a poem for today, 21 December 2012

a poem for today, 21 December 2012

[a word-sorted sonnet of eight sentences and its image]

As long as they come in here with a dress on they're women.

Everywhere I go I find that a poet has been there before me.

I like the way the line runs up the back of their stockings.

For how you always looked, for how I always wanted to touch you.

We never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them.

Early in life I had to choose between honest arrogance and hypocritical humility.

You know what I am talking about so shut up.

Why this inability to leap out of the page and into the world.

a poem for today, 20 December 2012

a poem for today, 20 December 2012

[a word-sorted sonnet of seven sentences and its image]

All questions pertaining to sexuality are irrelevant under our present structures of thought because we have no idea how people in societies of Whole, Liberated, Individuals will relate to each other.

And you're really zen.

Why don't you dance.

Resistance is futile.

It is disgusting that I write anything.

Indelible ink must be used in all elections.

We cannot possibly interpret rituals concerning excreta, breast milk, saliva, and the rest unless we are prepared to see in the body a symbol of society, and to see the powers and dangers credited to social structure reproduced in small on the human body.

a poem for today, 19 December 2012

a poem for today, 19 December 2012

[a word-sorted sonnet of eight sentences and its image]

I was never a guy, and I'm not becoming a woman.

There's lots of things to miss: books, naps, kisses, and fights.

My god, I haven't been fucked like that since grade school.

Then, you should write 'bitch' in weed killer on her lawn.

A singular disadvantage of the sea lies in the fact that after successfully surmounting one wave you discover that there is another behind it just as important and just as nervously anxious to do something effective in the way of swamping boats.

Because you're different, that's why.

A quality we sometimes lack.

But you've left humanity behind.

a poem for today, 18 December 2012

a poem for today, 18 December 2012

[a word-sorted sonnet of seven sentences and its image]

The body is only the first platform for the voice.

He crouched next to her and tenderly stroked her hair.

The truth will always sound like lies to a sinner.

If you don't quiet your child down when they start rumbling then your child will go into the next area.

The simplest words convey the inexchangeable; they switch back and forth with each other all around it; it appears not.

Rather than exalt it, I hide it, refuse to let it be touched, go kicking and screaming into the discursive.

Some of us are becoming the men we wanted to marry.

a poem for today, 17 December 2012

a poem for today, 17 December 2012 

[a word-sorted sonnet of fourteen sentences and its image]

Oh wow, I love Chinese-Canadian food.

Someone special will harmonize with me.

It's no use talking like this.

No more dilemmas in dirty affections.

Perfection has a bad tattoo.

I have nightmares to burn.

Breathe.

Becoming involves the shedding of the chimera of stability and certainty wrought through our attachments to objects towards an awareness and acceptance of the unrelenting dynamism that underpins the act of living itself.

Maybe not.

But, aw, hell.

Her pants are perfect.

The reaction is exothermic.

The liberty of the individual is no gift of civilization.

And he dreamed about this place without knowing its name.

a poem for today, 16 December 2012

a poem for today, 16 December 2012

[a word-sorted sonnet of seven sentences and its image]

The issue, then, is not who is or is not really whatever but who can be counted on when they come for any one of us.

People are being cheated, robbed, murdered, raped.

Desire emerges in a multiple form, whose components are only divisible a posteriori, according to how we manipulate it. 

Causality is always a fraught concept.

Under the influence of this will to know, we make of sex a tidy thing and ignore the deluge. 

They have neither emotions nor conflicts.

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.

a poem for today, 15 December 2012

a poem for today, 15 December 2012

[a word-sorted sonnet of four sentences and its image]

Nonprocreative sex is allowed and fostered not because of society having moved any closer towards freedom, but because the reproductive labor demanded by modern capital is not merely that of population growth, but of the creation of the self, the individual, and consequently the identity.

My own belief is that there is hardly anyone whose sexual life, if it were broadcast, would not fill the world at large with surprise and horror.

Since life is growth and motion, a fixed point of view kills anybody who has one.

What exactly is the 'same' in same-sex attraction and 'opposite' in opposite-sex attraction.

a poem for today, 14 December 2012

a poem for today, 14 December 2012

[a syllable sorted sonnet of two sentences and its image]

Voluntary chemical or surgical castration has been in practice in many countries—reports are available from American and European countries in particular for over eighty years (chemical for circa thirty)—as an option for treatment for people who have broken laws of a sexual nature, allowing them to return to the community from otherwise lengthy detentions.

Life is full of thorns, and I know of no better remedy than to cultivate one's garden.

a poem for today, 13 December 2012

a poem for today, 13 December 2012

[a syllable sorted sonnet of twelve sentences and its image]

Warning, this is not underwear.

There is nothing else I can say.

Only the shallow know themselves.

I'm looking forward to sharing.

Do not attempt to put in pants.

I say this purely be te dubs.

Everyone says there is no going back but they've blocked all the exits.

In case of flood, proceed uphill.

I'll be dancing in the flames.

No one's going to forgive me.

Knowledge comes with its release.

Do some very simple, if highly emotional, addition and subtraction, and you arrive at a whole new way to see yourself.

a poem for today, 12 December 2012

a poem for today, 12 December 2012

[a syllable sorted sonnet of thirteen sentences and its image]

I feel the car.

You can try.

I need cuddle.

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.

So I went commercial.

You better work it.

I don't want to tell you about the bloating.

You think I'm some half-baked sex maniac.

I can’t buy love but I don’t want to rent it either.

You have to cheat me to beat me.

I finally got up the courage to buy my first cock.

You didn't say anything about diagramming sentences.

I want to skype and talk about poetry or some bullshit I don’t know.

a poem for today, 11 December 2012

a poem for today, 11 December 2012

[a syllable sorted sonnet of ten sentences and its image]

Hurry up and wait.

