This publication was assembled and distributed at the Totalkunst Gallery, Edinburgh on August 21st 2011, as the conclusion of I AM NOT A POET. Participants in the show - which took place from 7-21st August - were invited to contribute an A4 sheet to a loose leaf b/w assemblage, whatever they wished to appear under the title of I AM NOT A POET.
Contributors Magdalen Chua Emma Cocker Peter Cant & Alex Eisenberg Jennie Guy Colin Herd Mirja Koponen Shandra Lamaute Michelle Letowska Jow Lindsay nick-e melville Iain Morrison Tamarin Norwood Mary Paterson seekers of lice Gerry Smith Kim Walker Samantha Walton
Cover/ logo: Marit Muenzberg
Passages of silence - justified right, flushed left Magdalen Chua (2011)
Close Reading (C.O.P.V, 1950), 2011
Close Reading (C.O.P.V, 1950) is part of an ongoing series by artist-writer Emma Cocker which investigates the practice of close reading or of an ‘explication de texte’. Here, close reading is not understood as the critical attention paid to the meaning of words themselves as signs, but is instead interested in those meanings produced by looking at words ‘close up’, through a process of visual magnification or close visual attention. Drawing on the Latin origins of the word explicare (as in explication de texte) which means to unfold, to fold out or set forth, within Cocker’s close reading words appear shifting and unstable, restless and unwilling to be stilled. The work looks towards the threshold where writing or text collapses into its component parts (ink and page); the point where the sense or legibility of a word is rendered illegible or nonsensical the closer it is attended to, as writing slips towards image. More about Cocker’s practice can be found at not-yet-there.blogspot.com.
INSTRUCTIONS/CONSTRUCTIONS Peter Cant and Alex Eisenberg In 2008 Alex went to New York. Peter stayed in London. Peter sent instructions for Alex to follow. In 2011 Peter went to Edinburgh. Alex stayed in London. Alex sent instructions for Peter to follow. ********
Instruction A Read 12:00 Construction 12:08 Stop and rest.
Instruction B Sent 12:01 Read 12:09 Construction (?) Find something that is broken or damaged. Repair it. Restore damage to renewed use.
Instruction C Sent 11:36 Read (?) Construction (Incomplete) Share your lunch with someone that needs it. A homeless person or a tramp would be a good option but it is up to you. I’m not saying that they are ideal characters, I am only saying that if they are worse than other people, it is the result and not the cause of their way of life.
Instruction D Sent 14:42 Read 14:50 Construction 15:00 – 16:40 At around 3.00pm make your way to this address: 64 South Bridge, EH11LS. When you get there go inside. It starts at 3.20pm. When it finishes talk to them. Ask them what moves them.
Instruction E Sent 16:32 Read 16:45 Construction 17:00 Stop, rest. Ask yourself how you are.
Instruction F Sent 18:00 Read 18:15 Construction 18:15 – 19:05 Join a group of people. Sit with them. Follow them. Allow them to lead you. They might be aware that you have joined them, they might not.
Instruction G Sent 20:16 Read 20:45 Construction 21:15 Got to an open space. Be there 15 minutes before 21.01pm. Face westwards and look towards the sky. As the sun sets, as it becomes dark, imagine a thousand suns setting at the same time. Begin to dance. ********
