to bring you new colors from once-hidden objects
to offer my heart and try to win yours over
to entice the formation of new neural pathways
to bring you to the verge of tears
to moisten your lips in anticipation
to carve a statue that moves only when you close your eyes
and the punchline is that there are never enough lines
even if i cheat and loop-de-loop this poem’s end
right back around to its quite obvious title
i’ve just ten lines to show you a world
A pebbly, electric dissonance
glitches across your face.
I race around the room to find
your power supply but cannot.
You’re wrought from copper wire angels
and strings of hex lyrics.
Still, it’s your current spirit that continues
this form of wave interference.
Appearance always structured pix-elated;
we’ve lost much sleep debugging this code
Though the load was shown to operate without fail
under recommended and expected parameters.
Damages seem to most often occur
when the system(s) take on additional stress.
Therefore we suggest pulling the host(s) off-line
and confirming physical connections.
Projections for continued functionality
are bare, obtuse, and rather grim.
Slim chances for productivity
without a full forensic analysis.
It now, however, appears that all flows end in paralysis.
Decisions colored in paralysis.
God must needs to take a piss now and again, amirite?
No thing can be held forever.
Not even a thing that exists before biology.
(cf. Big Bang, “boom!”)
Does God stand or squat?
Does God suffer stage fright and, if so, who or what shares the righteous restroom of the Creator?
Does God wash up afterwards? Why bother?
Does God’s eternal love extend to constipation?
There is a difficulty in this language, the passing of this discussion.
How divine would be the UTI of God? And would any amount of cranberry juice assist? Would God require our prayers to help ease the pain?
Does God read the paper or a housekeeping magazine, check Twitter, or just stare straight ahead with bright, holy eyethings?
Does God use a match or something like Febreze? Or is God so bold as to say, “I AM THAT I AM SOMETIMES STINKY.”
Does God mind that we’re considering God’s bathroom habits?
If “Yes”, check here:______ and tell us why.
If “No”, check here:______ and tell us why.
Earlier this week, you recall: radio, poems, my lily white ass?
You can listen if you’ve feeling frisky:
And if you’re not feeling frisky, goddamn, what’s up? How can I help?
New Bermuda by Deafheaven
[I]n listening, what I keep returning to is Clarke’s voice. I can’t even tell if I like it or not. In the context of the death metal tradition, it is staid. As an instrument, it is used almost purely to unsettle; no other tone is explored. On one hand, I’d like to see more range; a scream is louder and more impressive if it’s compared to a whisper. But coming from other noisy genres — or approaching Deafheaven from shoegaze, post-punk, or their other influences — there’s something perverse and intriguing about insisting on no clean vocals.
Did ya know…?
Ichime Glacier is a glacier flowing to the sea just west of Kasumi Rock in Queen Maud Land, Antarctica. It was mapped from surveys and air photos by members of the Japanese Antarctic Research Expedition, 1957–1962. The glacier is named due to the dermatological irritation it invokes in human beings that stand near it. Those first discovering the glacier came down with such severe instances of itchy skin that they had to be airlifted from the continent and soaked in coconut oil and epsom salts before their condition subsided. Ichime Glacier is only known to irriate human skin. Penguins, elephants seals, and aliens who’ve crashed into Antarctica seem to have no issue being in the vicinity of the icy itchfest. Special anti-itch suits were developed in 1986 by Karl Lagerfeld, providing both form, function, and fashion for those scientists studying Ichime Glacier.
…So now ya know!