"towards a radical abstruseness"
(september-october 2021)
i. commas
[cast on]
hall fell still
forget clinical: this droning skateboard is to wordless poetry the
mosquito bite to death by distance. it’s painted on.
it broadened too deep.
hall festival: From the Southeast side of the block,
I put. there is a seriousness of it, a pin
from the fleetingless that governs the expression of
symbols, a - what scale! - certain limiting factor with
regard to grandness of concept and shoving of push—
is cutting the end a radical act? if you leave
unsaid the process [chain 2] of meaning you may slip into
a brilliant performance. wides. imagine.
And so, the battle raged between robins’ meanings [chain 2] and the search for answers
to functioning social behaviour [leave unfastened]
fc: the word
is “meticulous.” yours is a jointed process, head
moving like an owl’s, but the outcome is by your own
terms and not by revolution or conceptual
art. do you see the very twist coming?
hf: sparsify
This is the hour of scrambling. I give you format and it becomes all.
Soon, Aeneas tries his hand at the pottery wheel.
ii. dual-considered (cross with red circle)
A. “A Review of the Previous Hour of Fine Poetry”
F.C.
me and my friends can gain so much just by thinking.
it is 8-30 pm across the highway.
me and my friends go about our days.
you have a small idea.
you want to follow the extent of flashlit symbols into solidified concrete.
you live in crowds and crowd in lives and think sulphuric impressionisms of a new,
carefully implications-ridden but truly wilting blossom can take precedence over
the connection of shaded rooms.
you think too hard, and take too long to cast some long shadow of iceblink epiphany.
you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and wish you didn’t understand.
there is, worlds, beyond that—
you talk a lot about him but don’t ever read his villanelles.
there is matter decomposing and its love, diffusing,
and when i use the broom you, flame,
wisp away
B. Eastern Redbud Study No. 2
My right shoulder is the one with the bag, and this is how the world is. how strange
for school places and life places to be the same! how strange is symmetry in nature,
and how the wind melts your chest. and how a re-circled “losing my taste for follow-
ing up” realized the disconnection of separate events.
diane, it’s three twenty seven pm.
oh so much more wonderful to remove the “granted,” or
you could release me
why did not this trouble me by the bluebell?
such a brief step
such a long endeavour
iii. two events, in reverse order
stake- removal of stake
plais- ungrateful for relation
tage- miscommunication is priceless, ambered. ask brün.
playce- time moves at a normal rate
traces- faults to relations
precedenke- transactionitive (tented)
why it’s not nothing
why birds suddenly appear
we chip off the block
my time fits me well
studies outside the field show
nothing’s ever wrong
killed a mosquito at 4:07pm on the dime, no the map means nothing.
i planned the room around it.
~
abstract:
glistling and bristening, my thoughts occupy the identity of my here and there’s self
or the completed destruction of the second through distance, like the last rows of
ordered letters. this one thing morphs into the other. naturally i concern myself
with layers and levels.
methods:
here, love, is where i will eat a bumpy red fruit and brush
shoulders with what is at once you and will soon be your me-
mory,
and by the steps of your this we would idly scan four for-leafed
c lovers,
and you'd say i proved out meaningness through vested thursdays:
this folds
iv. essay about new york
Early in the morning of october first I began writing a review of the 2004 film
“mind game” in iambic pentameter and in this I discussed the poetry-zooming /
shooting - ephemerality counterpoint taking constant place in its non-structure
and structure as to clear the distance between myself and it. editing is not
the removal of intimacy, though, only the creation of collage, and here I will
flash forward initially to a core. there instead is a tug of war. indeed, when
you drift the waiting it dashes the monet-or-un-ravel-ness of it, it s——
Early in the morning of october second my walls flashed with a flickering red
light when i came back in from the cold half-hugs to greet you.tell all yr bud-
dies that it ain't no drag. i feel the weight of eyes, here, along the fear of
being liked or separate fear of liking when he says it coughing, and gestures
that you do this piecewise, but it’s only what’s opportune. so here’s to trust.——
Not very late into the night of october second i heard the sentence “this will
be my last reincarnation” and reached from night sky spiderwebs toward a self
from earlier this evening who would love to leave the voicemail that meaning
constitutes pleasure. and i was on the missed exit to “everything is a result
of meaning” by the time we got to silence is sexy. and i was approaching
“everything is a satire when overmeaninged” when ray noble opened a gate to so-
mething like Ethnographies Of The Halloween Cyph. these hold importance.
Early in the morning of october third i tied them together in the wrong-side-of
-the-extra-meaning-layer stage play of the punk show and claimed i need mail.
mark. there is a fogginess inherent to the unstructuring of life, though, added
to by the possibly imagined fogginess of routine constellation - mapping, and
when these pair with the private-being-performance of a dormitory i have some-
thing of a baptism by ignored meaning. mark. this is an unlonely depression.
i trust myself to perform; action. mark. and not even i can tell now. ——
even imitations prophetic miss the humour, to point three. you can tell since i
think the things around me are governed by a completely impossible set of laws
of physics, and since that was all i needed to establish. so maybe everything
needs to have individual poetic meaning before i can approach a grand spinozan
type one. still think drugs are cool?
Late in the morning of october ninth - though hushed still - i listened for the
third time to an audio message with the gesture of “love is more than god can
ever be”, the pair of eyes that would live on me world-like preoccupied with
some exhale of wet train windows, and got dressed for nobody. i have changed my
name so often.——
&c &i pirouette through the room while the pot boils for my 7pm cup of instant
coffee. i forgot my day.
v. towards a radical abstruseness (october ninth)
we’re gonna be thinking about an image, stitching, and collaging. the experience that gets
functionally erased stays ever useful, these words were old.
it is at the end of a strange route, shivering from fall skies at hannah arendt’s grave,
that i begin to trust myself. some sides are upper than others. the myopic view is an exterior
one and i’m just getting home.
i could profess that i have one friend concerned with the connectedness of opposite feelings
and another with the diffusal of love as an afterlife and i do say my realm is the alienated
interpretation of other selves’ poetry (i.e. meanings), although spurred by a certain contempt
for the functionality. this would not account for everlasts on the topsheet, or my love of
saint john’s melodramatic credit sequences.
THE INTERVIEW
i have an extraordinary sense for when I have dropped
something, but am lousy at picking it up.
I UNDERSTAND.
Remember not everything has to be tied together.
in telescoping i’ve resolved to a blank of no stakes.
if i turn on the string lights will you show me your
next face?
you didn’t used to have to tell yourself so many things.
(is it of the sea?)
8:55 or blushing trees
one soft drink in the east village
CLOSING DAY
you never see it, but it feels like a crisis.
i care not to have a task to hand or a heart to heart.
you accepted it only after you have more than a full
film. the uprooting of boundaries left bare a constant
grasping rather than any sort of leaning. l’chaim.