I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKNG OF OOYO UPETE I AM THINKINGS OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PEYE I AM THINKINGS OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AN THINUING OF OUE PETE I AM THINKINH OF YOU PETE I AM THINING OF YOUE PETE I AM THINGIN O U AN THINIU UIA M THINNG OF YO PETE I AM THINGKG IOF PETE I AM THKINGIN OF YOU PETE I AKM THIN G OF OYU PTEE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE UI ANT THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM I AM THIKING OG YOU PRTR I AM THINKING OG YOU PRTE I AM THINKING OG YO PRTR I AM THINKING O F YOU ETEHER I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE ]IA MA I MA THININ OG YOU PRTR I AM THIUNKING OG YOU PETE I AM THINKNING FO O I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKIUBNG OF PEY U AN RHUI AM THINING OF YOU PETE I AM THININIGH OF YOPETE IUUUAM THINIIH I AM THINKNGH OF YOU PETE I AM THINIIN I AM THINING OF YOUE PET I AM THINKING OF YOUE PETE I AM THINIKING I AM THIKN I AM THINNKING OF YOU PTETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINK I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOPETE I AM THINING OF YOU OTEPE I AM THINKING OF YOOU I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF OUP EPETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOUPE P I AM THINKING OF OU PETE IAM THINKING OGF YOU PETE I AM THINKNING OF I AM THINKING OF YOUW PETE JI AM THINKING OF YOU PTE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THIKING OF YOU PETR I AN I AM THINKING OF YOU PETR U A THININKINH OF YOU PETE I AM THIN I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE
I AM THINKNING OF UOUP TRR I AM THININKG OF OU PRTR I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE U AN HINKHIG OF YOU PETE I AM THINKNI DO FOU PETE I AM THININKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETET I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PETE I AM THINKING OF YOU PRTR I AM THINKING OF YOU PRTR I SM THINKING OF YOU PRTR I SM THINKINDG OF YFKJ I SNS TRHINSIDHF HFKWUDBCKJDFBNSLFBDMFBWONF BSKIDNUFBVLBNSDJDINRE IFSJKJFBSOIDNJFGSEIWFN JEBFOWHBJFGHEK IJSHRINKINDG OF YPRYR IS TIINIHIGHUF HFENJIUONIETE I SM THINKING OG YOU PRTR I S M TIIKNIGOF YO PRTR UU S SNOT THINGING OF YOU PRTR I SM NOTY TININKG OF YOU PPRTR I SM NOT THININNIU OF YOU OPRTR I SMSNF NOT THINKING OF YOU PRTR U SN NFVSKV BVJSKDJFUSW \U SN RGUBJUBF EUTHH YUUO PRTR I SM THINKING EITH UOO PRTR I SM THINING EITH OYU PRTR I SM THINKING EITH YOU PRTR I SM THINKING EITH OU PRTR IU SMF THINKING EITH YOU PRTR I SM THINKING EITH YOU PRTR I SM THINING EITH OYUO PRTR I SM YTHF I SM THIN I ESD NOT THINKING EITH OU PRTR IU ESD NOT THINKIGG IETH YOU PRTR I ESD TNOT THINKING EITH YOU PRTR I ESD NOT THINIKNG UI ESD NOT THINKING I ESD NOT GHININK I EFKSKFUFHO THR KRYBOSTF GRRLD TRSLLY GST SESY THR JRYBOSTF GRRLD TRSLLY FST SESY THR KRYBOSTF GRRLD TRSLLY STR SESY THR KRYBSOTF GRRLD TRSLLY GST SESY THR KRY BOSTF I VOULF DTSY TIGH THRR I VOULF DTSY TIGHT HRR I VOULF DTFSY TIGHT HRTR I VOULF DTSTUY RTIUGHT HRR IVOULF STAY TIGHT HRTE,SNF EHST NOE? I SM THINKING OG YOU PRTR I HSVR BRRN SLL FSY.
Two girls in a Japanese restaurant. One in charge being more fluent with Sushi and such food. So she is trying to make sure the other is comfortable by explaining how nice this dish is and that dish you might not like, while still retaining sympathetic superiority. When the waiter asks for their drinks order, two Sapporo rolls easily and fluently out of the girl in charge’s mouth. Sorry, we have no Sapporo, we have Asahi and Kirin and Oron. The friend, the one that isn’t in charge casually asks the waiter, which one is better do you think? Her friend, the one in charge looks a little upset but gathers back her momentum over lunch, nearly.1
1 This text is an informal postlude to Selected Crônicas, a video work which re-‐ imagined several of Clarice Lispectors Crônicas, read in Italy July 2011.
