bundle

all my apps

are bound and bundled--

after the storm

 

 

 

 

white paper

 

a glimpse of code
in the shimmering Mac --

Satoshi's "white paper"

 

 

two clocks

 

too early, or late?

two clocks in the village

tic-toc in the haze

Omicron

cutting grass --

the shadow of Omicron

close on my heels

.

power corrupts

'O no, you first, I'm right behind you - 

And then BAM! a weight like a massive stone descending on its sunken chest, disrupting the FA Cup semi on the biggest screen available in this awkward sanctity, it's gauche decor with some really shoddy lighting ensconced in a musty old basement, cobwebs hung heavy in every corner with dust.

It's the space preserved for the winner's history. A lonely place, one adorned with all the self perpetuated trophies and thoughtless certificates of award to and from it's own image given away like toothpicks at one of those tawdry, low-buck functions, virtues described in a fiction by Louis L'amour, ineffectual and moot. All in all, and one after another, they demarcate the unintended consequences born of a self congratulatory, good old boy board of directors.

A republic, like any other that stood before it, it hasn't spoken to its insufferable spouse for days on end.

As it falls, in slow motion impossibly ridiculous for its sheer, dead weight and fathomless hubris, an arrested scream remains unresolved, stifled in its throat. But for the epiphany of knowing it's too late - there it hangs suspended for what seems an eon, then head first into its plate of beans and sausage, dead dead dead.

the full moon declines
and then
the next morning of spring
春の翌朝、満月の辞退

Carl Bernstein

winter withering --
I wonder if Carl Bernstein
knits his own ties?

Sou do Fado

a Moor's litany
to view their somber faces -
Sou do Fado

tension

the tension, a sigh, maybe -- so delicious

in the mail

volumes of poetry
arrived in the mail
taken aback
by ephemeral beauty
I marvel at the postage

Heidegger

nICk




cONTEMPLATING dEATH,
i CHUCKLE/AT
MY pEASANT sHOEs


, , , , , , , ,

bread & fish

Out of bread,
I toss words at the water --
Koi rising











パンがなくなった私は水に言葉を投げます-鯉上昇







{ ` }

Hi, My Name's Rice Wheelock!

I'd never download a film. Somebody gave me an MP3 -
haven't loaded a note. I refuse to install the web on my
smart phone. I don't take pictures, sometimes, 'cause
I'd rather the scene fade away, snapshots like an
errant Polaroid, so that my mind plays tricks
with the images all the rest of my life,
that's the way I'll know I'm still sane,
when nothing is so extraordinary,
nothing out of place, everything
where it belongs, the endless
days, oblivious and sedate -
But, although I will forget
everyone I ever met, and
every stranger becomes
my friend, so then I'll
die ... yet, to linger
a little while
longer

in `

`this `

` ` floating `

` world `


. ;;;;

rooms

autumn approaches,
looking through the rooms
of all my days

Dog's Breakfast

in a plastic cage
high up on a balcony
the neighbor's cock crows
watching me below
as I talk with the dog


. . . . . Everybody Rock Steady!!


.

Orwell's Ghost

Orwell's ghost --
a book a clock and a photograph an ocean in between








;;;;

Church Row

"Asymmetry"

used to hang our by the canal behind my house and smoke weed tilll an alligator came up behind once when we realised we could die - ah youth ... ;) perhapsi spoke to soon ... new photos may be forthcoming.

Oh, you silly girl.

church row?

across the canal where you sat teh building markers. To the West on the map you provided.

After 9/11?

"News & Opinion"

evidence faceboo k's investor cIA's start-up incubator In-Q-Tel. Oh! f it, a link to an article, but n need to rush and read it.

(relie too much on spell check . Double Post

Which is a reason I reason I destroys continuity of thought, an ability to analyze situations or argue logically. its emotional roller coaster funnels people into a queue through eternal damnation, feedback loop's and promotional tools. there's no escaping; a real dog's breakfast.

con't // no more



between church row
and red lounge records -
a "Missing" poster on a pole

battered

a battered steel door
left slightly ajar
o' so carefully
I slip my words in

rooms

autumn's approach -
searching through the rooms
of all my days

Hospital

.







disinfectant smell --
how I've aged
these past years



one bell
answers another
footsteps quickening

waxed floors --
from under the curtain
a reflection so bright




specimen cup --
the sound of water




 one drop of blood spilt in the million dollar room








fragmentation --
numbered notes on white paper
all in a row




these long halls --
all of the the others
walking away

















3 a.m.
I am the ghost
in your hall









I assume the position
of a lizard --
biopsy




deconstruction
like breaking glass
and then -
a quiet knock on the door
i can't stand to hear my name










awakened
at shift change, two a.m.
so they might ask,
"what will you do
for the rest of your life?"









the sound of fluids,
cries and voices,
a bell rings and rings
two clocks on the wall
display a different time










Latin words and phrases
from behind a closed curtain
a face reflected
in shatterproof glass











behind the locked gate
too dark for it's plumage
a blackbird at rest
we make not a sound
watching each other
enjoy the cool breeze












.

believe

spring thunder
when will you believe
the bumps on your head