Psycho Tic React Shuns and The Carb Or Ate her Dung
Lesters openess to language slip sliding over itself, and finding what is there, became a part of my Texas.
Finding my Yo Yo
Finding my yoyo boohoo you — but stake out a joy in it now too, let its irrepressibility, be a compulsion that was subjective as hell as a tottering scared brittle fiery little dwarf, who pisses rainbows out of came a lot, its bootie taken up by bees, stolen from a strange beautiful tyranny of time than rained defiance.
Up to Learning verbs in Portuguese.
Had to find the allowance, not just through its grief. Its weight as a miracle to draw me out but also a burden — burdens in religion are conditioned as grace, not just as sacrificial but also fucking existential where religion as the mythic, slides up against spirit and philosophy where kicks balls through sacrificial virgins (jesus is a sacrificial virgin… born from a god fuck) of mysticism that is vital and rebellious.
Spirit is a berry berry big word in Philosophy too, not just native religion here where its huge. Cross weave philosophy spirit with native spirit before the “crack” reading Burroughs bleeds deformed bunnies like a Kills dump.
Before modern philosophy in between the wars and chewing on hops with Burroughs and Wittgenstein. And the uncertainty principality. Wittgenstein and uncertainty is a great read. Tries to make a mixy out to probability theory. Yeah. For some numbers name the numberline from here to infinities.
Which is actually quite beautiful.
Unfortunate or no — Animal liaison is huge for me. Sure eating bugs. But bugs are lightening, bugs are lightening bugs, bugs get zapped around zapper lamps. America is a land of cartoon caretakers.
The thing is, when as. akid, you are not just talking to animals but the meta physics goes through process to become them and its a holy escape from one nature to another…
Transitional metaphor in native stories gorgeous. Tho, there are lots of killing for food and tricksters and death always running along side.
Tri Fly Cry Oh My
Thought I was cut in two, then 3 then more. A cut center line showed up teen time. It was street. Filing in both directions. Gemini crackers.
Phil begets sci. And math. Math tingles as an operative in the flux. Took on stats and humanities in school as a way to travel. And fuck. But Joyce intruded, after Paris. Still do Joyce meetings in the tingle!
And religion steals back from Philo. Monks and scientists. Monkers were scientists. And big Inksters. Some Christian Religious Philosophy books are curios spirit hunters through body and being and its meanings, gnostics breathing down necks of iris and osiris who always sneak in. St Mary is part of that. I have a St Mary fairy. Can I prove it? No. Its flux oceanic and unsparing.
Pardon the expression. Things built on statements of logic are playtime prose.
Playtime with Jesus.
What came first. Religion. It’s fucking everywhere. But in E Book of Dead (1550BC), they add in the cubits point blank — god givenish, and 1300 years later, Euclid (250BC) shows up based on its findings.
I am at fault, I am also connected to the god wing in a sort of Wittgenstein way, its all my fault is all I gotta say.
Five Books are based on it, Koran too. Re: types of gods. I dont study religion. I just get sucked into it — all of them are allowed, to have beauty. And they have me for fucking bunny brunch, best regards. My novels are in part gay (1920s) argy bargies with the gobs but played through the beauty and doubt of Far Go Fellini.
Let whatever the sulking god do its business on my skin of sin. Ih the rods and bods of gods. Gods are genders and benders and stakers takers makers, change rearrange — so many very old gods were lust as an incarnate power that can transform beauty into spirit. And vice versa. Turn humans into pathways, memory markers, songlines.
Come Jesus moms god raped she was she was… accepting points of view that come down through the religions. Ladder to slide down on, where your cunt with protection!
Strangers in storage land. Sand.
I love parm cause it lets the hangels out to do their business.
The Dirty Wordy
Excremental words. As jokes with fecking juvenile. Thank you giving that back to me. Sippy says: feck him if they can’t take the poke? But I also soak. And I understand its a pain, and I mean really a pain sometimes. Pushing for I dont know. That thing about poetry that chases after the rhyme down the street flying. Is history to me,
And yes there is more than one, about slave to god, and terror as a freedom, also cabbage patch with Charlie Brown and Poe. Who are transform agents, once Poe shows, it flies to the french!
I have a giant squatter who does belly bumps into entymole -ogy like a Joyce vibrator. But the thing is to push it out push it out, from ghost posts to human enter prize, makes me very dizzy and blandishing. Fa, cat bah loo.
Boonies and bunnies, break her break her, and the goonies. Weeny leans in on beany steams?! And ravishes the worm.
Rhyme for me is a thickness stickiness sickness. Chip off the old chop chop hop tip top.
How read dick u lust is that. Breaking into particles, word particles, starts as bee traveling off in may hem, and then turns into a fingers rubbing together jokester, who then crawls out into the open, crying. The wings off, what slays me. Dead lines in the Witchy woo looloo are shakespearean rants through Rimbaud and Pee Pie Poe.
Punch and Judy. Fled play rhymes on that that that brutal curiosity, what is lovely fuck you rope a dope. I dont know. The Lester fester hauls in the reefs.
Bangs gets to humor. And rambles on and winds around, gambles and rambles. Music starts as a dream gate landscape filled with flowers, and then goes dumpster diving, and then an escape from rules of seemingly card cut out sales for dollar time, boredom wreaks against it with fire, boredom is a dwarf, time slips day after day into brutal repetitions.
Music wears itself out in Jospehs coat, and something in a heart bleeding for grace, also a woody, swallowed by fibs ribs and the nibs.
Versilla, dead or alive.
Set free by Mac Gee to cross railroad and turn down the tracks with a stick, and what else. Dead Body from King.
If you call that lightweight oh well.
It’s a compulsion. Dont stop where words can go. Battle with singularities plussies pop out of neg space in raven havens….They add in and pad in and wad in and fills the gaps, with Pessoa subject finding subjective — P-Sub-Suds pissing ponders through letting lang go bang.
On a Beckett yawning rage? wood stage.
Shooters who oar hooters. I can’t not rhyme. There’s a value in its — weakness and reasons for staying. Which is also kind of a defiance. To stay is to let it be a wheel a feel a kneel a steal…, a swig big fig spig to ride down the waterpipe on.
But falling in, started sky, where Colette’s knelt felt melts into rattling at the crossroads with a word quilt gone with the wind. Foolishly fascinated by its Irish liquidity, Irish rape english in a way that is dizzying and dead gorgeous.
Where’s Ye
Bangs uses the word Nigger a lot. I never use it. It’s off limits. It’s respect for their history. Slave is a part religion. Its all over the books slavery. And how setting yourself free is about search for god. Or maintaining its freedom to worship. Religions believe they have a will, gods will, to survive.
Thats a hard word to get around. In Bangs. Warning. I let that word belong to who it belongs to. Certain things belong to who they belong to. Pryorunderstood sowell. And Maya lets me breathe for fuck sake. She breathes on me. I marvel at her faith.
And stray into knowingly its perp, knowingly steal from her, however tin spin fin din, my flame/lame game, fuckme she writes in spoken word! Her cadence is infectious.
Plunder bunny wanderings. Yes gathering flowers. Is this stealth ? no spleen flutter and spew. Do my best to stay true.
To what.
You know.
The thing.
Psycho Tic React Shuns and The Carb Or Ate her Dung
Beautiful! I so enjoy getting wrapped up in your poetry!! The tension between sound and sense is exquisite.