Exstatic Almanac

Exstatic Almanac

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Exstatic

ALManac a bOOK OF daze

AWOL LOVE VibE ALEX FErgusON KEdricK jaMEs JOKN SObOL

INSOMNIAC PRESS

Copyright © 1997 Alex Ferguson, Kedrick James & John Sobol All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from CANCOPY (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), 6 Adelaide St. E., Suite 900, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5C 1H6. Edited by Mike O'Connor Copy edited by Lloyd Davis & Liz Thorpe Designed by Mike O'Connor Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Sobol, John Exstatic almanac: a book of daze Poems. ISBN 1-895837-13-8 without CD ISBN 1-895837-11-1 with CD I. Ferguson, Alex. II. James, Kedrick. III. Title.

PS8587.O34E97 1997 811'.54 PR9199.3.S566E97 1997

C97-931374-0

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council. Printed and bound in Canada Insomniac Press 378 Delaware Ave. Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M6H 2T8

EXSfatic AcKNOWLEdqEIYlENtS Many people have supported us over the years. You know who you are. We thank you all. In particular Denise Britt and Trent Hignell, co-owners of the fabulous Black Sheep Bookstore in Vancouver, were gracious hosts during our several days of improvising this almanac. Jerome Rothenberg was also helpful in steering us towards a definition of our almanac, as well as having been a source of inspiration for years. Paul Dutton's oral erudition and energy were welcome catalysts. Becky Cohen's photographic skills were a generous resource. Tom Raworth, who seems always to be coming or going, offered friendly encouragement. Coat Cooke shared with us his fine pate and its potent contents during the recording of our CD. Shael at Beatty Lane Studios gave us great groove for our bucks. Autonomedia's Calendar of Jubilee Saints (Radical Heroes for the Millennium) was a valuable tool. Several dubious librarians at Vancouver Central Library also helped us with research. Finally, we thank the original insomniac Mike O'Connor for having commissioned this adventure. And the beat goes on. And on. And on. You know who you are... Last but not least Alex wishes to thank: Suzanne Hawkes for 13 years of moral support and an environmental perspective. And John thanks: Annie, whose insight and enthusiasm keep me focused when I need to be and laughing when I don't. Thanks love.

POEM AttributiONs Alex Ferguson: January: 2, 5, 8,11,14,17, 20, 23, 26, 29 February: 1, 4, 7, 10, 13, 16, 19, 22, 25, 28 March: 3, 6, 9,12, 15,18, 21, 24, 27, 30 April: 2, 5, 8, 11,14,17,20,23,26,29 May: 2, 5, 8, 11, 14, 17, 20, 23, 26, 29 June: 1,4, 7, 10,13, 16, 19,22,25,28 July: 1,4, 7, 9,11,14,17, 20, 23, 26, 29 August: 1,4, 7, 11,14,17,21, 24, 27,30 September: 2, 5, 8, 11,14,17, 20, 23, 26, 29 October: 2, 5, 8, 11, 14, 17, 20, 23, 26, 29 November: 1,4, 7,10,13, 16, 19, 22, 25, 28 December: 1,4, 7, 10,13, 16, 19, 21, 24, 27, 30 Kedrick James: January: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30 February: 2, 5, 8, 11, 14, 17, 20, 23, 26 March: 1, 4, 7, 10, 13, 16, 19, 22, 25, 28, 31 April: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30 May: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18,21,24, 27,30 June: 2, 5, 8,11,14, 17, 20,23,26,29 July: 2, 5, 8, 12,15,18,21,24,27,30 August: 2, 5, 8, 11, 16, 18, 20, 23, 26, 29 September: 1,4, 7, 10,13,16, 19, 22, 25, 28 October: 1, 4, 7,10, 13, 16,19, 22, 25, 28, 31 November: 3, 6, 9,12,15,18, 21, 24, 27, 30 December: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 22, 25, 28, 31 John Sobol: January: 1, 4, 7, 10, 13,16,19, 22, 25, 28, 31 February: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27 March: 2, 5, 8,11, 14,17, 20, 23, 26, 29 April: 1,4, 7, 10, 13,16, 19,22, 25, 28 May: 1,4, 7, 10, 13,16, 19, 22, 25, 28, ;31 June: 3, 6, 9, 12,15, 18,21,24,27,30 July: 3, 6, 10, 13, 16, 19,22,25,28, 31 August: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 19, 22, 25, 28, 31 September: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30 October: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27 November: 2, 5, 8, 11, 14, 17, 20, 23, 26, 29 December: 2, 5, 8,11,14,17, 20, 23, 26, 29

INtrOductiON - KEdricK JaMEs

It seems ironic, after all these years struggling to write poetry, that the first full-length book I am having published was created in the space of a couple dozen hours, without writing a single word. For a member of AWOL this is par for the course. From the start, my work with AWOL Love Vibe has been loaded with adventure; both physically, through our travels (John and I met driving around Banff; Alex and I met en route to San Francisco for our first group performance), and aesthetically, through our vows of orality, our exploration of polyvocality, spontaneous improvisation, our guerrilla poetics and our constant "reimagining" of oral possibilities in the poetic realm. Many of our poetic exercises develop as games. These are not competitive games to be won, but games which challenge the verbal and improvisational dexterity of the player. Sometimes we imbue our work with formalities which give it the seriousness of sacred rituals. This Exstatic Almanac was developed more as a rit-

8 ual than a game, though hopefully it resists the temptation to be preponderous. One could say that we began preparing to invoke the ecstasies of the Almanac when we first began improvising poems. However, a more rigorous schedule of preparation began for me before the Black Sheep improvising sessions with one month of intentionally induced ecstasies, so that I might prepare my mind for the daunting task of 122 consecutive exstatic improvisations. To this end I experimented with extended meditation, self-inflicted body piercing, sleep deprivation, extreme sexual indulgences and the ingestion of a variety of drugs, including (for the first time) Ecstasy itself. The book gave me an excuse for pandemonium and excess. As Blake would say, "Enough, or too much!" So goes the poet's cry. The generative ritual of the Exstatic Almanac was enacted over several days at Black Sheep Books in Vancouver. The experience was mostly sober, with a gradually increasing use of alcohol and marijuana on my part. By comparison to the preparation events, it was tame, serious, and endurance oriented. Our chief objective was to be able to withstand the rigorous demands of creating so many poems with little other than the immediate environment to inspire us (the bookstore, with its plethora of hip titles, was a practical one indeed!). The numbness and exhaustion which occurred seemed to happen in waves, and never to all three of us at once. It seemed that within the trio, one improviser would be shining and on a roll, while the other two struggled with image clarity, making sense, flow and musicality, you know, the basics of good poetry. I likened this to birds in their migratory "V" forma-

9 tion, where one cakes the lead and breaks the air and the others, forming like an arrowhead behind it, casually follow in the slipstream. When the lead bird tires out, it drops back in the line and the next takes over. It is quite natural and sequential, and needs no prior discussion. So it seemed to be when AWOL was creating the Almanac. This means that as the days divided off in their threes, at least one day of any three was poetically strong at the improvisational stage. Then began the next phase, which I decided would best be achieved far from Vancouver where the poems had been generated. I transcribed the recording made of my improvisations in Mexico City, and en route returning to Vancouver. I had gone down to visit a friend, Guillermo Gomez-Pena, who wished me to stay for a large exhibit he was involved in organizing. During this time I was robbed and had to come back by bus. This return trip took 100 hours of continuous travel. Sometimes, my tape recorder next to my ear, the engine roaring, and the bus snoring, I would hear no recognizable utterance coming from the little speaker of my portable cassette tape deck. At those times I wrote down what I thought I heard. These complements to the orginal text reflected my Mexican journey. I kept going deep into the night, my body experiencing untold agonies from the small hot seats and the lack of food. Twice I drank beer, and the transcription process got lost in deranged and delirious reinvention of the poetry. Luckily I would pass out quickly, before too many poems suffered this awful fate. The transcriptions were handwritten on a bus under poor lighting and bad road conditions. This

10 further affected the results, for in creating a computer version of the text, I was at times unable to decipher my own handwriting. 1 therefore approximated, tried to speak it, or perhaps, if completely unintelligible, I dropped it completely. When I completed the transcriptions, it was offered to a friend (Kaen Seguin) to remove from the text any element that she thought completely incomprehensible. She was chosen precisely because she was not familiar with the vagaries of modern poetry. She edited out thousands of words, and at times, with a very puzzled look, just gave up entirely. I then took her version of the text and tried to coalesce each day into a relevant (if surreal) poem. Each one of these "daze" suggests a cosmic positioning of the mind intended to assist the reader in furthering their own ecstatic adventures. They are divinatory in so far as they are liberated from the mundane. If acted upon, they are guaranteed to evoke the magic of the out-of-body ecstatic experience. Each day has expanded and contracted, has come apart at the semes and been sewn back together. What remains sometimes bears only germinal relation to the oral riff. At other times it is the exact literal replica. The downside of ecstasy is the crash, the bottoming out, when the best thing afforded to us is sleep. These poems explore all sides of the journey, from sewer to sky. They embody a contemporary approach to artmaking, in which the most ancient of traditions is invoked, then challenged, then blenderized with technology into something it could never have been, then reinvested with its original purpose. At the end of this we have an Almanac, created by three very different, very determined poets. Hope you enjoy it.

thE 2Nd taStiNq • JOhN SObOL

improvisation is ecstasy. ex. stasis — out of self. * out of self into... what? all 365 poems in this almanac were first experienced as spoken improvisations, uttered between april 8 and 11, 1997, at Black Sheep Books, in Vancouver, bc, Canada, by AWOL Love Vibe (we riff therefore we are riff-raff). granted, writing has at times been a part of our creative process. BUT the goal has always been to enlist LITERACY in the service of ORALITY. let pen and paper be mere mnemonic tools! resc.ind the theoretical hegemony of TEXT! yet here, on these pages, these poems are no longer improvised, as transcribed, edited, revisited - as writing — they are what Ana'is Nin christened the second tasting.

12 12 AWOL Love Vibe has always abjured the second tasting; defying, deferring, devoting itself to the initial encounter, the interallied experience, the incantatory moment. but times change, someone offers us a book deal. we're hungry. we go back for seconds. welcome to our buffet. it means to be consumed. also to be excreted. pissed away. passing glory. a poem a day. daily ecstasy. invent your own. please. 17 years of writing poetry and i've published just a half-dozen short poems, all but one in perfectly inaccessible publications. this was my choice. on the other hand, i've recited and improvised poems for hundreds of audiences ranging in size from 1 to 1,000 to (via tv and radio) 1,000,000. yes, print is cool, but so is a morgue. has our exstatic almanac got a pulse? quick. check yours. oral poems are ephemeral reponrses to social needs. scorn, mocdery, or worse, indifference await ineffectual oral poems; praise and gratitude reward the best. books, however, are different; read or unread, good or bad, they do collect dust. plenty die pointless deaths. rot in bins. wasted. that's bad. poetry is not to be wasted! so don't waste our book. burn it if yr sick or cold. wrap fish with it. read it if you crave inspiration, attitude, a shot of weirdness, wild words, someone else's ballsy failures. but use it. these puny poems are all cracked up to be. john sobol april 30, 1997

* my idiosyncratic translation. it may also mean, out of one's senses, out of place, or, more literally, displacement, entrancement.

i CONFESS i aiYl iN hELL • ALEX FErqusON

Improvisation is an ephemeral art. To commit an improvised poem to paper is to transgress the first law of orality: total service to the moment. I believe this book is as dangerous to its authors as it is to its readers. We, the authors, have created evil oral karma by transcribing our improvisations. By buying this book you, the unsuspecting reader, have been left open to the coming karmic backlash. I believe we are all going to be severely punished for offending the muse of spontaneity. In 1995, AWOL decided to take its experiments with improvised oral poetry to a deeper level. We took a vow of orality (no reading or writing), and cloistered ourselves in a monastery in Bohemia for a month. There we taught each other invented myths and poems from mouth to ear using only the medium of breath. Since that time, from Prague to New York, from London to Vancouver, we have engaged in public verbal diarrhea, and we find we like the smell of our own shit. We have discovered that improvised

14 poetry is a kind of fecal explosion of the unconscious. In this act, we drop the whole belly of crap on the communal altar and perform an extispicy — the ancient ritual act of sorting through fresh excrement for portents. Together with the audience, we extract prophetic knowledge from the verbal dung heap. The entire process is organic. In the end there should be nothing left of it but what is constantly being recreated in our minds. Beholding this blasphemous book, I feel the urge to consume it — to re-incorporate it into myself— then to speak it back to the air. It does not sit easy in my stomach, but I cannot find the will to puke it up. I want to. I want to eat this book. I think you should, too. I think we should all surrender this abomination to the destructive powers of our digestive chambers. But we are civilized, aren't we? We are too sophisticated to just eat a book. We need a more carefully constructed rationale. If we are going to eat it, we demand a recipe. We want it to be tasty. I don't have a recipe. Do you? If you have one, send it to me. You should share it with all of us so that we can purge. If you have a recipe please leave it on my voice mail: 604-732-0634. Or if you must, e-mail it to me: [email protected]. Or if there is no other way, put it on paper and snail mail it: 1933 Balaclava St., Vancouver, BC, Canada, V6K 4B9. I need to be saved from my hypocrisy. I am in the Hell where they stuff oral poets' mouths with writing implements and confront them with the blinding glare of blank pages. In this Hell no one speaks. They only communicate by fax. Save my soul. And help me to appease the muse that we have all so shamefully offended.

