spurgo

[spurgo]

floats - boosts - acts a collage of newspaper headline-fragments

hits rips sets falls sets puts tops talks calls finds pays looks casts holds floats forms leads wipes drags shows cracks sparks boosts blames survives measures and attacks and digs deep and holds back and reaches out and flees to spain and misspells name and looses her rates and reads little news and is being stopped and salutes the fallen and refuses to appear and reflects our shares and pops out of socket and warns to stop talks and charges into future and casts dark shadows and looks for new friends and makes our brains lazy and creates a new chapter and heavily affects shoppers and offers a glimmer of hope and takes rivalry to new levels and cancels urgent operations and pays millions to break free and loses another frontbencher and rows slower than expected and strengthens pelvic muscles and holds rare news conference and has coffee with sophia loren and rows back on import tax plan and loses 35% off cash machines and pushes victim onto tube track and becomes cult hero in paradise and fails to get tough on super-rich and calls for police to seize phones and starts to charge for withdrawals and pays less after special treatment and could join category of hate crime and puts nuclear project under threat and fights off robbers with nunchucks and starts to run out of useful material and marries firefighter who rescued him and sues opponents over unvarified files and debunks an attack that never happened or knows a thing or two about loneliness or tries hard to make weaponry smarter or enriches world at its own expenses or embraces and inhabits modernism or rejects all bridge-building efforts or maximizes space when cooking or apologises for students attempt or relents on wrestlers to compete or files for its initial public offering or guides plots by remote control or changes how it tests for water or ends final game in ugly brawl or turns to cyclists to save lies or plans to get under the skin or seems to be taking the toll or used to break colour line or was able to finally beat or emerges for a coycott or gets born in front car or sells a masterpiece or floods the screen or fears prompt call or keeps distance or strains the ties or looses control or costs millions or blocks ideas or stops talks or thinks big or inhabits stands up seduces crosses battles comes crawls views beats gains bans acts By Marc Matter

[spurgo]

So have to take my courage together and speak up 

 When it comes to these things I become such a coward 

Because it's scary 

That's normal 

Scary angry anxious sad 

So much going on 

Yeah I get it 

I know you do 

:) 

I mean, if you think leaving it as it is will be more painful than ending it then that's better 

I feel shit like this 

Escaping reality way too long 

Very good! 

Ugh I feel so frustrated 

And I don't even know the person 

Stupid I really want you to go to this gig though as my spy haha! 

Hahaha 

Why are people like his 

This 

Want everything from you - pretending. And then nothing 

NEXT please 

How does that work 

That must fuck you up internally 

Yeah I mean I seriously don't know 

It's frustrating 

And confusing 

I'm so sick of all of this 

Everyone is confusing 

How will we ever be happy 

Probably never 

I really don't see it 

I think I feel more upset about it because I thought it was different 

Yeah well that's how I feel too, I don't get it 

I don't get how ppl find ppl who want to be with them and stay with them Hahaha! 

I just listened to your audio clip 

Yes, I'm being dramatic too 

But fuck this 

Exactly 

Heart a good quote of an old woman yesterday: Everyday I get up, I ask myself what to do today to make myself feel happy 

You have to do at least one thing a day 

For yourself 

You’ll never be happy when you're looking for someone else to make you happy We know that 

But I don't think I'll ever make myself happy 

We all do 

Why can't someone else help you to be happy 

Isn't that obvious? 

I guess it’s the biggest mistake that people do 

When committing to someone 

Of course 

I was very edgy after my meeting yesterday and had a ciggy outside 

Alina came and asked me about him 

Then she said: what do you want from him? Do you want him to safe you? Interesting 

Hmmm 

I obviously don't 

Do you think that's what you want from him? 

But it was just funny that she said that 

As if all women would like to be saved 

True 

Look at me having a rant 

I would never exchange my vagina for a penis 

But fucking hell - I wish I could act like I would have one 

But I think really when one picks someone like him or her what you really want is destruction, right? 

Destruction? 

