without knowing estranged from a name mentioning a visit a representation a pointer or a sound or a voice or a sound in terms of a gesture as a voice or a sound preexisting in a resonant a representation a surface a body understanding underscoring dark stitched shut opposition from parent to prothesis either this or ever more as a voice or sound w/out punctuation or the other other paradox paradox serendipitous deceleration typical spins for abandoned stains
but a promised an audible moon part sublime locus secret without plans to dispel pain a secret clauses in a sacred clause
an appearance of everything standing free and naked now in the mood surging in understanding either this or ever more
threw in the manner mostly to retrieve
sure fear . . . guns? always . . . dogs,? without a doubt . . . god? which one? part being, part trapped? which part? you remember cold as hell? scissor sounds everywhere................ later, large drops, deposit accounts. and monetary reserves. a pin drops, a camels disappears a real red nose, if you know what I mean? guns, dogs, god? flowers, slaves, screaming and yelling all the time. on and on about this and that? mostly, blow me down. enough to kill giant gnats? maybe, but mostly loyalty certificates, and license beavers. time shares? a piece for a price. it could have been paradise. but it was mostly bored bombers of the bureaucracies . . . with baby bombs, smart bombs, and big daddy stereotypes a stick and a rattle guns, guts and god rainbows, low income housing and heart shaped phraseology never thaw, always preheat or microwave? no, I'm talking refrigerator and demeter... leisure and a dull waxing finish.... hot cross buns, bangers and blue ribbon guns, guts and god rrrrright.
few surprises are left
I found an address it was crumbing suffering etceteras though not murder murder was the question those with no prior authorization without a minimum consolation without a statistical equalization already knowing a condition is a hat and the tale begins I am divided again you are a sealed theme groping for once again I describe the access number give away the next page who arrives first suffers fishhooks and etcetera
kari edwards, author of iduna, O Books (2003), a day in the life of p., subpress collective (2002), a diary of lies - Belladonna #27 by Belladonna Books (2002), and post/(pink) Scarlet Press (2000).
a door opens is an airy space of wooden legs invitation to sitting & dining the possibility of indigestion & discussion of furni- ture
perhaps door perceives its own agressive nature closes it self to us
door knobs i nod not like asleep but as a yes turn & o pen like hand writing changed a field
we enter door split from violence the room crowded veils a film en velopes eyes the shark orders more f o o d
day is air connecting dots (do not hold the doors) is smooth dream job
glish is night
do you ever dot your eyes before you look?
1. boarded X train to night to view your collection medio tiempo at the center of how- to- please tiempo completo the law still questioning itself trabajo.......alert? at the median of howstoautoplease evacuated meself from this emergency emerged informed but still un- knowing bound delayed between this door & the other
2. for m.g. longer stronger & lost time is changing all the time shadow on impassable door opening itself within the light within the artificial light an X          on auto alert this cold/spread handling us like a game of hard scrabble within the house i live          M    on     a     huge cube          Missing     M
a window is somtimes a way out.
steve dalachinsky nyc 3/08/05 on e train & at experimental intermedia listening to malcolm Goldstein
hernia doubled ( 6th day )
the bird spoke to me thru the heavy rain on the hollow cans a kind of tin/morse
uhuh      um sure      i answered short peeped phrases
i haven't showered in 6 days being afraid being stronger than being dirty
sometime's earth's too down to death moving on thru attractions circles walking like wolves thru bad histories inked by iron & quill upon the legs of strangers names      streets      players finalized for the time being at last century's turn it must have been quite a time back then      expositions memory moving foward like fate undoing itself
i am searching for rules for the missing piece indeed the light that precedes the coming any coming 2nd 3rd even 1st will do
who ever thought that sitting would be such an obstacle? what did methuselah feel when he left his house? in manhattan how many sides are there, it being like a book of thickened sand with so many side/trips & so little shoreline?
the rain on the island quiets a bit as it echoes itself more& more faintly into the oncoming hollows in time we go back like the # of angels purported to be shadow boxing at g-d's side
lying flat the pain is diminished many long minutes ago the bird has shut up i try to clear my throat using only my throat knowing that to "cough" will instantaneously doom me to an electric shock
should i drink shelter from the white guard's jacket that engulfs me & protects me from the process of curse & noise?
should i seek asylum in the word?
uhuh      um yup      my left hand answers
what a GIFT cemented to the oncoming night: this diary of hungry nods wandering thru holidays & characters & caterpillaring across the noses of gargoyles without ever leaving my room.
but my bladder is full & the demon that is my zero tolerance for discomfort is insisting          /      I RISE UP.
