June 17, 2000
BILLY GENES - bamboo book
ALL COMBINATIONS
...
I remember I sat on the floor of Mary's tiny little house with Smitsa a couple of years ago and looked at Mary's goddess cards and was simultaneously enchanted and overwhelmed with jealousy.
They are so beautiful.
She has a new website and you should visit it and look at his snapshots of alligators and babies. And how about that domain name that has moved now on to greener pastures?
Her site is funny, cool and well designed: cartoons, photography, fortunes.
Oh, did you get the Frank Zane reference in his domain name?
Mary�s site: photography and what not.
It's hard to believe, but I have been visiting Mary�s sites for more than 4 years. There�s a real good vibe over there, especially notable in her message board, the weenie room. Lots and lots of real cool folks hang out there.
She moved to Mission Hill right as I moved out of JP.Blog etc.
Check out the archives of her pen cam. Made me want to move back to Boston, really beautiful tender and touching visual poetry, an exploration to mankind's multiple changing lines commuting in hexagrams.
Mary is, without question, the best artist I know personally. And she just gets better and better. So good.
Oh my god can this girl draw.
She draws a lot of monkeys.
I like monkeys.
Who doesn't like monkeys?
See, you talk a picture of yourself, in a mirror or mirrored surface and then you submit it to this website. Or you juts look around at all the cool things that people have taken their pictures reflected in.
Lovely isometric world.
I have acquired a plot of land but have yet to actually build there.
Stay tuned, people.
Pretty smart neat dork top.
I don't use Linux, but I appreciate the fact that there are a million geeks out there who do that are making sure that I get tech news and cool stuff all day every day.
I have 3 or 4 O�Reilly books and I can't imagine life without these anymore.
Have excellent compilations of unused subway stations, tunnels and other stuff in New York City. Really good read, especially if you live in New York. Check out some of this fellows and other subway train stuff too.
How many times I got to say it: shut up.
Guided by voices people pretty smart neat dork top.
The hanging was knitted twice, based on a cross-stitch design of a Russian samovar, because the first one was stolen from an exhibition.
It's strange that one of the most entertaining aspects of visiting a website is to explore the links.
I�m feeling good.
I think we've all arrived at a very special place, eh?
BILLY GENES
...
Maybe it's the trade deficit maybe it's lack of faith maybe it's moon's phases or earnings burnouts the shoddy accounting practices terrorism schisms, maybe everyone was rousted out to sit-ups and ran a mile showered to the chow hall at 0700 and marched to the class room by 0745. I'm shelling the barracks recall now I endure in private rooms in air-con bachelor officers quarters and dining in the officer's club.
Before giving up headcount I'll credit any that makes me look, look to the rainbow follow it over hill and stream. Watching "Moonlighting, mind back to those fun-filled 80s. I'll never again hear The Be My Baby without Billy Gene fondly.
Pages having been scattered, moved, restructured.
Articles older than 30 days removed.
I deal with these confusing emotions, I take the following weeks, get the picture before it gets polluted.
Ehi look, look, look to the rainbow follow it over hill and stream.
Mulder and Scully get together plowing thru the jet box.
The boys enjoy the art-house vogue outsourcing customer care concerns, the flood of syrup enough to set jaded queens to pining for Genet.
Corporate replacement cycles slowing like the moviegoers crave youth romance, producers in the 90s get wise with the psycho sand in the buff boys and sensitlads.
Lashing out Napster, age Seventeen round-the-clock service Directed David Moreton Isa Stafford, Connie Holmes, Gab Anderson, Lea DeLaria Holmes.
It all comes into focus in the white suits advantage.
In the current crop mind is a British teen's love affair with a closeted high-school jock.
New York falls for a hunk of a go-go dancer.
My protagonist Stephens falls into sensitlads.
Precocious jumble of delusions at Edges begin, it's 84, the summer of the junior year.
He's gotten a job as a grubber at Ohio amusement park Cafeteriarun by the butch Angie (Lea DeLaria).
Kodak moment at the son's first day as he drives to the park with his friend and fellow-fisheye ripe for the picking and yearning plucked himself to be made, a college-age co-worker.
In this carefully thought-out sequence Stafford is by turns awash with expectation, inchoate lust, utter cluelessness and ripples ecstasy.
And the range of emotions is a tribute to sentimental.
I sacrificed my Retro-Luscious genes to raise a family, sit wistfully.
Disillusioned with the son, who's been staying out late, dressing weird and overdosing on peroxide and hair dye; when she begins tickling.
And it's not her fault.
The awkward patches, unequivocal delight is the soundtrack, a canny compendium.
They all chime in the Reagan era.
After a decade or so the first few stabs turn troubling predicaments rather than romantic tortures.
Ehi look, look, look to the rainbow follow it over hill and stream.
Deep friendship, here goes to bed with her now the kid found terror and salvation where for every cad there's a compassionate dyke like Angie to provide guidance.
When shooting on "Edge" began the comedienne, who jacks up just about every star doubtless a luxury on the budget of this production but like its writer and director she more than gets by on spunk and energy.
COWBOYS BOOTS GLEAMING
...
Recruiting doors short of a thousand miles fly conservative enthrolling and courageous shuffling forward, reloading the raft, moving down the pump crews with the sunbathers, digging wearehouses alongside river truck depots, as we get higher into the mist getting variances on the zoning restrictions care of shaking this fever of ignorance off of me, pass forward and fight. The story is of action and excitement, a graphic picture of the danger, the extremes and the drama unrolling a chunk of horizon familiar on the same docks, on the same mass markets pinned down and storyboarded by the same group of commanders buttoned-up lips sea lanes open heading south making the frontpage again on international editions this morning.
The Jo's going down now maybe we can get it to work smelling out our great pussy patrol bearings of surrounding skyscrapers smiling cheerfully at the pile of flowers.
Maybe asphyxiation.
Maybe sometimes.
Maybe mushrooms.
A sixpack.
Vance and Rocky Brisbane and Crew 6 bones and rafters of Angel Jones the boys and girls dancing licking the brime off the mirrorshades holding smoking gun Nixon in Lecter the boots, the dreaded and the legends flying over the creeks undone as we head to Brookend's Lake.
The rain creeping in, the bats, the scavengers roll, switching, we have got wires and we have got kids throwing out smiles at the desert's shores digging for the bones of angerin our own underground safes Edweena's touching basewith one more bend in the rookie.
As we've got the day done on Pinky the funeral starts unrolling, the kids marching, the carny moves on.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 05:16 PM
ANOTHER DAY - bamboo book
Another Day (Another Kamikaze)
...