No 

Don't men over think? Surely at least some of them do 

No I know that 

Fuck 

But it's the subconscious decision of picking someone who won't commit or is dysfunctional etc 

Lol 

Everyone I pick or lick is dysfunctional 

By Lia Mazzari

[spurgo]

My mother had exposed herself. The truth was out. "When I was young I used to wonder why we didn't eat through our ears. It's so disgusting watching people shovel food into their gobs when they're sat opposite you". Plagued by existentialism. Bothered by The Big and The Trivial. Blah-blah. Rhubarb-blah. Blah-blah-rhubarb-blah. Rhubarb. Rhubarb. Blah-blah. Rhubarb-blah. She was hugely critical of the mock editorial in my 'Spider-Man' comic. She had misconstrued a parody as literary sincerity and worried that it may hinder my education, but after a steady diet of three decades worth of preposterous picture books it's pretty hard to argue with her. Blah-blah. Rhubarb-blah. Blah-blah-rhubarb-blah. Rhubarb. Rhubarb. Blah-blah. Rhubarb-blah. I'll be gutted if she misconstrues my sincerity as parody. I hope she can hear my words through all the food in her ears. (And I'll miss her when she's gone.) Ali Robertson, February 2014.

[spurgo]

In no particular order

Postcards of waterfalls  Seed packets  Striped linen  Images of sadhus, mendicants and yogis  Modernist era kitchenalia  Paintings of animals looking left  Judo belts acquired from people who have recently quit  Reception bells  Cowbells  Zeros and ‘O’s  Dieter Roth gesammelte werke books  Trompe l’oeil ceramic vases  Menus  Patches and badges representing systems of belief  Unpresented trophies  Eye pillows  Badly repaired buckets  Photographs of Bollywood actresses crying  Synthetic sponges  1/4” leader tapes in different colours  Soles and heels

By David Blamey

[spurgo]

30/10/2016

Se esiste ora lo sai non è un fiore che possa portarti o appassirà Se esisti tu ora non so ma sembra dirlo qualcosa che ho dentro che non muore mai [Aldo Becca, Ravenna]

[spurgo]

Walk Before You Crawl (sleep talking)