15

come my love let midnight's kiss suspend time press at eternity never to return to the new year chronicling naked tales as night uncoils dreaming lucid love in a soft bed of mischief

It's a new year! How many ways can you split a resolution? Your intoxicated cells are craving their addictions. A promise is nothing but a petri dish for the cultivation of bacteria. Oh look at the new year drooling over its wagon train of disease and heartbreak. The horned virus of optimism begins its climb. Next year's Santa holds his Christmas bag like a threat.

Re mote T V L ov E.

Taking slavery by the throat you strangle it,

JANUARY1-DAYOF OFFERING TO THE ROMEN GOODESS FORT

16

b reft seize free dumb.

Be The Millennial 'It Girl' Champion roller derby bad girls and kooks blue pubes are in as are banana seats and playing bass embracing Soft Cell is dicey the eighties may not peak until the 2000s instead lead your own cocktail cult to the brink of mass suicide invite the media then kill them with a blow from your indifferent midriff sell the film rights to NASA Nike and Ninja Tune timing is everything your fifteen minutes will feel like a thousand years go girl go!

Have you checked your uterus for signs of lies? Don't. Ever again. That forbidden fuck. Ask for it now. I'm always available for your disposal.

JANUARY3, 1964 - 450,000SCHOOL KIDS 60 ON STRIKE INNEWYORKCITY.

17 The gruesome appeal, the deformed fascinate, the deranged absorb, the distilled erupt, the claustrophobic prevent, the clandestine divulge. Go to the other side (of love). Wait for the dead bird flying low overhead.

pilgrimages and prayers are superfluous today explore mystic domesticity

The amazing inventions of the thoughtless utterance The amazing adventures of the passive mind The amazing repentance of the mumbled inheritance The amazing declensions of grammatical suspension Goodbye dot period question-mark semi-colon breakfastthrough-dinner final-year new-millennium

Hand and job. Your mouth takes sheets of paper drooping before the pen has touched them. These words are so wet behind the ears. Power corrupts you absolutely and you love it. Degraded, stepped on, like a hat you swell and become full of viscous liquids. When the food of inspirations comes in your mouth swallow it and explode.

Watch out. You're asking for it. Roadkill. Deluxe.

JANUARY7-SEKHMET,THEANCIENTEGYPTIANNEWYEAR'SDAY.

18 Today the world is a luxury sedan. It's your grease that makes it roll. Can we all get in? Oh the highway! There's no light at the end of the dotted line! Can we all get out?

That's good! You've done well. Kicked ass. You pat the cheeks of reality with Titan's great trident, and you stab there, stab there until a well springs forth. Peel back the skin, win the mind of a child and the wisdom in grey hair. A game is almost over and you're just now ready to play.

slough off that skin strap on those bones pull up that skin peel away those bones under the myrtle bush over the rainbow resolve to resolve nothing

A secret enchantment may prove more crushing than intended Say "Please kill me" three times as you swallow a gun • Pull the trigger with articulate intestines Perhaps the world will stop for everyone Tommy gun mouth

JHNHIVH.IIIfil-FlligiE-INlELllNSllNFllNCKN,

19 Get wasted. Get wasted. Get wasted. Get super wasted! Get fucked-up. Get mind-fucked. Get stuffed. Get full. Get a fill up. Get fed up. Get frank. Get angry. Get Henry. Get them with a blunt, a blunt instrument. Fuck them up. Get fueled-up. Buckle-up. Get fucked-over. And over, it's easy. Fuck up. Look up. Way up. Up there. See: Vanity is a God.

Historyville (AP) — On the night of January 16, 1991, the Allied Forces launched a major air offensive at Iraq to begin the war in the Gulf. The strike was designed to destroy the bank accounts and limo fleets of desert niggers. As Desert Shield became Desert Storm the world was able to see and hear, but not to smell or taste or touch, a war that breathed and bled and sucked sand and wept myriad airborne poisons and blew its stack like a crack well uncapped. Card-carrying member of the beat generation — toss that losing tax bracket! Get your aspirations off the nostalgia treadmill. Corporate grand daddy dispenses lollipops for suckers. Are you one?

Sucking on toes of incest you have taken your guardian angel out of its shell. You put it through years of hard labour; Frankly, the angel knows nothing of your softness, only the hard edge of saving you from the street. Saving you from your own best nightmares. Your guardian angel, despite itself, hits them, (poverty and desperation) showers them with lava spewing rubies from your gut. Divulge your secrets. Puke.

JINK IB - fl DflV IID TO GEMINI, THE SlH CENTURY BLUE Bfli O

20 the Poe museum is stoked spectres horrors 19th century narcs tracking transcendental leads The price of admission to the house of Usher is a Tlingit salmon for Lenore Trust yr instincts: in the mad forest Raven is a wily ally

|; Who's got the film rights to your past lives? f Spray paint your name in every lost corner of history. Declare yourself anthropologically significant. Build a pyramid around your own golden Hollywood. Pagan idol, Matinee idol. No more screenplays without foreplay. Lick millions around our archetypal fetish. Astound us with permanence. Unionize the untold stories. Give notice at work. Demand notice from the world.

What a surprise! The Pacific Goddess woke up. She's pissed. She loves her way to the Atlantic, causes tornadoes, hurricanes to tear up the Eastern seaboard. The Ellis Island palaces come down, they shrink into themselves. Listen here Albion, she's been sleeping for ages, Lulling you into a false sense of security. Spread out the succulent carpet. Welcome Bitch Goddess!

Jinn 25 - ROBBIE BURNSDAY(m NIGHT),

ZJ soon and deep black sheep telling crevices tears blackened by goatsbreath you will meet an unruly oracle bite hard

time to remind yourself of fetal elegance dumpling if you had yourself for dinner, you'd barely feel the bones sweet mamma's blood bath a saucer for your resting head the delicate murmur of self solace soul sun pumping in the breast of the sky

Leave it all behind. Your shoes are holy. You wake clothed, find the Jones in your pocket. Now you bring about change with small gestures of infidelity. Put on a new address. Makes you feel good. Take the bus to the end of the line. Get off. Meet the stranger who already knows you.

JIMH 26,1512 - DENlluiic mmi33,33! FOOT PI BUT i PHIIE,

22, Poets used to walk pet lobsters and commit suicide Today they travel to the ends of the earth on the internet and can't stand transcendence lobsters are allergic to poetry and altogether indifferent to the internet suicide though is fashionable on the seafloor like poetry it's a way of feeding your friends

The patron saints of suburbia are calling. A pilgrimage to the burnt-out mall where the skateboarders have lost their world. Is there nothing you can call exotic? Why travel? All is one. There is only the logo.

Your fetish for scars and spiked heels -is getting the better of you Confront the bitter semester of Illness.

Picture yourself in a boat on a river riding shotgun picking off twits in Cadillacs from the quarterdeck of a rotting coracle just a shotgun and all the courage you can muster buster situation critical listen schmoe more than one life is in yr timid hands sinking gunshy behind that deadeye desk

Jinn 28,1986 - SPDCE Siimu Cum EXPLODES, KILLING DLL MRD,

Z3 The foundling father is asking for resurrection. He reminds you of dysentery. Can you squeeze him out like another revolution? Pain born — you can laugh now but die insane. He arrives with his own authority. Soft as butter. You're defenceless against mere potential.

You order your next destination from a cabbie: Over there! Over there! Where the screaming X-Men have fallen! Another there! Under there with the dusky lovers curled up in each other's comas! Over there! Fast! The new parents are fumbling puberty's long bomb! Over there! Over there! By the stork crucified to a white picket fence! Over there! Over there! Gleam in the eye! Glint in the heart! Over there! Over there! The cobra unrolls! The clam erodes! Over there! Up there! More air, more air...

Dress for deep cold suit up for the fiercest fucking cold you've ever felt there's no fooling with frostbite You're wrong if you think your hot blood will melt these glacial lips migrating lover get ready for absolute zero

JANUARY 31, 1955 - FIRST MUSICAL SYNTHESIZER INDENTED.

zy Tell it like a heart seeking arnnesty .Sell it fast like a broken ma|riage vow Cut it like a key for your lolt respect Raise it from the deaH like the regret of Lazarus Waste it 'cause it's just too late now Blood it fully on a spoon Empty it like your sickened inners Pick it up like thread through a labyrinth Lose it like you lost your faithfulness Find it Find it in the dark in the cold in the invisible breath of the familiar beast

Groundhog day. We are watching for you, Surroundhog. When you appear in our dreams you have the face of Sid Vicious with a giant clothes pin from ear to ear. Come out of your darkened hole. Don't shun the light. Don't bind blindness to your eyes. Let the fun shine in. Shine. Light a lazy daze.

the day the music died welcome novitiate to the transistor labyrinth classic AM reliquary mausoleum of megamirages Buddy Holly Richie Valens The Big Bopper plug yr nose at the stench of rotten 45s at the heart of the Jacuzzi nostalgia rules with a bloody spear as cash registers dance the watusi

zs My love it seems the promised land has been bombed and we are tourists in our own hearts Remember the kiosk where we ate the burning tripe? It never seemed so angry Remember the market where they added up the future coin by coin by lost trinket and found poetry? Memory can free you from your body Here I've written our salvation in a biography of resurrection

Future sells polysexual. Future sells cereal killers. Future is PHat. Future sells E(cstasy) hits on acid house Alkaline. Future sells a nicklebag bean vine. Put a pod in your bong suck it till green and giving. Future sells Athapasca Zanzibar. Future is Beijing. Future is Marilyn Manson married to the King.

Forgive them for they do not comprehend their weakness they ore diminished when they ore gone forgive them move on

FEIIM 4 -KING FROST Div, i PKIN 1111?,

u Lover of Art and Food. Stretched on the rack between the widow's peak and Frida Kahlo's definitive eyebrow. I have called up the Mexican devils. They stand on their tridents with hot coals. Your best friend has arrived with the voodoo kit of pleasure and illumination. Ease back on to the fiery spit. I've got the plastic bottle full of sauce.

Whisper of friendship, sip Hangnail of water, blend Splitskin of dryness, wrap Showercap of oblivion, whip Stillwater of wonder, whisk Aspic of genius, crack Rubbertree of fantasy, toss Flipbook of direction. Tracing paper is all you'll need.

home is

where

the

sweet heart retribution home is home

sweet

is

z? Famish yourself in the face of a six-pound steak Tied to a walking pork on four legs Teased by the tongue of a cow Torn apart by runaway horses Hanging over the broccoli with your remaining bits Resist conversation Deny the flight of touch A drop A crust An atom of sugar Endlessly satisfying

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE EHAHEHAEHAEHAHEHA Don't suppress the gag reflex ecstatic! flex! the bound musclar oblivion.

jailbreak! cockroach dreams skitter down sombre alleyways bellowing and bellyaching back to bed close yr eyes prisoner the night is young

Declaw yourself in front of the enemy Provoke him naked How much abuse can you give? Have your tongue excised by a dentist You think it's bad luck? You're the happy mute Like the rest of us

Fiwl2-taDflHFDiflsfliHuNra,

Z8 cup love into your chest till this page bleeds

at dawn cyberslaves delete the sun and parade through the streets with their digital fleece — computers lead dull and predictable lives are you turned on?

