i will attack this day with the loving ferocity of
a drunken tiger or a dungeon dragon
GRRAAAAAAAHHHRR!!
so back the fuck up, comrades
& get thee behind me
because here
we
go!
sliding down the outside
as we ride the persian red railway
on the way to shangri-la
TRA LA LA LA LA!!
let’s set the day a’fire
as we aim to end up
dancing on the tables of the night café
before we completely
lose our
minds
i have come to howl at the wounded city
ARRRRRROOOOOOO!!
to sweep, perchance to clean off the dust
& shake off the ghosts
to bounce back to the moon & beyond
& to that end
i will glitterglue my words on
the walls of the red labyrinth
& sprinkle them with elephantine abandon
whether we are ready or not
we are here
to
go!
a snapshot
of my heart in the house of love
bruised and bloody
cradled in your hands
(vacuum cleaner running in the gloaming
like waves against the shore
drowning a string-cut puppet)
that snippet you pasted in
the notebook in the closet of your sleep
(carnelian deep)
like a spy in the dreamhouse
flames licking the sides of my ship
sailing your seven seas
reversed
a snapshot
a snippet
a magician in the house of love
the tower
crumbling
like a string-cut puppet
vacuum
chariot
waving
a stranger
released
in your hands
without
consciousness
even your power can have me
or countries, rendering open their blood in me
though rose mud could amputate
landmines or flower petals open up beyond my bomb
gunpowder any of them which in your world
you are each this descending wolf of nothing
death in the eyes is power
i color myself even as your fragility
whose wolves are in me, or with
each which will never shut
myself, though closed me or with open me
though intense could always be rose
though emerald mud could amputate
landmines or flower petals as closed as a wish beyond my bomb
gunpowder any of them which perceive spring forever
they have color, each have with intensity
carefully descending wolves of nothing
these things you traveled gladly & i will unclose
with their most intense death close by
having imagined the bloody experience
your closed petals cannot perceive your power
The finale of the first season of The Flash was last night and I loved it so much, I was Kermit flailing for hours after it ended. The episode write-up on io9 pretty much nails why it was so amazing. In the wake of the episode, fueled by my excitement over it, I made some extremely rough…well, “notes” seems too generous. Abstract brainstorming is probably a better description. In the interest and enthusiasm of sharing my work, here is a page in my notebook with my abstract brainstorming:
it’s a dirty rotten business this
goldfish brain
sinking
into the gravel
leaving nothing but
babble
spider webs across the windows
candle wax on the mic
& now
all i have is
clickbait drills
alarmist vocabulary
frustrated squirrels
demonic congestion
ambulatory darkness
shark bite love mess
this is not a drill
this is the real thing
A recent post on io9 about the Doom Patrol, “the world’s strangest heroes,” reminded me of my profound, uncanny love for Grant Morrison’s version of the team. I was 19 or 20 when I stumbled upon Doom Patrol #28. I was mostly burned out on the superhero comics of the time and wasn’t completely up on who was doing what. But Simon Bisley’s cover was unlike any comics cover I’d seen before and I was intrigued enough to grab it off the shelf and throw some cash down for it. (Continued)
