August 2011
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Sketch No. 8
He tried,
But god never believed him.
Eyes whisking the peerless, bawdy sky,
Pleads echo and ring around him,
Endlessly efficient and organized too,
From psalms to that pieinthesky hail mary,
All weapons were sharp and loaded.
His troubles would be done for.
Penetration never came,
Disgust.
Hammered Joe the job,
Ask nothing of god,
And you shall certainly
Receive.
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Sketch No. 7
Small, concise movements of total efficiency (within logic of Joe)
drove him.
Each inch gasps with woolen coughs as he performed in his prime.
The first, a destitute blur of blue hiding in the corner
away, away, away.
Upstairs was maroon. The cries… too loud. Efficiency lost, poor Joe is all in a dither.
Down the curtains, down the light,
Oh primal rhythm, such primal might.
...
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Sketch No. 6
Replaced, replicated,
And hell has finally frozen over
Completely.
Bleeding, sucker punched freedom
Looked upon the face of
Absolution.
Well I suppose that
Joe is finally free.
It’s noon. The church bells
Ring callously.
The blossoming bidding begun thus:
She longs for another.
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Sketch No. 5
Committed and tragically unaware,
light flowers, light win(d)s
over the bedroom window, and we find Joe.
Snake-bite sunlight lashes out
over his face.
Prompts are clear as day, cold as clay, blissfully
un-coded and coddled directions.
To get out.
Famished Joe rummages through her hair
cooling collective cancer of the mind, the leopard spots
of Joe catch wind and total recall.
Stained...
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Nothing: Volume 3
A gradient sky hovers over this polluted waste. My window keeps getting larger and larger, and my left and right have never seemed farther away. College is a waste of money. Work ethic is hard to come by, and even though my window is stretched as thin as the soap on a bubble wand, I am being choked by it.
There’s a couple of schools and public housing that hover about the grounds of Temple,...
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Sketch No. 4
Spineless, Joe wanders out of the 7-11.
Opaque, flustered skin hollowing itself out.
He’s perfectly bored.
The mood is indigo, Sky has been splitting hairs.
Succumbing to ‘sin’, He stirs at comfort.
Comfort slinks back, unsure, unaware.
Unthinkable. and just imagine…
How much work he has to do after this minor hang up. Life is getting in the way of things.
Oh, Bother.
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B. Lewis soundcloud page. You should really hit... →
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Mad Scientist Monthly: NEW ITEMS
GREETINGS MAD SCIENTISTS!
We have some new items that you may or may not find interesting at the store:
- NEW! Cannabalism: An illustrated history. 105 pgs. 19.99.
This makes a great conversation starter, and works well as a coffee table book. Enjoy over 200 real photographs of REAL cannibalism. From deep-jungle tribes to tired sailors, its all here! Enjoy REAL recipes for each detailed and...
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Nothing: Volume 2
The renaissance of the internet is altogether distracting. As my generation begins to venerate objects, people, films, and media that (in the “real” world) does not exist, I find it….. simply distracting. One of my favorite aspects of the internet is not necessarily the internet or what is on it per say, but the effects only beginning to take hold of permanence within our very...
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List of labels affected by PIAS Warehouse fire in... →
Go out and buy a record.
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Greatest Last.Fm Tag. Ever. →
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Character ideas (part two of many)
Post-modern caveman. He can’t reconcile with the fact that god is dead (still?), and finds his hunting/gathering useless and stressful. Organic, stone-age hipster diet is really working for him though.
Anthony bourdain’s imagination personified as a Haitian master looter who drinks too much and has a slighting look for every occasion, a good western knock-off tee shirt, and a...
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New Philadelphia Poets →
Nothing: Volume 1
If the corn, (high in the August sun) could just reach a little further, the deep sky could frost them tips thoroughly. I imagine frost and fruit go together in an abstract, selfish manner. Delicate smears of finely chopped ice crystals sticking to supernaturally long corn is imagery fitting. Fitting who?
Fitting small stroked amish boy, shall he wander into my dreams of a more...
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Two Aunts by Thomas James
When I feel the old hunger coming on,
I think of my two great-aunts,
A farmer’s daughters,
Speaking into the dusk in North Dakota.
I imagine the dark baron
Riding out of their mouths,
Thick-skinned and girded
Against disaster, swathed
In cuirass and chainmail and a curse.
My hunger was theirs
Too long ago. It swims in my blood,
Groping for a foothold.
It is the dark I thrust my tongue...
Character ideas (part one of many)
Guy who perfectly peels bananas. He has NEVER eaten a banana thread!! Not once!!
Feminine gay rapist who only targets
Macho football players. Strikes with a wisp of warning. Picks his victims carefully and wears rival school colors during said crime. I just wonder what a sexual harassment suit would read like in court if it only involved a football team. Probably pretty simply.
Colorblind...
“Out beyond ideas of rightdoing
and wrongdoing
There is a field.
I will meet...”
– Rumi
“America is pacifistic and cannibalistic. Outwardly it seems to be a beautiful...”
– ~ from Tropic of Capricorn by Henry Miller (via criminalwisdom)
I need this book. Now.
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