Sexual Identity Day Today you will make love to everything you ever desired Hold a piece of chicken in front of your pants See if you don't swell If you can get off on a book then why can't you get down between the legs of the unspecific ?

Plan for the next comet; remote control aliens, isolation cults. Prepare for showdown. The mad tripper has more free pop rocks for your spacecleats.

FE«inl 5 - Limn,RIHIN HOLIYOFi GOD Fn,

29 oh pure oh plastic pleasures oh yellowed dentures oh pure plastic junctures punctures oh impure sutures oh sampan of futility sack of immobility oh plastic spasms perfect pylons contoured nylons oh halcyon windshields oh stub stub stub factory of flubs

Time to abandon your insignificance Swing Copernicus crucified at last You are the centre of everything You are the pyramid of permanence Einstein's eye in a sty Everything is relative to you

Today fantastic inventions reinvent you. Today your lovers call, and sirens wail in the heart of domestic bliss. Today, freedom begins within and digging up the flowers it finds there, it lies down and rolls in a bed of red wigglers.

FEIHIW 18,13311 - D»OH[R CLVDE TIMHH mmTHEPLINEI PLUTO,

so hypothesize strategize invest in miseducation test scurrilous accusations on closet puppets politics is no place for just anybody integrity is insanity

You hover around yourself like a Pope with a sickle in his hand declaring the sweetness and flexibility of the voice and demanding your testicles. Come on. You want. But how much less are you willing to become for it?

The ease with which you are tied down has nothing to do with your civilized fetish for the preservation of slackness.

livid lingams yawning yonis febrile nubile alluvial meddlings eek!

FEBDRV 21,1882 - JUNES S« RUNS 121 HUES IN ENMNCE

3) Static Still Stork Stark straight Stumped What is the modicum of movement you can do without? Completely wrapped in plastic can you tell yourself to shut up and listen for a change? Thought is not change Attention is not exchange

Torture appeals to you. The lipstick kiss on the mirror reminds you the sickness, the scars, the scare, the scarceness. Plead amnesty for a year. What you want? Open the closet of your chest the wrongness of this place the tightness of the answer.

remote control teethmarks metaphysical questions scrawled in doo-doo get a grip willya? it's only a part-time job at Safeway

Oh Sad Heartbreak Day. Romeo and Juliet are two puppets you pulled from your lungs. You're going to have to kill them again in the deepest crypt of your mind. Feed the poison into their lips, one word at a time: love, loved, leave, left.

FEHH 21,1534 - l«nisr ti JEWLEM" FIDD,

te The armies of the uptight march beneath your hat. They have great hair days. They are good thoughts having psychotic episodes. They have political underwear. They have rosy-coloured shades. Dim the lights, staring blindly at the sun. Whispered words inform the stupefied.

wrong number it was kurt weill looking for the ghost of Weimar future

With a fake pistol in your mouth it's easy to escape the limitations of: your own mindI Declaring your rights, insisting on a constitution according to the ethics of the Congress of Love You're an anarchist at all times Even the seasons fracture at your touch More curses than thanks But in the end: the genuine nail, the genuine palm, the genuine crossj Flirt in the fire of burning witches My, the erogenous perspective

Apocalypse of you. Pursy, kissy, sissy, hussy sussy, cussed selfless. Loved with loathing... good goop, stoops; look the droopy loop drops a break; flopsy. You name it. Don't look back. It goes where you go. It flows, into what you know fills you.

Minn 3,1988 - Lucid Pimoni HUES 161 mmCULLS IN BERLI N

33 strangers on a bus smell distressingly familiar festering incarnations step from daydreams on your rigid tongue water from the fountain of otherness

Commemorate the revolutionary heroes of the animal kingdom Stampede of cattle Turd of Seagull Rabies In heat and howling Shit of dog Horse bite Let the humans put you in a cage and throw meat Eat peanuts and curse diplomacy

Go get yourself a powerboat. Power your way around a football field win yourself a Nobel prize. Bring down the British Government until they are no more powerful than the antique Council of Nova Scotia. Get Michelangelo to make a statue to commemorate this inspired day.

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clock (bells) ((bells)) (((bells))) ((((bells)))) ... hour... tower ((clang)) (((bong)))

hand arrow spring power newfangled dangling spangling splash shower cut flower

You've been pounded down by the year and still can't determine what spice you are Dull pepper Hollow salt Sour depression Remember then, What's to hide? What's to keep?

Mm 8 - IHTHNL WOMEN' S DRY,

3S Life's hard, and you lose your job. First thing you do go to a strip club, the manager gets you to clean the backsides of the lost souls. Then the devil sees your work gets you to fetch darkness from the daylight. Tonight looks promising.

computer generated virtual models of your psychoses reveal the following: innate impedimenta systemic hypersaturation congealed combustibility A half billion operations per second and still the essence of your mania has not been diagnosed have you tried

art:

It's easy to be the cool cat with an eight pack of bottled lives in the fridge. Now you're staring at the empties. The last long-neck bud is crammed with cigarette butts and spit. Cool cat. Beat the neighbourhood kids to it: Go find a telephone pole, douse yourself in gasoline and play with a pack of matches.

Hun 12, 3711 - HIIIR,iDUE PIBM, is MURDERED ev\MK

36 In a swinging hammock, sadness holds up the first vote to prohibit the day from ending Dumbo gets a licence to fly when his ears are insured. All these kind things happen. Fate is a clown.

sublime sap of ineffable ephemera extract of eternity slow flow of sex over lips of lasting delight

In the sanctuary everyone holds a dagger behind your back. You were warned by the god to bleed with dignity. The initiates have stolen your obscurity. Die famously.

Stand in for drive-by shootings. Give bones to the people let them feast on hunger. Bathe with the children of voodoo. Take your hair from the drain. Strangle bathtoys

MM 15,44 BC - JULIUS Cm MURDERED ON IRE IDES O

3? kronstadt 75 years of decay once a proud revolutionary port today a crumbling poorhouse run by the mob subtract one from the other what remains is the betrayal of faith bitter old men corrupt young turks ideologues been there done that turn off the history channel there's a hockey game on

LIVE HAPPY DOG VERTIGO! EVERYONE'S A FRIEND. PISS HARD BOY! EVERYONE'S A POST. BARK AND LICK AND POOP AND RUN! HUMANS ARE SALT. WANNA BE A COP AND BITE THE SLEEVES OF THIEVES. WANNA HUNT A FOX. YIPPIE, WANNA HUMP A LEG!

This was culled from a bounty of hype: As time goes by you reveal the secret opera of wax. You scratch into the wax the arias of the homesick. You will walk from thorntrees filled with angry partisans. Their red hands hang down like swollen fruit. You will cut from the apoplectic groove to a classical mood, and sweetly share the booty. Your bounce has given a Dionysus a future.

38 cusp of vernal equine sprung unsaddled from underbrush nightsnot dripping from one good eye rearing mountainous steaming breath of angels pummelling muddy earth with spastic hoofbeats who never went to a rave or did acid or shot out car windows with stun guns but never got caught either except by death and springtime's rabid blossoms

You find demons in your groceries. They make you suffer from too much chocolate. You find sugar in your angels. They like chocolate too. The People of the Book measure indulgence against martyrdom. They came from the desert. In Heaven, even the air is sweet.

You take a magnet and lift metallic flowers. You hand a bouquet to your vegetable lover. You are a cumulonimbus conspiracy, a tempest brewed in a wretch's backyard. All that rusts or is soiled belongs to you. Still you wander through the day, white knights laying down their capes for you to cross over muddy puddles.

Mum 21,1685 -Jim SEBUM In is BO

39 here we showered summer thundercloud here we bathed whirlpool of pebbles here we braided unspooled saffron

here we clothe ourselves wildflower mouths perfumed with contentment

It's you! It's you! — on St. Ass Dragger's Day It's you! — the fortunate slacker It's you! — cashing your reality check It's you! It's you! — absinthe eyes It's you! It's you! — dead mouth It's you! It's you! — hairy train It's you! — excusing yourself from the timeline It's you! — without a linear bone in your body

Thought it was you. Tying tha' ribbon of funk around the old bone tree. Like a Greek in love, you open a book of philosophy and talk throughout the night.

Min 23,1917- LEND m UIRGINIR Ulnr mmi HOGHRTH P

to Alert!: imminent oxygen shortage! quick suck O2 from inner tubes commercial canisters and ventilator shafts

or as a last gasp slow down release control take a long slow breath

The Gemini twins arrive out of season They are mutually vicarious One is mute, the other open's her mouth with an explosion of butterflies One has eyes that strain under a brain that continues to bruise The other has a heart that can't stop declaring itself When you dance with them secrets threaten to take shape

flamboyant friends get together, wire themselves up and float through hemispheres. While they are bouncing around Attica Areolas and essential infernos fail. In the neighbourhood, you hear the Death Chant of Coca Cola. You jettison your engines: Secretly your plane is gliding.

11 the Pentagon has converted to Theosophy suddenly your Swedenborg collection is a matter of national security Madame Blavatsky will no longer be available for interviews ectoplasmic or otherwise sign up now for the next religious war your spiritual uniform is being pressed

Tie yourself to Rudolph Steiner Every flat surface must be rounded With an eye on the atrocities of war With a mouth on the indoctrination of children

Palm Sunday. Lifts floorboards. Underneath, see a world which inhabits your abasement. There, the hobbit and his fellows are tuning up the furnace. They are playing melodies to make you sweat. People watch on tv. They are the token of your grief which is why you have lost your pain and your meaning.

you are a joke

Inn 29,1886 - MUETED RS "THE CURE FOREUER«G FROM HMRIR TO THE

yz. Beg behind the scenes for a month Present nothing but a montage of your identity Lie in the scattergun limelight Become a cubist smattering of perception

It's a war and no one is winning. Take a gun and carve the sky into bite-size Bibles of the Cathars. People succumb, enchanted by the mystique of mistresses.

djembe banjo electric guitar all night long the furry music barks down at the dancehall home feels good day is done ooooohhhhhhaaaaaahhh falling groan sleep beckons but night and its flesh music calls

It's too late to turn back They're lying like two slices of bread and you're full of baloney Get between them Bleed relish, Cream mustard Pray God Bite Me Now

april 3, 1882 - jesse james is gunned down in his home in missouri,

?3 Grow your own. The copyright of the gene pool is a false epiphany in Albion. The old judges fall ill from the poisons of inbreeding. Cloning is the religion of institutions and even the devil is awed by the nastiness of the symptoms.

gastrophilia strikes you eat madly deliciously the sweet succulence of everything invites even more eating omnivorant you have teeth that bite to the core of existence and taste buds nine galaxies wide you are the initiate of all edibles the imperial palate-priest Oh all-consuming species cast your salivating eye over the planetary menu — what's next?

Alive and well and living in purgatory To extract vision from depression, stare at an arsenal of pills and take them all Lock yourself in a crypt and read manuals Exchange bandages with mummies You're in the process of preserving your desire for all time Sublimate the now to the archaeologist's uncovering

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rt See the beefcake, the handsome one with bloody hands? The able-minded ugly child — this would-be engineer — child of a butcher, stiff lips cracked and puckered. There is a steak in his heart. The cold supermeatmarket lifts his head for a last kiss. Give it to him, the tabloids are waiting.

doesn't the sun even the strong sun yearn for rest? moon rests rest

All seventeen thousand wonders of the industrial revolution have been brought together in one room Monkey wrencher — steal a nut, a bolt, a nail; pour sand into a gas tank Chain yourself to the hope of a future You are as beautiful as an ecologist's visionary raving With devotion, offer passive resistance to active destruction

This is a good day to die. Unlike other days the door to the underworld is open; and you can go there easily. Cerberus is chained, the demons lie down to chill out. The searing flesh cools. Dressed like a tourist, get on the safari bus with the open roof and cruise down the centre of Hell.

