The Number 9

I started writing this after my brother Trayce gave me the mission to use terms I learned in the Astrology class I was continually complaining about and to generate a poem r somethin out of it. So I began and in the middle of doing so, I had an Aneurysm . I blacked out for a good 30 minutes went to the ER and got the wheels movin again. Went home and finished the poem. Here it is in it's entirety, the poem that tried to kill me. (note: one way to read this is to go down to the bottom and click play on the video then scroll back up and read)

............................................
The Number 9 or what it takes to kill a Star
Charles Alcock developed Doucheology
based on his astronothing theory,
Black hole...straight ahead!
Supernova weasel turd particles
gas omit radio waves. Space travel?
Review the death of stars. Lower-main sequence
stars, Red Dwarfs, Sunlike stars, Planetary nebulae,
White Binary stars, recycled stellar evolution, Accretion Disks,
Nova Explosions.
The End of Earth, The iron core, The Great Super nova of 1987.
Life on Earth. More peculiar.
The orbit of materials. The Moon. The 12 visible planets.
The density of Galileo. The law of inertia- avoid it.
The value of data is the table below.
Individual goal: Eliminate bias. Estimate the actual value.
Modern. Bach. The Fugue. The Fugees.
Allanis Morrisette. Limp Bizkit. Insane Clown Posse.
Brady. Invertible counterpoint. How to compose
a sequence...Standardize. Technique called Fusion.
The particle is looped. Each weighing done in the same room,
by the same group of people, the same technique.
Counter-clockwise cellestial sequence. System reaches system.
The spectra of stars are produced...no longer gravitationally bound.
This relationship of

centers

continues to form. But, prepare for cadence.
When all the nuclear fuel in a star is used up, gravity will win over pressure and the star will die. Die in a gigantic explosion.

Mozart to Haydn. Error tends to be distributed.
Most of our data is a change of scale.
Compare scores...who did better? For what?
To the need in what score?
Creation continues.
rotating gitches associated with Changes.

Understanding the I-Ching.
Matter fows, time fucks up,
and it gets hot as shit.
Et toi? Je danse.

electrons raped

Je chante. Je chanterais.
Op.33, it's 1780, Haydn's gettin pretty popular.
London, pretty big deal.
Meter agreed.
The weights and measures whose time technicians listen
again and graph.
List genre, concepts, and changes.
Charecteristic of movement.
More brass! More percussion! significant!
Less massive stars will die in a less dramatic event.
Only person with less literature written about his life than Jesus...
Wagner...
then, there was Bellini. a Bookstore. Classroom. Parking lot. Movie Theater. Verdi. Rossini. Puchinni, Madame Butterfly. Merci beaucoup !Berlioz.
Boulez. Mendelssohn.
Bo Bo.
Me.
You.
The roles we play,
open time up to a crazy, lazy feeling.
Girl turned her hands, revealed palms.
I take back my hips.
You get your swishin hard feet. Taco Bell, more masculine.
Go! Combine! Spin rapidly! See pulses! Visible light?
Bullshit! Beaucoup de temps...Sortiez! Dansiez! Mes amis,
emit visible pulses, persist longer.
The event horizon, a black hole singularity.
Et ensuite, Prepare measurement, Bias.
Pushing them in the same direction. Hair on the scale.
Stems repeat. we know change chance is left.
Brightness does not depend on temperature.
Becomes no limit.
White. The envelope tells white Chinese astronomers through theory.
A dwarf produced.
Radiation can occur when paradox is magnetic.
Material no longer gravitationally bound.
As material leaves, fall into, form around
nothing.
Fusion around every sequence, life.
Stars do suspect their own death.
Stellar giants inside, our evidence. A white dwarf,
our smaller size.
Cumulative form.
Stockhausen. Reich. Crumb. Seeger. Percussion juxtaposed pointillism.
Start each identity.
Shostakovich. Copland. More broad audience.
Gillespie. Parker. Contra fact. Barber. Babar.
freedom of structure, allusions to Cage,
random like Napolean Dynamite, the FIRST time.
Prokofiev played alot like Rachmaninoff.
Root position harmonies.
Riley. Post-awesome. Blues "lick" gets melded into a stew.
Polyrhythmic layering evokes Krenek.
Wiell. Viel. Veal. Tradition. Past. Useful.
Hindemith gets out of Germany before it's too late.
Emphatically post tonal. Chords get banned during Nazi Regime.
What is left? Schoenberg.
Wars. Politics. Inevitable factor. No connections. Autonomy across the world.
Music and France become a problem.
Post tonal says the teach. What counts as allowable classical models?
Les six. Stravinsky...not a jew!
Jazz was exhausted. Milhaud. Primitive ballet. Response to Rite of Spring
After the value of finding the data. Pictures and plots draw from the smallest classes, including zero.
If a companion can exchange, energy more luminous collides.
Evidence of active fusion, different zones, from outer to innermost.
Schubert. Gretchen am Spinnrade, German lieder.
Jeanie with the Light brown hair. Beethoven Piano Sonata in C minor,
or String Quartet in C#, Chopin's Nocturne in Db, List- trois etude pour piano. Poor piano.
Schumann's song cycles. More moments of "music" rather than lengthy "nothings",
you know what i mean?
More Mozart doing Rossini. This new concept combines the first smile of her face announced by 3 strokes of a silver gong.