Oh Wait a minute That’s right You’re a fucking idiot Digging through clothes Really close Mean Pouring gasoline on people’s things You’re slow It’s where Bossanova lives Or Bossanova already lives Bossanova’s already gone Bossanova’s already gone There’s no house He drove for 11 hours Helmet Helmet helmet Quavar Quavar Sir Helmet Newton and Isaac Quavar Came together And put milk in a jar The pope didn’t charge him with Heresy After he left Stand trial for heresy Post The postal service did Then I’ll murder Chainsaw Roy’s picture I’m in the middle like that Not him he traded places I know that’s not you You gotta trade places with somebody else So if you get jailed or go to prison it’s not you Helmet figured it out that’s how he kept his head It’s just pandemonium Just random pandemonium Random pandemonium random pandemonium It happens like that Mean Me three Well I didn’t have the party but the party was for me Random pandemonium With cinnamon schnapps I’m angry when I dances That’s all it was Sarah Sarah Father wants you To come back home And off drugs They quit taking pills But he brought some with him in case you freak out Listen he’s your father You can trust him I don’t wanna go I’ll knock him out Antoine Foucault had been holding her hostage It’s gonna take a lot of Re-brainwashing Programming Better get her in the car Right Sarah? You guys’ve been through it all She takes the calls Here The paying venues rock ’n’ roll clubs Won’t let bands play unless they Sing political things Let ‘em play unless they sing hip to hip Hipster days Bitch slap ‘em James Elroy would have approved of hipsters Too He would too Something ‘cause there’s no nobody else does Get rid of it when everybody else goes finds out I know James Elroy would have approved The usual concerns Jesus bagel issues Go down Revenge revenge revenge it circles the globe Acts of revenge from one to another Can make a human madder You’ll repeat in 24 Hours Rob’s in Chile He’s friends with the demon I know Smokestacks down the hall You ain’t bring my money He asked for feedback and so I gave it to him Real in depth and wealth of ? He didn’t even thank me for it So I neglected him The piece in the girl scout show yeah right It’s unlikely That people will come to your house all day And And crawl on all fours only Even if you have a badger And a lot of turtles and tortoises Like a zoo Neighbors want you out But you have lots of land But it’s your habitat So you can do whatever you want with it but I don’t You can’t Treat people like that Not like a dog You don’t have groceries You don’t have a vehicle And the tortoises and the turtles They like bread But they They like fruit and o- And other things to And people they have to walk 17 miles to get the tortoises and turtles food Bright Bipedal Peedal by pedal They’re doing it they’re walking upright to go get the food for the tortles The tortles and the turtoises Because people think you’re the director John Waters That’s why they crawl on all fours all the time Crawl on all fours all day Every day They think They think they’re being filmed for a part in a movie They think they’re being cast How much How much crawling and torture can one take? I know it’s been like 20 some days and they still are crawling around John Waters Is devliish Remember that kid Confused him for a badger Orange on one side Dark brown on the other and then right in the middle was a white stripe and then on his head it switched Colors switched sides And he was waddling In the cracks around the building And then he waddled past the dead possum And when He came out on the other side he was a boy Wasn’t a badger He was a 16 year old that needed motor oil He did I know You thought badgers were magic ? He wasn’t a badger he didn’t Want the color anymore ? It was cheaper for him to give up everything Have to get gas not have to get motor oil Not have to get the car fixed And just walk on all fours What? Cheapest way is not the best way You could end up like a puppet Doing tricks and experiment For famous movie directors How many days would you crawl on all fours to star in a motion picture? ? When the turtles got strawberries and tomatoes they’d walk upright too They’d be so happy They’d get bipedal Meats Increase brain activity Yes ? I never talk this much when I’m dying You go on and on and on and on Strategy Risk G-A-Y Can’t afford ‘em You die ? Covered in lyme ? The way you were More like a Ghost and a mummy That’s what you’re asking me Taking full confession from Kyle Hospital Left for road kill (Siren) Part of me Are you asking for clemency? It’s not It’s not up to me It’s up to the facts And if you lie one time Deal breaker Well at least you crawled outta there Be very cruel You son of a bitch Red rose snot nosed kid Trying to do him a favor and he burns the whole house down with us in it oh Won’t get far without a car even if he looks like a badger John Waters is always protective He’s got plans for everything He’ll never confess he does what he does and it’s Up to us to appreciate it But I’m walking on all fours Not for him Being bipedal Flag’s half dead It’s disgusting Transfor- Ten thousand Little wings Buzzing transforming into electricity Generate energy Supply To half the people in the county And their very ability Of flies To the carcasses of turtles and tortoises when they die Yells Protect their insides The turtle meat The turtlectricity That’s the way things are in the road kill industry John Waters just wants to film it He doesn’t have an active roll He’s not a Active participant He just lets things happen in front of him That’s it But you gotta Sadistic ? He makes you crawl on all fours Not bipedalism Make yourself Start I’m worth it Just deteriorate and never ever grow back the same and He got an Emmy for one time shot In a campy film That may or may not even be good He might as well walk on both feet and just bitch slap the hell out of him fuck it ? I know He’s not mean enough to do that Worshipping the tortoise And the alligator The crocodile And the sharks Because they’ve been here so long is really infantile You Just because they’ve managed to last Millions and millions of years Doesn’t mean they’re smart And in control of things Might as well be worshipping a retarded human being I’m not gonna apologize That’s what happens ? Even if you walk on two feet John Waters may takes the best out of you He takes the best worst parts out of you And gets you to explore them In front of him and then You be you You be you the way he wants you to be I don’t know who she is Shallow grave Animal slaves lock the door so Kids from this Private school next door don’t know It’s not abandoned but They could come in And try to wreak havoc And you have to fight them Really hurt them When I die I’m gonna die on all fours Not for John Waters Live like the turtles Check bipedalism and long distance arriving and temperature variables Of the Earth that’s timeless Overwhelm me Cover me Refriger-me or f-f-f-freeze me in a dehydrated state Eleven Hundred CC brain Powerful than a motorcycle all alone Driving in the rain A hundred CC brain Eyes are in the front Don’t slow down Looking for a deer Low to the ground Milk is a natural Milk it does the body good Milk By 1100 CC brain trying to tell me that I need more Saturated fat and Calcium It’s not a symbol for mommas titty or Ejaculate Easy adaptability Anthropological domination of the entire animal kingdom John Waters Hands Face Hands Animal world and the human world in the living room of your time ? The funniness of it But not the importance The knowledge You have a 900 CC brain But it’s not your fault You were born that way Just give up By Bryan Lewis Saunders

[spurgo]

Excerpt from "Hillevågskoden"

Jeg kjente edrueligheten klamme hånd klappe meg på skulderen, det var som om hele nervesystemet stritter hardnakket imot, det intense, sjelelige bedraget var i ferd med å slå sprekker, og skyggen av virkelighetens boksehanske kommer mot meg - faretruende - som en eksistensiell måneformørkelse i et snikende mørke.