RNIL 12,1961 - Yum GURIN is THE FIRSIIMIM IN JPRCE,

ys Keep going until you are reborn in your bed — a year from tomorrow. And when asked by the Sphinx what you have learned say: I have done nothing but read the Almanac.

bleak boast bile broth off you go into the soup

It's like this honey, On this day in 1912 the Titanic sank On this day in 1828 the first Webster's Dictionary was published On this day in the deep dark past the word "Fuck" was invented

(Sigh)... urban cowboy poets are riding bicycles while you settle world trade with a knowing stare. You know the dancers of want. Their china horses have shod you.

Charlie Chaplin is shooting a posthumous sequel: the Great Goldrush Dictator of Modern Times it's a silent talkie in technicolour black and white starring capitalism and a cast of billions

IPIIL 15,1898 -BESSIE SMITH is BORN,

% Stand on God's Groove Beat the street side angels Swoon to the exorcism of brass Listen harder to what's been sung Wail the five note scale Check out the universal echo

Where Where Where Where Where

is the is the is the is the is the

ghost of social change. bomb with its disease of fascist clowns. giant hand clapping silently against the sun. diary of lasting deliriums. secret folder of your leisure.

See if you can hold your swearing and warm it against the echo.

happy birthday boss you're a monkey's uncle chimp you forgot chump to invite me to your party champ but i brought you a gift anyway a barrel of flunkies

Your cherubs are showing their scales Catch them by the handful Bust their arrows, break their little fingers Now your bleeding these, you're bleeding these You were the divine incubator, but in such a moment, you cripple your own armies There's nothing to give birth to but yourself Lucky for you, the loyalty of little angels is appalling

•ft Girl, what makes you love women so much that the boys have gone mad from staring at each other? Now we have two unions who know nothing of each other's pleasure domes. Is the genius of your body taxing its own sorrows? Like a great tongue, find the sexless wonder of Taste and press it tenderly against your burning lips. Remember, this lesson was given by a nomad.

Lithe and lissom demons float in your soup they jabber and gossip acrobatically like friends you recognize all too well Get busy with that spoon yammering demons are a delicacy in these parts

To the Naked Brave, You are as savoury as the first day of spice. You are as obtrusive as freedom. I sometimes find your exhibitiveness repulsive. I'm aroused by your lack of inhibition. Yours slavishly, Licking Gazer.

Wrap yourself in seaweed like sushi. Dry by the side of the road. Let the rednecks cook you up like roadkill on the radiator. Twist open a road pop and sing country.

APRIL 21,1553 - ILF BERN H n MM-pni IRK BV HOOK 0

?8 you look good real good : like a snake in a wetsuit oh you're thick-skinned you can take it but I caught you with your rattle in your mouth and heard you wishing wishing for love

Nowhere does it say you can't ignore your predilections for a day. This is the afternoon of the soft cock. You must take it, one marble at a time, into your deepest recess. Through its one eye — the simplicity of the world. Together, hermaphroditic, or perhaps a cyclopean twin. In all cases, the sanity of sublime virility.

And Che was there, but his famous beret was gone. And all the people wore signs of captivity, to show their friendship with the corporations. And the eagle became the court and the vulture, the marshal. And a perfect bubble burst against prison doors.

be your own boss — give yourself a big raise I a day off 'and a fat pension — then retire to a remote pipe dream

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?9 Examine your extinctions There are no wild lovers Everyone's a pet Everyone's touch is a net There are no moments Only acquisitions

First, spread out all the years that you have witnessed in the last century. Next, weave all the groans into a whip. Then, with testimonials intact, flay yourself and cause the rains to stop. The doors of the ark fall open. Tomorrow you will understand why the animals are sighing.

Mayday may be a forgotten axis but it is no impotent factoid nymphs still seduce sleeping sinners eyes meet on subways winking hands share humming poles wake and walk ancient ways

You make it with Venus we get sticky rain You drop your blossoms we see by pink lightbulbs You make it with Mars we get arson we get the tease, we get famine You make it alone we go blind

flpmL 30 - ILPIKIS NOT,

50 Act like a guerrilla and surprise yourself with your intentions. Attack bliss. Get fried like a spy on the altar of confessions. They will stone you leagues from the guileless yuppies.

today your rent cheque will have bounced again and you may be turfed again and if all appears in order check again your landlord is likely pulling a fast one it's all in the stars and the stars don't lie or are you telling me your life is rent controlled?

Throw rocks at any agenda. Turn policy into poetry with the stroke of a lip. Put laissez-faire on a rack and stretch it till it screams for regulation. Suddenly you've got the shape of the global economy on your chin like the mark of Cain.

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s; Now kneel on the carnal prayer mat. Deliver your lyrical cravings to the journal of pavement pounders. Watch them unwrap their fishy bodies from the letters of old news. Bucharest bus crash. Death by wheelie. Unplug the totalitarian turbine, technocrat.

society needs you to save it from you hurry home check your messages check your messages check your messages

Serve up the shadow of centuries Put it under glass and torture its atoms with a laser beam Ah, another unconscious goat sacrifice Throw the remains at the god Just as predicted: The loss of weather systems The mirror of a monstrous X-ray

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sz. The animals quiet their cashing in on coupons. They crash through rain forests again. Venus reconstructs the perfect symmetry of shells and climbs back into the morning. Botticelli unpaints the mind with turpentine. God opens his eyes, gasps, disappears.

To the amazement of thinking persons everywhere things do change On this day in 1993 Nelson Mandela became president of South Africa and not long before that Vaclav Havel tried to make Frank Zappa Czech Minister of Culture it's almost enough to make you want to

Relax You call that flexibility? It's Salvador Bali's birthday Now slip your bones Now paint yourself into a canvas with the force of a dream Now suck yourself back into the fear of a cat You call that flexibility? relax relax

Songs from the terror of hanging swing. The great fruit fall Newton, who is too drunk to concentrate, forgets a great idea.

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S3 hieronymous botulism come on down to the garden of earthly delights a triple gateway getaway will you choose what's behind door number one, two or three all writhe with similar demons step up to the mic turn red purple black begin the journey the question is: are you going north, south, or straight to the rendering plant?

Build an outpost of ephemera Pick your favourite planet and go there Oh no, it's made of gas There's nothing to reflect off except the whole universe Pick a constellation to dream on Retrograded planets come down like apologies Oh well you're alone Send messages that are afraid to leave you

Death wish. Wrapped in leather, and seated on a motorbike. Though you had no skin the wind felt strong and cold in your face. Though you had no heart, blood tore through you, faster with every second. Though you were not there people saw you fly.

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sy agnosticism no longer cuts it it's time to put up or shut up choose now between the barrier reef and the boreal forest the elemental avenues bisect here only the albatross knows for sure

with the irrepressible curiosity of a tourist begin the exploration of your body monotonous anatomy remove it from impending transcendence

Wear your hat backwards. Get pulled over by the cops while driving your punk car. Tell them that it's the only thing not going backwards.

usurp the church of your choice advertise net mad ducats

It's Victoria Day ' time to climb up your daddy's pants and lick the pole of the union jack, time to get beaten in a field of sugar cane, get fucked by a redcoat and give birth to a rape child despised by the economic order, how's it feel swinging from the neck? thank Britannia from the bottom of a bloody whiskey, from another blackout, one more thanks from a rusty rum, from a poxy death scab, no apologies, how's it feel?

M » 1 ] , I K I - FiiflMEin-GO-miM) MLED INTHEY,

ss Just when you least expect it Santa Claus comes climbing down your chimney. He's got a bag full of god toys. He's got a date and a couple of back-up numbers just in case. He's got a bag of Mattel automatics. He's got an espionage network worthy of a cold war. He leaves you a cannon, a rusted bomb, a leaky canister of nerve gas. He says you can have the chill factor. You take the icing on the cake and eat it too. He's just left the Mrs. and is starting a diet.

Sun Ra is not dead he has simply escaped to the orbiting Apollo Theatre

space is the place dance trance dance trance dance trance dance each twitch is a dance the rest of your body just needs to catch up

Which is your fruit totem? Is it the gooey'eyed mango with its drippy chin? Is it the drunken orange with its swollen pores? Is it the grape so proud of its feminine squish? Is it the suicidal coconut leaping on its brains? Say "Nay, it's Banana." Suckle at the nipple of Banana and call it mother.

% 23,1934 - BONNIE UNO CLYDE GUNNED DDIDN BY POLICE INLouism,

56 Bitch Goddess comes with a couple of spliffs - a flask of wine and a Pacific grin. She hands you a cup of hemlock. You drink it and lie down. Toes are her hors d'oeuvres. Brains for dessert. She eats you alive, (it feels great.)

on the corner weird visions smokebutt lives tossed from tinted windows cars spit past excrete exhaust fume patties ooh bite that sweet tarry cancer

Sleep in the way of an accident Start counting shapes, backwards, 10, 9, 8... Cheaper than surgery Wake up to sirens, You'll be regarded by the animal minds of your friends You'll force the hand of love Are you still your body? Thank you for making us feel something

Cracked like a broken spade you speak to dirt. Speak clod, do these words worry you, tease you. Still you are barking at shins. Go down, cracked, mud man. Go down. Cracked and the malls are crumbling. You go down with the rats playing broken records. Cracked and gone, with a bullet to the head, mudman.

s? shallow bed blush of pillow burden of sheets you were here willow reed shadow pallet ember of slumber you were here

It's Tell Everyone What You Think of Them Day! Shit head. As if we didn't know. Maybe you'll surprise uss;: Come on, it's not gonna kill you to say sorry. You're not gonna be sued for acting human for ten seconds. Okay, never mind. Asshole. Ha! Fooled ya. It's Tell Everyone What You Think of Them Day!

Chop the monkey. Chop the monkey down. Chop the monkey down with bananas. Watch him slide. Watch the monkey. Slap the mankey monk with a cactus hand. Challenge the monkey to a duel in backspeak. Watch the monkey get high and walk in snow. This is a glorious day, Monkey! The monkey sun reaches down and grabs a banana, peels it, eats it whole! That was your banana. Gone! Keep the monkey down!

Mflv 21,1953 - HILLIH m Mm REICHimm IF Mi, EIHESI,

HH under deep water wet daylight waves mutely muffled reverberations in the frequent sea tremble murmur tremble

Kiss like ten thousand years of blindness Kiss an apology to the big mother Kiss a cenotaph to the lost creatures Kiss a leviathan's sorrow rejected by the world Kiss its revenge

Slam the heart of the urban backslide. Slam it into the community centres. Slam dunk it into dry martinis with pitted happenings in funkytown. Slam it into suburban supermarket seductions planting seeds for the prosperity of Mrs. Popcorn. Slam it into a mass transit of transcendence

shhhhhhshout out warrior lung shout out open that frenetic pharynx 'n' let fly with phat phrases and fresh fantasies open wide cut loose heave back and forth till it hurts

Only by murdering curiosity can you call yourself faithful. Only by lacking the conviction of a copulating rat. Maybe we can't all be explorers. Maybe we can't all be sacrificed to security either.

JUNE 1, 1968 - HELEN KELLER DIES. JUNE 3, 1968 - VALERIE SOLANAS SHOOTS ANDY WARHO

59 Grind the cinderblock of the passionbone (grind it into bonemeal, potash, nightshade or the haz/mat graveyard nightcap) Plant your pot on it. And breathe into the leaves until you can smell potato flowers. Grow some big ol' bully floss, sugar the bitter tea.

you tremble at parties with illicit desires go forth and stultify tickle shadows there yes a sliver of divinity in a haystack

Anorexorcism the colour of green tin Begin slow disappearance Fall off a cigarette Consider yourself fatter than ash Two swollen eyeballs Slide between familiar social circumstances with the anger of a ghost Skinny tear Fuzz face The peach is your friend Minus the juice Oily pit

Awake at the Wedbetters' Ball. Nobody will know. The universe is anonymous, can you deserve it? Your stories are so slick the moon doesn't know! There is a cloud in your body, and a stripper in your sheets.

