The Death of Kim Jong Il

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/12/27/kim-jong-il-funeral_n_1172003.html

"How can the sky not cry?" a weeping soldier standing in the snow said to state TV. "The people ... are all crying tears of blood."

orinov

Hate.

yough are tbilly-down, urroughs.

minoarity

the writhing breathing giddy tangled bright bright ground//

-The “designer” goods merchants on Canal Street

Tourists flock to Canal Street, a broad thoroughfare in Chinatown, to purchase counterfeit items (particularly handbags, sunglasses, watches and perfumes) bearing designer names including Coach, Vuitton, Gucci, Prada and Chanel. If you are considering a shopping trip to Canal Street, you should know that these items are illegal, and their production and sale are not victimless crimes. Worldwide, law enforcement authorities (including Interpol, US Customs, the Global Anti-Counterfeiting Group and the European Union) all agree that counterfeit and pirated products are (a) associated with money laundering and the exploitation of child labor and (b) account for much of the money the international terrorist network depends on to feed its operations. Buy a fake bag, support terrorism. Is that really what you want to do on your vacation?

swing swing swing swing

'Recognized' this scene from Twin Peaks, caught completely by surprise. It's like learning a city, art.

the lyrics,

Hey, I can be the answer, i'm ready to dance when the vamp up, and when i hit that dip get ya camera, you could see i been that bitch since the pamper, and that i am that young sis, the beacon. the bitch who wants to compete and i could freak a ‘fit, that pump w/ the peep &, you know what ya bitch become when her weave in, i just wanna sip that punch with ya peeps &, sit in that lunch if ya treatin, kick it with ya bitch who come from parisian, she know where i get mine from and the season, now she wanna lick my plum in the evening, and fit that ton-tongue d-deep in, i guess that kunt gettin eaten (2x) - i was in the 212 on the uptown A nigga you know what's up, or don't you? word to who made ya, i'm a rude bitch nigga, what are you made up of? i'ma eat ya food up boo, i could bust your 8, i'ma do one too, fuck ya gon do?, when ya do make bucks, i'ma look right nigga bet ya do want to fuck….. fuck him like ya do want to cum, ya gay to get discovered in my two-one-deuce, cock-a-likkin in the water by the blue bayou, caught the warm goo, in ya du-rag too son? nigga you're a kool-aid dude, plus your bitch might lick it, wonder who let you come to one-two, with ya doodoo crew son…. fuck are you into, huh? niggas better oooh-run-run, you could get shot homie, if ya do want to, put ya guns up, tell your crew don't front, i'm a hoodlum nigga you know you were too once. Bitch i'm ‘bout to blew up too, i'm the one today, i'm the new shit boo, young rapunzel, who are you bitch, new lunch? - i'ma ruin you kunt (3x) AYO, I HEARD YOU RIDING WITH THE SAME TALL, TALL TALE, TELLING THEM YA MADE SOME, SAYING YOU GRIDING BUT YA AIN'T GOING, NOWHERE WHY PROCRASTINATE GIRL? YOU GOT ALOT BUT YOU JUST WASTE ALL YOURS AND, THEY'LL FORGET YOUR NAME SOON, AND WONT NOBODY BE TO BLAME BUT YOURSELF (YEA) -WHAT YOU GON DO WHEN I APPEAR? W-WHEN-WHEN I PREMIERE? BITCH THE END OF YOUR LIVES ARE NEAR, THIS SHIT BEEN MINE MINE. (2X) bitch i'm in the 212 with the fif' cocked nigga its the TWO-ONE-ZOO, fuck ya gon do, when ya goon sprayed up, bet his bitch wont get him, bet ya you wont do much. see even if ya do want to bust, ya bitch'll get ya cut and touch ya crew up too pop, ya playing with ya butter like ya boo won't true cock the gun to where ya do eat poom hun? i'm fucking with ya cutie-q, what's your dick like homie? what are you into? what's the run dude? where do you wake up? tell ya bitch keep hatin', i'm the new one two huh…. cuz i remember you when you were the young new face but ya do like to slumber don't you? now ya boo up too hun.. I'M A RUIN YOU KUNT. -WHAT YOU GON DO WHEN I APPEAR? W-WHEN-WHEN I PREMIERE? BITCH THE END OF YOUR LIVES ARE NEAR, THIS SHIT BEEN MINE MINE. (2X)

lavender

flowerpot

proto-main

1.)


