#237: Mysterious HWN from Molly's pocket

"what's this napkin?"

Hole in the Head disease

Metronidazole --> Metro +

or

Prima fix

"that's not my handwriting"

written not on a napkin

in point of fact

but a paper towel folded
in quarto

note: put "Hole in the Head disease"

         next to "Patau Syndrome" on your list

         of things never to google

"what is it?"

not a human disease

no human cure

nothing to look forward to
Miss Kitka
but death
from hole-in-the-head disease

# 236: Phenomena

October 30, 2017
I screen Phenomena (1985)
for the film class
it is the first one I have shown them to receive
their applause, plaudites discipulorum
omnium

Jennifer
and her friends:
jack with them
and as I have suggested elsewhere
in otras palabras
(Didaktikon of Death, 2003)
they will
mess
you
up
they will render you
unrecognizable

no teacher no youth no killer with glittering weaponry
 stands a chance
they may try to blame it on the föhn
(demons and witches
are always trying to shift the blame)
but it is Jennifer
who is the fault
in their plans

 her friends
primates and insects
responding to hormones
and heavy metal
will eat your face
arriving just in time
and wielding the requisite cutlery
for that meal

you who will always miss out
on that kind of love

#235: Albrecht Haushofer (1903-1945)

Den Dämon liess er in die Welt entwehn.

In a moment of burning sight
and strange sacrifice
Haushofer wrote his poem
'Der Vater'

the world-blindness that keeps us all
somewhat ignorant
     for our own sweet stake
of profound powers
forsook him

and all-knowingly he wrote of his father

The seal my father did break open.
He did not see the breath of evil.
He let the demon drift into the night.

Den Dämon liess er 
           in die Welt 
                                           entwehn.

# 234: Wortschatz

Montag, Monday
muffig, musty
mühsam, tiresome; troublesome, toilsome
Müllabfuhr, m. waste collection
Müller, m. miller, grinder

#233: Appalachian Dis

Everybody got a jar of dirt
but me

O princes and potentates
O magistri mundi
Ostro-Tennesseinsis

where
is my
dirt gift?

#232: Perpetual Neronia

At Olympia, he was thrown from his 10-horse chariot but was still crowned the winner by fawning, fearful judges. Nero insisted that the statues of previous winners be ripped off their pedestals, and he returned to Rome with 1,808 prizes.

'Why tyrants love to write poetry', Benjamin Ramm

you have called for perpetual competitions
perpetual games
and hot long-lasting
delightful flames

but what will be the crescendo
of such an endlessly extensible display?
and how will we know it when it comes?
and when will you learn to kill yourself properly?

syntax lies disemboweled
diction morbidly rots
and falls off
as fire whips the vestal curtains
   the second and third place winners
   are longing for home

even our hatred grows tired
and wants to go to bed

when will you have done?
when will you order your tomb?
when will you write your
ultimate fascist poem?

#231: Diseased Clowns of the World

their errands take them very far
from their treatments

they soon begin to shrivel

but seem unable to die

even the most diseased clown you'll ever see
will probably outlive you
by about a century




(but I hear they tend to explode
like ticks
in a burning field
or in some fucking
radioactive forest)

#230: Loose heads

who knows where such creatures
in their goings
glide?

or what unheard-of appetites
haunt their gullets
and terrorize their loins?

nevertheless
they are only heads
and in their pulsating frenzy
barely even qualify
as that

anyway if you find one rolling under the table
kick it
kick it with everything you’ve got

#229: EVIL CAT MISSING

every time the wind blows the front door open
or one of the chickens screams in terror
or i accidentally stab myself with a fork
or the giant rat gallops over the grass
between the garbage and the garden
my butthole tingles
like it's fucking Christmas

#228: Star-Side Down

this spool
has an expanding center core
to fit almost any spindle

insert star-side down
in spool cups

we are
US
combat veteran owned
and operated
proudly made in the USA
this spool
has
an expanding
             center
                     core

#227: ITHACAN SAILOR, IN HADES

Odysseus--he's still up there
spinning on his crazy raft
one monstrous wave away
from joining us down here
waiting on Charon
with people clamoring like lunatics
to get on his boat

not me, man--I don't care
if I never get on, or see, another boat
as long as I live, or, mutatis mutandi,
however long I'm dead:
for I will say it: that was one fucked-up tour.