JUNE 5,753iiD - Si, BONK KILLED BY DRUIDS FORCHOPPING DOUJN IBED TREE,

60 living with poisons sulphites CFCs and PCB strawberries better put that yogurt on hold we've had a bellyfull of this kind of pestilence we're all insects here wanna hear a cricket crack?

Give thanks to hospitals it is in the taste of metal corridors that you know the sour decay of yourself It is there that you whisper secrets to your tumors In the hospital, under the press of linen, your organs are invaded It is there that you connect yourself open to the intruding fingers of strangers In the charm of hospitals you hear the body singing its eliminations In the toilets of hospitals you are reminded that your star is burning down Give thanks this day, thanks to the sanitation of hospitals, the virginity of hospitals

Back in the old days they would measure the thinness of phylum with a swimmer's eyelash. This was before they made snake rattles to shake over the dead. Now ancestors plot revenge with the code of blinks. Each moment corrupts the past. The density of ash is multiplied by the width of nostalgia. Beware the living Camera. Beware the modern monochromasome.

JUNE 11, 1978 - JOHN HUTSONsGOESGOE54 MPH PERCHED ON A SKATEBOARD.

67 burn your diary stir the ashes into a soggy mash and eat them if your life's too dry add tears

Inhalations are lovely but who would you give your last breath to, and how would you thank them?

Call it all casual till cartographers conspire and Brooklyn lives above you. Call it all casual till the handlers bed down beside you. Call it all casual till a baby is bursting your belly. Call it all casual till the wanderlust of your past becomes recombinant. Call it all casual till the ideological catholic condom bursts in a quake of holy terror. Call it all casual till the second coming. Call it all casual till you are ready to try to call it off.

look out for landmines more proliferate than handguns planted by aliens who eat feet you need yours to run their inhuman asses out of town

JUNE 12,1929 - DUTCH Jra SCHOOLGIRL RNNE FRRNK is B

6Z. Fall from a building and pray for wings Dive from a call bluff with the premonition of a parachute Stare at the falls and predict a barrel Drop from a plane for the joy of zeppelins Strike pavement with the faith of a beach ball

For a couple of weeks you blow into town all big and proud as a father with sons in medicine. Then your car runs out of gas so you walk to the edge of town and find a small gas jockey who has no fear. He drinks fuel. He ignites. Before you come to your senses he has risen like a phoenix above you. You go walkabout for days, holding a torch. In a high wind you find a match. Your name is painted on the sulphur tip. Ego is sublime. So it goes, the teachings of fire.

mud wrestle for the cameras nice ass

Explore your crevices with roach fingers They can survive anything Your body is an easy island On closer inspection, there's nothing human about it Just more and more bugs You're already part of a community devoted to you

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63 let let let let let let let

go — go — go — go — go — go — go —

my lugubrious vertigo, my lugubrious vertigo, my lugubrious vertigo, my lugubrious vertigo, my lugubrious vertigo, my lugubrious vertigo, my lugubrious vertigo.

revolve the time is ripe revolution is nigh spring spins like a spin cycle into a hot dry summer the soul of the solstice is revolutionary mellowness under the melting sun rejoice evolve revolt!

HOT BEES HOT BRICKS HOT SUMMER BURSTS BUGS FAT SKY FAT SNAKES BIG OIL BIG SWEAT HOT SUMMER HOT BRICKS BIG BACK FAT SWEAT

Freeze Johnny Carson then stick him to a store window with oreo cookie censorship. Lend him your ears.

JUNE 23 - MIDSUMMER'S EK,

6? memories of st. jean baptiste wild partying in the streets of montreal been there done that says a generation more interested in their neighbour's dirty underwear than their own fine threads independence is a state of mind

Tour the spirit houses Collect the influence of wise elders Commune with the directions of the compass Lose your holiday mind in the face of restless nature Return to city with eyeball washing wipers Headlights on, take offensive posture with hood ornament

Dayglow sun goes down turned over like an egg so fry yourself on some hash tornadoes tomorrow stirring the surface of saturnal spawn.

birthdate of gaston bachelard the bachelor of lard the lard assed bacchanalian with the fine tuned fricassee brain living in his own garden of insanity spelling mosaic mysteries on the pebble beaches of his forehead spilling wild eyebrows down like moss on a sandy beach gaston bachelard frying up another brain cell exposing the ammunition of weirdness

JUNE 25,1977 - hi HUNGER te hum iRUs mil BY (Mm FOR THE SDMI

65 Spiritual masters are defeated in the euphoria of your undergarments A dash of perfume and stinking angels retreat heavenward You move to the pulse of a black cat's heart Both pentagrams and crucifixes melt in your mouth Your lingerie tattoos the contour of self-pleasure

So often a man, if moved by fear cannot be motivated to act alone and not acting, destroys himself. There is nothing that has the time to rise and go back down before the pistols which set back Tupac and the Aztec fire. Use your long arm of lawless behaviour and stir up the pot, life's short, and the pot is boiling.

shoulder a length of thick rope to bed knot round your waist fall asleep with the other end wrapped round your dreams hold on tight whirling gyroscopically into the unknown

The Ugly Sausage rules the 13th House, the house of losing odds. Meat, Meat, and more Meat. I see a horizon of Hot Dogs. Your birth star is a veal calf. I see you fattening the livers of force-fed geese. Ham and Spam with Gravy and Jam. How can you stop the craving? Your friends are next! Your friends are next!

JUNE 29 - RUNIC NEW

66 Nowadays, no one knows the mechanic of death from the technician of the sacred.

some fool named today 'compliment your mirror day' screw that this is not a Saturday night live skit you are not al franken cracking a saccharine smile no you're staring at a cracked calendar seven years of smashed mirrors a shardheap of shattered days arrroooooo! the Dog Days have begun

On July 4, 1976, the U.S. bicentennial, a 70,000-pound cake received its finishing touches. It was eaten by an 800,000-pound boy — American boy. He blew fireworks out his ass that lit up every state in the union. Three wise diplomats from the east arrived bearing gifts. One of them held the last ivory tusk from the last elephant of Africa. The next one came home with an American missing in action, coffin wrapped in the flag. And the third one was a seagull covered in petrol from the Gulf of Arabia.

Find your anger, but don't carry the anger with you. Put it down, give it shoes, and make it walk in the other direction. Then while waving your bent arms in the air, and clapping your fingers like crab claws, move sideways eating clouds.

JULV2,l96l-El)NESTllEMlll(IVBLOiHiy[nDOFF,

6? Today is Falling Hailstone Day in 1975 a 249-gram hailstone nearly demolished Wetaskiwin, Alberta and in 1927 a 1.5-pound hailstone nearly wiped out tiny Potter, Nebraska ounces grams pounds when someone gets hit nobody debates the scale of squashed brains

Lucretius was no Darwin You are no insect But look how you can change You are the Pavlov's dog of evolution The world insults spasmodically but you have your endless witty comebacks, Hooray!

Lock the front door, walk backward to the kitchen door. Go down the stairs. Put a chameleon on your head. Walk to Africa. Sleep on a boulder. Talk to a tree. Explain videogames to drunk monkeys.

The Nutcracker and his ballerinas are hunting you down the beach demanding full price for their unseasonal improvisations Some people can't get enough of the holiday spirit Only 175 shopping days before X-mas

JULY], 1833- POET VLIIIHII MIWODSH is now,

68 expect a feverish transfusion no questions asked follow the signs to the treasure museum

Today is a mouth of unspoken butter. Today is the presence of cut lemons. Today is a finger length of spice. Today is a lap of reasonable cream, a mist of unmeasured powders, a pepper seasoned bath. Today is a secret onion sweet on the eyes.

Where's the megaswitch?? Where's the breaker in the theatre of absurd ambition? Where is the fusebox of human greed? When you find these things, split the wires. Put a turbine where quarterly profits cease and there is only the movement of missing things.

Boggle gobble bbboggle gggobble boggggle gobbbble gob bog gob shut yr gob ya yob! (for

brion gysin)

JULY 13-14,1985-1,(j BILLION PEOPLE ITCH Li RIDON UL

69 When you eat an orange — surgery in the teeth When you eat an apple — cyanide poisoning When you suck a plum — antidote When you taste a papaya — oh fuck

Riot under the shimmering pines. The cones burst open from fire. Smoke rises like a raucous of crows. Polarities collapse at the call of the wild.

1945 new mexico ignites the first atomic bomb erupts explodes exactly two hundred and forty one years later the sun will be eclipsed the radiant desert soil will absorb seven minutes twenty-nine seconds of cosmic mourning and caught between these dry axes we shed vapid tears

Slavish whirling dervish Saving wailing worship Shaming shaving barstrip Craving raving heartskip Feeling furling fatlip Ailing fleeing carsick Worship fumbling arsenic Hurling whirling parsnip

JULH7,1^-BlLLIEHOLlVDE

?o Groped at the Flooded Cherry. The moon hides the cow and the spoon. All things that are good, float. What float? The Love Float!

surprise! the lawn ornament business is a bust you were warned brokers leaking ticker-tape eviscera can't compete with garden gnomes

SQUIRT BROTHER JIZZ IFLOOD SISTER SQUISH f FLAP MOTHER SLACK ASS HANG POPPA SLAP WANG WHOLE FAMILIES FLAPPIN AND BOUNCIN WIGGLING ROUND THE BARBEQUE EVERYONE'S GOT THEIR OWN SPECIAL SAUCE Dream on. The liberty bell rings. Filling up with the Stock 64, your 30-ought-6 is keeping time. No room for people. But the thrill is indestructible.

JULY 21,1986 - MOTIONLH FESTIII IN SEMK INIH

?J build your castle of ready stuff crabapples bottlecaps bullet casings proud and high against all comers with a pretzel portcullis raised like salty eyes to heaven

Have you been bad? Get a spanking and die smiling! Maybe you just need to ask. Strangers are more polite than they let on. Have you been nasty to someone? Stop sublimating your inner paddle boy. Give someone the handle and grin hungrily.

Sag, gas city. Shag de gash, trashy John, cache in the love compartment, G. Fashion statements in the garb age. Fee for easy ho hummer high fi. Boy Scouts out for the real trophy. You get the Benz coming up for air too fast, Mr. Bottom-Feeder.

JULY I1I376 - THEPIED PIPER or IKLIN LEUimi OUT

T-Z. simon rodia scavenging architect of the towering Watts towers born on this day along with his empyrean invention was only one mad scientist of the visionary soul countless others dot the landscape with their pyschedelic lids what will you tell your kids when they ask to see your inspired lunacy?