2.)

manatee

1.)


2.)


3.)


4.)


5.)


6.)

station

kiss--

reaction to a poem about madison, wisconsin

as pomegranate tea bleeds from the bag
so does my despondency
clouds in scalding water
& is that cup still dirty
is it soap that rainbows on the surface
teflon. aluminum-rich

pomegranate tea dries blue when spilled
on paper
the lines on the paper do not scan well into your computer
if you put it in diagonally

i am done drinking tea but still spilling it
i spill every cup i own
and with it my despondency

gena

1.)



2.)



3.)



4.)

digital sequence//generation

-

/-

-/-

-//-

=//-

=//=

#

rotura - ana haterly

no phone--

no phone,
i got
no phone.
so here is commun
i
cat
ion.
how is life w/r.l.
? hop
e well!!

i miss you.
into punk lately,
kill kill kill!
macho, right?
too much weed&drinking.
your smile stays w/me--

A Month

A month of death.

The thick-tongued mouthfeel, dropping
yr shit for work, for what you think
is play is work & regress. Dark mirror
in the bathroom with the ladder out
you could climb & lock the window at the end
of the night. Nothing to those you're
giving favors.

A month
closer to April, and farther from

wake & it's sunshining & care not.
Fear, the ladder in
eschewed light is killing your plant. 3pm
loneliness spent sleeping & screentime.



A month
of falldown drunk.



Promises, plans wayside set
to the decay of yr organs. Fear nightclub
talk. Fear the 3pm alarum. Fear,
with all good intentions, you're a mere
selfish act. yr martyrdom that nobody sees.
Panic of long sleep, waking every third
minute, fear you've missed the way out.

A month,
A month of,

http://www.hipsterrunoff.com/altreport/2010/08/controversial-photo-wavves-smokes-dank-out-apple-pipe.html

Astro Zombies - Misfits

Oh, all I want to know
All I want

With just a touch of my burning hand
I send my astro zombies to rape the land
Prime directive, exterminate
The whole human race

And your face drops in a pile of flesh
And then your heart, heart pounds
Till it pumps in death
Prime directive, exterminate
Whatever stands left

All I wanted to say
And all I gotta do
Who'd I do this for
Hey, me or you

And all I wanted to say
And all I gotta do
Who'd I do this for
Hey, me or you

Oh, all I want to know
All I want

With just a touch of my burning hand
I'm gonna live my life to to destroy your world
Prime directive, exterminate
The whole fuckin' race

Then your face drops in a pile of flesh
And then your heart, heart pounds
And it pumps in death
Prime directive, exterminate
The whole fuckin' place well

All I wanted to say
And all I gotta do
Who'd I do this for
Hey, me or you

And all I wanted to say
And all I gotta do
Who'd I do this for
Hey, me or you

Oh, all I want to know
All I want to know
All I want to know
All I want oh
Go

-----

tatpoem - a.o.

ZEN PORNOGLINT, LOW RES VIRAL SHIT TEXTURED, CUMULATIVE SOUL SUCK: GENUINE SPIRITUAL HAZARD

partygirl--

we don't believe in anything,
do we?

Spanish Prisoners Article

http://www.nypress.com/blog-9507-spanish-prisoners-embrace-solitude.html

portrait

cut-up for family

You & I, we’re the culmination of the C---s, who first drove in like a spike and soon splayed wings like a stilted crane. We represent the diaspora wingspan, the reach of a family that gathered somewhere in Wisconsin – preening, the Midwest, the Dairy Land, tucking its leg in – who achieved bi-coastal status, dipping its full & healthy wings in the deeply volatile Pacific, shadows over L.A. and soon the slowly sloping Atlantic, a feather falling toward NYC. Manifest eager Danes who learned to read early, then to speak, then vote—

a voice, socialist voice of deep concern for our own by whom we mean everyone—

one more lesson, blissfully early learned. We are the independent and thoughtful gift of a sensitive and highly intelligent generation. We are the apex of their kindness, the pinnacle & the forefront of our family, worth what our parents helped make of us, and going it more or less alone, always hard-working, faithful to love. Possibly held a little too close, possibly squeezed until the rebel fire flared a little brighter in our eyes.—

