Number 9 (124/10)

what if i named every piece of work i did (painting, prose, poetry, music, etc) what if i named everything "NUMBER 9". this poem is called "NUMBER 9". it is the first of its kind, number nine:

I'm on the edge of my seat here
in the city of stranger people

my chest is on the edge of itself.
I don't know if it is a natural consequence
if I am hungry, starving, losing conscious.
my chest is out of me, I am jittery without it, starving starving.

Words from ONLY some darling
quicken my existence
I feel her message forwarded towards the end of everything
The night is so quick it is unsettling

give myself peaceful smoke
to meander silently into the eve
become a small dazzling light in the distance
small, alive, wished upon wondered
gather the dust between YOU and ME

I need sand to bury my feet in
shore in my ear to lay me down
quiet!
quiet!
Hear of the other sea in the shells
shut the traps
the doors are down
and...there!
the endless invisible waters
Are you thinking of me?

soft. sweet. tired. cup of caffeine
transform my sight and my actions
in time I execute my future tongue
by digging into the holes of thought
there is never so much
as every vaguery of "ALL"

I will now talk about "ALL":
In saying it and "nothing"
I empty myself over the keyboard.
display an array of every hungry inside
that pokes its head down in my head's cavern
dark dripping pillars
down on down towards the shitter
of the future of other tongues
publish publisher publication

These hours I've worked my head in a way so that
I cannot find my place back in the seat and the table.
I sprint and tumble about in the empty space between
a YOU and a ME

Sitting requires starving your baby
and I owe a drugged up panic to that
baby building himself a rabid panther
dashing without eyes, towards his brothers !
It's Me! My friends!!!!!!

quiet quiet quiet
quiet. QU(IET.
this city is underwater,
the people have gills
and I do not, but I wander
my body finds a tunnel
and my soul continues

chatter on chalky bulk unstable under pressure deeper swollen murky residue
little for the best
give a little for the best
and a littler for the rest.
Once you're open like this
you cannot speak.

Some kind of stress

jumble drunk mind--
set on restitution
in a keyboard
I'll seek my God in a pill
and if that doesn't work
I'll distress and cry Jesus
and if that doesn't work
I'll stagger on towards time
and hope to fall on the other side

The Garden morning is Full of Fiction

Slinking
in the morning
is a cadence
and a quiver of green
In the chest arise
eloquent blades
convene to a whisper
"this day is sol
and something something"
But it was not a day
it was a moment of
prehistoric patience
and I sat upright on a couch
as if I was sleeping

A poem from James Murphy

Is LCD Soundsystem's track listing for This is Happening a poem?

Dance Yrself Clean
Drunk Girls
One Touch
All I WantI Can Change
You Wanted A Hit
Pow Pow
Somebody’s Calling Me
Home

Are you in Seattle right now?
the sky will shit soon, look at how constipated it is.

I don't

i am on the ground
because the ground loves me
like no one else

I see your face on the white ceiling
you're so terribly far away
i can't even touch you when i stand
and besides the ground just whispered to me
"sweetie-pie"
in a terribly sexy tone
I think I'll stay here

I lie supine with a cigarette in mind
it has been a dream of mine
to see the smoke rise before my eyes

now i am smoking this cigarette
because this cigarette always shows me a good time
even though he might kill me someday
but that should be a good time too

I am on the ground with all the
lingering white lines above me
it's almost too much ecstasy to handle
and there you are on the ceiling
he must love you
you must've heard the same melodies
I heard in my ear
i understand now
thank god

close to my heart

start an artist circle
do plenty o' drugs
sequester failures in others
never speak again

overall interesting day, considering

SENSORY OVERLOAD
blockade these thoughts
leave them in the desert

beat to beat
feels like a heart in the speakers
a conduit for feeling

drunk drunk drunk
6 shots, 9 shots echoing
in the alleys
Another beat! someone
pounding my head,
hounding my doors.

veiny fleshy martian
dragging himself upon my steps
I don't need to feel sorry without you
and I won't let you in until I get a call!
We're both waiting for it!

heart, heart, heart,
you sneak in the back room
when I am asleep and drooling
In the dark, I walk
back and forth to your beats
back and forth
back and forth to your beats
back and forth
back and forth to your beats
back and forth to your beats



I don't feel good now. my body feels okay, but not my mind. it feels nauseous, like it's gonna vomit. brain vomit out my eyes. my mind is gonna vomit. brain vom. I'm gonna vom. my brain's gonna vom.

I need to bury my heart

I feel you in the other room
you hold me tight in the wormhole

the heart, goes up in smoke

the heart is cloudy, and I am hot and dry

the tip of rain’s tongue

longing lolling

into withered chords

from plants packed up in sticks

synthesized
like nylon
we are

manufactured

hello blog, you mother fucker

I wrote 8 half poems tonight.  

I'm not sure how something like this comes about.

In my nonexistent state

I should pass right through this door

but I search for my keys instead

it is more of a ritual

a conjuration of the open mind

to pass straight through

the door

I almost forgot about this blog.  it is already off of my bookmarks in my safari browser.  and then I switched over to Firefox, in order to (subconsciously) further distance myself from the blog, because my Firefox browser has no recollection of this blog.  anyway, fate brought me back to Safari, because their download thing makes me happier.  and now i am here.  that was an exciting retelling.  i'm all tired now.

ACID ZEN

acid recently, to make my mind scream.
zen recently, because my mind will not shut up.


The possibilities are endless
I came into this world thinking
that this was it, popping out
of toasters, baking from the
ovens. Someone will return.
But, no, I could be anywhere,
I was wrong. And now the
Serotonin! Much too much.
And the real stuff is mocked,
so it will leave me
all at once.
And the possibilities are endless,
and everything has gone to shit.
I have nothing to say about this
Serotonin all weepy, everything
everything is leaving me at once.
Now,
Now,
Now.
Now!
my soul coming up through my chest!

poem to lost internet browserer, but not about you

Ever feel yourself slipping away?
Just staring at people, and slipping away...
This becomes therapeutic,
their actions, a conduit.
Through my gaze...
let others live, I say,
let it happen.
let the water run down your chin
down your shirt,
and now rest your eyes.

I have been in my head long enough
so as to make everything mine.
A laughing, comical world that is mine.
Do I feel estranged from my own world?
This is when I know...
I know something bleary eyed.

I don't see this as an escape,
but rather no escape.
Weary mirages dancing far off,
Like waiting for the drugs to sleep,
this is getting old...

If I go from meal to meal,
as I am now,
with nothing so far from sitting as
lying down,
God knows I'll be here,
far away,
in some other place...

ANDROIDS!! MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!!!!!

murmur murmur

computer boils under the sun

about itself

drone droning

baking logic baking 

computation baking

pixelation baking

me

***

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poem

you get an award for that

for doing that, you get an award

we decided to award you this award for your great work

get your information correct,

or we will not award you

we cannot hear you

you do not get an award 

for being hard to hear

Yes, yes that gold patch

fixes up your work nicely

Yes, this is something that we can all agree upon

We can all aspire to this standard

but please speak up

remember, we call pull the strings from that handiwork

we have license to take your license

Yes,

yes we do