Oh well,
we knew what we signed up for.

Not that we had a clue
what we were signing up for
if you think about it

we did not sign up to be turned into pigs
become addicted to lotus
or be seduced to a watery grave by sirens
nor did we sign up to be eaten by Laistrygonians
or chewed by a cyclops
or squished by a boulder

    we faithfully signed up
    we slaughtered Trojans
    or were slaughtered by them
    we did not run away

but we did not sign up for any of that other
how could we
how could anybody sign up
for everything that happens?

the poet knows this, at least.
small comfort.
but without the poet everyone would be walking around saying
       'well, they knew what they signed up for'
like a bunch of assholes
and if the Captain makes it home
(though I expect him here
any moment now)
neither will he
reunited with his family
sitting at some feast,
repeat--like a total fucking asshole--repeat that lie
'they knew what they signed up for'

--that vicious lie, worthy only of cowards
and soulless fools

#226: TIME MACHINE

apparatus like TYPEWRITERS restore us to a golden time
when men's hair was all suffused
with petroleum
and women were classically trained
to type up all their memoranda
--writing was noisy then
so bosses could tell if you were busty busy
from across the room

at the same time COMPUTERS can replicate
a kind of primal vegetative state
in the subject
as has been shown

but inasmuch as it restores us to the slime
DEATH remains the best machine for traveling time

#225: LOIMOS

and it is damn near time
to release mice at the problem
to call on the Mouse God
if he can localize his LOIMOS
just right
but what am I saying
but he has never had any problem doing that
he can launch his LOIMOS
from afar
with absolute precision

& we can probably conjure him
with something like this:

OK

APOLLONÊ

bring the mice

ΛΟΙΜΟΣ

#224: nice

for over 220 poems
i have been nice
you must admit
and have not told you
to blow it out your enchilada-hole

but at a certain point a person
has to fight back
tears
    and and
fucking spit blood
and implement apparatus
for a change
you know it is coming
in the current dynamic
i know not what
but they shall be the terrors of the earth

because you know one square
of toilet paper
would be enough to wipe
that rictus tight off your ass-
face

#223: Completely Dental

your teeth are like
a row of urinals

*

your teeth are racing along the gutter
like a cluster
of styrofoam cups!

*

your teeth
are the poured-concrete statuary
of an all-out paradise
of your own making

*

your teeth are the bright powdery lozenges
of death

#222: Paranoid Time

can you hear them
people talking about me
behind the shed
vociferous in shadows
sotto voce in judgmental tones

whilst I am sharpening my pencil
 to a fare-thee-well

to write the daily poem
one of the blunter ones for the nones
one of the ones addressed to one or more
illiterate guys
such as congregate in or around one's head

if they will talk about me, well
that's no surprise
but the moment i hear some falsehood
i drive this pencil
short, by now, but infinitely
sharp, no. 2, Ticonderoga
Black Warrior
straight into their eyes

#221: OVERHANG

o my god  i am completely
out of control
these poems are insane did
I write these I must have
been out of my
freaking tree

freak tree

 king tree

freak tree
with twisted buds
and haemorrhaging
molasses

NOTE: in 'Our Lips Are Sealed'
there is much wisdom

when you look at them
look right through them
that's when they'll disappear
that's when you'll be feared

that is when I shall return
with an army and all your cities
I shall burn
that is when I shall be back
in control
of such chaotic performances
as will cause you
to spaz out in earnest

#220: INFESTUS MAXIMUS

clarification: to keep devils away

we need an apotropaic device
or incantation

but it is quite clear
we've got nothing

they breed out of the air

like maggots they cling to life

out of dung they build their nest

right in your head, and starting out from there

lay their eggs at the root of your tongue

infest your ear
co-opt your lung for speeches of any length

when they speak they saw and cut

all sweet sessions of silent thought
they quite digest

and in this wise usurp your portion

your body is their killing floor

your mind is their abortion

unless we can think of something

#219: AԀOTЯOԀAIƆ

the southwestern wind, bearer of storms and drought

he has the body of a man, the head of a dog, the talons of an eagle, two pairs of wings, and a scorpion's  tail

break his bones

GORGEION

HUNKY PUNK

evil against evil

please let it work

𒀭𒅆𒊒𒍪𒍪

#218: Goat Magick II

can you hear
from where you are
the hell-harmonies
of the goats?

