rhyzomic root culture of the orb is electrically intertwined with the web of his sensory system. is imbibed though painful to him,
endurance of the suffering conceives a new raw sense, the orbs have evolved into the fleshy organ of another.

he roams about.

this happens on land, where the orbs are barely visible (from up high they are very obvious), they hover just out of reach of him and those like him, so most mugs don't bother even if they can see their phosphene glow, dim and shortlived like a suicide bomber firefly, they are many, especially in the city, and you can spot them if you stand very still and stare into the sky, just out of reach, but he climbed a pole about the width of a tree, just in reach of about three, seized his chance and ended up with two young ones, not damaged from the snatch.

they would last a while as his eyes, until fading out to die.

Sad Man, Man Sad

Man with lawn is sad.

Man with lawn mover is very sad.

Man with clean teeth is sad.

Man with stained teeth is slightly sad.

Man with clothes is sad.

Man with no clothes is only slightly sad.

Man with pen is sad.

Man without pen is very sad.

Man with love is sad.

Man with no love is sad.

Man with hunger is sad.

Man with food is good.

Man with rights is sad.

Man with favors is smart.

Man with health is sad.

Man with disease is only slightly sad.

Man with car is sad.

Man with path is not sad.

Man with camera is sad.

Man with memory is very sad.

Man with lies is sad.

Man with honesty is very sad.

Man with money is sad.

Man with money is sad.

Man with woman is good-sad.

Man with no woman is mad.

Man with tool is happy.

Man with idea is even happier.

Man with words is sad.

Man with sentences is confused.

Man with pet is content.

Man with master is more content.

Man with fence is worried.

Man with no fence is scared.

Man with choice is afraid.

Man with no choice is a lie.

Man with lies is sad.

Man with honesty is condemned.

Man is sad, Sad is man.

epigram [one]

The savior gets his power from the life of the devil, 
and the devil from the life of the savior.

Nightmare Justice Pill

The time-release Nightmare Justice Pill includes crime narratives in semi-chronological sequences encoded within our patented chemical formulas. The sleeper will experience terrifying dreams with scenarios revolving around likely criminal intensions. These dream codes are customized to the client’s particular (conscious or subconscious) ill-intentioned fantasy, effectively deterring potential criminals from committing violence against the good of the people. Those considered within the hazardous community are all those capable of dreaming. Therefore, this technology should be implemented to all.

There is no way to say "I see that" without someone saying "I see you."

SNA

((found from the past))

05/05/10

Timeless angled flight-patterns mapped out in carbon emissions , greenlit house gas , calming sketches like gestalt therapy in the skies eyes and brain construct it to appear as a human face up there , huge publicity flashing in the sky , wreaths of fire domino effect into hell contained in heaven , the skies (there’s something between me and them) , a face , sparks of platinum light , misfiring neurons a symptom of ascension , no , no one is broken , our diseases crack the veil of concrete thises and thats , I’m sure you’ve had to question the reality of a tumor…. 18 wheelers in the sky leaving trails of cotton candy clouds , sparkling like heat lightening , might touch the ground, might not , but there’s no storm yet , just the billowy pink and blue face sparkling like its agelessly about to burst into flame , irises flared up like multi-faceted Suns smiling down perfumed acid rain down on Independence Day’s sightseers , plumes of boring white cigarette and marijuana smoke dissipating far too soon , looking up and letting the droplets fall into my eyes , looking up straight down , looking west straight east , soft-rubber tires rolling over our bodies like some ancient massage technique made marketable and decent , strange organic odors rising from sewage plants , hyper-evolved organism mimicking scent of trash (so the sifting machine wont mistake them for recyclables) , summer day smelling like monsoon night in the targeted jungle replica , teenagers swallowing vials of perfume intended to attract same-sex wild animals , Hollywood dumping megatons of magnification epoxy onto summerfun island , Disneyland modge-podging “starving kids in Africa” –

All on display in the polluted sky.

           A taxidermied ape stares blindly at a room of teacups. The teacups are tink stacked and piled tink and very still tink. 

           A mouse little mouse cannot hide his excitement scuttling through the tens of thousands of porcelain flowers, he holds his little paws up in the air and yells with frenzied rapture, EEEEeeeeeeeeeee!

