Backflow Hobgoblin May Vex Plumbed-In Brewer Operators

Can life ever have so much significance that art has to cease having meaning?  Right now, as the internet throws up significant stories and images almost everyday, fiction, in an attempt to compete, is growing more & more grotesque.

Enlightenment dream of autonomous individual who dictates to reality rather than being dictated to by it to buy it.

Blumenberg presents what he regards as an attractive version of the myth of the immortality of the soul.  He interprets Nietzche's note, "That we could bear being immortal--that would be the highest thing," as suggesting that we should imagine immortality as the capacity to see all the consequences of one's actions (after as well as before one's death) and to remember (without benefit of repression or forgetfulness) everything that one did; from which flows the question, could one in fact bear it--to continue as the person who had "that" past and "those" consequences?  This myth certainly serves very well to focus one's responsibility to and for oneself, while avoiding the "superman" implication of idealism and of (most of) Nietzche, and of Jonas' myth--the implication that man must accept responsibility for reality as a whole...

General Chamomile, as he had aged, had found himself considering the entirety of the public sphere his responsibility. Before he could buy coffee, or a chair, even a chair he found quite comfy, he had to consult the data from the latest surveys and product reviews.  To live like this, Chamomile had had to create a special Department for Everyday Surveys.

--a whole room full of consumer reports (like a wine cellar)--flow charts

--these are the carrels, short, sharp, Schacht

General Chamomile, in his time as Darpa mastermind, helped fund a number of discoveries:

1. a way of turning indefinite articles into definite articles
2. an aardwolf could be taught to eat abalone, have heart attacks, be taken aback and abaft
3. an abbess being abducted by God was an abbreviation
4. to abase was his job, to be abashed was yr job
5. an abbatoir was a type of abatjour
6. an abecedarian was usually abeam
7. the predator predicts incursive incompetence
8. forbidding fobs to forebode globular forgetfulness cottontailed whatever was concatenate, concentric
9. the clock of love stops somewhere around here...

Latent Revolutionary Hummer Exhaust of Wal-Mart Parking Lots

Like teeth falling out, DFACS takes the kids away.
Hummer Exhaust like a cloudy chance of meatball-supernova
Has rubbed poison oak between the thighs
Of the Salvation Army, marching on their dimes.

Looking at the average Wal-Mart worker, cheated out of his overtime by the fear natural to the replaceable part of the machine fat enough we can't imagine replacing, I cry tears that freegan the moisture of this desert of disability-and-perversion heckling parking lots, where the security cameras are us, capturing the crime and criminal on the silent witness of tape, without a tongue to lick the past's envelope closed as the Dead Letter Office's furnace door.

The Hummers descend like badly slept locusts upon the buffet of America
And the ravaged wheat, ascending on the oiled wind of five finally gone posts,
Chaffs the perverse security cameras.

Hummer exhaust may be governing
The universe, even its A/C.

A Hummer piloted by wristcutting schizoids, depressive night-bowling
Soccer moms and loaded with homemade napalm,

The Moral Life of Babies In Low-Maintenance, Sleep-Pollen Formations

There was a static of bad reception like fallen hair
Under my waxing cable of downward-skin,
I saw, rumping the hip of the blogosphere's trigone caul
Licking the miasmatic stars of the eyes
Before the feisty magnetospheric-ire-serum of the lips--
They who clean, vicious, ripped--

Swamp Thing, with his violet foam of greenfriendly
Saliva, is expectorating a vegan's turds into a discarded vat
Of ocean-inseminating nuclear waste.  The Vegan
Turds are the stuff of the new green houses.
Ed Begley Jr. lives in houses of dried vegan
Turds & Dippin' Dots.

Someone is blotting yr ignominy in a nerve length of shivering Gestalts!
Collate, consume yr cauterized verbtestes, saying:
My lips are painted slick sod with the fingercups
Of balmy, foggy CONTRA-grunts.
I am shivering my scrotum with duct-tape & coca-cola,
Collating gestalt-cash in an ignominy of bad-reception-cloaca.
How many ellipses can fit on the head of my dick?
How many exclamatory sledgehammers inside the waterfall
Scrim of my urethra?

I am loving you so much right now I am
Dieting on cacao, milk, cocoa & caramel.
I am loving you so much I will shit you chocolate tiaras
Of Turtle Doves bars, and gift you, popping yr cornhole,
An edible Christmas-skirt of all the lights I might
Turn on for you.

If I could only capture the power of an idea and
Build a company around it.

Robocop said, "Minimally invasive and scareless surgery.
This is how we make our mark."

Dr. Arcane, British as a sugar biscuit, slicks his hair
Back with seitanic vegan-turds.  He is putting a
Puppet show on for babies at his Infant
Cognition Center.

Athens is burning up politics & history like a venture-capitalist
Jell-O-pudding-theremin-virtuoso.  The girls are wearing
North Faces and gold lacrame.

Drain an energy hog.  Socket the molasses & ivy marinated butt of
Boston between the sleep-deprived black ringed eyelids of
Your casual menage-a-trois-love-sandwich blinking out
The pollen of cellphones and screeching tires.

You are so tits, high style meets low maintenance.

Minimally Invasive Desire Inflicts Nouns Scareless

 

This splitting as if hairs were growing into the inclement dryness inside?   I'm a fucking idiot.  Be the real 

 Idiot you can be.  love it. hate it. love it hate it motherfucker shit...goddamn, is this it then?--

 A harrowing equilibrium-organ of autistic morally relative longitudinal pundits hallucinating

 Transitions of truth.

A cross is a rounded gel of turtles

Level at the dredging apex.

The pervert is someone who takes the artifice seriously

And plays the game to the hilt--

It looks like there're fish scales on top of my coffee.

I haven't written in days.

I've masturbated way too much.

I was reinventing high elongation and tensile strength,

Promising invention & identity, ornamentally heterophilic.

Global incestuous vertex zombie

Relapse failure stagnate fall.

Stretch marks are like a cry suspended between life & death.

A genuine consummation is achieved by the new machine.

A satellite is a perversion of territory,

And the moon a pedophile.

We Come Recommended, Apparently

Gordon Lamb over at Flagpole selected us as one of his Athfest picks:

Reptarz II

Some bands take things very seriously. Others take the piss. Sometimes you just can’t tell who is doing which. All of which is to say that Reptarz II speaks better for itself than anyone else could. Here’s a statement they sent me: "The Domestic Bemusement Park Department of Musico-Critical Outreach gladly presents Reptarz II. Reptarz II are happy objects—drastic happy—and no more a joke than anything else is." And you know what? I think I believe them. Although there’s a certain necessary sturm und drang passion to their new noise (think: no-no-wave), considering all their lyrics are lifted straight from the bouncy pop sunshine songs of popular Athens band Reptar, there’s also a long tradition of this type of collage. It’s an ear-churner, a palate-cleanser and a big fat smile all around. Good job, lads! -GL (Friday, Ciné, 10:45 p.m.)

Reminder: You Are Going to Die

All,

Please do not forget our special obituary offer! If you are considering putting this off until another day, we strongly urge you to recognize that your feeble life will at any moment be scraped away as so many words from the palimpsest of this world. What if "another day" is simply too late? Who, then, will be left to write of you? A blubbering mother? A bewildered widower? A lowly intern?

But perhaps you are not yet ready to confront your own momentary existence in such a summary fashion? Or possibly you are simply shiftless, lazy and dull? Please, reconsider your life.

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