Humor is and always will be a bloody battle field.

Here is a list of suggested articles that have not yet been written.

Honestly, it was like every single sentence expressed or observed ennui from one angle or another.

Here are some things to look out for that are dead giveaways that he's really into you.

Huh.

Hot beverages are hot.

Hurry up father or we'll miss the hanging.

How can I check if a string contains a white space or empty space.

Hopefully it will be icing.

a poem for today, 10 December 2012

a poem for today, 10 December 2012

[a syllable sorted sonnet of five sentences and its image]

We eat chocolate eggs because chocolate eggs are brown and brown was the color of the wood of the cross on which Jesus was crucified.

I could swear that my mini-lop has been wagging his tail when I let him out of his cage in the morning and make him his bunny salad.

There are certain ways to tell if you have herpes however and ways you can identify it as the cause of discomfort.

So-called "disposable" fashion is affordable fashion.

In a race between a rock and a pig, don't varnish your clams.

a poem for today, 9 December 2012

a poem for today, 9 December 2012

[a syllable sorted sonnet of thirteen sentences and its image]

Everybody has a secret face.

And it is an essential condition.

It is this way for everyone in these times.

There's no concept of weekends anymore.

You should get out of the cell block some time.

Remember, this is not a gazelle hunt.

It's like a microwave on my forehead.

The way I walk is just the way I walk.

The problem is particularity.

The muses are not cooperating.

They did nothing to challenge or resist.

There may be another way to get off.

I can hear the chemicals singing.

a poem for today, 8 December 2012

a poem for today, 8 December 2012

[a syllable sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]

No one has any illusions about this being art.

Poetry doesn't work like that anymore.

She went on to say that poetry is elementary and that poetry isn't rigorous.

I would like to learn astrology and use it to track the economy and the stock market trends.

Zagging is a new form of chilling.

Don't judge.

It's what they call that where the punches slide off.

The truth is I don't like having to write this.

When one has finally captured one's desire and found it horrible, real living can commence.

a poem for today, 7 December 2012

a poem for today, 7 December 2012

[a letter sorted sonnet of fifteen sentences and its image]

Young men switching.

Who will see the fire.

That's your dilemma. 

Put your back into it. 

I must operate on you. 

What a freaking train wreck.

Chose cinema over potatoes.

The stars and shells dangle.

You seriously need a shrink.

Stop trying to figure me out. 

Bend your elbow so your forearm is at 90º to the ground.

Every quest finds its alibi in the meaning of meaning.

Solutions have been based on a maximum entropy model.

What the invisible hand gives, it can also snatch away.

Abstraction is everybody's zero but nobody's nought.

a poem for today, 6 December 2012

a poem for today, 6 December 2012

[a letter sorted sonnet of four sentences and its image]

I just had some pineapple chunks in a can from Charles Manson's ranch.

For it is very probable that the refrigerated parts grow warm by such stripes, and excite a heat in the seminal matter, and that the pain of the flogged parts, which is the reason that the blood and spirits are attracted in greater quantity, communicate heat also to the organs of generation, and thereby the perverse and frenzical appetite is satisfied.

Embracing the inner pink and living with intention and absurdity.

I'm a sick boy, there should be more.

a poem for today, 5 December 2012

a poem for today, 5 December 2012

[a letter sorted sonnet of eight sentences and its image]

Music is the diarrhea of the intellect.

You were soft and round like a dumpling.

Paint a picture for us.

This seems like a silly piece to create a forgery of given the other options out there, however, I have seen enough silly things by now to doubt it's authenticity.

Darn.

You promised.

The passages of centuries are often required to acquaint more slowly evolving creatures with such prerequisite states and conditions.

Probably good if you're renting, landlord doesn't care, and you know what you're doing electrically.

June 13, 2012 Meeting Recordings

Zac read My summer with the backward 3s

Erika read Cats taught to weed

Mark reads a bunch of studies, a Loss Lieder and more…

John reads Sorted sonnets for the month of June, Week one (word), Week two (syllable), Week three (character).

3 folks each time perform 4 poems by John (these are just audio links....)

high fiber - continuity - ass

languid - perky - the bomb

spandex - ennui - pastel

love - dark matter - the void

(...if you would like to read them while you hear them, try these each in turn)

high fiber - continuity - ass

languid - perky - the bomb

spandex - ennui - pastel

love - dark matter - the void

Updated: Folks performed a large-as-yet-untitled lattice by James, an iteration in an ongoing work that consists of covering and recovering a painting by David D'Agostino (here is a previous iteration, or at least a picture of the painting (the recordings were on SoundCloud)

a poem for today, 4 December 2012

a poem for today, 4 December 2012

[a letter sorted sonnet of five sentences and its image]

For moderate to severe acne, which over-the-counter and prescription medications can’t cure, oral contraceptive pills may be prescribed.

Dry sockets are extremely painful and can also be dangerous.

Like an improvised John Coltrane saxophone solo, some improvised explosive devices can be highly crafted and very deadly works of art.

The tanks were under crazy pressure and leaked all the time.

Structurally, English sentences can be classified four different ways, though there are endless constructions of each.

a poem for today, 3 December 2012

a poem for today, 3 December 2012

[a letter sorted sonnet of six sentences and its image]

My mouth will be the mouth of those griefs which have no mouth, my voice, the freedom of those that collapse in the dungeon of despair.

This approach properly handles many asymmetric parts without forcing users to manually specify the guideline endpoints.

Scientific method is the institutionalized maintenance of sangfroid in the face of surprise.

But if your old digital clock has a radio in it, then it's not contraband.

Free air gravity anomaly over lucky strike figure 5.6.

We can help the next person at window eleven.