20081202

anagogic afterlapse





Posterd via vim ut

15 kommentarer:

Anonym sa...

that horselegs
dagger for grallop
sightseen excursive
from a momento
as once the while
the rest of the page
is just a bunch of
black ants,
rapidly running around
somewhere out there
sinking teeth into
bones until blood
crisscross w/ chitchat,
might define marrow
move, stop, move.
spotty, fading the glare
swallows up whole
easy to lose,
forget it.
uncobbled circumstance
tornword toward, that
particular version this
turns out to be
extrainformational fringes
conclusion, total cessation.
external as eating,
gomphosis & guts
tattered gauze
suturing same wound
(localized)
in filthy familiarity,
mappable as always.

present condition
there's no now

verum esse ipsum factum

- - - - - - - - - - - -

02 desember, 2008 20:03
F. A. Nettelbeck sa...

like anal sex with a drunken cheerleader when an actual football player asks you what it's like (savage samaritan). the DNA banks are now closed...

02 desember, 2008 23:17
troylloyd sa...

i loosened my lugnuts
to rubba roadway
& grease my balls to bearing,

miles & miles

lines & lines

when rolling goes
thru gaping holes
the lube jobs
never enough,
friction of piston
blow'd hotplugs
&
octane ain't racin'
unless snuffy smith
guns that worm
clear drippin'

"sweet spirits of cats a-fighting"

thanx for commentin'

i owe you some mail,
i'll get my ass in gear pronto.

02 desember, 2008 23:55
mike di tomasso sa...

sweat kats of kats a-farting

03 desember, 2008 05:21
troylloyd sa...

sweatkats a'fartin
= )
good one

i ain't never heard moonshine called "sweet spirits of cats a-fighting" , but recently came crossit & it fits 'cause that hi-proof cornliquor will make a man mean & cross-eyed, but w/ a sweet playful spirit of course --

my uncle gets some pretty good moonshine, but he don't make it, what he does make tho, is muscadine wine & that stuff is does it up right.

when i was up in North Carolina, the public-broadcasting teevee station play'd a documentary about moonshine w/ a coolcat named Popcorn Sutton & his art & his battles w/ the Law -- damn, that man has got one of the best genuine laughs i've ever heard, anyway, it put them lines in my head & reconfirmed what i dig about "southern heritage" etc.

here's a trailer from the flick:

The Last One

- - - - - -

03 desember, 2008 17:24
Anonym sa...

He said to the camera:
southrn shitrock skid marks
in yr sparks of a mowhark
tooth or egg to
paste it right-o
down the center spiked
the line the clutch to
the nuthin shutter off
the gangly clutter cats got biscuits
of in ,or like...
"your soaking in it."
length of no eatin on the
showing riblets
scheme dream for beans to
cross the pond.
and carve north.
to catalysts, tinctures and
whore torn and heavens beard it grows. hour fourth fodders
conned and deceived
a gnu neigh! shun!
for people like troylloyd.

the candy is dandy butt.
the tabloid aisle contraindicates
the catholics icons on candy bars.
your candy bars.and cats.
ibid booger. it wasnt for
your shore gonner
clump yr ankles
with tape missing hairs from slappin
wrip: make coffee write something bad
& then tear it up.
cubpoards of knick coals be peein
in yr mouth
hoof gee eff it's pedress sing stuff ist das,ja? .def jargon in reverse.
presents:
a hologram of troylloyd's.
racecar
dont go.

04 desember, 2008 19:24
Anonym sa...

AAH BLAH WOW HMMjack slicer four twuz iodine w/evr- reek (bleach free) Tide eyeham das planned i wished to see eesh grade of stand wither U.S. willy B
if we are dead.
bread n butter
cumbersome out
lookit theknook
the shadow of tick
and drippy glowy
plastic covered couches.
call me Ayeham Rowtep!
sea cur of clocks!
drunk rocks mashed upppa
the stool in yr notion
to see a hug feel a voice a thon
fond memories a due. shelly duvall.
like your tee the torn out skirt
sacred mental testitude icicle
momentum scroll sans serif sanskrit
skee doo
truly blue about lost moments
when there wernt so much gosh darn
EMPHASIS ON FUCKING PURPOSE.

04 desember, 2008 19:43
Anonym sa...

babbly blue :pt two boobies
shakin like two babies face rubbin
to get her
slipper sea rockin motion thru her
in her inert glazed
overt mowin hurt
down syndrome
calipers on the docks the french
just took.
tongue locks and sins knows in the roamin charge
her breathy voice memories bend

crotch. wrought with delight to
nights lay wasted in her huge.
crevass terminal moron rains tumors
who this is? super inclusion
still wanna cut 'er,tho.
to save reality.
you see.