What would we do without our toys?
Mummy has hers, and I have mine.
I am designed to pick up frequencies on the body somewhere.
Not sure why they call me a private.
And if the boss doesn't press the ear piece too hard I will keep the bugs from spoiling the picnic in their typical outbreak apology, experimental surgery, pigs for breakfast, slaughtering Enron, scattered branes.
The other toy is a transponder.
Nibbles the signals from the transmitter compresses it thru the rave stream the poles adds with another Star Wars re-run crippling speed-bumped human and noise, drive uneventful, coke cans.
Pretty fast drive anyway.
She slept a lot, she was not sleeping, mumbling something, mumbling.
We have got evidence, in case you need it, another buy-out, another tax cut.
The turn for the worse is negotiable, hairs like of deers at the blackjack table slow moving in water
with the elderly deep into condominium wars.
And what would we do without our toys?
Without the hotels,
our Cat-Bs,
the little black meters,
our cold oil crack cans?
She stands by the bike on the sandstone he is starring at the kids awaking with the socks and shaking and heading to the shoreline making the corridors an aisle of fangs down Egalitarian Age naked pizza and pizza eaters.
The solar cells can keep it running for long time. What would we do without our toys? Our broiled steaks, our Oreo rations, the x-ray machines, downloadable audios.
Buy off Saddam for the credit card bill and tennis lessons and shopping somehow we got started auctioning and Leslie and Family Services and Molly married four months later in a Star Trek re-make running off of bandwidth with my account in Maui.
The kids are calm and happy
unloading the Rover in the dying sun in the backyard,
I am tense and angry.
Some mild beatings somehow with the gangs got started I sat down in her office I turned on the system, she slicked on the carpet and we heard of exchange.
We can protect you from terror and we can protect you from pains and protect you from self we can not protect you from secondary relatives.
Fields of onion rings, popcorns, white feathers, chickens breasts, selenium arsenate, ammines.
I wish next will sound like a real thing gazing at the green hills humming fair, quiet and flakey as in a movie, I wish for screaming and cursing and down in a blue pie yonder on a scrap of paper never too far close but out of sight.
Stepperton and Pleasanton and Dublin all smiling at Jim that lies on her lap as usual, and she works away, doing things I will never understand.
Birds flying.
When we go to the house, I check the kitchen table and refine our strategy.
I got to know these streets really well.
Nothing.
Vodka.
Nothing.
It will work like a charm I said, shaking my head.
It has been done before.
I squinted,
I smiled.
They wont turn me down.
What would we do without our toys?
Our midnight toll boot run,
our firemen,
our television,
our pasta salad,
our little woes,
our skyscrapers,
our neighbors.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 05:14 PM
BI-DIRECTIONAL PREDICTION - bamboo book
BI-DIRECTIONAL PREDICTION
...
Grimes buildings recall
return to early dinner cell
phones hallway for raging years
skin that business ever did
she certainly did not
on search for kinky heels
on tables and tops and alcohol.
Our rank is flat and grapes
your rambles and screeching
and struggle for a score
are you hungry, are you?
Why should we swinging
and whistle and patrol
and moving with recess
of white and body shoulders
no wrinkles, old and aging
she looked then up and laughed
and sit bare on the bench
in the darkening shade.
Our rank is flat and grapes
your rambles and screeching
and struggle for a score
are you hungry, are you?
I do not see at all away
I met him once before
an awful lot of money
I hold the phone and shaking
frightening afraid
that slithering easy.
It's hot,
it's complicated.
Our rank is flat and grapes
your rambles and screeching
and struggle for a score,
are you hungry, are you?
I'm still on cell-phone hallway
and sipping a long-long
my specialty is pain
proximity concerns
confusing little rituals
now carried on so long.
Predictions all the way
mathematically detailed.
Our rank is flat and grapes
your rambles and screeching
and struggle for a score
are you hungry, are you?
I'd rather fool for better
its gray again I say
that saw them with my eyes
and happy smiling smitten
they were into this day
of fog and wind and clovers
like dragging skin
on swamps and chariots briefly.
Our rank is flat and grapes
your rambles and screeching
and struggle for a score
are you hungry, are you?
There in the fields of fields
on narrow dining chairs
we always set on Sundays
on hailing hands to facts
and glancing at the earth
for rhymes sometimes mistaken
of the past surprisingly skating.
A MAN AMBLING ACROSS A FIELD
featuring on getunderground.com, Nov 2004
featuring on "In Our Own Words: A Generation Defining Itself - Volume 6”, MWE, USA, 2005
...
A man ambling across the field
when the flames have died out then
the locust nursing the bats out of grandfather�s attic
and then came mainstream
and then there was Fred
with no prior plan specific topic or direct research
and then there's Joan
prepared for the emotionally fraught freshman
and then there were Christmas lights
and this bomb this house this papers
the way this agenda developed
this overwhelming sense of helplessness
a funky dance like an industrial accident
a Freudian typo or the real thing
or is this the last mile
where was the photo taken
is it too much and then the phone rang
and the old man standing over the bar felt sorry for me as I teared at the thoughts of before.
It doesn't matter now, he said.
And then I knew it.
The swinged melody and red lipstick just got to me, I said and then he knew it wasn't so.
This is how I feel.
This is how I cry.
Smoke this cigarette and hope I'll die.
And then I shut the drawer with its old ching and watched him lean on the doorpost.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 05:12 PM
MELISSA - bamboo book
MELISSA
...
Iam liquidum sine more diem, sine more serenum eoo rediens Titan eduxerat orbes cum castris miles sub signis prodiit omnis et Phoebi radiis et luce coruscus ahena
The Wind blew so hard, the birds clung to the trees. The world was filled with dust and leaves. But the harder the wind blew down the road, the tighter the shivering man clung to his coat. I am sick of Mozart, and of shaving every morning sick that I cannot go to school, enough with skateboarding, sick of Kodak sick of media violence, sick of Schumacher. I am sick of writing about this. The live-shows by the beach in August. Of Boeing automatically forwarded, I hate that. I'm Sick of the Dining Room Table Being the Place Everyone Drops Off Their Junk! I used to wear jeans everywhere and with everything. I am sick of jeans and of all this Junk Mail and of being a mess. I am sick of such and such and of feeding pigeons and of decent titles. I am sick of this. Sick in bed and at home, sick of the web, I am sick of You, sick of Love. Sick of shredders and aspirin. Sick of typing, sick of Men With Multiple Chemical Sensitivity. I am sick of cyclical but short of getting a longer leg there�s nothing I can do about it. I'm sick of seeing and touching both sides of things, sick of being the bridge I'm sick of filling in your gaps. I'm sick of reminding you not to close off too tight for too long. I'm sick of mediating with your worst self on behalf of your better selves. I am sick of having to remind you to breath before you suffocate. I'm Sick, & It's Nobody�s Fault. I'm Sick of Hearing About My Upcoming Wedding, of chaos and tired of constant litter tracking, I am sick of smiling and so is my jaw. When time�s good for spaghetti and of the girl�s power and the new spin in gender�s roles and of Pokemon�s Pops. I am sick of standing the blog of your favorite non-celebrity 9-5 life of relationship and confusion. I fuckin love Valium, seriously. I am trying to figure out whose signature is whos.