To expect rush hour to ever end is no longer reasonable Reclamation of harmonious disorder begins as an act of imagination: Sweet deer water A secret frog Long grass for the eyes of a wolf The bear that holds up the summer Devotional ferns Incense earth

Bind your way round the daisy chain hackers. Talk through the hotseat with superslackers. Find a native of the pay-per-view channels. Turn away from reality like an artificial lung fish.

strange sensations crowd the chessboard take or be taken engenders a fine flurry of panicked prurience knight bishop king godsfuck! the bastard's'll hump anything that moves timid pawns cower under the table desperate for anything

Juiv 26 - REUION DRVIN Cm,

73 You've been catalogued in the Penguin Book of Nice The kid stuff of conspiracies You've got the mouth of a bumble bee and the eyes of somebody fooling someone else

Putrify your flesh on the Altar of Purity. Freeze the urge to be at once big as a house and small as your conspiracies. You float, though you are heavier than water. You drown, though you are light as a sunspot. The air of dust and hunger do a duet and serenade you. You give time the slip and move on.

it had been so long touch absence/distance almost lost bark strip target fade to bliss

You are so in love! Nature's beauty is abominable When did everyone get so sexy? How can reasonable minds carry such gruesome gastropods between their legs? You're feeling matrimonial You want to walk right past them and make love to their shambling beasts It's so romantic you want the satisfaction too Wow, what an alluring commitment For once you can see the largeness of your craving soul

rt No more description but be it. Watertight. But then sideways of fly time, a fit supreme! Drop the fixed astrology of tears. When it gets too hot, you should know the thermometer is broken.

untie the bundle of hearts the prom closet is burning serendipitous night expects more than this scag heap of carnations tie a ribbon of blood round the banquet a lost baby peddles aortas to strangers the prison guard will remove your heart for free with his bare chainsaw glamour is a broken basket put your hand over your humanity and swear

For the sake of posterity Climb into an iceberg and remain undiscovered for eons You will be history's treasure and your mother's loss

Species generation in a Meat conspiracy. Benefits the daughter of cow. Succubus. Moo. Words can't say this.

fluGusi I -JiMim INDEPENDENCE

?s riddle me this: i was ten feet long two foot four in diameter nine thousand pounds a world traveller a collector of souls i packed the greatest human punch in history trembling with pure motion i was the star of a brilliant film slim pickens rode me to oblivion

Carry the exhausted sun across the day in both palms Soft as a clitoris in the mouth of a tyrannosaur Beastly in your slackness Recline in the welcoming mouth of noon Long tea Biscuits deflate like sad dogs Fold your wings Drip through the height of the evening in abstract suicide Surrender to the lack of applause

Gravity day on the gravy train. The jesters' bop. Kandinsky infra-red psycho being. Cheep-cheep cheery butt-kin, flip flop and waiver to the max bang. The hang. Beat yourself up on a strapling wang dang doodle. Jimmy screw hole balling. The chipper junkie poodle jumps. The skank chirps to rock the house and the intermediate man pops a hotshot. Challenge your own udder before you wonder 'bout my mom.

IKKIU 838 - FIBI ELECHHC-CIR icim IN lit

n an army of crickets raise their lighters and spark a tinderbox stars applaud with time consuming burps straw wood would straw

Too many naked monks on channel zero. Tie down your ankle bone, when rancour stitches the road. You fly off the handle at a quarter to ten. Swoon to the musk of dying trumpets. (The Virgin of Guadalupe winked at me!)

Set on the outskirts of three endearing misfits — your mother, your sister, your daughter Three frontal lobotomies in resistance As stubborn as flower dust They hold the moon in all its phases Their awakenings are lucid Where their madness ends and your offering begins is a place as false as the difference between you

p s i 1e n c e

Sumer, bring on the glory of dwarves with your humanskin trampoline. The crystal hawkers have had you pawn your birthright. Discharge the wineglass of fortunate children.

IMKT 9,1969 - Cm

MKIN n FRIENDS KILL 5 IN CILIFHNIII,

7? Yay! it's happy juicy cunt day, juicy juicy cunts flying through the sky, shrivel cocks stand to attention smiling on the streets, it's sweet! it's sweet! it's happy drippy dink day, it's gay! it's flippy cunt day, it's sappy cock day, flappy dink day, swelly cunt day, happy juicy cunt day!

rene magritte and John cage meet on a calendar this is not a poem

you do not care

Horsestance, chi dance, pitter, patter, the poor man's laugh, the socialite chatter. It goes to show, the bigger they come, the harder they blunder. Be ready to 4 X 4 the future.

in the swamp, in the wet summer, in the crocodile's eye, in suburbia, in the street that flexes like the back of a snake, in the fog, in the dragon's breath, in the check out counter, in the pigeon's gaze of stone, in the stone's glare, in the finch's streak of yellow, in the siren, in the death, in the weather hidden by smog, in the nose, in the blue unhurried ocean, in the taste, in the fullness of time that is a meal, in the crop, in the bounty that is failing, in the sharpness of the tongue, in the taste, in the eye, it is failing.

Boogie softly on suede bugaboo shoes. Baffle the vampire. Today, minimalist blues. Flog each new weight of soul.

ftoi 15,196!) - WOODSTOCK enOPENS IN NEUI VORK te

h hum and whizz blustery thunderhead cavort and crank like a goateed dragonfly this is your green town your terrycloth muffler cock of the walk the entire world is your post-coital oyster

You are the host to billions of microscopic more-advanced beings. You are a farm animal grown for food. A suckling pig in the viral stew. Cheer up. The cosmic mockudrama has put your cells in the test-tube. They will produce many more like you before the feeding frenzy is over.

veil temple fresh military heel

you'd like a pet a hound dog of the baskervilles to pamper and ply with bribes — Don't you already have yourself?

AUGUST 19,1936 - FEDERICO Gum LURCH MURDERED BV mm,

79 Free western music from the applicator donor bag. Go down to the downtown corporate muscle joint. Bet a 20 spot on the alpha beefcake brushoff. Later, unroll the drifter's bag of notes, and fake the morning with a glad bag of folksong.

You hot-tongued civilians! Join the exorcism Squeeze yourself out like tomb-paste Priestly dogma Hairshirt of coins Success, or just another cheap Hollywood thriller?

agh! quarantine quizmasters a plague of questionable questioners is upon us the countryside is aflame with talk show gossip roast infectious videotapes in pits ask and you shall receive deceit mass media hallucination and a backstage pass to your own sacrifice

You dream: The tufts are distracting. King Tut floats by on a yellow submarine. The Mangroves are tied up with alligators. Guardia show up with woodies like palm trees with boas on a mango fast, first day. That's bad news. No worthy water ways.

flUGUSI 24,1911-SlLlllllNIKFIINIEI IN PlLINl,

80 Bring forth the incandescent rebellion hand How many dogs were fondled ? Smear of steak sauce Bring forth the compulsive black hand How many panthers were squeezed? I can count them in the dark Bring forth the green hand smeared with earth How many trees were pushed over, how many necks were cracked? Bring forth the defensive hand, the intelligent hand, the ambitious hand Ah, the fingernails are sharp

it's a hairy whore's tug of war out there the best of the seersucker ties have slept with the worst of the toxic mendicants abandon all hope ye who sweat bullets in the gloaming call in all loans immediately burgle donair

Tracking secrets through the house of hopes you fossilize. They would no more notice you than if you were a ghost.

flUHI 28,1885 • lit FIRST MOTORCYCLE 1$ PRTE1D IN GERM,

8) It's Frankenstein's father's mother's birthday You can have murder Self-created and utterly contemptible Sneak up silently with the piano wire between your fists, you've got yourself cornered Construct an entire novel around the sacrifice

there are no ecstasies today frankenstein's welcome wagon broke down

National Smoking Day and you're in the driver's seat. You roll like paper tires. Sometimes you forget to push play. Sit still, you got more than time itself to spend.

Laugh yourself out the other side of a car accident Your family is a pigeon that exploded on the windshield Bystanders party on You keep smiling at everything you lost Hang yourself from the Banyan tree Swing naked around the detachment of a lifetime

ta^UllBt-CmiCO^I^UKIDL

8£ quit acting like a russian novel 1st limping along in a fog blowing wads of literary advance cash on bogus bets dostoyevsky couldn't stand himself where do you think those great books came from i hear you kind of like yourself artist.'

See what blossoms... sometimes the smells undercut your every bid bud, till the barren aching nakedness of a thorn sets your fee.

psychoanalyze your leaking sorries they're ripe for submission to slag chiefs on pop talk TV. you'll get off with a pardon — but we know you'll kill again. the ratings will be hysterical but after a week they'll repress any memory of you. you'll walk into the local cafe with double barrel danger duty and no one will recognize you. but they're safe anyway — it's the collective unconscious you're gunning for. an artist's sketch of the hidden dream could be made if only the great psychoanalysts weren't dead — all we have left are family counsellors terrifying the inner children of damaged couples. hopefully a rise in property taxes will scare everyone's archetypes into the nearest mall, move fast. hit em and run and you might avoid a thesis.

SEPTEMBER 4,1896-flNHflRiDis BORN,

83 you'd love to be oppressed to feel the lash of persecution would be exquisite agony you've only known the torture of having

Breakfast of dog champions. Hair on the side. Big budget film boys gone bad. Mouth of Sunday and the Money of Love. What a fancy bandstand!

Return to the slot machine, demand affection The attention of the users will be matrimonial In the Las Vegas of your heart everyone you meet's a winner, baby Buy a ranch, send a postcard home

mmmmm you slick in black head to toe horned boot black velvet crush snap my back

As often as naught as naughty as often can.

ept. 8, 1860 - charles blondin tightrope walks on stilts over niagara falls.

8? Appropriate Couple Zoo Animal behaviour apocalyptic in intensity Finally storm breaks over conspired institution Beast of dream revives where easy to fail

there's always booze when more ambitious solutions run out

The glass slipper is burning! The good ghosts of Krishna return. Give your head a shake then show the way. Cinderella cakewalk catcall. The glass slipper is burning like an ashtray heart.

move through scent the scent of pavement, the perfume of an intersection, the fragrance of aluminum cans, the fragrance of licence plates, the undeniable musk of vinyl metallic fog, zoo plaza acrid pizzas, bloom of sewers god demon in the nose furious olfactory the scissors of the nose the seasonal bandage the trail of gas tanks pungent highway trail of dead branch groggy straw harvest rot of August deodorant of Autumn

8S form a band called Plastic Stool and the Turnpikes book a tour of your bathtub do auditions in chicken coops select an instrument (of destruction) swear you'll make it one day watch the cars watch the cars go watch the cars go by

Poetry matches you vision for vision. First the road is clear. Then, as it curves around the side of a large glacier-covered mountain, boulders begin to fall. Their falling is not partial. The valley floor is soon paved. Later, excavate the road. Some things only exist under exquisite pressure.

Your least favourite things haunt you with affection Your addictions turn bland Your niceness has all the inspiration of a greeting card Your social adventurousness is a frog with no leg, hiding its wart It seems you're ninety years old from the neck up Your ugly hand reaches down to touch your own moisture and encounters a snapping monkey with yellow teeth Check the cash register for illuminations The light bulbs have been replaced with spiders

SiniMnnjIZNiiiHVliiiNiiEs.

86 echo calabash ballroom! go god! good fucking gourd! gadget of public mumbling sledgehammer of cha-cha trip the light spastic blow hollow down howling reeds pelvic sanding of hungry lip weapon of seduction bandaged neck sawfire of slim crunch and fat honk bluesy ballads balls of flaming mezcal cry calabash crooner! chase the humped back of darkness stutter-step light-tongued into syncopated trouble weave topheavy sleaze over bleary beer beats submit to naked inspiration ferocious perfumes of passion flagrant spasms Saxoplasm!

Squatter's Paradise, under the spastic plastic greenhouse full of bud and poet trees. Burn the thorns till a fire truck comes.

The Honesty Shrine: Admit you wanna fuck it, you wanna take it in the back room and SLAM ITS HAIRY ASS It's the fattest thing you ever saw Underaged and octogenarian If it had eleven sockets you'd plug them all Grease it up honey, pull it down in the afternoon sun and smother it with your hot pants Deep in your socks Hot under your tits Slap it between your nipples, let it know who's boss Jerk yourself off on a noose of silk

8? here now mmm pop tarts

here now mmm heat

here now mmm windows

here now mmm wheels

here now mmm water

here now mmm light

here now mmm plastic

here now mmm stamps

Bartok on a fixed budget. Spinning fifths. The bottlecap points to you. Take a drink. Whomever is left standing has news for gravity. At night, eat fish by the sea, speak burning space talk. Do hummingbirds dream of ecological freaks? Hate to break the news Between the Gandhi Reader and the birth clinic you've given up your alternatives Faced now with an oriental ghost — the passion of the end of the earth, you find yourself on a train to the last beach facing the final wave and the obsessive weirdness of every moment Give in to your street smarts, there's nothing but sin and blasphemy One final letter to disturb the peace, then leap over the false millennium

SEPTEMBER 23,1926- JOHN Com is BORN,

88 overload... yr overstacked jack overload... yr overweight freight look out... look out... look out... don't look now but yr...

Your favourite emotional chapel is on fire. Love like a shadow in a sandstorm.

