Newly met.

I'm hoping that most of what I've written on this blog will be taken as something half thought about. From now on I dedicate it to my criticism and sometimes perhaps to poetry. The rest is jargon and mental suicide in text format. It's just hardly an accurate representation of anything most of the time. So expect some opinions about movies. Expect for something to rhyme and other things to just annoy, if you hate when nothing rhymes. You know who you are.

Thanks for reading anything below. It's just a map to the realization that writing with words comes back to an origin without...without...without. Yea, some origin without has nothing to do with the endeavor, if I do. Maybe we're in it together. Signing off is the writer of all posts before this. Meet somebody new or get to know someone whom you have newly met.

No Country for Old Men

The fight has not ended. Not at all in any definite way. Tommy Lee Jones' Sheriff bears those realities ever so heavily and humbly and with... it's just damn good storytelling. There isn't a weak link in the whole picture. Steady beats the heart, and it may skip once or twice, but it's calm never ceases.


I think if I had to make a list of the Top Ten Thrillers of All Time, it might say something like:

1. Psycho
2. Taxi Driver
3. Inland Empire
4. Jaws
5. Vertigo
6. No Country for Old Men
7. Videodrome
8. Blue Velvet
9. Knife in the Water
10. North by Northwest

What Everybody Says

Love might convince you that love is terrible. Wait no. Not having love after having had it might convince you that love is terrible. It already has done so to me. Then why this knowledge that I am wrong?

Are my memories, that way I felt, are they serving some force that goes against what sometimes has seemed so clear? That love is a fucking mess. Could it not be?

What if it's not.
Love. Spotless. Why spotless. Well impersonally. Love without the mess. What good is that?

Anyway I Miss It

did it once
did it twice
Rollin around
Sipping roguewater and jam
Learning rhythmic from whom and him
Curdling water turning tan
To woman, man and fire
And most of what he stands for
The learned whore
sniffs at the drawer

getting nowhere now
excessively

Love Letter to John

We stole from th' Blacks
But gave it back...

Boys took from Zeppelins
Happens in the place
Kintu space, relax
Tightyspeckled harlequins
Uprooted spades grace

Got to say
My life has purpose
Now mine are few
How can it relay
My humble ring of circus
Err it's not strictly you

When you have no sense
What you have
Cuts the core
Then you have new sense
What you have
Wills it more

Ancient bung beetles ten
Cow tongue slowly
Left, right and complete
Meet heedless men
Solar strangers holy
Brand new feet

Mind Games is only worth playing
Jackelopes radio for scraps
Well John stares
Being asked somehow staying
hard pounded to the salty taps
Bright glitterlight mirrorless cares

Meet of the feet
and push repeat
push repeat
push repeat
push repeat
Push repeat

Funky Guns

Whipping days once again
Can't even perform
For their own good,
the good of the country.

The Magnificent Sags

She's got big bright eyes
Just enough wonder and four reasons to love
Weather-pulse forted farce busted

Simple pool dip ice and down

And then you came and destroyed all that.

More than Reason

Read instructions before proceeding...with anything.

I just read a very difficult to read chapter on Othello and Shylock, comparing them as politico-theological enemy figures. Supposedly it prepared me to write a paper on Othello, but turns out the list of texts I can use does not include the incredibly dense essay I just stumbled through.

Anyway, I understand the body politic in a different way now. And I see that politics are just former theologies, secularized through the course of history up to now, when Church and State shall be thought separate by many. Similarly, secular education derives from the establishment of religious institutions of learning. Education and the State are separate as well, no matter what money tells you. Education is only ever one with the people, and how much they buy into learning.

Poor Bedlamb

Now is a Winter and then contemptuously hot.
Our New York has made a Glorious Summer
And its gale blows in from the South.
What is there to do about it
I will become something else or else
I will be forced to rise to the top
of a pile of corpes. Lighting them on
Fire before studying them - the great
Dead who truly have made themselves
Available to me. In writing and in celluloid
Visions of flesh and blood. And, of course,
In that Great Gift of Education!

Happenstance

Some made by nuclear power, some by bowls
Most often it comes through the bowels
-that last is the American grace,
For he who lives and dies by his colon
Was the finest American to Ride off Into Sunsets.

Right mobbish parties they were.

Hey, know any good racist jokes?

Stacked on top of one another
The safe passageway
The safety of it that somehow
Seems only to frighten

Check before the info
gets you down
because something without
a line might come at you

You're gonna have to
Judge that something has been seen
Read maybe. We don't know what
Kills they're most proud
First Amendment etc.
The kills made by the American

Regime.