Seized by obedience and early responsibility, I think I trust you most. The heavy side-eye of skittish Heartland Crane witnesses more you than small me, right under the fastened bill.

flier

Never Again The Same --James Tate

Speaking of sunsets,
last night's was shocking.
I mean, sunsets aren't supposed to frighten you, are they?
Well, this one was terrifying.
Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful.
It wasn't natural.
One climax followed another and then another
until your knees went weak
and you couldn't breathe.
The colors were definitely not of this world,
peaches dripping opium,
pandemonium of tangerines,
inferno of irises,
Plutonian emeralds,
all swirling and churning, swabbing,
like it was playing with us,
like we were nothing,
as if our whole lives were a preparation for this,
this for which nothing could have prepared us
and for which we could not have been less prepared.
The mockery of it all stung us bitterly.
And when it was finally over
we whimpered and cried and howled.
And then the streetlights came on as always
and we looked into one another's eyes--
ancient caves with still pools
and those little transparent fish
who have never seen even one ray of light.
And the calm that returned to us
was not even our own.

seaworm

It was a big deal to me//it meant nothing.

"brunch bunch"

experiment 77: silent shout

baby, when they come back,
in 2012,
i'll buy you a ticket.
i'll call the radio station,

delete everything i said,
so we can can we
pleas,

go.
darning mytime
until you're here,
i'mmyown pest
to feel your please,
your grow
& hollowing--

give me back my man

A friend introduced me to the B-52'S in 1984. This song caught my attention and I asked who this was. Been hooked ever since.When I hear this song I want to PoGo and thrash around.I'm 48 now and my wife won't let me !!!!!!!. Not really-The body won't let me!

Bombeta - Joan Brossa

HYPOTHESIS

andaluz

flier

"On Unsuk Chin's 'Rocaná'"

final(?) version

baking poem

some chocolate chips
fell into the batter
& even though you said you were allergic
i left them in

at first nothing
happened & my throat
wanted to cry out
then yours closed

i wanted to see only
to prove your insistence
or more likely
disprove & i was wrong

hanoi

Letter to a Brief Friend//Advantages of Social Media

You came to my house and we got naked and drank a garbage bag full of single-serve bottles of white wine while your friend banged your other friend on the floor, right?

city

41 - David Foster Wallace

'You sent Cardwell to get him?'
'What's the problem?'
'He's demented, Charlie, that's what's the problem.'
'He's a good driver. He's dependable.'
'He'll rant at the guy the whole way here; they guy'll think it's a post of evangelist goons. This is Lehrl's aide, Charlie. Jesus.'

Experience//5.10.11

A common brown sparrow flies by my third-story fire-escape veranda. I am enjoying the mid-spring sun with coffee. The city's noises--traffic and school children's screams echo through the canyon of backyards. One of my neighbors is having sex. The sparrow, without breaking the stride of her steady wing-beats across my gaze, drops a black&white shit that I can hear hit the sidewalk milliseconds after I see it land.

Pwoermd

& thusly concludes my first annual contribution to the National Pwoermd Month event (InterNaPwoWriMo IV). visit geoff huth's blog for his own daily contributions and a database of participants.

hundearth

valute

arded

|\| | |< |< |

espacial

woir

felsh

Grailing

jason ross II

do you have a kid yet or what?
yes!!! hooooly holy holy, baptise him in rock&roll

globalfuckt

cauling

tropic ana
ana tropic

bolg

lleged

Co[o]k-e

soulweep

recalcify

vegantercede

acidart

shamen

baghat #1//baghat #2//Lucas//Mary #2

orchestral//willendorf

distaster

hain

shisted

fruchtending

inde

sextploitation

uppercunt

throut

innerved

b//#r|hd]y]