a grouse with completely feathered feet


"All Masks except the Beautiful Mountain ones spend much of the time begging from the villagers, though less outrageously and shamelessly than the Little Bad Mask."

And shouting out sounds fine actually?

Renegotiated a settlement with the klinks.


The only English I can afford:

In a time of crisis, what would Lizzie McGuire do???

Les salutations Brian Williams! Pourquoi faire vous ne rentrez pas au vat Electrique Général d'où ils vous ont grandi de, et regrow votre épine de fucking, vous le Pentagone oui fuckwad d'homme!


Quel le fuck est-il en haut, marsupials de camarade? Et ce que nous fera a mis avec joie dans notre pouches. A scurry loin? A l'enfer avec le vin! Mes pensionnaires de camarade ont peur de n'importe quoi qui pourrait tomber du ciel! Et qui les peut blâmer. Maintenant où ce vin est?!?


Pour renverser les temps nommés,
pour effacer les projets divins,
Les orages rassemblent pour frapper comme une inondation.

(Sumeria, via Eclogues)


Attrapé entre Katherine Lanpher d'une part et la Milice de Wolverine sur l'autre quel est un petit oiseau pour faire? Les voitures de réparation? Cuit du pain? Fuck, fondons en bas les statues carrées publiques et les tourne dans la balles de transpercement d'armure et va alors au refuge de faune les plus proches et quelques crânes de transpercement de début! Ecouter sincèrement au "comment faire la poésie pendant réconforter de temps de guerre" ("Pense de ceci comme une heure de répit, la consolation," remercie Kathy et Deborah!) J'écouterais plutôt les travaux recueillis de Boucle d'oreille Dorée! Mais ne s'inquiéter pas vous avez reçu un bon paysage de coeur, D. Les poèmes prouvent ceci.

Et la chose la plus drôle est est que vous ne trouverez pas même ce lien, si jamais, pour un autre de 6-12 mois. Quand vous êtes fait de poème écrivant de vos COEURS perpétuels et BONS peut-être vous pouvez en fait Google votre façon de votre bureau négligeant l'orme de campus et la notification cela, en fait, Cameroun menace aux buveurs d'urine de prison, Mettre Johnson blanchit des milliards de dollars, et un succès de chien par une voiture s'avère plus tard être homme dans un costume. Qui tous est plus "poétique" que chaque morceau de prose avec les brisures de ligne vous jamais avez concocté!



Vous écouter sawed de! Je n'ai entendu personne avec la moutarde au vin il en haut! Je préférerais fuck vous avec un baguette! Comment pouvoir une statue vous accueille, vous le morceau de fromage! Et fuck votre Camaro sur cinder bloque aussi!


Worry more about ptarmigan killers in the wild

Anyway, this is embarassing. The self-typographies cloistering. The recursive problematizations. The un-minerals in the guise of minerals. The whole of voices is embarassing. The who-you-knows playing jarts with the I-don't-know-anyones walking across the playing field. Fuck, watch you're head well you deserved it anyway. The daisy chain linkages. The Voltron semantics.

I wish my blink tag would work.



Tamerlane in Ephesus 2003:

[In 1402, Tamerlane] took Izmir, the western Anatolian base of the knights of St John, which Bayezit had never managed to do; and there finding the pyramid he built with the severed heads of the garrison and the population combined too small, he had the heap repacked, with alternate layers of heads and mud. As he left the region the nervous citizens of Ephesus sent their children to meet him, singing, but the gruesome Tartar growled, ‘What is this noise?’ and had his cavalry ride then all down; then he went on his way...



In photo: Nick and unidentified friend


Ptarmigan classic II

[10/9/1963 3:52:47 AM ]

Jiminy cricket there sure are not very many highways outside the city limits. At least Ev' says this will change. Eventually. She thinks that Robert Bly chap is quite the starfucker. And will never amount to anything. Aw, shucks, you've forgotten the catechism! Let's all go down to Mickey's and get a malt! She tells me that things will be different in the 21st century, that all poets will one day get along, but UNTIL THEN it's survival of the fittest, and you'd best know where the bread is buttered. I have no idea what that means. Commie?

Oh, why is the radio filled with platitudes, if only a "wave" of musicians from another English speaking country -- perhaps an island -- would sweep over the air waves! I want to follow Ginsberg into the sea, but there are no seas in Minnesota!

Quail works at a sock hop.

None of your bees' wax!