By Sindre Bjerga

[spurgo]

ample grease for the painful position late bloom circumcision bend white thighs, knife it deep bend white thighs body swelling of puberty celebrations ritual and ceremony no longer sanitary heaviness of the groan, humiliation soft moisture descended bare spoonful of odor the aching glare vivid the horror, unseemly circumstance the awful, unpleasant consequence double glove deep reach excavation powder room examination sweep thigh high, probing reach bend white thighs blood on the ceiling piss in the sink pelvic congestion whiff of pudendum (inadvertent penetration) the larva body sudden loathing blithe subjugation blood perspiration (risk of infection) the soft underneath loathing beauty the moist violation the beige patina (no longer sanitary) the cream mouth, gently soiled the finest silk around the throat saddle odor, blows to burst unseemly splash ripens opaque motionless below warm patch ineffective, detumescent obstruction odor, inhale upwards milking violation dirty the body piss skin bare unsuited to the position the miserable, vivid twitching By Gregory Jacobsen

[spurgo]

Le cose nuove

Datemi vi prego cose nuove… 

Da noi (da ognuno di noi!) viene il cambiamento, 

se un cambiamento è necessario 

o un futuro libero, libero da soggezioni e dogane per liberare l’uomo, l’ognuno di noi 

soggetto, regale soggetto, nella fragilità del non sapere 

che non è omologarsi, somigliare, scimmiottare…

Non fate ripetizione, l’ossessione del carattere, la fatalità del ripetersi 

il gioco sempre uguale delle parti… 

Fate, se potete, per piccoli passi… 

Al passato c’è l’esperienza, onoriamola… 

non lasciamoci all’improvvisazione… 

al “si può tutto”…. 

Tentiamo il passo lì dove non è mai stato 

e se è necessario facciamo rinuncia… 

Ascoltiamo soltanto! Guardiamo, soltanto 

Stiamo! Chè non sappiamo più farlo…

**

Stiamo, soltanto, oltre ogni dover fare fare, 

quando è necessario fare. 

Quando il fare è sorgivo, cosa dello stupore. 

Quella, la poesia, carezza la schiena 

piano sussurra, fa canto, inanella parole 

le lega… Poi sta a noi l’impasto 

far frolla, cuocere il senso…

Nelle mani la sapienza 

dietro ogni cosa presenti, quanta memoria accumulata 

in ogni piccolo gesto, in ogni costruzione 

poi si ritraggono e riposano, nell’attesa. 

Il lavoro, il lavoro necessario 

è nelle cose “piccole”. 

Pulire una strada, aver cura d’una aiuola 

tenere bello il bello, la cosa pubblica 

è il compito moderno. 

Far manutenzione, tenere vivo ciò che è vivo! 

Ed ecco che uno spazzino è più importante di un avvocato, di un onorevole 

un giardiniere può quanto un medico, un cantoniere è risorsa vitale 

e il nuovo sarebbe in ciò che abbiamo già… 

e quanto lavoro c’è da fare, quanto… 

tanto che tutti saremmo chiamati a sbigar cause, a curare aiuole, e strade 

e case abbandonate, e scuole, e argini di fiumi… 

Tutto ciò che crolla e fa pericolo nell’ordinario della cronaca 

Di un Mondo che non sa più essere Mondo.

**

Forse non hai occhi, la città governata 

non ti appartiene se non hai sguardo. Anche nella piega 

c’è la vita. In fondo dove credi nessuno guardi 

c’è!

**

Adesso rimango fermo 

faccio mira allo sputo e scelgo le facce. 

adesso che i pensieri “sbuffano” 

nell’inconsolato desiderio del “nuovo”. 

C’era attesa, ma impossibile è uno sguardo aperto, nel sorriso. 

Se guardo non trovo alleanze di occhi 

stessa quiete o intesa, stesso vibrare di cultura. 

Inconciliabili mete in scontro abitano questa stanza 

falsa la cortesia al tavolo. Tutto falso. 