Time to make contact with a personal emergency Pull everyone over and dole out fines It's your day under the black flag Vengeance on the dashboard of some punk Sentient nightstick, nightstick of intuition, violent nightstick vicious grieving nightstick It's your day under a black sun, an oil drum sun a vigilante sun that's going to settle everything by morning

do books read themselves good question but there's no way to find out tell your story to whomever will listen it will be different each time different and boring shut up once in a while and listen

SEPTEMBER 24,1991-DuJtujsis.

89 On the first weekend to warrant stretchmarks bake a food of fireflies, sleep with a talisman brand. Your kitchen explodes in steel drum warfare.

Bones of fish dance a death dance in the sunken soul sub Mother intoxicator, imbiber of oceans, has lit a fire in the belly of the pacific She's gonna smoke them out — Poseidon and his Mafia Canned fish, boys Goodbye to poking around her insides with your classical Greek latex tickler It's whiskey, It's whiskey from sun up Too late the foolhardy periscope of self reflection It's whiskey It's salty gods and sardines on toast

mmm belly dribble jelly mmmmm mmm mmmm mmmmm lay down forget loss

Lift the chime, ring the bell. Hear Satan champ at the bit of techno-charms, paperweight of fools' gold to lure him. Bit map your way on freedom's junket. Sure your phat, internet cowboy, retread fratboy. Kool-Aid feeling from the curbside voodoo stand. You turn into the driveway of the firedog.

OCTOBER 1,1525- FIRST SCREENING or UN CHIEN hun', BYDRLI RND HMD,

90 Happy Birthday! Mohandas Gandhi! Pacifist, theorist, activist, champ. Happy Birthday! Morehandjobs Randy! Collaborator, mole, ass-licker, pimp.

oh green onions sweet tickle of oh man, if you were the lady of Shallot and I was a fresh flesh salad i'd toss a bulb in your direction yes and peel off those concentric petticoats like pickled latitudes off a gibbous globe

Take your sneakers and bury them in the mass grave of the meek. With your plastic hooves you embezzle chocolate. On the sixth floor, news of the first-bom son of stereophoniesIn the basement, a brief public service announcement. Notify those graders, the elevators are having a ball.

The ecstasy of denial and God's breath. Nuns bark from their hidden convent. Come, join the crying circus. We parade our fleshless breasts. Nave of the church. Empire of lies. Feast and declare the authority of clergymen. Whip ourselves with the Captain's mission.

lire rubles and pesos lyric runes lyric ruins love run ugly

OCTOBER 5,1969 - DEBIT OFMONTY PYTHON'S FIYING Cms,

91 Read at a big freak toy benefit. See a barking news hound. Smell a weird out. Dig the crazy vibe, sniffing for clues. See, they won't follow. You novacaine flamingos and walk-away embryos.

Mermaids, sirens, fairies and hair, Roll 'em in a ball, what do I care? Feed 'em the dog in the afternoon fire, Call up your mom, call her a liar, Suck up the juice of sycophants, Pour kerosene on a hill of ants, Chase the cat up a greasy pole, Take her back down, stuff her in a hole, Say goodnight to the TV host, Put him in the oven, make a pot roast, Cry to sleep the little kids, Dream yourself sick making love to your id.

ascendant valley shadow striate rockface indian paintbrush alpine cool cerulean horizontalisms transcendent lime meal blue liminal lifeforms levitate fossilized

ICIER 7,1977 - HRRRY Mm mm UN ELECTRIC SHOCK OF

92. aberrant microcosms rub up against you in the dark night of your dissolute soul dank and drab the stale wonderbread of nausea overtakes you all day yesterday you celebrated wildly all day today you regret your past lives and their wayward seeds you signed the deed in the heat of succour now you are homeless in a street of stucco

There was an old woman who lived in the desert, Everyone said she looked like a lizard, Salesman came, said "I'll make you a shoe," He put her on, then he stepped in poo, The stink was fresh as he chased out the griots, Said "I'll make more money if I open a car lot," The family was stunned at this sudden fall out, "Fuck you" said he, and made her a harlot, Leathery she was, but still she had teeth, "Stuff me with bills, you'll know nothing but grief," Finally we come to the moral of this tale, Arabian enterprise, bound to fail.

sound the revolutionary overture for Toussaint L'Ouverture who threw open the gates of liberation in a slavish place haiti haiti-ti-ti it all went to shit in the years that came the island burned in a psychosis of flame and now another infernal infestation from a neighbouring scumsucking nation intent on privation is stirring up still more shit on kingdom come

93 Strapped to your parrot head-dress the private dancer drags her pussy over you and you see the plumage of Quetzalquotl before being consumed. Isn't it great to be bitten by black flies, wormholes in your bones, a hornet's nest inside your visionary orbs, a spine for centipedes to slide in, What bugs, what happy toads, what licking ants, what vampiric mosquitoes, Ecstatic Warrior! Surrender to the swarm, Yes, Spiders! come lice, come termites, my house is falling down.

honey hush here's a honeysuckle necklace a honeybee bracelet and a honeycomb talisman — a buzzing jewel foretelling the sting of fulfilment

Remember the old days, Mr. Laserbeam? Burn down the Golden Bough, hang a left at the tower of smog. Traumatized by a wheatgrass epiphany, you empathize with birds.

Cry Why Rock God Die? Opened our hearts Now you open our veins Now you leave our brains scattered The record company will sift through survivors for the second coming

OCTOBER H, 1982 - RED, SUN MYUNG MOON MIES 5,83] COUPLES IN S

9? criss il est meme pas reconnu comme etant quebecois Kerouac ti-jean du Vermont la montage verte qu'il coura chante encore ses vers encres cet quart-arriere macho et beau La lutte a Lowell etait poetique digne de fuite et de retour pas pour lui 1'usine sauf plus tard dans 1'bar Vec une biere et ses chums loin d'1'imagination dangereuse

Zero Kill victory with your winning smile. You steal the trade winds with the glory of lips. You float the moment at the speed of mail. So sink occidental oceans in the hollow of breasts. Malt this ancient whiskey. Now rest.

What a fake! Will you please be quiet! You're a parrot, a floating opera of histrionics. Wakeful children dance a slow circus around your mocking dog. Say you saw the angel, but can you write that in the sky's memoirs? It's Hollywood on your ham bone, and you know it.

still life with spangled optimism wallflower decals man how sweet how treacherous how bombastic — the souls of your feet wet with dew — climb on the roof slide down the long slippery slope — fall into the snowbank — pulsating with halflife

95 Crack down. An antipasto Zapatista standoff. Military imprint outpost. That talkative crap. Did you get any onya?

Today growth. Tomorrow shaving.

proclaim the licorice party hit the soundtrack to delirium scrape the long painted nails twist orangutangular in the monkey house

Love this Black Sheep to memory with purity licking you erotic. Let reading confide in you. Exonerate the centre of the unbulbed onion. So you strike down all anger with a salad day.

Hey, looks like we're home fries. The rest is gravy.

go ahead scarf at the buffet of mistakes load up it's all you can eat

OCTOBER 24,1901 - taMii GOES OUER Nin \m IN R mm m

96 The new policy attracts streakers, f Whoreship, the wonderful wellsayers saying - they will save you. Mercury's coming, such a commitment rings your bell, better buckle up.

Birthday of Maximum Padmass. Sit, bleed, rage, love, destroy. The moon's in your corner. Breast knocker. Hag ragger. The family is cringing on the far court. Soak the sunset. Squeeze the remains for night's black fluid. Dominion over plants and animals. Resentment of the species. Civilization humbled again.

wear rubber bring glue

All that's hallowed and all that's emptied is weaned on the tremulous wineskin. Cheat a suite with the soft words of Epicurius. Blaze out in a dome shaved with a mandela and Labour and Commerce. Create the mosaic of all future transgressions. Charge them with centless taxations. Trick or treaty?

Eat your soul cake into the Celtic Newjear You've been recommended to the Dance of Ash The Book of the Dead is fat The living get slender Everything drives at the speed of fear Pass the peace pipe Everyone's smoking the same sentiment

OCT. 38,1538 - ORSON ILLK MNOIMCES Nil INIIION IN"h OF THEItaior,

9? yo, facade of a freight train ride the fat rails of attitude traipse trapeze trespass at your will when the tracks start to veer with you at top 2-D speed it's casey Jones, dude it's casey jones all over again

You cast away the ship. You short change the beancounter sitting in a hill of beans. The hasbean and the rub collaborate. Expect storewide clearances. Sore at the thesis of porn collecting tokens, despairing caste registers. So much unused grace and ease piles up. These hinges are spasms that make new canons sleepless.

Did we just strike a United Nations chord of agreement? Even the stockbrokers are walking hand in hand this fine morning of disarmament Thanks to the latest and most advanced inter communicative global sentiment even gun powder has been rendered no more damaging than a really spicy chili Bullets have been transformed into tortillas Looks like a Mexican fiesta for the homeboys

MEMBER I - ALLSOUL'S h » NUMBER 4,1922- IIUKIMEN'S TOMB IISC

98 invite your friends to the feast of no return then leave and never return you can only bite into the same chicken once dribble the same river of grease once same recipe different chicken pass the gravy

Fantasy platinum g-spot; We salute you with prefab purebred white trash. We salute you with prairie oyster charms. We salute you with full stadiums. Close the curtains. We salute you with organic combustions and we salute you with alcoholic shop talk.

How many John Waynes can dance on the head of sin? It is easier for Oprah Winfrey to pass through the eye of a needle than for a porn master to enter Seven Eleven.

cut the posing pseudo-oenophile you wouldn't know a fruity bouquet from a hulking barbarian in the dark you grew up drinking beer those fragrant farts will dog you to the end of your days

NUMBER 6,1814 - him Son, mm mm \mm

99 It's not easy to be you. Your carhorn keeps going off like an alarm. But you only look the other way, that's the way you like it. (Now watch the backstreets collapse and disappear.)

No sis, you will not drink their wine. Since when did Bacchus ask for taxes? It looks like freedom but they've hidden the corporate logo. They'll make you sign away every kiss. It's a goddamn mini-series.

11.11.11 observe the sky's got an eleven-string bass takes two seconds for a fretboard to explode all together now stand and fall a moment of silencers please

The leaderless lemmings are happy now. The stampede gets underway. The presence of unknowing is what we leap into. It doesn't matter where you are going, as long as you are going with us.

Emma Goldman on the rocks. Revolutionary tampon. Tonight you become Rosa Luxembourg's lover. The Judge is full of Real Estate. The lawyer is counting shares. In the gallery — institutional angels with their vivid pronouncements.

NUMBER 9,1389- BERLIN»COMES DOIDN,

;oo come on darlin' cook up a cauldron of stone soup using only my hardened heart lead granite gold that old fable mined the alchemical psychology of the kitchen for dessert i've a bag of flint arrowheads spiced with death

The goalie of your point of view is sitting on the top of the anthill. You stumble up with a pail of firewater. You fall down and break your crown. Don't worry. Say Ohm, kiss a freak.

Hard hats leer at your candies. Let them lick. You've got bigger sugar. Your kiss is a soldering gun. Unifier. Antifactionalist. Metallurgist of the future. Your blowtorch calms all storms.

car-trip windowscreen flashes cinnamon hats on whizzing mystics bright bird feeders swing from chain link inside flesh falters pint-sized psalmists weep petroleum tears cinematic yes but less vivid than skid marks scarring earth's buckling iris

NUMBER 16,1885 - METIS mmmrn Louis KIEL is HHNGED INWINNIPEG,

10) When the poets get big they leave this tiny city. When the songwriters get big they turn into divas and leave the country. LA, NY, Paris, London; while this playland of parks and malls closes on Sunday. Let them go. Art is bigger than a small city, it is as big as civilizations. When they come back they will be politicians. They will build old wives out of trojan sorrows, if you believe them. They will sing your faceless experience and new citizens will flock to you with cameras for the taking. Even Canada will seem crowded by the spawn of this generation.

