Thursday, June 21, 2007

on mortality and causality

january 12 1988: i was born
january 13 1988: tatev abrahamyan was born
january 15 1988: sonny moore was born

sonny moore is the singer for the band from first to last. they were signed to epitaph records in 2004. they are now signed to capitol records.

tatev abrahamyan is is the youngest top rated us woman's chess player. she holds the woman international master title and is rated 2220 by fide.

i am 5:09 PM 11/5/2006 and it was nice knowing you all.

Monday, June 11, 2007

man overboard

jonah was a whaler.
jonah was a poacher.
jonah was a sleepercell.
jonah was a double agent.
jonah was a guerrilla.
jonah was a commodity fetishist.
jonah was a hipster.
jonah was a cutter.
jonah was a smoke signal.
jonah was a karma con artist.
jonah was a door to door salesman,
peddling dragon bones and horse teeth to pay his way through
medical school.
jonah was a amateur radio operator.
jonah was a man overboard.

[Asex Manifesto]

Excerpts from surviving tracts of the Asex Manifesto,
Sigil: Ape, Verses I, III, IV, & IX

a pre-op transman does stand-up at the vagina monologues:
it’s a: boy
it’s a: girl
it’s a: laugh
it’s a: laugh
it’s a: ha-ha-hallelujah

[palms like sinkholes]

the ghostfaced strawman is a virgin soliloquist:
eyes, mouth, anus gaping for the spirit of g-d to enter xem
and fill xem with something more nourishing than beeswax and jissom.

if they tear away xyr scarecrow guise, revealing xyr scarecrow visage,
xe would:


[be the girl/victim,
burn ximself in effigy,
be the boy/rapist,
bite the curb,
be the television/voyeur,
cum last]

a Conscript’s orientation/gender is entered into the Database as ‘gay’ by default. After 6-8 weeks or 21 business days (whichever comes first), a petition to change it officially to ‘genderfuck’ and/or ‘biased’ may be filed. triennially, a council of well-wishing pederasts will review the petition and veto it, citing the Conscript’s proposition to be ‘unconvincing’...

if there ever was a hermit crab shanghai’d into the Peoples’ Guild of Kamikazes, Suicide Bombers, & Other Reincarnation Enthusiasts, these are xis first steps on the naked surface of a martian farmstead.

“we are brand-new Womyn,” mouthed the sickle cells:
jaundiced siamese twins, stricken with rickets or gout or herpes complex i/ii or marfanism or elephantitis or a chronic case of the white man’s disease.

(L) Mouthpiece A: my transboyfriend dumped for a Sex Doll
(O) Mouthpiece B: join a support group
(V) Mouthpiece A: every night in a [x] concentration camp,
(E) a hermaphrodite is raped on surveillance camera
(S) Mouthpiece B: start a special interest lobby
(H) Mouthpiece A: sex workers are now unable to compete
(Y) with cybernetic scabs

(N) Mouthpiece B: they should unionize
(O) Mouthpiece A: my lips were sawed off because i share
(T) a street address with a dead thoughtcriminal

(G) Mouthpiece B: notify your local plastic surgeon
(U) Mouthpiece A: i had re-reassignment surgery in malaysia
(N) Mouthpiece B: have another parade
(S) Mouthpiece A: but the Holy Scientists still
(H) refuse to recognize a third gender
(Y) Mouthpiece B: see a therapist


straight bois&water sports


curved spines&chicken necks


confused on a sunburnt cruise


skinned carrots&ice cubes


auto-fellatio: Darwin’s most steely infernal machine


shaving cream&jock strap


the miracle of issue-stained panties in your laundry


pillow biting&too many chewed lips


the taste&heavy warmth of your own:

some body
any body

at the Show:

picture the skintight hipster shrouds of a hundred heaving teenaged bodies...

the collective unconscious pansexuality of Roman masses:

rib rub rip ravage tongue tease teethe grind graze grope
fist fuck fist fuck fist fuck fist fuck fist fuck fist fuck

[ad lib, ad nauseum, ad infinitum]

“... your mind’s eye is nothing but a glory hole...”

“... inoculate me! indoctrinate me!
intubate me! inculcate me!...”

like a ‘smells like teen pillage’ queer anthem projected backwards through spacetime in a lead lunchbox time capsule, dripping in post-war neostalgia to throw-off the Sniffers.

the INTERPOL have another Student Movement/Riot/Orgy to
co-opt/bi-op & brainwash into minstrel self-revisionism.

no wave.

Bogart an Apartheid

Faces like noble wolves, held to granite altars by oxblood boot straps, fangs snubbed short by guillotine-style cigar cutters, cowlick Mohawks scalped off, eyes died blue.
Dazed zombies emerge from the dungeons and caves to work the fields...
A coxcomb Cyclops sun eats through cotton-filled ears, apocalypse blizzards cut muscles clean from bones. Primordial forests still haunted by the ghosts of druids and dryads hold hordes of renegade trolls, muskets in their claws, bandannas over nose-holes, black blood in iron pots over cinders and coals. Ironwood crosses and hangmen stockades line the road to new Roma,infidels stung-up on telephone poles, ribcages exposed.

In a nearby culvert, the sewer rat grips a water-logged dictionary in his Darwined fingers. The nicotine black hole in his starving arm is nearly as large as his heavy eyes, so the pen must still be wet. Gas masks always fit better when you’re starving.

Crushed turtles shells dust the Oysterman’s fingers. Frog’s blood runs through those hard plastic tubes in his thighs and neck. The fish slime doesn’t ever really come off; it just dries in crystals that hug the skin. Eggs come in strings and sacs and shells, but they all slide down your throat like a warm, yolky, pre-Cambrian afterbirth. They all settle in your stomach, a lubricated membrane in rich, tepid quicksand.

Amateur Auteur #untitled

A ghostfaced boy, silent like a good movie,
floating on spider-silk tripwires through a wax minefield:

Smile :: pig knuckles
Grimace :: milk-teeth
Smile :: surreptitious self
Grimace :: karma kills a beetle.

Feedback loops replace pacifiers until we're no better than the may-flies choking the faux-tel pool.

I hot-box my skull until my drunkmath brain bleeds serotonin.

I chase tired whodunits through 50 years of 50's cinema just to hide under my tongue the same pills that were illegal last year.

The blackened factories will take commissions for any snuff film just to keep the coffers full of monopoly money:

"Don't listen; all peasants want is to build huts and wait for them to be burnt down."

A ghostfaced boy, silent like a good movie,
dog-paddling through the lagoon of human sewage with both Van Goghs intact and a cosmetics mirror clenched in his teeth.

Diving for the x-rayed bones of ex-presidents and cavemen.