04 desember, 2008 19:52
Anonym sa...

oog dog.
cat.tack.

04 desember, 2008 20:18
troylloyd sa...

Jeff:
thanx for the poems.

i'm gonna wake up early & fuck w/ my clutch, & damn how i hate carwork intha cold, what's weird is, after lookin' at the map, the hospital is like straight due east from atlanta, all the way to the carolina coast, georgia's got that slant.

i'd like to make it down for the Golden Age of Comics show, sounds like it'll be up my alley, how'd it look when you dropt off yr stuff?

we could go check out the paper museum too -- didja ever get the info on that cool scrapyard dude toldya about?

04 desember, 2008 20:28
Anonym sa...

bag atcha the cleft. partial tome ,partial leek, sedimentary vial...see the bottom of the bag.
and the loggia is filled with bagasse.
excrement of ancient icemans ichthyophthirius tatts and bags of stash strains.
the widening canal of yr birth ,rush in symbolic,moo like it is low and sentimental.
standard plane ticket to navrecheska is pollo asado.
if you like pina colado oh mexico cheeseburger rocky top sky rockets
when r you gonna come down?i nevr thought id meet so many people.
space cadet glow inch bug
i dont have any links to post or lengths of passion to cut n paste.
dammitall..cuz i dont really care
im on mimic mode slash pseudo apathetic disassociative auto-pilot..how did this happen,troy? when did i ..leave?
where is my mind?

04 desember, 2008 20:35
Anonym sa...

i was just thinkin about that scrapyard!
lets go!
holla atcha boi.
or i mean...
oh screw it
hey wally! gee wouldja call me tonight after dinner?

04 desember, 2008 20:37
Anonym sa...

oh and my stuffy drop off
you ask of Jeff Dahlgren
so proper.goodness.
nod to nod of friends r friends
for art aint friends in the sense
that you are the theme of
no. i know that i know the
book
the book
that book
that thing that sits in paces
gaze inside the grace of a sage,pliable way to see with words
orphan,sir
my drought echoe checking account
an asterix next to a piece of lint.
no sense of direction or dream anymore. the fucking oar got dropped three months or three years
ago.
making signs sux. my art sux. im a shitty writer..not a poet. those werent poems. they were me filling space. my center is filled with hypocriscy unknown even to my denial ridden ass.

ability to cold crank yr shaft
in undercover
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EXdkbbdx9JU
butter cup. hippy love and washed up with baby eyes and two hugs and thanks for showin up and thanks for showin in the show..shit like that.the stuff sux.
duped wizard of filters
stand before gallons!
sacrifice the sore elbow
disguised as meaning friendly
memory of yr think yr table turns and
it does.

04 desember, 2008 20:52
troylloyd sa...

is too, notta drivebyebye
throw 'em poem square feet
per inches, wait what hip pocket
eightballs to wall 'n
scratch'd fast to last
are poem poem?
what poem?
when on poem must go gushing,
a prompt, this i improv
hey, like right now
in gums stuck
or something
less sticky
like paid up tickets
tabb'd for perforation
w/ magic tape invisible
missing guitar stings
for strum no drone,
all my bling for a flophouse
or room to rent fittingly
outside size or shape
or sense or landlords
bugg'd Adair Park
& i even miss
Stewart Ave.
&
the long red boots
of hookers in winter
w/ short fur coats
givin' me eye as i pass
a house a home a lone
to lend fenceless
for lushes & corks
undone in electric
of plugs such juicely
that grape giddies gallop
& now or never ain't even ever
or
bobba knothead gnarly
w/ thump'd'thump roll'd
26 to skidoo over
again to end
&
homeland
ain't no
houseland,

power company.

(final notice)

04 desember, 2008 21:21
Anonym sa...

roger that. home alone
makin coffee til midnight.
strap on yr kitty sac.
pile out the tulips
drape the cowboy paintings
sassy the furlough
quaker the octopus
peel the silver bill.
pay the quiet drip off
fumble the adornments
purple up the knicker bocker
quality control messiah thyme
garbage chute.
call me ayeham rowtep!
sounds in a house
you know is supposed
to be empty
are creepy.
surely coffee isnt that loud.
i need to find that moleskine with the name and number of that junk place dammit it's on the tip of my

04 desember, 2008 21:34

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