Faccio silenzio, silenzio, fermo l’ascolto 

che non viene canto. 

Solo il ripetersi d’un gracchiare 

fa smorfia alla parola: 

autoreferenzialità dell’uno, del due, delle parti… 

Creste di galli senza un chicchirichì capace di svegliare alcuno. 

Creste senza alba, senza giorno. 

Tutto è consumato! 

Che il tavolo si rompa! 

Che s’apra il pavimento e inghiotta parole e parlanti… 

Non ce n’è bisogno… alcun bisogno… di loro 

della loro “erudizione” 

meglio le mani, solo le mani 

solo natura, solo allo sguardo il fare. 

Li abita il dono, li sollecita 

nel desolato, nel non contemplato 

nell’assenza della bellezza. 

Solo nature insieme, nel minimo di un fiore, nel fiorire.

A P.P.P.

Due angeli a governare, ali tenere, sottili 

di un volo leggero e veloce. 

Un altro, inerpicato, imbianca 

carezza di calce un muro. 

Nella piazzetta la pioggia taglia 

l’andatura piegata di una vecchia 

rallenta l’urgenza del mondo. 

Nessuno osa parola. 

San Leonardo ha una piccola chiesa con fiori di plastica e tovaglia da cucina 

e Santa Lucia alluminio, a far confine con la strada.

E’ così qui, niente è nobile 

niente è artificioso. Spontaneo sì, un po’ folle. 

La macchina porta via ferraglie, carica carica del Tempo 

e i pozzi crescono illusi ormai di farci bere prima d’affrontar le scale 

una architettura antica, utile a chissà quale identità.

Non sappiamo più cos'è stato… Non sappiamo più!

Se, se tu potessi scorgerci adesso 

sapere che aspettiamo… 

Questo silenzio ubriaca, non trova voci e senso.

Se, se tu, sapiente 

custode col tuo allarme 

questa vena d’acqua faresti di nuovo viva 

e bere potremmo 

Dissetarci. 

Che miracoli tu! Riempi! 

Torna… Non puoi? Torna…

Prepotente, feroce, rinasci (…) 

basti tu, col tuo profumo (…), a farci puri 

nella nostra nuova rabbia a puntellare lo scrostato intonaco 

dell’ edificio sognato e mai venuto. 

“Qualcosa (già sai! l’avevi detto!) è venuto 

ha fatto allargare l’abisso tra corpo e storia, ci ha indebolito, 

inaridito, ha riaperto le ferite…” 

e tarda a trovar fiore il seme della Passione…

By Mauro Marino

[spurgo]

Eu via bandos de mulheres a cavalo percorrendo a crista dos morros embarrados sob chuvas incessantes, negociando rapazes acorrentados para a mão de obra pesada em assentamentos de sobreviventes. Via expedições humanas em busca de remédios, doenças e mortes prematuras causadas por radiações invisíveis, rituais de suicídio coletivo e novos livros sagrados alertando contra a ameaça da reprodução excessiva de almas. Via sexo com toda e qualquer pessoa que aparecesse, sexo com andarilhos, com animais. Via homens de confiança atendendo meus pedidos e servindo de oponentes para que eu pudesse treinar minha autodefesa, para que aprendesse a agredir e, se necessário, matar um homem. Aprendia a disparar arco e flecha, a abater um animal pedindo desculpas, a retirar sua pele e suas entranhas. Eu tinha filhos naquelas visões, os filhos que não conseguia evitar. Alguns deles sobreviviam e cresciam. Eu os amava, mas eles me pareciam fruto de alguma inevitabilidade, não de um desejo ou necessidade moral de propagar minha vida, a humanidade ou coisa alguma. Observava as crianças, tentando aprender algo com elas, que já nasciam naquele novo mundo. Viajantes passavam contando histórias a respeito de gente que acreditava ter como missão concluir a hecatombe imperfeita, caravanas assassinas que iam de lugar em lugar para erradicar as vidas que sobravam. Histórias sobre tecnologias do mundo antigo, sobre o avanço dos mares sobre cidades inteiras. Ao despertar dessas visões, com o coração batendo forte e um pouco envergonhada de mim mesma, eu olhava em torno e logo queria voltar para elas. Onde estava a sequência de clarões que anunciariam o fim? Os tremores, as concussões consecutivas seguidas de línguas de fogo? Eu queria tanto! Eu seria mesmo privada de conhecer a textura do asfalto vitrificado, o sabor de cães e cobras, a visão de shoppings centers transmudados em herbários? A quem eu precisaria implorar?