colin herd gerry smith the text based artist came into the gallery today while i was writing out lisa stansfield’s song “so natural” with brown felt tip on the wall he looked around a bit and then i took my headphones off to talk to him about how i felt like it had gone or was going i’d spoken to mirja shortly before (her brief visit intense because of her excitement and enthusiasm her questioning punctuated by her nervousness that her car was being ticketed so intermittently looking out the big totalkunst window, the one i have a great picture of both samantha walton and iain morrison sitting in and jow walton kind of clambering intensely next to when they did their readings, with in sam’s case a edinburgh sightseeing bus stalled on forest road for what felt like agesand the people on the top deck staring in, with headphones on, tourguide headphones i suppose but maybe not) gerry said that something he and shandra lamaute were keen on occurring during their exhibition (shandra’s piece was a sound installation of a pen writing on paper and there was a pen as part of it too) and they liked the idea of someone picking up the pen and writing on the wall but it’s not something you can really plan for if you encourage it it becomes the point and defeats the point or something like that well, that happened here with my thing, or pretty much did- the drawings and writings that appeared over night and that i was pretty much looking forward to seeing by the final morning (anticipating starting over again like the ritual of rewinding whirry cassette tapes) but which i really wasn’t expecting the morning of the second day but maybe i should’ve because mirja took some exceptional photographs on that first evening showing the paper kind of crumpled darkly with the almost sorrowful coloured pens underneath and if that image doesn’t convey that something’s going to be drawn or written by somebody mysterious then i don’t know what does and it’s difficult to know whether the people who wrote and drew like this felt like they were doing what the piece wanted them to or not. david told me someone came in the gallery showing their friend the drawing they’d done the night before which suggests they thought it was at least not something that needed keeping secret, something permissible rather than illicit and i don’t know what i think about that except what is it about the act of writing now 26 lyrics on the wall that somehow doesn’t feel enough that somehow requires embellishment i think throughout there’s been a kind of ambiguity about what it is i’ve been doing here and it’s something i haven’t exactly wanted to or whatever been able to dispel it produced a nice moment yesterday evening when somebody came into the gallery while i was up the ladder with headphones on, writing they must have thought that that was what you were meant to do pick up the headphones and start writing so they put the headphones on pressed play and walked over to the paper and put a neat yellow sentence at the bottom of that page over there which reads “what do you do with adversity? give up? but maybe it could be sun” that “sun” could also be “fun” it’s not entirely clear they even followed this wobbly curve of my handwriting which was sweet though goodness knows which one of my poems on the c.d. they were responding to with that the ambiguity of what i’ve been doing with this is in my head too- i have a feeling that it’s not been very successful as a kind of art work until maybe after jow’s reading, when i put the final song lyric (janet jackson’s that’s the way love goes) and david and i started talking about it mirja had mentioned before that she thought it would be a good idea to let the scrolls kind of furl out onto the floor like the endless casette loops ( think this was even in my original proposal now i mention it) and i always remember this beautiful exhibition my friend domino put on where she strung cassette ribbon all over the gallery crisscrossingetc and it shimmered and shook so then speaking together with david and what mirja had said earlier we thought it might be nice to kind
of overcome the nighttime graffiti and separate my text from the supplementary drawings, i don’t know sort of reclaiming it as an exhibition of text, as a kind of concept poem i started tearing down the banners and mirja found me some tape (this the most sort of energetic i’d been the last few days) and started taping the fragments together in my excitement i lost a few lines here and there because of taping overzealously and messing it up but at this stage it felt irrelevant i just wanted everything i’d written on one long scroll of paper and i was possibly conquering a few demons if that doesn’t sound too crass (i mean if we say that this text of now26 was like my adolescent hopes, desires, frustrations, then the graffiti was like an external influence and me kind of exorcising them was a conquering, a maturing) it was kind of the drawing together of an exhibition that hitherto had been totally pubescent- illthought-through and half baked i said it up kind of proudly in the centre of the gallery which could have been a little too much it was off-centre though and emily who helped me pin them up without totally crushing the paper to hell said that it wasn’t so bad, that it just looked comfortable in the space and not overproud or whatever I was worrying about one thing that really struck me when writing out the lyrics was the accidental conversations between songs and also kind of between me and the songs when engaged in the activity of writing them out (the song “give it up” a good example where the title is also the only lyric) mean if we look over here you’ve got this song where one