           The tea-time china towers topsy-turvy and mountainous. It’s what every little mouse dreams about. Weaving playfully through the lips and arms fur rubbing quick and smooth across the cool milky glass, tink, tink, tink, there’s even ones to climb. 

           The stuffed ape stares with huge brown crystal balls at the teacups piled like forgotten loot. And the mouse little mouse gambols through his empire of old-time tableware and thinks, “From all the cupboards in all the world it’s all mine, Mine, MINE!”

           A squeak, a rustle, a fallen whisker, the simian’s never-blinking eyes reflect the white squares of the checkerboard kitchen. Blind, Blind, Blind, is the unheard whisper, Blind, Blind, Blind, is the thought of the non-thinker, Blind, Blind, Blind, is the lie of this simian trickster.

direct symbologies

"the lion represents (american) courage-"

said over small loudspeakers

to a trolley of deaf ringers

Frenchie and Grumpy have

good senses of humor

"-each star represents 100 dead-"

crackling and static

war data cut into stone

memorials never left to interpretation

"-the indian looking west-"

hot and cold reversed on

hotel faucet

"-represents-"

either a warning or a destiny

“-200 dead.”

scalded hands rubbed skinless

from handshakes with suits

"-more than ____ dead-"

blank dead

the statue's are erected

either for glory or a final caveat

looking west straight down

"-old (white) man looking east-"

teary eyed over simple meaning

cut and drying out in the wind

none open to interpretation

Con. Coyote. Bull Ring Clown.

music is bullshit. tricks and catches, a scam, false stops and starts, a bungle, full of ingenuine positive-reinforcements. fade in, fade out. making believe existence is powerful, enchanted, knowable. fucking sing me to sleep, you pulchritudinous everpotent placebo. stick your deft fingers in my heart and make little changes in spacing. swell, release. like the jar of water hung tantalizingly in front of the camel I walk out into the desert until the water spills or just vanishes into thin air and my spirit with it. Then the next track plays so I do it all over again. I always come back to you, you sneaky little whore. As if the fact that you're intangible, that you have nothing to physically grasp, as if that weren't enough to warn me you don't really exist. Con. Coyote. Bull Ring Clown. since you came I haven't once held my feet firmly to the ground. but i still love you.

good memory

mechanical efficiency is largely wasteful.
the motion of your extremities is the healthiest quality.

If you make something yourself, your quality of life improves. Use your hands to make food. eat it. consume what has emerged, carry a gun and eat the bullets, carry a gun and your eating bullets, garglin’ bullets. a factory making giant slabs of broth or the lover making broth cubes in the kitchen, tell me, Who can feed more? Share your pain in the molten sex organism living downstairs under the floor boards only a few inches below the soles sometimes rising back into the stomache your sore clay mixed with his-sore-her-sore clay mixed and slightly festering like soft bugs, consume what has emerged, cuz it wont last long before a new thought comes along, red altar red red red alert red alert red alert different red voice red alert red alert enterprise red alert at work red altert in the car red alert inspection red alert inspredection alert good night red alert life is not merely a red dream alert data red alert daddy red alert read alert lights off red alert (Ok, birthyday cake… I absolutely dispise it, why waste such good frosting?). Use your hands to adore something – if it is in your hands, it is yours, you possess it as much as anyone could poses anything, even putting small things in your blood is the same, focus your entire being on the texture of a rock you find in the toy box amongst funny money and a book with a picture of a dog on the cover.

Skull Cancer.

Your head

changing dimensions

Possessing the rock

in side of the rock

From the past kicked

it along the side of the road with a play buddy kicked it all the way home and then i saw me pick it up and bring it inside, thought it was a good memory, the rock, or just a nice dirty brown rock, anyway I kept it in this toy box and its still there today.

census

Super sonic quagmire abundances of greenlit paper, church in the attic, paper, church, in the attic, church attic, still better than the standard florescent room, abundance of greenlit papers, stacked white boxes, sparkling light shining through ersatz furniture, blocks of tinted plate glass, whats the word greenlit paper whats the name for it, shades of purple sun, whats the word for it

Stainglass, fake.

Why decorate a school like a church? Teacher meetings in fabricated steeple, no-fire fireplace, fold out chairs, fill in the blanks of light blocks of light, fill in the blanks of light with all upper case capital letters so the machine can read it, get a new one if you contaminate this one, your name, window of sun, green, in the little white boxes, digits of your number, no slash through the Øs, unpunctuated.