By Daniel Galera

[spurgo]

Dreams

Driving through "Mexico", past endless miles of rusting industrial zones, cloned fuel tanks lining the roads like a Giger painting...huge rusting pipes sticking out of the ground in the middle of farmland, bent or snapped off, lime green grass growing over them. Up ahead a row of decaying factory buildings...one which is already leaning dangerously over the road suddenly falls , burying a few cars. Our driver doesn't even flinch, just accelerates and weaves around the flying bricks. I ask what all this was and the front passenger says "petrol". I remember reading that Mexico had just signed away the last of their industry to the USA. So this is the result. As we near our destination, the roads deteriorate further and we are obliged to steer onto the skeletal remains of the highway: parallel curved girders with grooves big enough for car tyres to fit, like a giant roller-coaster. I think they are kidding and feel a knot in my stomach. Use of brakes is forbidden, you'll either crash into the car behind or fly off on a corner, so everyone uses the natural speed which gravity and momentum offer...in other words scarily fast. Amazed that we make it, we split up and I find myself looking at the same junk shops as in several other dreams, still with the same indeterminate electronic junk. Hendrik Hegray is there and hates street art so much that he has decided to make his own, and so many of the sides of underground trains and the station walls are covered with his messy intimate drawings done in black marker on white paint which he has splashed over anything vaguely hip-hop/L.A. gang style. Sometimes it seems he ran out of white paint so we see improvised sheets of white paper pinned or taped onto the sides of the trains. Hendrik showed me a way to cling, spiderman-like, onto the side of the train between compartments in order to access narrow parts of the tunnel system, and out of curiosity I find myself in another train compartment somewhere near the end of the line, which is half full of womens handbags, some still containing packs of cigarettes or makeup, the remains after bag-snatchers have hastily ran off with whatever they can. I see one which I'm sure belonged to a friend, and reject the idea of taking it thinking she might imagine I was the thief. 

Rented a house in some unnamed town which had become a Mad Max -style junkyard ran by Jase Deepkiss 720, who was apparently the man to ask before you took anything lying around on the street (bike parts, car engines, bits of guitars etc). Crowds in the middle of the road were betting money on some kind of mechanical horse racing screened on a pile of old tvs. Inside the empty house the "landlord" was trying to persuade me to adopt one of the many stray cats outside. I asked if cats were allowed in the house. "Unfortunately not", he said, while stacking up all the paperwork involved. Deciding that all this bureaucracy looked more like a representation of the landlord's precarious mental state I declined, and became nostalgic about all the cats I had known in my life, reminiscing about one which had undergone brain surgery and an eye operation. He surprised me by reacting with horror: "well I hope you got the video evidence; they are usually drunk when they do that!". 

Movie night in the Vietnamese restaurant, film lists were in a phonebook-sized books on each table like in karaoke bars, and we picked out a cheezy-looking 'sell-through' effort in the "BAT VOMIT" series, the first film rolling wth the title sequence half finished as was usual with such quickly made flicks. The first scene was a nighttime jungle sequence of a truck transporting midget soldiers in tiny tanks, grumpy little men resembling squished metal plated turtles, their boss a seriously pissed off looking dude whose face was a mass of scrotum tissue frowns with machine-gun stems sticking out between the hairy folds of flesh, which continuously sprayed bullets at the enemy as they attacked the bridge. As the end credits rolled the restaurant's proprietor told us cryptically that it had been a good choice of film, and I agreed, taking this as a signal to leave until a friend decided we were going to eat one last thing: a snack made in oily cardboard containers which were stored (following some old tradition) on the backs of the exit doors, consisting of yellow/green oil, lemon grass, and seafood which he scooped into bowls. The famous taste was hard to replicate because the toxic conditions of the factory and ill health of the workers who produced the delicacy were responsible for it's unique flavour. 