( need i paint you a picture? )
3/17/05 - bus to boston & 3/18/05 nyc - wind flowers ( water creatures reprise )
boxcars on either side of the tollbooth bumpy ride for wind flowers tho in wind undulation is not like a slow motion cartoon
there is gentle & then there is the standard the moat that protects us from ourselves
proof that water exists that we are not gentle equipment      as time moves us
that we are indeed, in some meta-sense, made of NUTS & BOLTS
that the arches that form our bodies are being constantly re-invented
that lots are drawn way in advance as some of us indeed move into the category of antique our ABC's more or less intact but expressed, shaped              slightly different
what i hope for is that tables remain on time what i expect are more delays
hunts & stabs at……………..                                                  ham longings diminished
laws & sections of laws re-interpreted
that the one way is many-fold that ologies & nologies are reformed reliably yet manifest
RU      ACH HA KODESH              RU ACH HA      KO DESH
bare are these days so full with playing fields
light      a new haven in these overcast days of angels
ru ach ha ko desh ( whispered )
yes - i love angels too                                  they defy thruways      their linen wings outstretching like yawns              their things neatly folded in a corner                      outsmarting the coroner always
LOVE is still a funny word that holds a KEY as keys open cracks in the cracked field defrosting the pond
new latent pelts reform our skins & we are never belonging never home must never forget we are quiet emergency alcohol & smoke must never forget we are driver & driven mask & sea & land on the way to delay without delay a short break within the breaks god's breath on water moot & mote
must never forget      we are luggage      litter      cracks bag      gage litter      cracks      lug gage litter      light      clean bare-branched budding thinkers squawkers      cry babies I- pods & seminal fluids made whole cellmates & cell phone phreaks blank screens that will never reach 100 carpeting on the roof of the father's mouth
boxcars on either side of the tollbooth
water creatures swimming in the flag/furling CON of the green smothered Lane in a green steepled whirl
i have become part of this EARTH a glass half empty the perfect Host (until next week's rush) a forum for medicine water & gate                  PASS      THRU      ME pass thru me RU ACH HA KODESH ru ach ha kodesh      god's breath on water pass thru me
crippled symmetry (morton feldman performed by s.e.m. ensemble@new york studio school 4/3/05)
1. pipes          straight-arced      mesh of gold/afloodstars
this is why crippled the leg always tries to rectify itself          verify tolerance / total spin cluster / why do you melt of the sheen                  a double-backed diamond enamored of itself                              high in the low-tones              grappling w/ the whole range of whiteness?
why so many bare & pockmarked walls in a structure so filled with its own knowledge ?              purpled pomped mallets              creased blue curtains      exposing the fluted pale                  lowbreathing carrier of greenglassed arpeggios              what is wrong w/ this picture                  is there is no picture
but what is wrong with blank space repeating itself? is blank space truly blank as blank is? why is there maiden transfixed when there are no maidens left to transfix?                  a so lid tightly a jar      was this lip a crossed/out patchwork                                          of genocide's attempt to corrupt itself? it self  always@the fore of my self your self by self by self one's & left everyone else be
………… damned this nagging notated pang. hands that drew the once blue silence                  now emptied into emptiness. but what is so bad about blank space?              what is blank? why are these pocked & primed bare walls considered bare?                  what is empty or full? what does filled with emptiness mean?
Longing?          patches & spots of color on the earth brown floor                      like there      a spot of red & here a spill of animal yellow&orange                          i can swim thru the hole in the broken brick                                          gnaw thru the metal's facade                          what there is is more of the same                  & more of the same is what there is but different      a crack in the quietude a sneeze a cough a rustle a rumble a low driven mimic                          a crumble of what-is-where-from                          & the crippling ringing of LIFE
an o.k. survival kit
peek into space thru doorless doorway                          look around      sky itself is the skylight                          see streaks of pale blue on earth-colored                                      floor                          semi-circles of off colored creams                          pull back                          hit your forehead with your palm                              quietly                              scream OH NO      loudly                              inside your head                          wash your hands of the whole affair                  as your stomach begins to rumble like a coming quake                              drink turpentine                          glance at yourself in the bathroom mirror                                          smile fleetingly                                          walk into a stall                              sit on the bowl                      & wait
a mesh of starlike petals unlock themselves from their grid………
nothing left      to      follow.