Stream content:

[10/10/2002 1:15:07 PM ]
Went with Quail to lunch today. I don't know, some place with food and tables. There was service. She told me all about the minor details of her life, and then she said something about would you like to see the raccoon in my backpack. Is this some kind of phrase, I said. Some kind of red-handed innuendo. No, no, she said, it's just a raccoon in a backpack.

Where did you get the raccoon. Did you find it already dead or did you kill it. (Although not as bloodthirsty as Evening, Q's had her moments!)

At this point she began to grow exasperated. Her hands could have covered the whole table between us, or maybe the table was getting smaller. Look, she said, do you want to see the fucking raccoon or not. I've got it but I might not have it for long.

So I said ok, even though I really didn't want to. But it seemed important to her, and therefore me. Her hair was whiter than a chameleon in a snowstorm.

She opened the bag.

The food was pretty good, though a little gamey. Digestive systems of older folk, even the Plantagenet royalty, who do not seem reality to me, must have been able to withstand a greater array of foodstuffs, with minimal processing. Though we think of them as dainty, elfin, surely they were hale. Even beautiful castles had all of those drafts, the wind trying to find a home between someone's ears.

God it's been AGES since I've seen Quail.

It's still been ages since.


no, no, link not, no! Ask mineral not. Don't link. No no, wagons circled. No, 8-10 only, no. No!


Or perhaps "Energy Army Ant, the Kind That Leaves No Corpse Unconsumed"?


Maybe Energy Ant needs to go to the Evil, just like Captain America!

Our old friend Thermy is already on the front, "It's not safe to bite if the temperature isn't right!"

What is the temperature of the meat of nitrates?

a group with completely

a completely


Haven't plied the gov't inter-net in awhile.

HOW about energy ant.



Woke up in the night library. AGAIN.


A true dialog:

Man, I'm going to get me one of those there literary movements, Quail says.

How, Evening says. She doesn't seem particularly interested.

I think...

and here Quail paused since I don't think she was really sure. But after a little bout of computer Battleship, she had the answer or at least A answer.

She says, I think you need some kind of like band from the early nineties.

OMG, Evening says, how about Stone Temple Pilots!

I love STP! I say. You could call yourselves the Sex Type Things...

Or say have you listened to the seventh song off Core? It's called "Creep". Oh I think I have their cassingle to this song somewhere, Evening says.

CREEP by Stone Temple Pilots

Forward yesterday
Makes me wanna stay
What they said was real
Makes me wanna steal
Livin' under house
Guess I'm livin', I'm a mouse
All's I gots is time
Got no meaning, just a rhyme

Take time with a wounded hand
'Cause it likes to heal
Take time with a wounded hand
Guess I like to steal

I'm half the man I used to be
This feeling as the dawn
It turns to gray
I'm half the man I used to be
This feeling as the dawn
It turns to gray

Feelin' uninspired
Think I'll start a fire
Everybody run
Bobby's got a gun
Think you're kinda neat
Then she tells me I'm a creep
Friends don't mean a thing
Guess I'll leave it up to me

(How did she sing this? With the title intact? Will investigate later...)

I don't care how many royalties I'll have to pay to Scott Weiland, it's all worth it, Quail says. This the most she's said in years. Minutes, even.

Kill your ancestors, Evening says, and then she goes back to her Cryptoquip, 'neath the roar of our evening fire.

But I still like the Sex Type Things:

I ain't, I ain't, I ain't
A buyin' into your apathy

OK, crises averted...

Coalition with frogs: BUILT

Frogs everywhere: They are still everywhere but these species are migratory. Wouldn't call them "pets" as they have minds other own.

To celebrate we consumed new minerals. Theres tonnage of minerals out there, for "the taking" now! So many, so in fact it comes hard to read all. Recalibrating Hypergolem to read for me. Hypergolem is my cross between Tivo and Michael Chiklis. And also perhaps Johnny PayCheck.


And you thought I was joking.

The frogs took away the Klink family palimpsests!

If we let them win, they've already won.

A fucking whole lot of frogs, all over the doorjamb!


Where did they come from the snow?

Frogs are coming.



(hypergolem--back, for the people)
File under: WWE MFA

The poetry of Jeff Hardy, wrestling superstar. One half of the Hardy Boyz. Known for the finishing move "Swanton Bomb."

It was like leather sticks with mushroom coating.
Like cow tongue licks with weather side roaming.
A naked watch that was watching me.
A lever to pull that grew like a tree.