[ tags: ‘poem’ ]

vday

Friday, February 14th, 2014

from MF Love Dings Font + text from Scotty

source files

Ogura Hyakunin Isshu

Thursday, January 30th, 2014

from Ogura Hyakunin Isshu

source files

tracings (spoken word, cutup)

Monday, November 12th, 2012

We all have opinions,
affiliations, the next opportunity.
I stay up nights increasingly brutal,
stare at the screen and sigh.
Unpostponable blows multiply openly,
words empty of social consciousness.
How often do writers think?
As the world turns,
turning and burning,
perhaps we don’t notice
the bodies piling up.
Constructing extravagant barricades,
we deserve Empire,
the disenfranchised
milling on the sidelines.
More than anything, I have failed.
At this point, expect nothing.

How to proceed through words?
So much writing because a person is a writer.
Sputter and write pain: unbearable.
Sunflowers overexposure the ear.
No words can be kind.
Dominate a cafe, perhaps.
Imagine a faraway country,
independent, misguided.
Imagine a piece of ourselves,
rich, varied, green and wet.
I desire. I am ashamed.
I worry in the night.
I worry money.
I consume my worth.
Forget the romantics,
give me heart,
fierce love poems.

Lend me your commonality,
strictly-speaking and finally.
Robin Hood gave a speech.

My hat is not a pear shape,
or meaning anything.
Grammar isn’t viable.
See what I mean?

Degeneration scares me.
I notice the mannequin
in the mental ward.

What of my public struggling
to construct eccentric grace,
catch a nice round experience,
trade knowledge to other clues.

I suspect the universe, a secret plot.
I suspect the hokey-cokey.
Assume my concern,
be prepared to stick around.

For a long time, it was just
a few lines exhorting
to totally no avail —
almost anything.
Nostalgically, mangoes.
No wonder I feel so out of it.

Speaking of bad writers
(the vast clique) –
how would I know?
I am a malcontent,
the squeaky wheel.
Don’t pay for the rhythm of words:
Hey-Ho, a bear claw to go.

People backchannel yak-yak.
Everything to everybody –
wearisome devolved individuals
delivering specifications.
Perhaps this is just me
spending too much time
in front of a computer,
pixellated around the edges.
I sense the presence of a person,
truly and carefully unremarked upon,
hungry for a login/identity.

Choose, any given moment,
you are more than a tool,
a state of mind,
a third party intruder.
Reconsider the system,
inform the membership,
start a new topic,
send a cool gift.

I am writing at the cellular level,
reaction as an explosive.
I’m ripped out of context,
shuffled daily, much used –
currently with extremists
who prefer arguments.

Spoken word by runran. Cutup text from a discussion thread on the old trAce website. Recorded and engineered in Edmonton by Ray Buxton, freelance CBC sound engineer. Keyboards by Dennis Meneely of Tacoy Ryde.

dystemic2

Friday, January 15th, 2010

from: dystemic

fla/font: dystemic2.zip [ 41KB ]