3.                              piano lays out
c                  12      17      (drops off the quantum ) 30 24/ 30 36                  54 (?)                                          working in *8's scale of                      re mi fa      circular          linearities
single                                      note                                          clusters                      forced to ignore              26/26/22/36//              or
these pink roses ( tchicai, smoker, hemingway, lane @ zebulon , bklyn 4/10/05 )
these pink roses     some plastic shrine        @ music's feet                                unbroken divinity of eye / ear -        a prophecy     deep from within the skull's roots                                      controlled miles of flexible oratory     bouquets of plasticity stretching the petals of the bell                    this sun     this bursting gaffaw                                                  parked here at the edge of godsland     any jackson knows        any queen whoever-shed-her-face-of-water knows                                any revolutionary zookeeper knows            any weaver of lace knows
any gone logic device knows any virgin in search of the mystery knows these unwaving toxic neo-industrial sad unscented roses enshrined @ the feet of music know those at the helm of the ship know that which guides the rudder knows uncontrollability in an inflexible space madmen know scientists know the spirits know the married know the sick the lame the intolerant know somewhere in their inflexibly religious souls the long gones know it deep within their long gone elegant tombs            an unfathomable unity between forest & trees            first & last hucksters     even the hucksters know            the soft walls know            the high walls know            the low walls know            the hard walls know
"I kill Bad aMericans"     -     a harder groove / the gloss of pearls
this holy heliocent                                world of round holidays
even the humans know the war/mongers know the survivors beneath our soles     they know twice octoped ghosts know a sound-tale coming closer to inflexible plastic the face of water the quint of power the laying on of long dawns
loosen confusion & broaden forms     loosen confusion     & bro a     den       forms
there's that second before the petals melt that moment before the shrines collapse when we realize we are all prophets & fortune tellers when we all see what the future holds speaks tastes touches smells
the wise ones know the idiots know the rootless know the innocent know            the innocent know the innocent know..
steve dalachinsky nyc
steve dalachinsky was born in brooklyn some time after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of useless little wars. his work appears in many journals on and off line around the globe. he has several books and cds of which the latest are, trial and error in paris, i thought it was the end of the world, st. lucie eyes on a plate, and the forthcoming chapbook in glorious black and white and the e-chap arivin' in the okidoke.
Running out of gas three lights flickering sky turning the color of kitchen gaslight wodden signs advertising antiques war memorabilia selling chechian lotus flower backbending thanks for your patronage see you next season following midnight afternoons toddler snowboots and wine that tastes like fall all sangria and sunsets no oak involved it is rare to see the moment of this ritual played on the shamisen tucked in her back pocket sharing in the most basic sense two for us, one for them slightly drunk and whirling This is sacred and ordinary.
even my grandmother is in on this game sitting on kitchen floor i can hear the glow from twenty yards i can smell the shift in you and me maybe the pills are working mine are the color of birchwood by now habitual, seasonal migration seems almost sad this constant hopefullness
i can hear over a year ago (has it been that long?) i wonder if a rose is a rose and grandmom doesn't care about the rose or its name how brutal this becomes this tenacity to investigate infinity all while paying for soda in dimes and nickles
I am, quiet simply, sure of this rarity
It is always worth the effort deciphering oranges at midnight what is nameless in childhood can often be tolerated on long drives without points of reference there are many things the tongue refuses so i said my name again to god or elvis in every language i have i go back to that hour dropping stones as i go.
The Taste of Severed Things: A Love Poem
Dusk is a girl pine needle bed
Not wanting, always to be public This is us, in ruins parts that have survived
Surely mass has intention filled with small betrayals
Some underestimate how erotic it is to be understood
sometimes a thing must be created
26 reasons to put on your boots hours of labor and intention
Conspiracy of language:
Outrage, Blodstain, Chagrin
A girl becomes a comma like that.
Barbara Cicalese is currently an English teacher in Pennsylvania. Like most English teachers, she has fancied herself a writer, without ever being published.