And it was 5 years that I was serving mussels soups with shrimps, patchouli and olives up at Atomic BitchWax, Quantico, spreading in at the pool and at night white-trash ravings in beer and vodka and wine when we smelled the smell of burning rubber outside of Release Party�s Ring the heat the sky the day King fell back down to Earth at the NightODogs. Izba Anachin, 65N, Bradley the Buyer, who Looks Like Kenny Rogers, our unfortunate narcotics agent setting up his devil doll stool driving around like a moron, checking screen-size monologues at the table voicing of the woodwinds and brass strings modulating and mirroring. Mom was right. You are what you eat. Yessirree. Green eggs and ham that's what I yam. Your servants will be right to you for having the gumption to put something out there. Swamp Wedding Stories from the practices room you could give away as such. What is like where you live bro? A preacher bellowing in Spanish on The God You Like And The God You Don't are fascinated by murders and murderers wearing white clouds on the wings trying to conjure the appropriate image but suddenly too strange to exist and impossible to grasp, with Shakira shaking at the Last Fan Standing selecting 'materia medica� and remedies. What was it like to write? Magnolia biting Alex by children and for children crew locks and generators of ancient Egyptian afterlife. Bodies Like Ours has been given 501(c)(3) (Non-Profit status)
I love dogs and calculators, tourists websites and personality tests. I love cats I love beacon cheese and camping and dating sites directories. I love architecture, journals, I love freebies astrology readings, polls, and chat. Christian Web Pages, pasta, I love Washington DC, because I live and breathe for you. Like dancing on my tiptoes of childbearing women worldwide. But sometimes it just feels confusing, sometimes you're not part of the story, sometimes questions only get asked once, sometimes useless. Virgin express suicide, figurines of flowers and plants and objects the shroud of a convincing structure plug-in universalis astronomica.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 05:10 PM
SIXTY TIMES HIGGS - bamboo book
SIXTY TIMES HIGGS
...
...In deep black space along Sixty Times Higgs, field generated by enveloping, isolating by rock welling, and a month away of destinations, he woke up and looked around as the lighting rubbed sleep from the eyes and gazed at the sterile walls, white indirect light around the edges of the ceiling colored walls that were totally bare. Back the covers and rolled and shivered as he left his room and walked down the hall to the dimly lit main room, he plopped into the couches and into the fireplace glowing low and looked around rose above the soft hum of the hips of machinery. Paced his way through engineering at each station stopped, squinted at the screen, as he moved along, annoyed and started talking to himself and headed for the bridge. Laid out constellations, darkened overhead floating in no space, distorting each station, lit by its pale displays. A low, circular pad to mark location in the eerie silence of the cavity dome, the brilliant trees of white light and subdued red dots on the deck. Things seem quieter than they really are in our gospel-like wreckage, staring intently, leaning over the deck of the bridge. So you can make more of one word don't know a thing but horn shrugged, but inside, sweeping motion hands hitting the steel plate. "Then tell me what you do know." Out of tolerance, but only by a little and tolerances have offset each other, down to sub-light and pull apart. Twenty-four hours younger brother in the kitchen too hungry to shower and dress on a bathrobe and hurried down the hall for breakfast at the kitchen table. I can put my hand right through it as you poured a glass of milk we're going to miss you until we get home, besides, sip on his milk and shrugged.
We have other plans. Chief physicist Schwarz, knelt down and peered into the cavity generator, a miracle of design, look at each other in astonishment, shook his head. Doctored the logs, blown into space across a hundred million kilometers but a half-hearted smile. What do you want to do? Maxwell drops to 0.5c, reported to bridge and ready to proceed. "Accelerating" Holding position. Chief physicist Schwarz dragged Katy over the bulkhead, in the storage bay and gather components, insulated wire, connectors, a spindle optical tiptoeing around, present by present. As he quickly ushered Katy out, he whispered. Tired and confused but see only a blur and his probe getting strange readings. I was sub-light, now squinting. He glowed with pride as despite the stern looks all that he could do to keep up as he nibbles his way through and stood stiffly. Even so wandered back towards the table and looked at it, suspecting something from his science fair on. In confinement, charged, probably confiscated, suddenly gone way beyond, but new. Chief physicist Schwarz down the hallway, slumped over in his chair and prayed that they returned to the main quarters, smiled, paid their respects and left. I am in astrometry, working intently had taken me days readings and make sense of sensors, coaxed it out into selectrons. A cloud of massive clouds peered at the clouds harshly gulped and tried to smile. I found the way and I have paid a visit I come clean about down three times in five years instead of one month.
We could all get mighty hungry. Look harder. Unexpected and very welcome enter synchronously to superlight once more, escorted them to the third swirl of clouds. Two days of furious construction in the well lit hangar-like area and gently "landed" his craft onto the deck, as the promised gravity gradient came through a doorway on the far side. That brought a smile to his face.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 05:08 PM
FROZEN - bamboo book
FROZEN
...
I must abide, fulfill, be patient and bring my bones thru these negotiations. I must wire me carefully, leave the room and be patient and bring my bones thru tomorrows progresses. I must stay quiet and cool and buy me a puppy that will last these couple months. All of these things and more will hand to another man. All of these things and more another will be glad to be bound to. All of these things. Would you mind to play it again? Would you mind another? Do you know other ways? Grab the piano. You play it so well. You go by the smell. The painting neutral of obscure tribes down the rhymes and rhythm and all the dreams just tiny fingers, stop-bits here, civilized. I can tell. Grab the piano. Creep. Whatever you pray. Leaves cracking inside, is there something you need from me? Gather toasts and sip champagne. With that sick sense of humor, that charm, weeping on the floor. Cranking, the log and the pin. Let me down pinch me everybody touch me. Sound rebounds on the thin walls I am everywhere, 3 times right 3 red lights 4 cross sections I am everywhere, I sense the time bouncing off range, cut off 2-7 and faster. Smothering silence and mastering the tongue of the donkey. Pardon the abstracts. The cravings rip the pitch backwards and faster. 4 cardinal swim half in water half in sight. Taking your drops for ordinary accidents. Sit now. Restore in progress.