In this dream I was a close friend of Lars Ulrich (Metallica), who I was trying to find at some stupid-looking rock festival. A bouncer handed me the sandpaper part of a matchbox which had ANDY written in Lars' retarded scrawl; this was supposed to be my backstage pass. Everywhere was a total mess, super complicated to find the Metallica room, and no real idea why I had to. Leaving the modified toys I was carrying to show to my pal Lars sticking out of the bag to try to make it easier to spot, I threw it onto a giant conveyor belt which was heaped with Metallica fan's clothing, bags etc. Seeing that my gear would get lost immediately, I ran up to some security types, explaining that I was staying near the upturned car-henge sculpture, and was directed into a shop which sold energy drinks called things like GUZZLE and GOFORIT. I noticed a display of badly-molded and half-melted skull/pirateship/heidi architectural model toys, which played back crunchy, near-unintelligible low bit-rate samples of a phony Vincent Price reading boring horror and mystery stories, some of them playing backwards, batteries dying, with faded glow-in-the-dark stickers. During all this chaos I was reading emails from a friend who was worried about the part of a piano concert he was supposed to perform which required quickly moving the piano up 8 flights of stairs in order to play a solo. I asked why they couldn't just have another piano up there, and he angrily replied that this was impossible because everyone would know it wasn't the same piano. This reminded me that we were supposed to be finishing a Varese-like speaker installation for a rectangular monument in New York City, which the media were trying to sell as the new Statue of Liberty or Grand Canyon. The job was for Elizabeth Taylor, who was another friend of ours. 

We were invited to check out a new "night club". The annoying club owner proudly showed us their new decor: a few rooms decorated with cheap plastic flowers and other crap. We were unimpressed until she announced "AND NOW, for the REAL attraction!!!", opened some swing doors through which floated a group of 'dolphins' (as they were referred to) which flapped around in mid-air, licking everyones faces in what was supposed to be a "cute" kind of "family" experience, but honestly it was pretty gross, making me think of the "trout farm" scene in Existenz. Some of these malnourished creatures resembled peeled bananas that has started to go brown, and some of the baby ones started getting into the hole in the sink. It was really difficult to get them all out of the sink and back through the door, and I felt that this club owner lady was very irresponsible. 

My job was to expose an evil Scientology cult based in Salt Lake City. 2 Scientology girls were ticket sellers for a run-down cinema showing scratchy cult promo films and selling "pork and egg", which one of them told me was actually slices of road tar and shaving cream dyed yellow, and that the real pork was in Utah. 

By Andy Bolus

[spurgo]

the Beaver, Jean-Paul's trumpet, saving the Dammed

BIBER, BEVER (Teut.), BOPE(Sclav), the beaver; e.g. the Biber, Beber, Biberich, Beber-bach (rivers in Germany); Bober, Boberau, Bobronia (beaver river), in Silesia and Russia; Bobersburg (on the R. Bober); Biberschlag (beaver's wood clearing); Biberstein (beaver rock); Beverley, in Yorkshire, anc. _Biberlac_ (beaver lake), formerly surrounded by marshy ground, the resort of beavers; Beverstone, in Gloucester; Beverloo (beaver marsh), in Belgium.

Blackie's Dictionary of Place-Names

chasingbeaver chasm chat chat() chathelp chatter chb chc chch Sartre? We're all jealous, he was so famous. Leduc followed his beaver you know what I mean. The beaver wrecked him, that's for sure. He was beavertail Sartre? We're all jealous, he was so famous. Leduc followed Simone. The beaver wrecked him, that's for sure. He was in Violet Leduc - world-wide influence (Sartre and de Beauvoir beaver to and I'd see beaver and muskrats, all sorts of animals and fish. My heart the water-beaver.  beaver muskrats, fish. breathing waitresses walking useless, lifeless damn beaver, symposium purified scientific praxis reification. imaginary! and spectrum from the beavertail foghorn and I'd see beaver and muskrats, all sorts of animals and fish. My heart My heart! My heart! My heart! My heart! O My heart! The War!

heart <> hater <> earth <> rathe <>

Roberte of the slim hearth, "directs this transcendent piece of loopiness adapted together with Pierre Klossowski from his novel of the same name ( and its companion the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes ) that includes the philosopher himself as Octave and his wife the formidable Denise Morin-Sinclaire, one of the few survivors of the infamous SS women's prison at Ravensbrck, as Roberte playing in the title role, which, one assumes, is integral to K.'s Sadeian instructed philosophy" [...]