Oh, Poon City

Poon City, I ain't drivin to you no more
Poon City, Ya ain't gon see me no more
I stayed a while and Id stay some more
but i gotta be leavin on out the door
so Poon City I guess this means Goodbye

Yo city now its filled with tiny lights
and yo poon it gets me so high so high
yo summer dress it dance in the moonlight
but in poon city, it aint gon stay on long

oh poon city how good you been to me
oh poon city how good you been to me
but oh poon city i just gottsa be movin along
on down the road, pocket full of spoons
an a greasy widdo chode

my life will be long
longer then the Mississipi
my load will be large
a large bARge
that wont budge till
i nudge
a lil hodge podge drove a dodge

Ode to the Commode.

http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/odetothecommode

Old Man Spoon Withers

he might be your janitor
he might drive a bus
whatever he is
its not what he is
but how he does it
hes "withers"

portraits of valleys hung on his wall
plauge on his breath
and a rusty spoon in his jaw

he doesnt like porches
he prefers them shadows
alleys and backstreets
dumpster behind your sons daycare
he's "withers"

his front lawn yawned
tire swings and a volleyball pit
miniature eagles on his table
and cups filled with spit
he's "withers"

wine satisfies
a boy that died
so a fridge supplies
what pervades his mind
in the tiny box that he fills
he's "Withers"

boy likes his sinnin
you could tell
cause he grinnin
hed drive you to soccer practice and leave y'in the rain
spoon likes his skin, but hed rather rape your brain

he's "Withers"
and he'll wither on
a dusty road
or in a yellow toothed lie
he'll lie
he's "Withers"



there might be one in your town

Out for Breakfast

Out having breakfast this morning,
over coffee,
in somewhat of a slump,
I was thinking to myself,
"Holy shit, Joe!
You'd better do something,
anything,
to shape up your life a bit,
or else."

And so I decided that,
for starters,
I would try to be more outgoing,
with my waitress,

Other than just getting
my usual order,
and saying "thank you,"
as it arrives,
and so,
as she was standing right in
front of me,
cleaning out a large,
white plastic container
of soe abstract sort,

I opened up my mouth to issue forth,
"What's that?"
silence,
I guess you didn't hear me,
nevertheless,
I gave myself a pat on the back,
on my way home,
just a tiny e for tiny effort,
but with total faith that,
any step in the right direction,
is secretly a giant one.


-Joe Brainard (RIP)

All you need is luxe..luxe? luxe. luxe is all you need.

I knew a man who found the fountain of youth inside a

bottle of kentucky deluxe

Well he drank that stuff couldn't get enough, wouldn't

take to workin or anything that wasn't a cup.


He said, "all I need is kentucky deluxe."

Well the preacher kept preachin and his wife kept weepin

and her hanky was a-seepin with the tears of her greivin

oh no!!!!!!!11

well he couldn't fix her cause he didn't need no mixer he

filed for devorce didn't take no picture when he left

he said .......

well he started down the road found a coffin full of gold

aint no lost or found or so he'd been told.

well bought a duck and an ocean full of whiskey and thats

how he met me and i never did come back up.

he said.....

well he's a thousand years old floatin on an ocean in a

coffin full of gold thats just what ive been told

he don't look a day older there's a straw on his shoulder

to a tank of a drank that won't let his life smoulder.

he said.....

