how did i get there?

artifacts, poetics, weird texts, prose, diaristic jottings, nonchalant writings, & et cetera

Sep 21

horror film, only one sip
of coffee for the road.
what is this the desert?

Sep 20

if you want the window is drab and empty, just like it was on monday, i should change my view.

and now my next trick will be to take that machine out of the window

Sep 6

well, one of the dogs
is playing, heart rate gets up.
maybe thunderstorms.

Sep 4

the garden of humility

i am late again
the window still hasn’t moved
from the leather chair.
don’t take advice
the fan gives me. bitter face
to the wind,
i haven’t learned anything.

Aug 27

a microwave fines a linked firework.

this crystal cows another dry criterion underneath whatever anthology.

a microwave fines a firework.

Aug 26

Guillaume Vogels, from Fog (Brouillard), n.d.


Guillaume Vogels, from Fog (Brouillard), n.d.



I am calling from outer-space
this is me
falling on my face

Aug 19

need plans
i’ll wait and we
can throw
line spinach about
the phases
in the lyric

Aug 12

the death of a genie from my childhood

if only things were so horrible, we would take the creation of event of ideas to be a high school dance, and we like to think most people will change, but “thinking” and “change” have huge buts

can we become north form them, for them not stand lonely as a shadow but together

as a hole in animals.
things said means, not
people, a watch must be what really is

a meal found and eaten with great success, no reason for concern about where the water runs off, our schedules could be different, the photgraphs may only be a modern invention, a watch must be what really is. we call while we are alone at night they are phones

i don’t have conversation left for collapse. sang aloud on the farm because many people want that

cut world
open through a shell,
we assume
certain connections
will not have
value, that they will
be a dodgy old
and may make
the glass, of sense
your common
now we

built emotions like we must have had to birth there children as well, but no we are not the trombones — and another person out there is have breakfast.

left for
the collapse
of photographs.

resigned to a miserable syllable, the same as a missing chair, but force our personal lives to be ecstaticly happy all the time, where concrete and touch with reality. not wanton but perserving, as if to match religion, with action figures. the problem with this is, no room is left for the sporting life and pristine natural wilds.

really a meal found just for eating.

no sea stories last any more when evaporation happens. after the shower. is the next tune.

Aug 8



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