Monday, June 30, 2008

Nonsense



I translated Sukumar Ray's HJBRL (Ha Ja Ba Ra La) into English from its original Bengali a while ago. He was the father of Satyajit Ray. They are part of a long line of geniuses. You can check it out here if you're interested in Lewis Carrollish characters and silly rhymes.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

History Today

Cold park bench back
looks still broken

Roll up those cricket chirps into
one more fat cigarette
hanging onto her two ashtray shoulders

The plants grow tall here
and the wind grows colder

Every day feels like Tuesday
or a red scarf in the summertime
When the migraine scent of sweaty leather
weighs heavy on my wrist.

The other bench has been empty for years
Not cold, just inconsequential


-geoff.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Thursday, June 12, 2008

ye olde love poem

A Song for Sevorg

I see Russia in the early light
with its onion tops veiled
in its ice milk mornings.
I see baby flowers bursting forth from your laughter
and I’m engulfed, enraged,

Overcome with a honeyed envy.
You smile and the czar collapses
You smile and the poet rejoices

Time clutches at you, stickier than do I
we both want to tie you down to this europe
but that's of no use.
"Look it's colorless" you say.
I look but,
I cannot see through those brilliant eyes
downcast but defensive
I cannot relate to your baffling mind
but I have every incentive.
You say it is for the doves
for the good of the movies,
I avoid the word love.

“Consider the benefits” you say.
I consider but,
libertarian municipialism
just doesn’t do anything for me.

Stroke your chin with your ivory fingers
and let your clothes down from that wirehanger body
quick look- updown stop at the toes
Clear smells linger under my nose.
Oh how the wind blows all through my head
while I listen to all the words that you've not yet said.

Soon the chickens will run through the courtyard,
and it’s a pity that
such musings of the mind
cannot be expressed with such dismal tools.

What the fuck?” you say with the a most confused expression
Since when did you start talking beautiful?”
I try to talk but,
tangerine trees burst forth and I’m rendered speechless

And then you smile
And then I say
"Oh who needs god oh who wants love"
And the snow drifts down all the while.

-Jayinee

Monday, June 9, 2008

FUTURE & NATURE

One hundred street lights
choke navigation. Hand over

The strung together musical
Instrument audiences. The bee

Is the butterfly
That makes noise.
-
Drink a thousand clocks. The wave is
Drunk in dormancy. Spatial spring is the
Unflustered god. Tree tops caught with hair.

Finding misery in the reduction old
Intonations are a little deaf.

The speed of light is not socially mobile.
Rise to the sky to advance.
-
Nine revolutions out of ten thousand also.
Replace the youth head. It was

About to dark. And
It was darkening. A presence
Is solemnly moldy. The situation is

Language. Language
Is all pleasant. How doesn’t a body
And mind piece depend on.
-
Dust has a creativeness. Really pay
Attention to the congenial now. Now

Between future & nature phase on. As
For me I damper my best for those

Who have tried. Only then respectability
Has sustainability. Purely blue colors
Market pools & windows now.
-
The neck is the obvious vessel
For grain. But now usually smoking
Of chlorine. Wind awakes liquor

In the surfaces of water. The recent
Return looks like an extinct heron. Intrinsic

to urban wall people. Last year
the green building is white this year.
-
The next causes the human
To appear slow behind. Waste
Articles may not be ritual but

are warm warm warm. Wait
For a congenital seed. Although

There are thieves for human emotion.
Controlling your breathing will
Slightly prolong life.
-
Empty murders the potential. Since
The four directions are merely illusions

Go. The good cloud is in fact
the travel that delivers the traveler

on top of a lake under a boat. No
matter that the wave is drunk

and the chaotic whereabouts
of a flower in a field.

The doubt is in lake days. Who
Knew these in a parking lot.
-

ac

Daniel Richter is so punk rock


Still

Dog Planet


Eight Paintings OR Phosphorescence


Das Recht-

Here we are beating a horse,

Raskolnikov cries!

do not imagine our innocence

to be filed away.

You've seen it, seen it

the manuscripts left behind

undress, shoot bullets through your breast

peering into a forest,

here is a white sky.

*


Still-

A nosferatu Ophelia floats by us

black swans drift in black water

she is bloating by, glowing by

spindly tree never hides

our glowing hides


*


Those who are here again-

Do you see the cubed dog?

The thunder within?

Come join!

We are burning shit!

We are cooking meat!

A yellow egg in nest house

the dog faced owner peers

into the pyre of white smoke

fire reflecting

neon paranoia.


*


Dog Planet-

Police state fun

thermal wave scene

in the darkness

only the heat rises

dogs and bayonets

like statues of safety

in masks and in guns.


*


Pink Flag-

Dogs you worry that rag

beasts in rear hoof

kick dent chest

you men in cloth

your teeth are showing

in a blue strip mall


*


Fun de Siècle-

Let's meet at the gas station

lit up like a cloud

an orgy of such solitude

neo-zombification baby

in the cities and now

let's lay like the dead

and roll

and play

and love that structure

of light we've made.

Don't forget guy you

are still alone

underneath

all that neon glow.


*


Punktum-

Something explosive

a concert? Or camp?

Of police or brutes

with the need to eat,

to consume

graffiti piling high

on turpentine fumes.

Rain sparkling capirote

Klan or Nazarenos

This crowd is so hungry

we'll swallow all your symbols.


*


Oriente-

Jesters schlumped down

in Picassan repose

ping pong ball weariness

behind those closed doors

Blackbird in hand

one foot with no shoe

our masks are still on

our masks are all plastered

with phantasmagoric glue.


-Jayinee

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Some Notes on What Happened at the Bus Stop

Magician shop, post op
and the Transverse Theory.
French girls smoke cigarettes
and candy smoke fills our lungs, but
our colors are lonely, huddled from cold sunshine.

She kisses. He wipes his lips.

Diesel fuel is bearable under the shade,
like polka-dotted hunchbacks, bro
--fist pumpin fist bump--
speak California drawl to me.

Queer bus stops and pitched
assaults on three bones all
cease with a question.

It's scrunch time inside this drafty bullet
so get ready to answer or scoot.

When is our last day

-geoff.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Speaking of Brautigan....

when my life revolved around the Pill and the Springhill Mine Disaster:

Onward Pillows!

Pillows

are harmful if swallowed.


A Thoughtful Wino

She sits on many park benches

Looks at the people around her

And wonders aloud

Are you my murderer?”


-Jayinee