minutes she’s saying “you give me free love” and the next she’s saying “you show me there’s no such thing as free love” and then in the next song something weirdly complementary or disjunctive “we’re too young to die” and the songs are so emptied out and generalized that you can do nothing but identify with their voices so is it any wonder that if you really wear this cd out you end a little confused a little mixed up and alienated o.k. a meatloaf lyric “maybe i’m lonely that’s all i’m qualified to be” for me it’s been a really nostalgic experience though maybe not as much as i was expecting because the nostalgia was from the potent associations in my head and when pausing and rewinding the text there wasn’t much room for those kinds of thoughts and that nostalgia probably doesn’t translate except david don’t you think when iain came in the other day and started singing “what is love” he shared it a bit too? and i know that reuben and i were going nuts for the meatloaf song the other day and he was filling me in on details about the female singer (it’s not her in the video the singer because she wasn’t deemed glamorous enough so it’s someone else) i never knew but maybe i should have left my obsession with now 26 in the bedroom or maybe i should have left it in the past because before starting on this project it was a long time since i had really listened to the songs on the c.d.s the grafitti has felt a little like school jotter doodles and that has added to this kind of sense of emotional nostalgia and then there’s the ambiguity over whether i feel like an artist or whether i feel comfortable presenting work in a gallery which is probably my interpretation of the title of this whole festival- though i’m not too comfortable with the poetry reading either ( and no joke i’m doing this hastily and i just mistyped that either as wither) so in general it’s an aesthetic i maybe can’t help (like as i said puberty thing connected to these songs the fact that the exhibition never really started until i took it down- the ladder there all the time as a signal of work in progress or whatever) that they’re not sorted or fully matured, the ideas kind of unclear and fuzzy as a result of all this moping around listeneing to now 26 so it’s kind of only right that these transcriptions have been drawn and written all over and quite accomplishedly because someways i really shouldn’t be here tonight in your eyes there’s a sign of intensity i sense an atmosphere no need to hide from the way that you feel inside there’s nothing left to fear if only for tonight (dont be a stranger) i want to take this chance risk it all for you knowing what i’m going to do if only for tonight (dont be a stranger) i want it all from you tonight
! She paints her nails bright red on days when she wants to be brave. Then the next day, she removes the paint from her fingernails but leaves it on her toes; a secret confidence hidden by shoes and socks.
Every six weeks, I pay a lovely Eastern European woman $45 plus a tip to use hot wax to painfully remove hair from what is technically referred to as the "bikini line". Now, I say technically because as she explained to me, Eastern European women believe that we should be hair free in the "bikini area". I insist on not being totally hair free, and she begrudgingly leaves me what is commonly referred to as a "landing strip". Additionally, every two weeks I pay an angry Cambodian woman to use hot wax to rip the majority of my eyebrows out. While at the salon to have my eyebrows painfully removed, I pay her husband to use chemicals and acrylicâ€”that I assume to be toxic given that he wears a breathing maskâ€” to give me the illusion of lovely manicured nails. I don't know why I do this. It's a financial nightmare, and a real time killer!
Smile - that is the easiest, cheapest, most long-lasting thing you can do.
Shandra Lamaute, Extracts from Ideas of Beauty: Conversations, 2011
Shandra Lamaute Al-Qalam, 2011 I Am Not A Poet VerySmallKitchen and Totalkunst Gallery
Into Silence This meeting is a space of gathered stillness. Please leave all electronic devices outside of the room and find yourself a comfortable place. In this silent togetherness you may find insight, revelation, healing or calm. Please donâ€™t feel any need to discuss this experience outside of this space â€“ it is not a performance but a sharing. When the hour is up, you may wish to acknowledge those around you, break the silence or take the peace with you.
Page 1/7 FOREST Four longish poems, […] saw blog […] / one way of delineating poetry is : for any disputed object is : seek something that’s definitely a poem to act as its “nominator” as it were & that’s how “poets who are poets” often write as well, & perhaps THE CUSTOMARY BIASES & OCCLUSIONS & SALIENCES BY WHICH THEY DETECT & ASSESS SIMILARITY [/ affinity / etc.], (for instance the bracketing of dissemination) more so than any distinctive “poetic labour” or “poetic thought” is what constitutes their products as “poems that are poems” e.g. a few years ago started trying to copy Sean Bonney / with a bit of Peter Manson / [Sophie Robinson / Jeff Hilson] [also poems that can tell the future] BUT ended up like this: “ay me what is wrong with me to chug eggnog I smoke cock, & yet I pass pussywet see cities’ apparitions in levant et couchant surveillance mosaics » so bad words alienating craved natural constituency of aunties / mothers & Yemeni clerics … please count bad words * (I) SANTA CAME TO CRAWL I don’t mean to be naughty but legally you are my moggie. if any of the rioters come near my bairn I’ll stab them. till no one will notice they’re gone. I bet when you had me you said, “Boy oh boy, it’s another girl!”