I woke up dreaming of suffocating, taking the seasonal hit, adjustments along forgivable, riverboat to practice bass drum balance, scorched, hollow, not worth rushing thru. Shackle, chained, cowboys from Cuba on the shoreline selling sugarcubes.
...I just want to make sure that you understand what it was I was trying to tell you, I just want to make sure you don't write the wrong thing into my notes, I'm not agitated, I just want to...
The staff is kicking off an expensive campaign, will feature paper catalogs venture capital raised in the summer. New investment or go public. Musing about, focusing about people with a history of evenly split sex habits. Print ads for the holiday season targeting demographics by aggregation to a critical mass. Staff of buyers grown moaning headhunters for top-jobs. 911-amazing. A brief silence hung before billing. More exhilarating than perfect. Offer the impossible today bet for obscene amounts of money next year. The company plans, for next Christmas, to open a real store.
I shrink with the cold, lying in bed lethargic, counting the faces on the watering glass, waiting for the sound of wild waves from above.
As they progress I progress. As they learn I learn. As they die I will surely die.
Calling from the Center Of Disease calling all hands, I get your blind fillies, pack up and go. Undisturbed the calm thickens, iced bamboo trees glued to a sleeping hollow. After all. Going nowhere deep under. Buttress. Let my successors solve those new problems as I have solved the one of today. Remember to introduce myself first and talk about next Week's End in the field by Emily who has a ranch near Santa Clara and offers pleasant and instructive discussions, 2 lane roads, ranches, wineries and hills, furniture rolling to shield, just a little nervous around strangers going to bite back away or plop in the dirt next to me. And the buzz and the fear and the evil gone, scared into the night gulp a sip of NextStar Palomino 5, aged 5. Mills are safe and so the day | top ass blockers mob he worked | only blind mobs who do not | possess knowledge of results | of own actions should I be | I'm delighted as you�re trying | box me in.
Hi Grandpa, as you can see we are looking forward to visit next summer. Luna Killinger is getting her weird cravings for spinach and cauliflower.
Accepting credit cards increases impulse buying. Get started today. Repent for not coming. You all missed. The wind caught the little too much. I sleep with your nose ring, the Daze is the bomb, coming over to Zero Century on to Mr. Foleys Encounters at Pale Blue Dot, CA. Perhaps relating the story, accepting applications, slumbered on... speaking of school I�m really enjoying it. Deus rex Multiplayer, perils of early adoption, but it�s got me through fundamentals, I get to watch historical fiction movies, classic corrosion penguins alongside with confederate soldiers, but I notice therefore prepare my own food clean up maintain immune cruising systems places where to stretch my expensive wings. Even so I have a hard enough time, Melissa, just remembering the figures and disagreements I might be able to sell, plug and pay clench your claws at Brunswick Brenda head against the horizon taken by the smell of things next. Lack of conformity my registration set to expire on the first decade in Tanzania but maybe flip it along the side awareness we only know eight years paddling ourselves into a substantial break.
I must play their game, of not seeing I see the game.
© Fortunato Caragliano
This piece kicked off the premiere issue of Sleep©, a newcomer alternative mag, in London, UK, 2006.
Posted by lck at 05:06 PM
SONG FOR EDWEENA - bamboo book
SONG FOR EDWEENA
...
I never liked broccoli for its like like eels and I hold my breath almost a spoonful of garlic in your shake fits you. Any and all of your mornings on the windy beach filled with dead trees are going to spell the rust today. Edweena Edweena here we go again. Framing by frame | chanting by undercurrents | the sounds of dawn | the sleeping skin | the restless legs | parked in the cold | and wind and sand | and foam | where jokes wont help | and help wont cure | I use a pantograph | a thythoscope | a cheap disease | a bush of thorns | an early ween | a cobblestone | a lumpy page | a megaphone. Edweena Edweena here we go again. Here we start another rain | a dry new page | a serenade | a twisted smile | for-more-a-while | uncertain smile | you crocodile | there in the shade | of one more tree | there will you hide | sweet home cyanide. Edweena Edweena here we go again. Under the clouds | and in the shroud | of one more dream | with fancy cows | out in the outdoor | like in a game | I swear to get you | there in the rain | hide and seek | and fair and freak | and hide and seek | and faraway. Edweena Edweena here we go again. I better tell you | before the dawn | I better spell you | right by the yard | of all the corn | and little elks | the tiny creatures | down by the well | that I have loved you | you rather mild | and cold sometimes | with no much pride | one day I'll tell you | true whispering | to you again | of what I've seen. Edweena Edweena here we go again. This is a rush | not compromised | that this new day | is nothing new | and even drugs | they wont be cool | of terrorists | and more turmoil | and petrol leaking | the heavy wind | the fake prophets | your ugly gifts | the same couisine | that is not English | that I do know | of heavy German | and gritty coal | they smelled you well | its in the air | that like the vultures | we grab the bear. Edweena Edweena here we go again.
BUTCHER'S WORDS
...
Fanny is the name, Clancy gets the shame. He was my firstborn. Scared and skating. Have I ever seen him? We showed up in Times Square that night at noon you could have got anything with zero interference and we did. And snowy in hell. The boys got one and crushed his long hairs. She was scared at the fireworks. EOM kind of job, you know. Nobody paid for the beers, I guess. When we woke up at the beach half submerged in the snow we left her icy dead. Bellbottomed like daddy used to, you shouldn't give away the goods to soon. Butcher's words. We spent a steamy summers hospital in Long Island with fishy faces nurses and dried cheesecakes. Walls of Florentine flowers. I gave up a milky soul. He was a healthy boy, I think his first word was "Gunter". We all laughed. The trend was smoking fried bones that year. Gunter is better. Jones the Scare Thee Fulla G got his first gun. Was a tulips like sugar-free. I retired here in the Gum. He used to come visit sometimes all wrapped up in his black spider's clothes. This was when he got the fangs and had the implant by Nicky Z-Stone of Bone's and Turf�s. I don't see him anymore now. I hope he stays out trouble. You know, yes, I think so.
YOU OWE ME FOR THE FLESH
featuring on "In Our Own Words: A Generation Defining Itself - Volume 6”, MWE, USA, 2005
...