Lets not let the American whose family goes from KKK to NRA become ever again the kind of American whose iron squint rules the country.

Down Down Up Y

Dance without asking why you're here. Thinking wears my personality. Or rather my personality has worn this thinking so long that it has forgotten how the skin used to provide.

Urgently urgently on earth. Can you stop? Can you even pray without that asshole in the back row...
I am not silly. Not silly to pray....
However one time it was frivolous and game-like. Pals. Now I am wondering about...

Have the courage...

Down to the...

Is it coming fast?

Isn't there a movement? Is there movement? Both suggest that yes there is movement.

But if questions could confirm presence of

It's the violence of somebody's imagination that...

Entertains

Enters interns. Fucks nation.

Clinton's penis, swung to stimulate the Republican domino warpath, yet may elevate the missus.

Below's grasping may only end up being a mere gesture, pointing to them, the shared somethings. The word grasp, in other words, has been used falsely insofar as no proof has been given that anything was grasped entirely.

I'm not high enough. Times like these you start to doubt and then tell the doubt to go away and come back. Times like these it starts to trouble. Whether Shakespeare is indeed holy, or simply a ghost. In other words, where does Dante visit with the Bard? Heaven or Hell or earth.

According to Freud, for the duration of a Shakespeare play, the observer is induced and required to adopt the beliefs of the time frame. May the enemies of the city of God (pagans) be combated by one who falls under the spell of "Shakespeare's time?" Augustine said that Plato, whom he labels (in english) a demi-god, confides, "love of God is love of the True Goodness," though Platonists are polytheists. I witnessed Burton's Hamlet as a Ghost. a shadow of the older stage. Fast forward., Cullum's Laetres and Gielgud's staging.grand rocket science of craftsmanship with limited creativity, a beautiful telling of Our modern philosophical era - the emotion was ratcheted up by interpretations of the old thunder of a great performer.

Once 'jected

Puff puff pity
Tis tis taint
All spent on the whore
You should have, too
Picked the girl
Most beautiful
Regardless of your own wickedness.

My words have been wicked
Then never have I been
But wickedness does lie
And I, wickedness, have done the sin.

Getting started

I don't want other people to be participating in my experience except sometimes when I hear music. I think I hear it better than they do. I know how to enjoy it better. Or my past has prepared me better for it. I, according to Lacan's conception of the ego, is an other. He puts it in italics in the printed Seminar II. And I'm telling you, that when I write this paragraph, the "I" has past. Music only once pulled me to desire invitation to shared experience, but that one moment pervades in recollection.

And in reading sometimes we feel that we are having a shared experience, lest we think only one person ever reads anything. There doesn't seem to be any question in my mind that Freud was an artist. He would like to have been called Science. He would have liked a lot of things.

Wah

Have you ever talked to someone who complains about a negative response to the question "how are you?" If you don't answer with a positive, some askers of the common question will take note and judge you. They are people who have no regard for the arbitrary nature of mood. Keep saying "not too well" or even a simple hand gesture of so-so, dear compatriot. Confront those inquisitive souls with your unarticulated slump; they deserve it.

Thick and Thin

State of ignorance. New state.
Cannot clean. Stains strong.
Jump back.

After Going West

Watched a Marx Brothers post-Zeppo movie called Go West. Laughed to myself, with Groucho, who laughs for no one. The music, as always, gets long sometimes. But I do enjoy seeing Chico perform at the piano, hearing Groucho sing sweet nothings; Harpo's best instrument is the horn; the harp part of this one is colder than some others, stalwart as ever. Harpo playing the harp becomes so serious, you wonder if maybe the whole thing is quite serious to him above them all.

Even Groucho for that matter. Or any matter.

Lethargy Takes Time

Starting out with a word, you might get a little sick. It could mean anything, which word you chose. Could it mean nothing? Regurgitation comes to mind. Fire. Fire is a good word. Good word to start a story with. Fire. Then the rest of the text has to utilize some definition of that one first word.

Lethargy means I'll never right that book, unless one day I burn all this and move on with the life I intend to lead.

Eye Captain.

This chump ain't bad. He ain't good neither. Or not better. Least far as I can see.

Now, as though now itself were a character in a small story, took a break. Down he sat upon a ledge. Traveling, he thought, is the best possible incurrence of my youth. Some sort of an empire withheld him from standing. Who are these people, the word lingered in contemplation before falling out of sight. Some new motherfucker, calling himself now, bust onto the scene.

Farmulation

We smoke. We drink. We try and get together. It takes time. Too much time. Forcing places from one fucking memory into the next. Integrated pornographic cheese.