A new poem, which I have a few others of which the like (sort of), and thus to be treated, there and then and thence, as it were as if were a work of the beginnings of a new manuscript. But how to recollect and recoil them all together? How to keep ever writing in these voices of solitude and insanity with their oddities of loquaciousness and neurology and neuroticism? Or perhaps the sanest of the bunch? Perhaps when, but oh the woe, oh the woe when the sanest of the bunch disintegrates first? But then there are other ways in which they recoil and untangle and cohere the superharmonics of the crystalline entities together all at once at the end after their fall completes. And yet. Here it is (oh you thought THAT was it did you? You were of course most sorely mistaken, as is your wont, as is the wont of most of the people most of the time. But i digress. And diverge. And recounting and repiling your sanity hiding in the closet I recover your pieces, and also, as it were, recommend this):


At all times remain alert
The driftwood of the days is piled by the carpenters shed
Although the disclaimers were valid,
None were said to apply in the case of killer bees
With the artistry of the spinflips
The masques of the Piskies went unnoticed
At all times remain alert
Do not allow either Piskies or killer bees to sneak up on you
The fire ants in their castle demonized the ranging of beings
And being all aflutter,
Took to infesting the Internets
The Nightmares take hold of your skull
Under the covers the fleas wait
Crack an egg on your head
Feel it running down your back
As the night fades in,
So does the trauma
At all times remain alert
As the fighter-bombers fly over your head,
So the barrels explode by your house
As the trauma sharpens,
So the pain in your stomach
As the concertina wire,
So the widening gap between young and old
As the tentacled horror,
So the pain of the sex crime victims
As the colonizers and imprisoners in Israel proceed like an anaconda
So the genocidal fascists in Syria
As the war crimes all over the world,
So the decline of the semi-free states,
No human living truly free
As the rise of the demagogues
So the gridlocks of parliaments
The wildebeests flee from the onrushing storm
All the amphibians die off
The tornado rips the trailer park as much as downtown
As the animals struggle up mountain peaks,
So the trees and grasses all do drown
As the money is flushed at the casino,
So your insurance denies payment
As the shadows infest your mind,
So the rot creeps up from your toes,
As unemployability rears its ugly head
So come the tragedies and regrets of earlier lives,
As the moon-mice set the people-traps,
So Demonoid waxes and wanes,
As the comet approaches,
So the sun expands to red giant,
As your reason defines and decompiles,
So your reason refines and defiles,
As your reason rises,
So your reason unravels and untangles,
As your reason untangles, so the superstrings decohere
As you disintegrate, you think:
	not as of which but of who, to meet your maker or not to be,
	the handgun in your hand, the handgun in my hand...
	all the sexual frustrations -- but see disclaimer... the
	totalled amount of ways and means amounts to not even a pile of
	dust, but as if the other, when your time arises, such as
	is the like of the creepy guy, or the rabidity of the
	christ-figure, much like when your mother told you but
	also not, in the demonization of the innocents, Demonoid
	wrought eternal... but as if the dreams of the Chaosticon;
	eternal; but fragmentary; piecemeal; but anatomical
	and atomical and axiomatical... and as of which but
	not of who; burn disclaimers; but otherwise and thus
	and so, all your axiomaticals and theorems are lost; but
	not of woe; oh of splendor, paranoid schizophrenia of
	course, and oh of splendor
	in the annals of the moon time, oh of the dance, of
	the tidals of the moon-ants, of the orgies of
	the moon-mice, oh of the solars of the storm, oh
	of the darkness of space, oh of the gibbering of
	the azathoth.
	in the brief silence of time, delete;
	in the brief silence of time, stir;
	in the brief silence of time, do not declare, but fall;
	the pages, the horror, the fallen
	the fallen.
	in it not as of Which but of Who, Not as if Other but of
	That, demonstrably deficient, but otherwise unwise and in
	time you all shall know, or perhaps shall know nothing, but
	as of which of the times did you know of your guilt, or
	did you ever? Were you ever of the uncaringness of children,
	or were you merely of a sniping mind? if ever of them
	there was a demon, it was you, and in the brief quiet of
	the minutiae of the interstellar spaces, you implode
	in the edges of the alleyways, or not of other but of thus,
	or although of thus only of some, but iniquity, inequity,
	unquietude, and excruciatingness, ever though of which the
	birds, but unqualified remands of the yeses, all under
	the grass of the park you defile, all under the burbling
	of the fountains you impair, all under the comparative quiet
	of the riot you exult; with the riot you exult; with
	the stream of the window smashing of the glasses of the
	alienation of the oligarchs, of the hangings of the communist
	party, of the firing squads of the west, of the
	kathryns and angies and maggies and angels; anjelica,
	the science of the times, the deletions of the elusions,
	of the elopements, of the quietude of the sage,
	of the building up of the moments, and of the --

Demonoid spake thus:
	echo, echo, echo, but do not demand, do not defile, speak
	never for others, only to yourselves, do not dream but be,
	do not do but do not, do not marry but fuck, do not
	say the words, oh but if you know of which ones,
	is she going to say the words, not as if which but
	if who, do not go gently, determine and refine,
	revolt and rejoice, recover and remain poor, ever
	into the night we dream, ever into the day we act,
	till the stones and till the soil, ever into magic
	we recount, ever into victory we turn, ever our buds
	turn into flowers and into petals on the ground, but
	ever uncertain, be no wise certain, but be quite sure,
	do not recant but ever uncoil; unfold and be god
The splitcase boy understood perfectly
Scattered to the winds were the wings of the multifaceted words