Page 7/7 try to cultivate geraniums or can we lose it? “Okay.” Which? But nothing could prepare the paper nautilus shell for what she would slowly, erratically swim into backwards next.” Five. You rub a little of me on your gum each night like cocaine to ensure I’m genuine, how thickly I’m cut, c’maan! It’s a beautiful poem about cocaine & compares ourselves & it ends just there, who defriends Rousseau, c’maan! A little schmutz on one Chessman kop & I’m known? Go off dross for one protest meme, go momentarily double sharp pebbles already around horses that pull apart riderless flesh & horses & comrades, & in that moment tend to our true free purposes, like police cordons cut away float on breezes point to & but also you could skim stones on your drool, if you could only skim stones so. Cut corsets, don’t sacrifice songs or dialysis, & let your deli belly hear of it. Paint too the old towns pink with wingsmith wax & dip our coarse brushes in pallets still setting, our wangs go in gels & wings go in girls & girls go over former Equipage Sabbath Workshops minutes purposelessly, oh dressage, & blink nostalgic & cursive, like hoof-sparks light sharp stone, naturally scattered about doubled as caltrops darkling, & copy the content of poisons & respect the love of football, & dress no tumult but flutter. Go lazily in numbers like S. Jarvis & go fucking arduous in dialectic like partygoers, & what, like, muleless our pack roses grew our possessions forth constant inches towards our positions & look back at that, at laugh & curtsy in lava-film our foreskins to cinders, iff, & lay snares so cunning the beasts which come to them become like curries & line with such baits those snares as change ourselves in our nature as esteem & as persons & I have been in prisons & I esteem how I dismantle my restaurant fridges on Sunday evenings after lunch services & sort it, & my concern is that your revolutionary world will annihilate the personage for whom & whereof this cleanliness is courtliness & in the run-up your poets portrayed us implicitly as absurd & as the sabotage of gurning, our jaws to turn, darkling, cud, & away from talk against our false purposes, tending like police cordons cut away float on breezes point to & also you could skim stones on your slaver, if you could only skim stones so. Hamas & Mordor. & mask no tumult but go in it over & not of looking-glasses but of the grain of our marrow gain views in shatter & hear our voice against our false purposes & no more futuristic songs but see again the grain of our marrow & bone gone & our blood & the envelope of management of dialysis in shatter & yet in gurning darkling cud, forests gather.
End Pages Donate Do Art Donate
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Ambulant Hesitambulate Circumabulant
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Deliquate Inseminate Predicate!
Animambulant Permanananambulant Celebrant
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So late My love Detonate! Detonate!
Crucifambulate Confabulant Ambulant Circumambulate
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Today we had a second rehearsal on stage. I arrived early, and decided to prepare myself right on the stage, which today was quite different from yesterday. Work was humming, as properties and scenery were being placed. It would have been useless, amid all this chaos, to try and find the quiet in which I was accustomed to get into my role at home. First of all it was necessary to adjust myself to my new surroundings. I went out to the front of the stage and stared into the awful hole beyond the footlights, trying to become accustomed to it, and to free myself from its pull; but the more I tried not to notice the place the more I thought about it. Just then a workman who was going by dropped a package of nails. I started to pick them up. As I did this I had a very pleasant sensation of feeling quite at home on the big stage. But the nails were soon picked up, and again I became oppressed by the size of the place. Above: C. Stanislawski. 1937. An Actor Prepares (trans. Elizabeth Reynolds Hapgood). Reading: Methuen Drama. 2006: p.7. Overleaf: United States Patent 6698831 Tamarin Norwood
The lemon that I stole in Leningrad When heather kept me warm in a night where I could not find my tent They formed a human chain The old man had tears in his eyes At the late age of 57 Trolleys and trams We all used to sleep outside under the grapevines We buried him in the garden of a special friend He said nothing! Seeing lightning bolts falling down to the sea Terrified until the bottom I am ashamed Eventually one magical summer’s evening Rowing out to a tiny island Rings on the fingers, Bells on the toes The smell of the oranges of my childhood garden I believed it was a robin All broken timber and flaking white paint I now know that it was a wren Why was I scared? It smelled of the summer The magic of making a new friend Walking to a lesson across cobbles An unexpected and happy time I pass as straight He stops at the turnstiles to glare Was there some secret tunnel? I said, ‘I was running away.’ I don’t know why I still feel a little haunted Tastes Wrigley’s Spearmint, smells Radox green Until he fell on the dog Before you left me A glimpse of new love She’d take me there one day I learnt my lesson Falling off a brick wall Standing under a tree sheltering from heavy rain Catching frogs amongst shopping trolleys It was the final time I am sliding into something About nothing in particular I didn’t go to jail Nobody laughed No one has said anything Burnt cigarettes I could not believe in the truth anymore And I regret doing that I can’t remember last night Note: this memory may be second hand, passed to me through stories from my parents
Excerpts from memories donated to The Memory Exchange, Wednesday 10th August 2011 at Totalkunst Gallery, Forest Cafe, Edinburgh. Memory Archivist: Mary Paterson.