Everybody had plans back in the nineties. People were organized and suited, prepared, planning. I guess they all missed the point, miscalculated, and just a few factors didn't show up anywhere in their pile of equations. At midnight that day the power went out and it never returned. After a while working on their Poisson distribution models, here comes everybody, that's what they say, and the trumpets trumpeted loud enough and chilled the chardonnay in all glasses. "What do you want?", they asked And the voice said "You owe me for the flesh! Now you pay and goddamn if you don't I'll eat your bloody guts you fucking losers! Negotiations got everybody busy for months with funny sides to it. Millions of people gathering in San Peter praying Pope to give up the job and officially recognize the Almighty. Nothing worked until somebody finally come up with this: "you get a condo with a view on Bryce Canyon, Jerusalem, all the C4 you want, and girls, all the girls you like. Almighty signed. He is now a major shareholder of Daimler Benz, AT&T and Amazon.COM and yearly fares are held in Jerusalem in His honor with hundreds of thousand of people dancing the Three Girls Rumba from Cairo to Delhi. He doesn't interfere much with the humans. Sometimes, when He takes the gelato trip to Paris, He is proud to show off, The Man Billy tied on chunky glasses on barking at the pigeons in Trocadero Square just like humans would. Sometimes, I think, justice comes in the strangest ways. It took a while to find out that the Almighty is affected, just like humans, by multiple personality disorder (MPD). And one of a kind at it. But that's another story.
BOMB BABY
...
Cree, a small fishing village in West Clare, Ireland. 2 bars, good food, good conversation and no computers. I took a nap there during a trip. The van broke up and the mechs were swapping a burnt adapter ring. The couch wet tapping my loose brain down. Sidewalks in this area are so special. It feels so blue when it rains and everything sounds a little bluish. Company was great, drunk happy and smoked I was dreaming of giving an interview with a rep by the calendar-flip hour. The girls raised a toast for a moment I was blindly fantasizing on trying to recover a bloody engagement with somebody. More Yellow Gold in a Tankard woke me up again I see somebody waiving at me and ready to go it took some time in the morning they are all polishing off the last cock knish I am lying on the seat heated and cozy us and our clicking bomb heading to Dublin. The Congregation has no plans for the New Age. Each one of the members, according to the Book, shall operate assigned tasks and follow the orders.
Marnie interrupts up for a urgent broadcasting:
Koshineeeen,
Claire Jackson , Minnesota, beseech anyone planning to hack into HotMail's servers to please retrieve her password, which she had written down on a scrap of paper that has apparently disappeared from her wallet.
Happy New Lear.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 05:04 PM
BUANA - bamboo book
BUANA
...
dividing madly (I am) tossing the dime at the late-night-vultures, eating crystal-dry cherries sitting on a carcass (I am) dividing madly (and) out of control bleeding (I am) dividing madly and no nurturing back in the farm-jungle (I am) dividing madly all right mum I feel dry I lie I know (I am) dividing madly napping on the pinky couch smitten arms of me rocking slow over (I am) dividing madly in the dark room (I am) dividing madly in such in such a beautiful way (I am) dividing madly under a sheltering sky (I am) dividing madly and spin you out mum (I am) almost calling your name (I am) dividing madly and rolling out and while (I am) dividing madly in my own stochastic way I almost get it (I am) dividing madly but sounds polite crawling I almost (I am) dividing madly holding walls scattered promising I (I am) dividing madly mum are those guitars girl are they? (I am) running past the building, (I am) sure there is a way to get through the fence.
Some suggest I should elaborate on or somehow find, somewhere, folded or lost in the bamboo leaves, 3 words about sadness, of being helpless, lonely and not enjoying it, in despair and not laughing again at it. A serious look, my friend whispers, at the fireplace littered with beer cans and dirty socks; for once not a fascinated look. For once, not distilled away into another inevitable form of euphoric entertainment. That lonesome man would ask then for a prayer, a dig out.
And yes, I do. In the style of Margaret Burns.
SANDY TORSO
...
Oh Sandy Torso Oh Sandy please tell me what should I wear on tonight, wolverine light new millenniums drive? Sandy Sandy Oh Sandy Torso where should I go tonight Oh Sandy Torso please tell me of the Y10K bug and why should I care tell me of the boys which one should I want? Oh Sandy Torso what shoes am I going to screw up tonight and how many rooms shall I make? Sandy Oh Sandy Torso Oh how many miles to my everyday life? Sandy Sandy Oh Sandy Torso can at least you suggest what color the stick what brand the new tires what sex to the kid if blonde or burnt silver and what hands to touch if any around and what then to ask to myself and I what should I believe in and if I should cry. Oh Sandy Oh Sandy Torso you never do talk nor blink of an eye but there I still keep you between me and I.
Occasionally I do think with somebody else's mind. Or in mind. Mind about. What matters is the baby is black and on a white back. Anakid is a true-lonesome cowboy. By rule. Paid by how cool he plays it. Flat personality. Girls do complain. Girls, we understand, caress the smell of feedback, the idea of kindness, the value of warmth. And end up feeling like a fly and drop out, a good virus boy splattered. Replicating but buying nada. Also, when it comes to play he play almost anything. Somebody have seen him on the shore discussing with men of sailing and fishes and with the old ladies at the fancy barn with proper giggles and aged enough curtains or with a half-Japanese in crowded discos early morning in the county-side. It is not the moon and it is not the smell of fresh asphalt on my frozen tires. I love his raven's nose cutting the stage like a laser beam. The queen loves his pink chin when he brings new customers to the dance. Bring on the night with orange juice cheesing around tomato sandwiches in a salty Bloody Mary with the man without preferences.
I have been paid.
You only owe me for the flesh.
I'll be patient on that.
Believe me.
ODD JOBS
...
A Jassassin and a gay with no real interests once he was a chaperone. You don't know what that is. I knew you were going to ask. As a chaperone you must be concerned very much of the way you walk and of the way you answer questions. You have not to be in a hurry. Never. Your feet should listen and rip the crowd in a certain melly way and go. And you then would answer with a vague 8kHz and tune on the yard accordingly. Questions on this job are remarks from a side-by table. Remarkable ones eventually. And you never run once the job's done, that would be grossly childish. You would grow possibly (true or acquired) bright white five-inches-fangs to show off on Sundays as "divine blessing" to the trying or buy a pair of cowboys boots to tickle the old leggie. Accessories a real pro won't recommend anyway. I knew one guy that used to go out barefoot and his tag was very high. True trueness. Ultimate tango. His name Gal.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:52 PM
GENERAL AND LOCAL - bamboo book
TANTRICALLY SPAM PSYCHO
...