And to Sartre, who loved Roberte's Beaver, his own Simone, within all reason, the Antediluvean project of survival within the Beaver's Dam. It's here we will hide out, heart <> hater <> earth <> rathe <> , to the period before the Deluge, during the Deluge, flow of the river's blood, violation-fabric absorbing Man's Other, "students shouted racial and homophobic slurs," "The pictures really don't do it justice. If you see the ice pack that he's holding up against his eye, that eye is very swollen, to the point where it's almost swollen shut."

It's just beginning. It's just the beginning. Violette Leduc hides with Jean-Paul and Simone. I'm smashed up, I can't see anything. My arms are dislodged, my eyes gouged out. I can hear Azure's screams. We're hiding with Roberte, it seems so long ago. The beavers take care of us. The beavers heal us. The beavers keep us in the dam. Dammed up. The blood leaves the river Biberstein, enters us. We're made whole again. We live with the beavers. We fight from there. We endure.

+++ --- +++

By Alan Sondheim

[spurgo]

No Red Dogs

Two queer dogs

The horizontal plate is thick Bell kiss miss, chick teeth grunt

There were brown dogs

There were black dogs

There were white dogs

Dot red catch, thrust drink crack

"I  can not see a red dog"

she said.

By Karen Constance

[spurgo]

Ecotechacts

clouds burst

             webs trap

        bytes hurt

                    streams dry

By Mark Peter Wright

[spurgo]

Diary (1953)

Scalded Artificially

Medical Appliances

Injection Abdominal

Agony Ailments

Complaint Anaemic

Penicillin Clinic

Unconscious Surgical

Bandage Epidemic

Sciatica Pneumonia

Examination Chronic

Accident Critically

Unconsciously Physicians

Authorities Irritation

Peritonitis

[Appendicitis] Pneumonia

[Anosmia] Morphia

Aching Pleurisy

Artificial Temperature

Appendix Rheumatish

Accident Feverish

Ambulances Sneezing

Accidentally Symptoms

Influenza Advises

Sweats Prescription

Aching Temperature

Limbs Depression

Shivers Approved

Ventilated Relieve

Continue Paralysis

Frequently Surgery

Surgeon

Epidemic Glycerine

Emergency Sulphur

Disease Collapsed

Diagnosed Dislocation

Leukaemia (as of blood, Blood

turns to Water) Paralysis

Fleeting

Richard Crow (Institution of Rot Archive)

[spurgo]

Item #6326

Before their top cat cuts my tongue in three, here is the last word on your recreational rage. I intend to eat Cobalt meals from an airbag after this, so listen. By your leave, and for your lacerations, I scuff my sweet-cheeks for an entire alien grace, or any otherwise. Ariels of the absurd, we detainees stand in-situ on broken thumbs for four hours to blabbering Bon Jovi and his Aerosmith Arcs of Cornered Covenant. The bread in his ears is not his, not yours, not mine. A smear of gym-chalk from that Nebraskan Sumo trains water into wine, he tells me; and I see it, too. In praise of Christmas Day, my bare arse happily heats the concrete before its own vertical dinnertime. You Amazons, I love you now. Let's gather around the tree and commend ourselves to poor versus poor. What can I remember from beneath me? Nothing now, it seems. And in my dreams - which are yours and must be - I realise I was born in a grave, from Doxa as perfidious as vegetable Pi. All photographs are syndicalist CIA, and I celebrate. I see myself in Bali as a begging bomb. On your PCs, I am penciled-in. Burn my bed. I prefer to slump, you know that. (Your towers of Babel are Edenic in Gaza.) Show me your shoes. Close my other eye, tapdancer. Let me be the dog in your dystopian Disney Anschluss. I have an erection. Now what?

By Anthony Donovan

[spurgo]

Extatique

Enivrée par la nature, je m’échappe du gouffre des pensées humaines pour me connecter au plus grand.

Nature divine, je m’abandonne à toi en toute confiance…notre communication dans le silence ne me trahit jamais.

Je jouis de tes caresses profondes qui me donne à chaque fois vie et me transporte dans une intense transe dont tu es seul témoin.

Libre de tout, je m’autorise totale expansion et dépasse les limites de mon enveloppe humaine, emportée vers des espaces invisibles.

Je vibre en plénitude tandis que je rencontre mon essence absolue.

Extatique dissolution…

By Elodie Fenet