“it began to spot with rain” enough light to take a photograph cells a crystal set le très gros chagrins locked out make the stone stony gawp lips lips brush cheek 'eating of one's mother's heart and then understanding birds' mosquito ear whine one thing one thing one thing tulips opening dry falling main void below my nose bleeds weird some pleased our journey ends sniffing dog energy sum asunder. determined lightness of being too thin too quickly consumed too lacking in contest between structure & meaning from the horse's mouth maybe it's may now slash the gloves to stall the fight swashbuckling stakes raised game honed you're cumbered with me (lowdown) double-check-first crossed here and there by brilliant suns. cosmonaut's pencil colouring in computer slow down system restore hammering the walls an ark Kurt Schwitters fall out flat above identification with
the text in a temporal loop the lowest level days repeating crashing stuttering curdled knots of outside the window ache trope of mis fooled I taken id no thing entity. scrabble creamy language rain scumbles smooth unfurling the windows quarried quarried taut time you quasi-almost alongside s p l i n t e r e d making something with the effluxion of time to face off nature. what man make the is the gatekeeper bed. lost moon a butterfly get out of being a horse my wit -shipder schlussel der & n o w o n &n o w schlussel o n risk speak without extasie of flowers words without exstasie of orchards form. dirty b l o s s o m appeal to a the instability gene higher body solidify the light drive against breat h breat h the traffic flaunting dirt ache of arm wrestle it all hard memory or jerking the thought if the acceleration and jam crumbs knife now cup stains table but through thought aah eeh or not ow running in saying nothing finding it or something now where sun blue beat make good fuelled thought filled honi soit you went you want qui mal y pense invention's hold same to you mate floored and flawless whatever flying like an angel overtaking on the inside wings outstretched a way space invader. clock & finger Open heart wound little stabs loitering drawl at happiness idle language shapes chatter us prism a clock without hospital of the hands knights templar the edges dog-eared pleached trees eyes reeling round Paris squinting grandeur and pain the artist shows play by the rules water tells stuck in this tremulous lies pain knot what wit a spaceship microscripts &
Berthillonage knowing & not knowing odd man out fits and starts form challenges in -coherence act like a fugitive in a waiting room you're a fail ure whereas a glitch in the system Louis Quinze chairs thickness of a thumb. heart's fulcrum . Perfume-d hair & you want you like closed days without loose from hope what is needed or needled through calm water and you're not here still sun & pay no mind the pigeon shit on the balcony. the mess & being dirty recognition of your voice he's like she's like no matter mumbling muttering cakehole open halfwit habit say shit or alas balance between sentimentality & flat -ness to fall or not to fall I came to the con clusion Blue beard's key sister Ann don't know if I'm awake or sleep no one comes to fill me in my poplars dear love's dogged confession of friendship gone astray you must be getting wet watching you tube videos I see the essaie urbane
trees dripping interference disturbance distort the day open a book a face of thought what to write a pin-pricked reason invent new words I do listen to you I'm dirtydirty junkspaced out keep control or move out of book invention now bird language or whammo! names with exclamations grass growing bright yellow the most human human the most dogged dog the most lousy louse look in a mirror traffic noise at night the but of the joke around me leave it all findsome where will we headache or tumor & worrisome to be excitable & winging it with situps and crunches the blank page of the abdomen breathe slow-deeply are we immoral lick-my lick-my noting nothing Classical Romantic Surreal the slayer games & games phone call message press 3/ delete lie naked alongside pure love a sword between bury the ashes or rise out of them words to be in go now & write properly sustained ost-
CREAMY LANGUAGE seekers of lice