He counted 5 missing children, 17 different discount offers and Christmas shop specials, 22 tech reports one of which from CompuComics, 8 returned mail with Unknown Users, a b-day e-card from unearthly friends and a �Think Different� Email Chain from New Age Napoleon drawing near Tulsa, of Samar-Kansas Republic. Labeled them all SPAM in the Outlook's �Away From Your Eyes� folder individually marked in brisk yellow. Mumbling at the carnage. The fortune cookie made it round globe 10 times but friends cut it diligently and so we go with the 28.5 laws, the wise standing and scanning your preferred poems and love-at-first-sight and never have fun, be kind and mind your own business. Tantrically Yours. He methodically replied to Hamburger Lady adding 92 other recipients of his own from the little black book so the parents and brothers and sisters everywhere, but also clients, were pretty flooded. In 2 hours he got 84 second-hand replies with the Tantrum Gift back. At which he stood speechless. Went to bed with a glowing spike on his forehead. He admitted that Microsoft, on this particular instance, was doing a good job. And he though once that he played a naive game with his own ego on something that actually was just garbage.
MORE GEOGRAPHY
...
Rest on the land I know by the smell of present leaning an ear on the trail I know by the smell of all the arms I counted by the white rocky eyes should I answer this. Clear Clear and cleaner but non-lethal technology I know by the smell for faces stop my hands now where have you been you seasonal beast grinding on the beach in a stronger wind on a kite out I know by the smell in a new day walking high hopes and fearfully thinking the planet that I knows by the smell I sponsor this potential I know by the smell of fake endings out in the sun, hiding from the rest of the days I know by the smell of diplomats like maybe a pie.
MOLINAS
...
You friends, hordes, faces, eyes, infidels and you brown feet in Hummin you all listen of Hasi-3 and wired of Yasi, warriors of 'Ni and you old Pistine of Palingi and Babic you all listen today to my last words. You listen today to my last words. Flying Tradictation Hill today I see finally circles of jealous satisfied in gravy. You be. Drink in full Capital Hill. Cause I am not anymore. A new job over YouKnoWhere nor a pillow to comfort and my breakfast is cheap. My Arthurian roommate flies are eating me alive but shall not skin diseases make you sad stinky. Be happy today special to me my people no other god shall you fear. And won't fuck in anybody else's home but the cave you own�
Jim!?
Send it!
Who the hell is sending this shit on my channel?
Dunno man, the PGP Group in Stanton, I guess
But why?
They're believers
Look kiddo, I've got enough crap for today already, I need a coffeeee noooooow
(Debbie, the secretary, shouting) Out-of-order, Ani
fckng crp!
DAYS OF JANI
...
He called himself Jani, for he was in favor of the sacrifice of an animal, and he spoke unto them saying: "Have ye not forgotten the customs of old which were the customs of our predecessors before? Verily I say unto ye, nothing will be acceptable to the Earth-mother save it were nothing smaller an animal or fowl. Wherefore, there was about to occur a great schism between those on the one hand who were of the first faction and those on the other hand who were of the second faction. And they were exceedingly wroth one with the other. But behold, Jani did rise up and relent his position, asking neither "Be ye firm in the faith; and as ye go your separate ways take time to pause before all the glory of the Earth-mother and fail not to mediate on that which has been said and done here, yea, even as the sun does reach its height in the north (which is Midsummer) should ye mediate on these things. "For verily I say unto ye, when the sun crosses the equator, shall ye be again united here with these thy brethren." And each went his own way glorifying the Earth-mother and singing her praises, yea, even unto the very ends of the land did they journey praising the beauty of all that is to be found in earth and sky.
Now these are the records which have been made to the glory and honor of the Earth-mother.
...where the Masters report a major drift in the canon to a dense, bible-o-logically groovy mess
HIGH TOWER
...
I am happy today and I pray the trees that pristine look I observe your movements, carefully track compulsions and ticks in your muscles, trying to catch the mechanics under and why I love them along with the eyelids of you insect carbonium, crouches of the inner placid lakes where I am a worm, Steely Dan, an artifact, teach me how to be a good bone, go this slow, move in and around, eagle to the high tower.
I lay exhausted like I wanted to be today and on all tomorrows but can you open the door to the sun a little?
Thank you.
Hand me the scissors.
What are you doing?
Knitting a cap for you three.
Three caps? Wool?
Yes.
What color grand?
Any color you like.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:50 PM
END OF THE SM - bamboo book
f: boris@mfv.com
t: ani@f8.com
sub: Z-worm cont 93301
...
Get that strengthened up pick few hillbillies pick up a ghost, kick him, line by the wall, we got explosives, mind you we rely on you, you are the clever one. Keep us updated on the channel.
Boris
SM, internal
...
It is getting colder, shorter and foggy. I've got some stuff today. The car won't start, I should have it checked or switch barefoot.
AIM: sin4
DES: BRNORMX11
BT: singularity
WEATHER REPORT
...
As some of you may have noticed by reports and top-q statistics, the passing phase, nominally "fall" or "crawling in the mids", is somewhat especially peculiar. Large areas of M are not experiencing this. Others are heavily affected. This is predicted in the Standard Model as CP Variance and trade-offs are at this time being investigated. Recent tests, especially at Z0 in STNF confirm that such processes are confined to chunks autonomously developed by self-replication in the very early stages of t. Externals not supported. We have no control of such activities at the moment. MSQ advises all patrols start defensives such as 2nd-class wormholes injection and broadband neutrino saturation. Further updates to follow.
AIM: UNIT5 sin4
DES: BRNORMX11
BT: singularity
WEATHER REPORT
...
We have never observed this before. Areas B20 and C3 of M are not available. Units confirm areas are under annihilation. Areas C4 and D55 and Invariant Q of M are under attack and are not available in broadband. Attacker is unknown.
AIM: BRNORMX11
DES: all stations
BT: singularity
WEATHER REPORT
...
That was completely inexplicable in our terms. The singularity come in like a whiteworm. In the last 48 anything on its route got annihilated, including spp and t. No external emission. It is expanding fast, half the total matrix has gone sucked in in a non-homogeneous way. We believe that the singularity is able to morph. We are switching from H to X. The pig follows us. It doesn't even interact; s does it. And t. Some were suggesting that we should inject Z-worms inside the thing but no idea how to do this. Ignore the internals of gear. Looking for regions that may be safe but skeptical. In a few there won't be such a place. Put your SM to sleep.
f: boris@mfv.com
t: ani@f8.com
sub: Z-worm cont 93301
...
Boy, we got our gear spammed with fiction shit. Are you sending this stuff? Did you put SM to sleep? You make me cry. t whispers that Z-worm (type B, not the Russian crap) is game but that the whole 48 story deal is a scam. X is tapped. Got a new hat?