One more rumble to tell my last story. The final telling to the final audience, finally told right. The final step before the final tumble. The looking around and seeing frozen in time, the blocks of stone and mortar hoovering above the earth, the frozen fear within human forms canvasing the mother, their planet. Frozen wind in all the ears. Frozen vaccuum in the throat gasping, grasping with the mind this matter this tiny measure of air over the matter of fact, the finality of this act of the walls falling out and the sky falling down, as it were upon our own forms these pockets of spirit, these holy encounters, these holes in ideals, no more free meals. The time has come, the occasion is final and after being frozen for years the Lord returns to the sheep, reclaiming their wooly minds for the mortar for the new church must be built and the cost is in lives.

Food For Thought

Did the Flintstones have a bidet?
Did it have a trunk?

Chicken in a can

permeable

pathos -> pathogen

when i was five my mother called
old women to lift my shirt and say
german measles
though the doctor only said measles
with a needle in my arm
there were so many:
tetanus locks your jaw after
being pierced by rusty metal
and is prevented by
being pierced by shiny steel

penicillin in my hip and a dead leg
for three days, no bananas for fifteen years
no cats and a bottle of benadryl in every room
with a k on top, and so saying
pediatrician
was easier than saying hero

they saved me
from pneumonia, strep throat, blood in my lungs, asthma, chronic
sinusitis, pneumonia again, we thought it was consumption
tuberculosis tests by broken pathogen
like everything else
a needle in my arm
ear infection, throat infection, lung infection: idiopathic
pneumonia again, and every other winter a week in bed
doctors' orders, pill bottles lined up and I speak
pseudoephedrine, diphenhydramine, loratidine, acetaminophen,
depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, insomnia
the writers' disease
Enough.

If I have to choose, I'll take
rusty metal
and gather up bananas
cats and poetry,
laugh at the pollen on my grave.

plip plop plip plop
descending like meteorites to the cold blue waters of my bowl

Cities, This City

The things they always complain of,
coming from outside and again on leaving,
there are so many of us crowded in here,
and we are all so aloof and alone,
We, here, are always alone,
every city alone in this country,
which has never learned to accept it's cities,
every city on it's own,


alone,
and doomed,
"born to lose" written on it's walls,
yet, here we stay in it,
and keep coming to it,
we keep pouring ourselves in and out,
We light the skies with ourselves sometimes,
sometimes someone may be watching those lights.

We are using ourselves,
people , bodies,
instead of trees and grass, and earth
We eat people instead of eating the land,
We watch love and hate bloom all around us,
not weeds or flowers, as in so many other places
We keep thinking we are making something from our own
bones and blood, and flesh,
and not, like the others, living off the land

We know that the oldest city was so,
We know that the newest city will be so,
It will always be the place the others use,
while they keep complaining about it,
while they send what they make from the earth,
while they send what they can't use,
while they send what they want to sell
for what we have to give them in return

They send their poets, and their whores,
and their painters, their conmen,
their dancers, their thieves,
their dreamers, their murderers,
and we add our own to these, yes,
maybe you can not have one without the other,
maybe, indeed, you need all in this city,
I don't know if this is right,
I only know the need to use oneself,
to bet on oneself even when it's fixed,
rather than watching things grow outside one,
and then killing them,
and then piling them up,

And then, when the ports and the crossroads,
and the easy-jumps-across-rivers

aren't needed anymore for their commerce,
the songs, and the poems,
and the dancers, and the drawings
of things imagined and real,
will come out of the rub of people against people,
will keep pouring out of the city's people,
feeding the people who are angry,
feeding them,
This feeding started in the first gathering,
and will go on until the last gathering,
because while the world builds itself in the void,
people alone hunger for eachother always,
for whatever it is that only people can make,
for whatever it is that only people can feed eachother.

And here in the moment of release is there not a sense of "in it's own time" and "at last"?
In the ceasing of conscious effort is there not a newness in awareness or scope of awareness?
What is the mood of this new awareness?
Is it the lioness' long sensual flop upon the earth?
Is it the deep huff in and puff-out partnered with her first lazy gaze over the horizon?
Is it the volumptuous rythmic panting that is causing a heavy thread of spittle to swing loosely from the sweltering tongue?

green enameled rust

No I swear, it's no burden,
I swore to my beastmaster.

Jangle-jims, you're too kind,
she patronized me often.