the goat procession
inching up the street
along its wandering, lingering route
through the city of death?

as is often the case with parades you cannot tell
the laughter from the cries of pain

it's not something you'll ever
truly
come back from

   the hell-harmonics
   of your first ever
   goat song

#217: TUMOR

I.

the manifestation

on holiday

of an old disease

you thought was behind you

whatever it is
your vacation
is at an end

if flights are still flying out
you better grab
one

because the redactions are spreading fast

II.

redacting things that make no difference
a clever ruse

like sabotaging
the crossword
--a terrorist act

which is much like yourself
a symptom, in point of fact

III.

like a tumor:
whatever it is a symptom of
it represents the triumph
of the whole manifestation
of the old disease

#216: Hüsker Dü

What's going on
What's going on
What's going on
Inside my head?

the question asked
by Hüsker Dü
the song of that title
Zen Arcade (1984)
with feeling
is asked for my sake too

heavy metal chords
earthquake drums
spreading sheets of heavy vibes
penetrating through the rock
inside my head

my head was first made famous
in Ireland where
i put it on a wall
it was widely acknowledged
among a small collection of freaks
that an explosion had occurred
inside there

underground, though
like a nuclear test
in another country

still, ask Paula
she might remember

#215: What This Represents

Yahhhh  you cunts
know what
this represents?

(circular gestures
repeated out of control,
stiff bodies, the rictus
of many a wife)

maybe it's the calm before the storm
and then maybe it's the storm
before the clam
or maybe its the claim
before the calamity

or maybe its the flan
the flan
coming after the sturm und drang
about which i could not give less
of a shit
whatever it is

look at this array of stiffos and termigants!
these warlocks, these thrice-vagrant shrews!



you know what?
I could shit the skeleton, intact,
of a barbequed cat
right here
on my desk
           and everybody would love me for it

#214: The Sheriff

the sheriff looks like hell
the sheriff knows of things he cannot tell
his speech is treading lightly over
things it is imperative that none discover
because the scary people standing to his left                  and to his right
would think the bother only slight
to slit his throat this very night
which who knows maybe they are doing even as I        write

#213: MORON?

Surely not.
Well, consult Webster's.


   MORON (mōrˊon) n. 1. a person having an IQ
   of 50-69 and judged incapable
   of development beyond the mental age
   of 8-12.  2. Informal. any stupid person
   or a person lacking good judgement.

  [GK: neuter of mōros foolish]


so, a MORON technically
is a castrated idiot or fool
interesting

#212: Thin Paper Towel Meat

Yes I suppose it is time to hurl
cleaning supplies
to the hurricane-afflicted
of Puerto Rico
in the form of  rolls
of more or less absorbent
paper towels

that is the next
logical step in our descent

and you are exactly the one
to hurl into the faces
of  the people hurt hungry and grieving
these loose, semi-absorbent spools
of pressed chemical pulp
dredged from the stagnant abyss
of your heart

for who else is capable
of such a thing

#211: MEMORANDUM in re: USA SPAIN IRAQ

Karl Marx only needed to be right
about one thing
and he nailed it

while you grab at imaginary vaginas

meanwhile
Saudi Arabian women now
can drive!
cars!
and soon will be able
to issue the FATWAH

meanwhile
KURDISTAN VOTES
CATALONIA VOTES

    while you are out golfing like a bitch
    or some kind of prehistoric bitch-sloth

and the counting of the votes
(you Francoid fascists and desert puppets)
will be out of your hands

i don't even want to think about the deaths
your guts are absorbing

unfortunately this poem
which scans like a piece of meat
covered with worms
is a memorandum in minatory terms:
the next thing you try to grabb
might just chop of your hedd

FATWAH

# 210: Puerto Rico Is Sacred

Puerto Rico is sacred

college campuses are sacred ground

in this country immigrants are sacred

because the crossing of rivers is sacred

innocents murdered by police were sacred

the life-struggle of black folks of the Americas

because since slavery we have practically no other history
is sacred

homosexuals and drag queens are sacred

everyone at whom you hurl your feces is sacred

this planet is sacred

this planet is sacred

Puerto Rico is  sacred