Boris
f: ani@f8.com
t: boris@mfv.com
sub: Z-worm cont 93301
...
Smack!
I got the clients set with forefingers as per contract, you know me. Wire me. The only shit I am sending you is this. Spam you mean THAT spam? X11 is my man in the sprawl, I bumped him yesterday, nosy guy. Z-worms are a hell of a work, let me drive that. The eye here is neutrino and it is blinking. What a fag! One of the clients still alive but on the downward.
Ciao.
Ani
AIM: BRNORMX11
DES: all stations
BT: singularity
WEATHER REPORT
...
We'll be gone in 5ms. Singularity is boiling Higgs and going. Predicted to exit the matrix in t minus in 3s. You are all going to be gone before that. Stations report loss of about 79% all areas. No suggestions. Pack-up.
f: ani@f8.com
t: boris@mfv.com
sub: Z-worm cont 93301
...
Works like advertised, I've been saying, 96 tears. America is waiting for you to close this cont and start another.
At report, internal.
DIV 5, intensive.
RE: DEATH
...
SM. FBI rep, attached, delv to station.
Generic forensic attached.
Examination of weapon attached.
Occipital front, 1 inch wide, approximately circular. No signs of burns, no fragmentation.
Ballistic N-S. Cortex in M and parked down by Marrow Cells conglom. in t. Explodes in X11 and exits, still N-S, to get the b's right arm approximately in G. Flips (32 degrees) to E and exits again to the windshield of vehicle Mercury 45 ADR251 parked at the gate in Columbus 12. Found on the floor under vehicle, screened as B2, deposited.
Instant unconscious, dies in about 69 secs.
PH attached.
Weapon GU: Z-worm (type B), Germany, 1994.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:47 PM
FRAGMENT TWO - bamboo book
DEALING WITH Vs AN Ws
It takes little effort to build up, shoot that, straight, you know. Shoots for a change you know little changes. Looking to confront, confort, finding way, cold but for a bit, then whenever you hide, well, whenever you smooth the corners out and shrink to fit the compulsivness, the anger. I am streaming low bandwith. I see I see by the little scars, your skin, the split nails, that you are getting loose and away, patient, nodding, from a glimpse you understand, connect, getting older. Eyeless in Moscow in the blowing wind carrying a load of papers. Biz and biz in the voice, tunes money here and ventures there, buy the wrong hardware what can I say? Move one inch closer I can hear from your heartbeat thats too close. One day I stop, you will be still standing and trembling a bit and what can I say? Vs and Ws are no parent directories. You know that Nikita.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:45 PM
THE DAY - bamboo book
THE DAY
...
Heels are safe or so they say. In underwear scooting down the pigs. Corn girls cowgirls on tape. Wonder if I'll have that dream again. Brushing wires with this calligraphy you won't report changes cause you won't remember. The flags the other glories the wind the helical I've made with those recycled coke cans.
AWAKENING, TODAY
...
It is in the rings methane burns an endless chant. It is in the young driver no much for those overpriced toys. And in the old ladies hair sunken in their moods, hands open on the shorelics. And later in the morning, later by the benches, sitting on the days.
WINDOW, TODAY
...
Its coming anyway its coming over peeking gardens for the night to all the boys wondering and wavering from the bushes. See the pool see them in a proper scheme economically and per formatively, as it has to be. Product and platform yell at the Greeks greeting the fashion police to me you fire engine. Possibly in the range of 500 of our best recipes we'll find one that suits the queen in her day of summer. Procedurally yours.
LUNCH, TODAY
...
I lie on my good side. Her green cap on the grainy beach fields. In AutoFit rows the scribe is the gun required. Disposable heroes rest. This is. Influence the audience. Here is there, entry post, the guardian. Folding my crosswords way out. Just. Inking the young. Injured. One of them. I'm busy with the goods today. So you are.
AFTERNOON, TODAY
...
Some of the midrange on with the poke. Today for public display. No wristwatches the auctioneer. No gaps for The Jinx I promised. This is called Ana. Young for cheap space-opera, the chorus in line, all brands, all deers. At the time when you are born with father and the Council, just getting compact just getting dense just filtering.
RIVER RUN, TODAY
...
Stained by dead horses stained the warm sky blinding you burning your fingers of dead horses I used to walk breaking the waters spoiling the suds along your ankles wide shut mouth open of dead horses Spoonful in summer welcome the gray breathe me the smell of dead horses Pick up your bag throw in the money buy me today wait one more day don't hesitate at using the special and later on give girls a facial give her the hollow open the cage untie the collar soothing my nails halo-in the chore giving it up handing the bones of dead horses Sitting across by dead horses Stained with the blood of dead horses.
SUNSET, CHANTS, TODAY
...
A hundred jobs some of which when he was a kid. One he kept the longest was lifesaver in a prive' club in Corinto, Greece. Guarding a bunch of half billionaire torsos sitting on bamboo chairs on the shore, the waiters in red, scooting over the round tables that was a luxury. The ladies coming down for an eyeball one-gin martini one-vodka martini and a red lucious eyeball reptile. They get it so well, the blood you can smell. It breaks up to sailormoon the IBM shareholder who complains he tried to be funny. This it was new. They have called him Peeley, the Bug, Spider, Embrace-me. Sophia called him Ana. The halo reminds me of the stories by the beach-pool, Greek fountains land of the lizards, he is sitting on his chair, mute and alert, streaming at the pale half submerged aseptic bodies, speak the total on the phone, buy me sell me hold me. He lived there 6 months. I believe.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:43 PM
FRAGMENT ONE - bamboo book
FRAGMENT 01
...
Death comes on big hips and thin dry camel's lips. Pale on the black hairs leaves. Accuracy. Decor. Prospect rainy.
Baby cry daddy's gonna buy.
Little Buddha 60 training children.
Afraid of the rain.
Little girl give digging deep not going far what are you trying to grow?
Cap now and Coco walking buds.
A wide white Jaguar spreading wise eyed biplanes.
And polytiene flowers in your waterproof cornrows.
Eclipsed by the clouds Jodie.
Baby cry daddy's gonna buy.
Here, in the rain, it comes all out of their cages, spiders in the flat air.
Walls, plants, kids and games play in the sun, run in the rain.
My soul's getting thinner, all these planes.
My soul's getting thinner I can feel it day by day that my skin is getting fray.
Find another hole in the pool honey, phone rings time to get up and go never ask why it seems its understood.
They have a bright future brightest first and fanny packs both black and large feet leaving limo's there waiting.
I wrote it on the hill.
Days fading, the geometry of mine.
In black solid western language.
