anonymous has it

So, according to my last post, an anonymous person wants to see more of the 'things to say' series. Well, anonymous, here's some more just for you. Love and kisses. (also, really cool about the Staple thing, Jak; a friend's going; I'll tell him to stop by your booth).

of the things to say, oh


of the things to say, oh
one
old woman began to beat
her son
with a frying pan
and

until he began to bleed
he
imagined himself upon
the gateway of heaven

and to enter there would
not be
treason.

I don’t care;
if your hair
is
curled and in those loops
go leery the bugs
of
an unseemly apart,
I don’t
care.

do you hear me?

do you?

It's ok to delete this

I'm on a mobile so I couldn't contact you any other way but

The gcpm has a booth at staple

You guys can go there and give out free bohococos if you want

It's today, Saturday from 11am to sevenpm at the monarch convention center

It's five bucks at the door

Please, just free stuff it would be too hard otherwise

Deuce

Jak

grab bag

Hey guys, I've been writing a lot of things in series lately, so I thought I'd share several different ones with you. If any strike you, just comment and I'll post the whole series! Whoah! Which will it be?!


the broken jaw gang: elliot


don’t call me eli,
I didn’t like it then,
course
I don’t like it now.

just call me li, that’s good enough, I guess.
and if you really
got
to call me, well,
just ring a bell. I float light, kid,
just
like a whisper.

you know, I’m the kid. I got
dynamite
in
the philly lilly dill
dill.

oh, you know, just once I’m gonna’
be
the carousing god,
romping a romp through the garden and diggy
dig.

did you hear about loud susan?
she ate some shark –
then –
shift, bang, boom!
she was dead.

I ain’t gonna’ be dead. no. not me.
I eternal and
xanadu and partridge and
all
and all.

well, home be love, I guess if you got to
call me one thing,
just make it Elliot. I got love
coming,

know what I mean.
I got all the lovey
love

in the spider wick whittle once
world.

give me something, oh, you know, I guess,
just

go drop the lolling leaf from the edge of the world.
call me
after.

the broken jaw gang?
yeah.

I guess.



unhappy generation: rolo


first off,

thank you mom and dad,
thanks

for the calendar days,
thanks for ice cream,
thanks

for old trucks in rusty parking lots.

do you remember?

rolo was only two when he split his lip
on the staircase
while

holding a glass of milk on his head. do you
remember?

second,

thanks a lot to the men
in the big
buildings

eating construction cranes and industrial waste:

you who do not fly in the small spaces of
the loft where the keyboard rests
on a bike seat,
you who do not watch silent films in
Paris in New York,
you who
rarely leave the city and think of the path of
pebbles
dabbing the creek bed.

the unhappy generation is a thankless
creature roiling in the
modern sun,
eating its children,
wearing fashion
on its numb fingers, and applying
makeup to fire
hydrants and
old queens.

I eat your bread,
I sleep
in your car.



of the things to say


of the things to say
there
remains only this:

give me your
flesh and place it in
a brown bag
and
draw a face
in black marker
and
ring my doorbell.

I am a noble savage
digging
in the wasteland.
isn’t it fine?

isn’t it just?




and we'll throw an untitled in there too:
untitled 4966


one year ago:

today I see Heracles jumping
the river bend,
waving to me, whispering that he’s
not coming
back.

today I see the black dragon in
the sky,
blowing past me, cavernous
and dutiful,
hungry, passive and impartial.

and today I see the old woman
selling madrigals by
the old hardware store,
collecting dust from glass to coat,
asking eagerly of the passersby
the time.

I am, as in all things,
a fool,
a lover, a gambler,

and, despite my bravery, I am now, today,
able to assail a fence, climb
the pole, muster a leap,
and land very near to nothing
in the adjacent graveyard.

there is another girl composed of fine
black marble,
and if in carving her I forget
too much,
then I am forgotten.

it rains
and then it rains
again, and the day, like the locust,
is gone, hastened and lusted
after, yet a mirage a mirage.
I see finally,
too,
the adventurous couple venture a walk
past a neighborhood playground
and a snarling grunt towards
those who play
and swing.

begone, I say, begone.

somebody loves you out there

Hey guys, I've got a few more of these little sweet pieces for you, so, hope you didn't forget:

postcards from a dead ex lover 5


Oh my god, Cindy, tonight I found this wonderful little dancehall and spent the whole evening just shaking it. I know, I know, it sounds silly, but really, it was the most fun I’ve had in ages. This town I’m in now, it’s got a real pulse. Such a tremendous lifeline, a force, and it’s just overwhelming me. I know I’ve said this before, but I wish you were here with me. We could dance all night together, like we used to, way back when. I think I’ll return tonight, even, and try to dance up a storm just for you. I swear, I must have drank an entire river of booze; but I’m still kicking strong. Oh Cindy, whatever happened to us? Sorry. I’m just loose right now. Well, I gotta’ go. Gotta’ get some sleep. Hope you’re doing well.

Love,
Cael

2001 2 3

Hey, here's more from my not oft posted opus to Kubrick's amazing lightshow in "2001: A Space Odyssey."



2001 part 2 3


yellow whiskers
of

abandon across
your flesh
make
marks

in time

in time

when all the world is
now old
and the water of our
eyes
has
turned red

the blue devil of flame and eternity
will
nest upon
our

homes and crow and lament

this universe was
once

tons of satellites lifting
themselves into low
orbit crying for love
and
old shifted space stations twirling
the sake of rainbows
and
nuclear blasted furnaces
eating and devouring
and
children banging their
sweet faces across a vacuum tube
begging begging to
be touched
by the one true
sonic god of dust and stars
and neutrons and
infinity
and
sad men with arms tripping
over white cords
and
the rest of the tune of mankind
gently resting
beneath monolithic stabs
of scrapers erecting
themselves on
towards Olympus

the atomic bombs 6.mp4

Hey guys, click on the post title to link up with the latest in lost legends of stereo!


text:
the atomic bombs 6


the fiction of their
original
drummer’s
death at the hands of
an angry crowd of
musicians

was made up by
their

true drummer

derrick unley;

he grew up in Michigan as well
and
worked as a mechanic
in Detroit
where
he met darren;

the two began writing songs
and sleeping
with the
same

girl and late one evening
they
got into a fight and fell
two
stories into a bunch of bushes;

derrick could not read or write
so
he composed with
scribbles and pictures;

he would later be killed by a speeding car
somewhere
in Germany

time doesn't exist

Hey hey
delay delay

we who sit in coffee shops speaking in
circles
oh
there's a girl over there
and I've stared at her strawberry bangs
lolling in front of her forehead.

what's
oh
what's it in the center of a fugue
laughing ca
ca in the gristle thist?



now now
we
settle down, an ivory day,
cool clouds and sex,
be be
be

the thief in the canopy
hoping to harm
an heiress.


give it up,
left love liar,

the undoling pistol fist of heaven
is
erect upon your thin
chest