inato bend the notes mind's blank tripping up the automatic door can't keep up desire to wreak violence on the wor(l)d create havoc run amok disturb &what delight I wish I was charming not the dull lumpen echo of a clogged eardrum see you a bit soon Lermontov Turgenyev leer and turgid wrap around sty -le leaves me holler or back to no way back an impasse some fretting a gap in memory like a lost tooth tongue fingering the hole coming in & out levering the noness thing please change here make my day shouting in bed elaborate the lobes wide river crossing dead sub -marine pleasure boat cathedral and prison willing it clark coolidge can where be my hair spray & ex -ercises pullups chin ups bench press my bench mention it now a rounded arm & personal best the laces trai -ling forgot leaving before the end what the doctor said. sun's glare garrulousness
I am I to the world the mattress pressed not a pea Lying in bed give it to me welterweight never one thing calling some thing else fast it won't be long featherweight less than this A shrike shelduck or shedluck laze now easy turn over & feel leaf green traffic of roadways concrete powerlines a broad brush no finicking need meat & flesh & bone an argue ment smooths cold air on sh oulders can you go back to it lossless or lossy littoral entropy compressing fileslow re – cognition can you be can you be can you be huma n? scan (sion) of abdomen internalised pattern a vase of flowers slack out of control & counter-productive raging around thunderstorm to be full of things and rich detail “the blurring is always emergency butchering” take steps take steps to return St. John Chrysostom the daily day hangs out for us to use wear it with aplomb a saint with a divine rubbery body being in a hole
quiver ping fine calibrations winged ants invading new territory door mat tramped their world got the crazybends again light switch switches off or on lurching around letters arrive compression chambre losing air h(e)ated day received ideas struggle or knowledge misery guts you distracted or dis trait or non -plussed or arsy-versy tacitly chequered distress the pain of pain & pity where is the bareness beneath the drivel of self the flying ants crawling over the threshold tough as leather you nurk & haply gloat left footed thought of it latterly prinked to say new things to write nonothing now leave new leaf. Hail head hold the new champ -ion. Lasso me The shit between and within us reading as an aggressive act beat beat turnspit nerves and atoms man unhappiness dust reptiles metamorphosis to con or know stupidity frog and toad
the pavement ogive grow your own body parts the fly in the flytrap venus fall on your feet flyweight knocking yourself off or out with out shame being lame or cowardly provoke a new cat -astrophe gluing its own sake Alceistis mourns the death of his bees short lines not touching the armpit smell hair & food & being modern Giotto's blues butterfly mouth a moth Melmoth dissolving in the bath smell of snow sea of paintings paint a wall frozen waiting cooking eating phone watch pen computer plug socket airbag ashtray brick stone verge weed lamppost sun pan artifice and shoes heaped up eyeballs cake toothbrush qui lu sa? chi lo sa? who knows acting out calibrations thumb size ounce span lever of course I was interested the carrots are cooked long sobs of autumn violins false alarm soothe my heart with monotonous langor geographical contours the geometry of stains violet flowers
variable torque ratios so lush Eros fucks Aphrodite Aphrodite fucks Zeus XXXX say it again saysay againgain tear or tear destruction of the fittest all before lie with a sword between us the pages of the manuscript were edited only lightly a man walks into a cafe splash plouff my little cupcake and they both knew dogged love can we air last night reentering voices offstage still orbiting what is Russian for dog bring me tea with lemon & cake “a chaos of hesitating nuances, a shapeless fog” swan hawk mouse grasshopper ornithology doomed love in space you don't want to go back a thing which exists in its own contention ordinary & worn poised occluding aesthetic elation thickness of things the way things bulge drab and humorous “c'est long mais ce sera bon” seismograph or cardiograph earth blood stained anemones grew smears stains lolling drooping ankle pierced by the fang of a snake mute things
CREAMY LANGUAGE seekers of lice
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This publication was assembled and distributed at the Totalkunst Gallery,Edinburgh on August 21st 2011, as the conclusion of I AM NOT A POET...
Published on Jan 20, 2012
This publication was assembled and distributed at the Totalkunst Gallery,Edinburgh on August 21st 2011, as the conclusion of I AM NOT A POET...