This is how we advertise it.
It works.
You should try.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:37 PM
A PUBLIC PLACE - bamboo book
A PUBLIC PLACE
...
The green crashes of mushy waves. Soft and fragile, a strange massage. Twin floaters in twin colors. White suits on blackened souls the useless stamps I love funny and hungry eyes starring at blue deep in search. The scribe is present. On the second coming the second page the minor pages, the alternative brands. Half submerged watergirl shimmering smile. Very brown tall in white searching in the water drinking the water at the sea salt. All the bamboo you want. There's always a Joan who's out for something, like she's back quickly. She must be here. Anonymously finds taking the head by the river. All the bamboo you want. And she shows you can suck. Murmured, nurtured slogans, combining by brute force, masking and screening them, dust and paper debris from the sand. Flattened lands and trees moving towards equator a quarter of an inch a year with full suburbia of snails and ferns and lilies, I am walking south on the heels waiting to turn into t-rex-size gearings. In the crack of my hands still under one shade.
WET AGAIN
...
The wives there. Glittered and silver over Tokio over Rio over Paris white on the edge on radio waves your wet feet. There is to be wealthy and maybe us to go pale. Everyone for the weekend, middle age and you wish be old. Umbrellas with bronze legs, assistants, little sisters, gritty boyz, wacky nurses. Wet again. Laying by the open gate crashed whoknowswhere, she jamming in the dark of one last reptile. Vegetable boy passing by. Garbage little bike big bike. Real pushers don't do it. Like fishes in yellow shorts. Rosso already. Sil's crying. Bas. Wet again.
The day that passed in pink and brings me back to JCU and "crowded we've gotten" both in a milky mood. The cat pissed at Anagreen, his funky wig coming back home. Red cotton wraps back on his chest. Crippled, fluffy blue sandals. The fish goes home probably figured it too salty. Really like never. Dunno this little place over clouds called "the Jinx". Everybody out there have my blessing. Wet again. I can hear them creeping and crying in the barn, kids naked and trying again. Ice, gasoline, just get a soda, I will follow. Dogs know each other well. It is the smell. Men they're not having so much fun. It is the sun. Girls all the walk and all that slowly. They've got it oily. So it doesn't blow me away but that's fine. All things I had wanted for me I have had for you all.
A WARM PLACE
...
Waiting on the shore, sand yields beneath my feet, the water shouts and roars and rushes and breaks on the rocks, and never comes near to where I wait. The closer they get the faster they go. When they're by the edge jump. It all comes natural.
LIFE CONSIDERED AS A SPIRAL OF SEMI-PRECIOUS STONES
...
It's the sound of brass, nails, interiors and fangs, roll bars in crashed cars, strawberry and lime. Your influence plan by patches, extensions and backgroundings, is reshaping my interest to occasional landscapes, passing girls. Procedures. Dancing around bones. This you do my young and this you are paid for. So be blessed may your sales fly sky-high. I just heard the news that Julie died. Despairing feelings of being buried alive. Any notion of the pigeonholes into which they would try to fit her work? The social structure mirrors the individual process of addiction on a larger scale. The social dynamic of addiction is that of predator and victim. We know what we are doing, aren't we? Asleep when she starts knocking at the door the green concrete world smiles. It's all down the river Beaver wooing me much for that the knowing world screaming says. Division halted, that eventually there will be only you.
TRITON
...
To put the country simple we claim the right to leave and live, speechless insects with no knowledge of policy and no preferences body. I don't claim that our methods are one hundred percent human. But I offer this distinction. I'm with the invaders. You can smile once through the carnival feeling and sensory impressions of the human host. Reality add. Tuneless nasal academy. The only thing that makes the machine move. Detach ourselves from word forms.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:35 PM
ENTRY - bamboo book
This is religion:this is the book:this is our flesh:this is our blood:this is the girl:this is ana:and hopefully he will return:when he'll finish the money:to our bamboo planet.
tales from the Bamboo Book
...as narrated by Nick, part-time court-jester, who served the King of the boys and of the girls in the day he turned in His Holy Grace Lara III, goddess.
INVOCATION
...
...let them be in a dye for the day, for the sake of context and reason and to all the boyz starring blindly when they care of themself exclusively. ...let them be in a dye for the day, in the summer, when nothing is strange in the pale-red afternoon by the sea. Because it is summer, it is late, it is always, it is still and dead bones white bones drying in the empty pool. Rust explains it all. Always is always.
DOWN OUR LITTLE TOWN
...
No locals here, just strangers. Us, a French family with a buzz slang black widowed and a group of lesbians. Nice looking, bony, tanned, walking. One pulling his scooter back. Europeans hate each other. It's not going to work. This pressure to educate and mix in vain. Roaming coast to coast. Propelled by cold Buds from the golife. She's trying to record and for some alien reason her smile fits perfectly with the beach and the crusty villas and the waves and the kids and the legs and all of the colors that are and the stars that are not. Them all. Don't lie. You worked it out smoothly. The only thing that can break the Dutch trio that is way-too-late when he stick the umbrella in the warm sand. Crack.
EVENING START
...
An army of days from here to there and from there before your bic-ballpoint tatoo starts to fade. I know your face, they know you and they'll find you before you finally get it. Two more dykes joined the church. To keep an eye on. They don't wear no hats. They're damn parrish. The loud kind. Further inquiries follow. King turned blue today. No way to get you back? I'll work my work again. He created the man. Man was lonely. God creates animals. Adam got too scraped up. God threw in Eve at no extra charge. Shallow, clean, clear, dense, oily, terse, blue, gas, nogas, cold, blue, infiltrated, secluded, shallow. Mobile phones addicted people are far more annoying than french whining babushas.
MAD AT POSEIDON
...
Late enough to extend our search. White screaming mussels roving into each other's shell. A dry blue giant parks on a yellow tap. She's breathing, assigning colors and complimenting things. Do you know the walkers? Master Julie got rid of the bra. H100 gets my pen because he is overexcited and stranded at the white or a brown spider but his leg, he ravenously brushes. Got One. Every other minute I've had enough. Black scary Bob made it to the ramp walking suspiciously. Your baby's here. The cold kid, the discreet, the baby spider walking his way up my bony spine. Checks some other kids, jumps over the fences and his wolverine king face disappears. Hiding behind a thick pair of soundglasses. You guys, you get it special, right? Ambiguous and undetermined. Not for daily use. They appear and disappear like ghosts. The man just can not relax. Started a new book. Hardcover. King called the doctors. Am I fired. When I said that. I don't remember.
© Fortunato Caragliano
Posted by lck at 04:32 PM