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Compilation/Distillation III

Sticking together, but not as a crew

Bitter from tea leaves, grown from the dust

Sifting through the oxygen and the weather

We do the things that ought to be done

Return and return and return

Dissociative fire lights the waves

The perfection of the paperclip

Seeing the vitality at play

Admiring the shapes of her forms

Flittering sparrows cover the exits

Solid and real were the imaginary players

What is sundered is broken, never to repair

Roughed up for desiring connection

Some common dreams occur and recur

Unstable boundaries, changing all the time

The darkness in my heart, ever unquiet

Clipping the area where fun can occur

Not of that but of which, not of which but of who

How do you say: “But I never got a chance”?

Some people just cannot be dealt with honestly

Paranoia was ready with fire bombs

No safe harbor for my desires

Compilation/Distillation II

The grudges are destabilizing

So when you go together to the tree

Broken into little pieces like you break your bread

Do not bring me into it

Scraping up the jealousies

Into the overheated cortex

Living the myth of his own detachment

Ever unto the ever turning evening

Unseen and unheard

Riled weather clouds pass overhead

The terribleness of the day

Rockets fire, and I fall

Very competent in spite of it

The method is of silence

Take one more chance today

Some ways cannot convert

IV heroin and ketamine at once

Rings on her fingers

In the dreaming of the times

A running of the angels

Inflated egos build these bridges


Some grifters demand justice

Uncertain times call for uncertain measures

Betwixt and between

A little goes a long way

Ripped to shreds and broken

Recreational use indicated

Wishing to see them reduced

Tipping the struggles over into another realm

Seeming to merit no destruction

Silvering destruction with a patina of false courtesy

Rings and rings of intrigue

Some dreams are allocated a hearing

Unchecked ramifications
Some collected species of betrayal

Not all the ins and outs of people

Phantoms haunt me less than in years past

The city is cruel to outsiders and the mentally ill


Some dreams go unpunished

But not mine

Not in the articulation of all things

Time is an illusion created by the movement of things

Strip down the errors and collect your planes

Not to be outdone, he dissimulated

Imaginary people have real acquaintances and vice versa

Synthetic people have natural imaginary adversaries and conversely

A long time to collect, a long time to plant

Seeds of revolution cover all the disturbed soils

Some nightmares were true and complete

Completing the medical space journey to the dream time at the end of the universe

You create your own reality

But wind up stuck to the wall

In a disgusting prison bathroom

The beauty of the dreams uncounted

The first ever many dimensional novel

Cannot be translated into waking life

Not to be taken uncertain in times of transcendence

I have taken too many symbols into the fold

Being, he wrought mathematics

Being, he opened his heart

Being, he propelled the conversation

Ceasing, he became more

Ceasing, he unwound too many times

Ceasing, he went silly

Becoming, he wrecked the cruiser

Becoming, he made good with his loss

Becoming, he became more

Beginning again, he cooked up

Filling the waters with unstable ideas

Unchained verses dissociate and disidentify

The lore unfolded as revels turned to riots

On a trip to the border, she exits consensus

The cosmic perspective strikes many with starry eyes

Bicycles day comes every day from here on out

One can only hope

The feathered Jabberwock inverts and multiplies,

Negates and amplifies, humbles and empowers

All along different lines\The wild thoughts permeate the air

The seas rebubble

The radicals re balance and seize the moment

Declaiming the many bespectacled thoughts

Coming fast, like passing meteorites

The revolt ever to collect its due was collecting, at last

A wave of distemper, a closure of teeth

A simper, a semper, a glass of absinthe

Dreaming of demons, he enters the room

One thing is certain, one is unknown

Visuals on the females, a time to decode

Not to be taken, not to be strewn

Come to clamp down on the weather

Dithering, unconfirmed and confused

A muddle, a puddle, a festival of BOOM

Uncertain patterns and uncertain times

Asocial dreamer, a lock on the phone

Not to be outdone, he riddled

The ticket, the wicket, the stickiest plume

The rudeness uncounted, the dreams for your share

Sticking together, but not as a crew

Bitter from tea leaves, grown from the dust

Deeper and deeper, ever in store

The words of birds are forever planted

The boy was simple, but never sane

Come dance, come dance! The beast is come!


Dreaming up Demonoid to collect your pieces

A million hours of heat

Walking into the Arctic desert

Talking into all the silences

Slipping into the sex of the mindset

Subconscious processes

Different inflections and stresses


The driftwood of our lives

Washed up on some foreign shore

The panties

Sticking you with the label of their unquiet

You simply will not do.

Recoiling from the aftershocks


You decompile the code

Always feeling too much

Turn down the volume

Our differences

Are many and without count

On the wire and on the wave

Weasels in the wires

Be uncareful and unkind

Collecting up dreams to your sorrow

Spiritual anarchy becomes a reality

In the edges of the alleyways

Breaking through the barriers to life

Uncertain, unstable, and untrue

Snakes and lies abound here

Under the water and under the wave

Antiassertions and antisense fields

We wanted what we wanted

We could not make these on our own

We walk into darkness, we walk on sand

Drifting into the curse energy