This guy isn’t very funny. I can make up funny things about him – but he’s not funny sitting askew under the arc, the arc separating two fake rooms in the fake attic church, the high school kids didn’t know their building even had a 6^th floor, a church in the attic where federal employees sit and receive training on how to get personal information from people The Federal Bureau of Information is it? Investigation? I’m pretty sure I work for the Information office, but the finger printing pallet had FBI written on it in small bluelit letters… tho I could have this all wrong – write your name in the sparkling boxes of light all upper case, no serif on the J, but serifs on the I, like in me, Ian, that’s how I write it, right now I am writing my name Ian with serifs, now put that bottomdown in your folder. And take your time getting home, you’ll get paid for travel.

canada

GPS routing past junk yards, wind energy, in another car you could feel the wind, more snow in piles, even though it’s been warm outside. Eating at the Hilltop Café soon. Don’t be abstract, you have time for that later.

Transgressions into effortlessness, there’s the swans dippin their heads in the water, having to love your disease before you can love other people, yourself is another, vast equations based on contingencies and exceptions, ;yielding pockets of ?question, rolling tongue in song, made up little half melodies breaking into jibber jabber, not cloudy all day, breaking into home home on the range something something into a’s and e’s I’s and us and sometimes whys, speaking bastard english, radio suddenly on, surfing static, rim shot pop standards, visions of unlivable future, wearing sunglasses at night, visions of visions, hypermontage, death country radio, radio songs with no discernable instruments, chorus heavily washed, separated fidelities mashed back together to appear cacophonous, paper beats, the 666^th mile town, Drink Water, Saskatchewan, let’s toast to the future, a down-the-road where everyone has become too individualistic, then we won’t agree on what’s real and what's not and therefore nothing is, colors, meanings of words, all different so they float in the psyche like turquoise rock flour floating in the glacial river, turquoise currents winding through snow capped mountains in Banff the onamonapoetic vacation spot, hedgers hegemony, fake windows painted on the sides of foreclosed buildings, here comes the train hauling scrapes of metal and wire, cable, probably some car parts in there thinking of Dan’s fastbook that I should have read now he’s gone, I’ll never see him again or anyone, they’re all gone, disappeared into the Plains or somewhere in South America, gone bye-bye (I’ve found a way to journal without falling back on the play-by-play doldrums of a crappy diary he-called-she-called) railroad tie piles along canada HW39 on the way to North Dakota, except Doug, he’s gone, ironic, he’s not gone, he’s the gone who stayed stayed even closer than I, and yet he’s still far away in a way I never thought my friends would be, so Reisha says my life will change big in the next year or two, my judgmental part leave some part of me behind, just like daddy packing up in the morning before everyone wakes up and leaving, but if I really think about it I don’t think this will happen because im going to be a rock star or at least im finally giving it a real try and that means more bars and parties. Drink Water.

Take it lightly

Take it lightly, on the tip of the tongue gradually tracking wheels on rolling cement, odd time signatures replete squandered upset frequently discarding small plastic boxes, white elephants, which patch are the Christmas trees? Greater than before, 18 wheeler, more space to move in to fill up to expand to contain, closed through opening.

I try to get into people where they are closed and scared and open them up. Self doubt, conceit, fear, what if, gone I don’t want to see you limit, anything day book, right in a book everyday in someone elses book many places at once so its impossible to ever reconcile, compile, synthesize, that way a synthesis is not scary, just an ideal and writing becomes a practice like running, were you always warm up before a jaunt, jot, jingle, joint – living spilt lives and only telling the Earth people the good things about your getaway, there’s always scandal at vacation spots, affairs, robberies, rape, love at first sight re re rerererererererereunrequited.

Usually I’m afraid I won’t remember everything. I could loose something good, or I could make something better, edit, plan out, logicize… but fuck it, loose everything, remember nothing.

Eat to write create forget

Install artifacts everywhere both false and true

Mystify history

Last long care, eternal acceptance of loss, How you wrote when you were 23, 31, dead

How you gripped the pen, thinking how the word “the” came from a dead person some friend of a friend.

Vegetarian by 7 degrees of Kevin Bacon

Eat
sleep

Lie

Down

Bow before Before, something to forget (forgotten)