We both understood the irony
and cherished the same cruel joy.

aimertainment

i was gifted a hilariously confusing discussion between one nina kosmach and "ashley"? what i loosely gathered from this interesting piece; the antagonist, Ashley is an easily bored person that has become driven to frustration, at times bordering on schizophrenia. Her frustration manifests in the form of a verbal combat, a "chat challenge" ,or a "word war", in which she gathers concepts and accusations like clothes (from bottom of box @ Denton Thrift)and tries to "suite them up for an online battle". In doing so, she provides an abstract, yet somewhat persuasive thesis statement worthy of your poo view. Let's take a look now...




Original Document

whiteticktock (3:48:22 AM): stick to your own boyfriend and leave the rest of ours alone please!
jefumelecigare (3:48:42 AM): what



jefumelecigare (4:31:16 AM): whiteticktock (4:09:44 AM): all we want is for you to leave Andrew alone. we don't go sniffing around your boyfriend.
jefumelecigare (4:10:04 AM): i dont even know an andrew
jefumelecigare (4:10:56 AM): do you even know who i am?
jefumelecigare (4:11:13 AM): i dont has a boyfriend
jefumelecigare (4:31:28 AM): jefumelecigare (4:15:27 AM): so is andrew cute?
jefumelecigare (4:15:31 AM): can i meet him?
jefumelecigare (4:15:42 AM): does he think i'm cute?
whiteticktock (4:16:00 AM): probably
jefumelecigare (4:31:42 AM): jefumelecigare (4:16:23 AM): but seriously yo
jefumelecigare (4:16:30 AM): i think you are harrassing the wrong girl
jefumelecigare (4:16:43 AM): check yo spelling
jefumelecigare (4:17:51 AM): hey are you hungry?
whiteticktock (4:17:57 AM): is this Nina?
jefumelecigare (4:31:51 AM): jefumelecigare (4:18:00 AM): wanna go to whataburger with me?
jefumelecigare (4:18:09 AM): this is nineer
jefumelecigare (4:18:18 AM): who is this?
whiteticktock (4:18:27 AM): then I have the right girl.
jefumelecigare (4:32:00 AM): jefumelecigare (4:18:34 AM): ok but i dont know an andrew
whiteticktock (4:19:47 AM): ok. sure. bye
jefumelecigare (4:19:54 AM): wait!
jefumelecigare (4:19:57 AM): whataburger?
whiteticktock (4:20:07 AM): ahh maybe another night?
jefumelecigare (4:20:17 AM): who is this mang?
whiteticktock (4:20:36 AM): or morning.. Ashley, that's all I'm saying
jefumelecigare (4:20:52 AM): ok bye

Lighten Up

You'll care far less about what people think of you when you realize how seldom they do.

Blues for Janis

Well, the livin aint easy

The fish aint jumpin, but bitin its true

An if you catch Hell then Ill know

for sure

That there aint no cure

For the Babe but I swear I will get sick with you

Large Nook large success at the Krystal's Palace last night. Good God. And a hat.

The threads off Royal Street

"Drop the Tidbit, now!"
All rights reserved, "maybe later," he decided.

I found out too late.
"You son of a bitch!!" could not change the fact.

"Drip Drip."
She pondered of parents naming a child an onomatopoeia.

"How can I get my titties stared at around here?"
Her mother was direct and from deep within principal.

Still, the jelly's texture was distinctly off.
"Perhaps if we dig a little deeper and stir it up."

"A few passes more,"
For the next three days everyone's pink bits were sore.

Tonic spoke last and conclusively,
"Good meeting."

desert blues

wasting through dry desert days
aching for somethin green
coyote lurking, showin his ribs,
fear and hunger makin him mean,
and the sand in his eyes
sun on his neck
dust in the air

haven't heard the rain all year

the desert is makin me lean, makin me lean
got me missin things i aint even seen
waves on the shore, wet sand in my toes
green trees and forest, lord only knows
how this desert is makin me lean

yucca's got roots go a mile deep
'cause it knows how sand keeps shifting
and time can break down any stone
does me no good, i keep on drifting
with this sand in my eyes
sun on my neck
dust in the air

haven't heard the rain all year

and the desert is makin me lean, makin me lean
got me missin things i aint even seen
waves on the shore, wet sand in my toes
green trees and forest, lord only knows
how this desert is makin me lean