Pull down the wasted therapists Take the psychoanalysts by the throat Cry "Do we have to be fixed? Do we have to be fixed?" Will they cut open our minds and rob us of our poetry? Will we even have a story left to tell? Which one of us is faking it?

time to redecorate: nail opportunity over the front door glue resiliency to the box springs rip up the wall to wall carpet of haplessness walk barefoot on the ceiling of undisguised daring

Nun 18,1918 - 996 DIE INn MUSS SUICIDE n JONESTOWN, G

102. Now that you are the doctor of penetrations you have left your misery behind you as you've strolled alone along the treed walkways. Everywhere a gift. Everywhere a horse. Look into its mouth with the curiosity of a dentist. Now you've had your openings and grand soirees. Pick up the golden thread trailing behind you. Leave the bull you tamed, pick up the thread and follow it home.

Kick out your ego and confess to everything you never did. We believe. Speak with the authority of an Egyptologist. Examine the remains.

louis annie kedrick alex denise trent a party's going on somewhere poke yr head out the window smell all that pleasure? go ahead call yr friends now throw a fabulous party

In the centre of the intersection is a giant drainhole sucking back cars like a maelstrom in the ocean's core. Where does it go down there? Black Hole? Pit of Night? Dark Knight of the traffic soul rides out. The parking spaces are gone. Your path is a one-way holiday destination. Send a postcard from the other side of now. Let us know if the void is full.

NHMEI 22,1931- NATION or ISLIM FOUNDED BY PROPHET tin

J03 Non-conformist, in the bookstore of black sheep you lose your identity. Who can you call your enemy, except for everyone? If you went any further out, you'd fall off the edge of knowledge. The rest of them? They've thrown their bodies off a cliff and held on to their shadows. Whose doom are you making love to now?

performance art beckons as does folding yourself up into a shoe and political suicide for a price you provide starry-eyed refugees with legal status as tectonic stowaways emigration is contingent on gin and tonic

Now the beats come down from the unbound pipes and ventilators, and replicate their private worlds. They infiltrate and possess. They are softening the blows with steam baths. They are working the tired leather, they are on your psychiatrist's couch frothing at the mouth. All the insensitive josh sticks in the world cannot cover up the odour of stale wine.

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m Your bounty hunters have returned with the heartbreaker in chains. Strap the two-timer to a table. Cry Chinese water torture — one tear at a time — on the bastard-bitch's forehead. Till it wears a hole in the philanderer's memory. Cry all of your heat into the bastard's cold eyes. Cry cuts in the flesh. Cry your salt into the cuts. Cry your heart out. Cry it into the bitch's mouth, so the swine can taste how bitter its gotten. There now. Let the creep run free.

circulate your CV: birth 1975 on den shag 41-inch Zenith grunt grunt grunt high on-the-job bullshit tolerance skateboard to work ambition: to be a hempemperor outtahere

The ecstasy of mapping has rendered you lost, four planet wheels out of orbit, but you knew that. It lands in a bowl of sticky rice. If you ask the bush why it has two when the hand has only one then perhaps you will learn the charted course of your posh lost sun.

Look, it's a New Age lawn-party. Is that a chocolate begonia, or are they Chitting rituals in your garden?

DECEMBER 1,1555 - Din Pus REFUSES 10 GO 10 THE GRCK OF ID

JOS pointing fingers never solved anything inevitably they get bitten off even by the meek who roast them on sticks why blame art? or the poor? sign the guestbook leave it at that what are you, royalty? make tracks cleopatra we're hungry

BBQ your broken initiatives on the patio. Let your thoughts be the matrix of impulse and pleasure, let that be the standard, the quickening criteria, let there be a racecar for your mind to travel in with Formula 1 kickstart velocity. Your job is to be the piston with a jaw unhinged and snakelike. Unfreeze the oral tractor. Raise your status with a bullet passing from hierophant to sycophant.

Rat is the face of Holiness The Pope sings rabies into the Earth She coughs her infections at the pilgrims on their journey of self-loathing Today is a holy day Jesus was jerked off on the cross and it hasn't stopped raining since.

tana 2,18H -1 Mums DE Si DIES IN«LIWIC HM AT CHIN,

m edible dream northern medicine woman foal lichen ice

compassion gust kissed compass arrest Isn't it great! Now that everyone is so famous and sophisticated no one is left to give a damn. It's the end of the twentieth century, apocalypse of the individual subsumed in late capitalism. Don't get caught being the last to leave.

Go on deny your divine nature, but I've never seen you and Aphrodite in the same place at the same time.

attention your subscription to lezzie smut is up lip-smacking lumberbush publish my liplash!

Professional bungee jumping can be dangerous to your health. You can sense invocation, this is the magic of the fall. Santeria bleeds in chicken blood and is thickened to paste with corn flour. Scratch it. Peck out the eyes of the tourist democracy. Dope your head in holywater. You can never leave this calendar.

m The cargo of the day arrives like Hurricane Alfred. You kicked him out in 1956, after putting a subdivision on his favourite beach. Alfred was an innocent, he loved everyone. You and the other speculators choked him with palm leaves and set him out to sea with a bamboo spear in his back. He floated for ages. For years you received letters in bottles from Alfred saying he still loved you. Then he heard you sold the beach for 18 million dollars and he got pissed. Now it won't stop raining. Alfred's eyes are ten thousand feet wide as he cries into your chimney. You've changed the carpet fifteen times, but still Alfred continues to leak in agony. don't believe everything you breed there are two sexes only in Hollywood and not even there least of all there a cute ass is a cute ass is a cute ass on screen or in bed pull up the sheets we're all ghosts in the dark

Pour this alphabet soup over the heads of the thousands trying to scale and claim your walls. Have masquerades and balls to protect your burial grounds, protect a language which defines you. Let your syntax be extrovert, emblazoned on the chariot of speech, let it lop off the limbs of your privileged opponents. Send your semioticians on recognizance missions. If they are captured provide them with the pills of cyanide and they will wither before they are understood.

Woman, if you must paint your face with blood, then make it mine. I'm so bored I wanna be crucified. Damn! the moon lodge got booked by the sports fishing convention. Anyway, I cooked up the local rainmaker. His heart is the size of a peanut. Last night you came to me as a bear, but I had a headache. Tomorrow when you ask for retribution I'll be at the espresso bar sucking on my evil chakras.

708 comb that mohawk sultry zebra clap and clop to P-Funk and PiL Maximum R'n'B zipper hips scuttle in the gutter chasing chiaroscurosity it feels like deep relief and smells like good funk

Guided by no one, three poets take a vow of orality at your pleasure centres. They work the pubs of your perfect inebriations like English pirates of the storyboards. They have founded constitutions built on the genius of improvised expression. These laws flow and change like the mighty Euphrates and are fearless on the stages of emancipation. Do not forget to fill their brouhaahaa hookah. It is empty and even the resin is wiped clean.

The mystery fans have collected for a kiss At last, validation for your unseasonable dreams So what if they chop off your operatic head and sell it down the river? You got your fifteen minutes of fragmentation Say goodbye to your various selves

Canada is corporate clip art

DEM 17,1983 - OIILLEIn FLIES THE FIRST UHK NEI KILL OIL HI

109 Speaking with the Dead. Draw them out of the catacombs crafted by the sandman. (You are hugged by a wretched stinking swamp monster but the smell and slime don't offend you.) Now you are holy. Go see anyone that you missed on earth. Prepare for the remote passage. Here comes the boat, paddled by Uptnapishtim. Now there is no now. Here, there is no here. Space and time have torn apart. Clamber down through sweet words for those you've admired. All that matters is this memory. Stand at the edge of the yard and stare into the season's hole Your womb has never been so empty The skeleton of a snowman begs for clothing Saint Nicholas and all the other cut outs rummage through the hopelessness The sun drags itself along the world's southern edge Even the ghostly line of consumers have dropped their bags The president is crying through a megaphone Economists cling to their nooses The stock market doesn't crash, it just parks itself A cabby lets you into his hearse Tell him to circle the block for a couple of seasons

celebrate the fool's pellucid balm wise buffoon drooling chaos schooled in the symmetry of rainfall ruled by lust, laughter and liberty

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no Winter Equinox Was there anything worth saving? Water of the moon The season's vapour Your body in a dish

You give birth to a shining gorilla. Jfou give birth to dogs in the zoo. Springing from you; new animals ancient creatures, giant god-like beings held inside your caged heart for years. Death to Van Gogh's ear! cried the dead poet before dying heed your need, Polychrome Spanglebrush, hiding sunburnt in the cornfield

Christmas Eve arrives like a bullet. You're in a shoot out with the grinch and no one's covering your ass. Take it in the head. Take it in the chest. Goddam, tomorrow's Christmas Day. It's going to receive you like a gift, tear you open, and act grateful for your obligations.

Although you were born in jail a song by Leonard Cohen has set you free your feet stand on the Mexican shores; beautiful people dance; flowers fall the sky splits open and birds drop into your hands; you hold up an answer leaning down Charlie Chaplin laughs and takes it from you; you feel free again.

DECEMBER 23,1888-Krai UIN GOGH cms OFF HIS EH,

in Boxing Day Bruised fruit drooping tree trunk rueful examination of black and blue bankbook sign reads: no exchange without proof of purpose You think it's crowded now? The Universe is shrinking! Don't circle the wagons. The space natives are already partying on the inside.

Boys still dying by the hands of King Herod; hands soft with money. His stash is luminescent and shows through the tiny pores in his skin. In an iridescent brainstorm, you drop the head. It smashes like a lightbulb and glows. The universal shopkeeper grins. Now you have to buy it.

on this day of all days beauty dies in the eye of the beholder fresh and warm the blood of innocents at Wounded Knee brittle the songs of sorrow that sound in the ear of truth

DECEMBER 28 - HOLY INNOCEN

HZ. pure laser beam of optimism attire of expectation robed in the magnificent void every sign of the zodiac will celebrate you put your genitals in the tea cup of the universe and let them steep all those animals! those animals will drink from that holy vessel Today blues curl around your head like horns. You are standing on the corner of rock and roll handing down Disco Biscuits. Spin round, the glitterball makes its purpose known across the surface of your endless Saturdays. It sucks your friends into a worthless vortex. Everyone wants a dance. Instead, you hold sympathy like a pillow and weep your tears cascade and wash children in foreign countries.

DECEMBER 31 -1 mm mm mm INTO THELDP OF LUIV m R» R

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JJS A special edition of AWOL Love Vibe's Exstatic Almanac includes a CD entitled AWOL Love Vibe's verbomotorhead. The following is a list tracks found on verbomotorhead and credits. 1. Unravelled1:39 Words by Alex Ferguson. Music by AWOL Love Vibe. 2. Sun Goes Ou Words and music by Kedrick James. 3. Cool, Wall of:04 Words by John Sobol. Music by Kedrick James. 4. Exstatic Cunt Day:24 Words by Alex Ferguson.

5. Fat Summer* 2:35 Words by Alex Ferguson. Music by Kedrick James. 6. Forktines:38 Words by John Sobol. Music by AWOL Love Vibe. 7. Internet Jetset 2:02 Words by Alex Ferguson. Music by AWOL Love Vibe. 8. Getcha Funky Down* 3:07 Words by Alex Ferguson and John Sobol. Music by Kedrick James. 9. Son Nada6:33 Performed by AWOL Love Vibe and Paul Button. Son Nada was recorded live at the Rivoli, Toronto, Canada, on March 12, 1997, as the culmination of a brief poetic apprenticeship with Paul Dutton. For 17 years Paul was a member of the original Canadian performance poetry ensemble, the Four Horsemen, along with Steve McCaffery, Rafael Barreto-Rivera and

lie TT score used as a departure point for a collective improvisation, was often performed by the Four Horsemen. 10. Genius of the Soul 1:34 Words by Kedrick James. Music by AWOL Love Vibe. 11. Insatiable4:04 Words and music by Kedrick James. 12. Scrooge0:30 Words by John Sobol. Music by AWOL Love Vibe. 13. Sunfried Guns2:51 Words by John Sobol. Music by AWOL Love Vibe. 14. The Moon, The Bones1:27 Words by Alex Ferguson. Music by AWOL Love Vibe. 15. Wordz Medley (Parts 1, 2, & 3) 0:27, 3:33,0.01:42 Words by AWOL Love Vibe. Music by Kedrick James.

* includes excerpts from AWOL Love Vibe's Exstatic Almanac.