b=l=a=c=k=f=l=i=e=s language e=x=p=e=r=i=m=e=n=t=s

its a good life if you don't weaken

2007-10-30T15:43:00.000-07:00

the film has been accepted as a work of art, and no work of art has ever done social harm, though a great deal of social harm has been done by those who have sought to protect society against works of art which they regarded as dangerous.

The Last Spike part 5: The Meteor

2007-10-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

v) The Meteor

It was meteoric mercurial venusian earthen marsheen jupitine saturnine uranian and plutonius yes even Jupiter got a gas out of it. Sometime near the invention of Christopher Dewdney, the stage had imagined itself thru the atmosphere. List of largely syllabled words for the learned. We ordered the paths erected and the dangers softened. Thousands of years prior to the cash called Toronto, we camped in the parking lots of High Park. I had been raised in Moose Factory, raised as a moose, and my brother born of raven directly. One night the leg-squeakers cease – the moon dies – the sky blinds – this shitball hits the ground outside our tent. I shine the deerhide flashlight out the flaps and Raven feins sleep.
-Some huge piece of shit just lodged out hear in the campfire bro.
-The fuck up. He replies with a brazen harph and nod-off.
The dirt and grass sat in the air glowing and splattin mud packs to the ground and sides of the tent. Too damn hot to touch I spent the night looking at the thing, which ceased to glow within minutes but looked larger by daylight.
Raven raises round dawn givertake says while pissing
-The hell’s that?
-Fell from the sky last night. I think it’s growing.
-Shit rocks don’t grow yo.
-Well shit rocks don’t fall outta sky neither.
We get the gear ready in silence. Chuck some jerky down the tube and belch thru white pine tea. The day is fast we get three deer. The evening is longer, setting the corpses hell yeah.
-That thing sure as hell’s growing.
-That thing’s been hear longer than great spirit.
-Goddamn blaspheme.
It’s dark and we’re cookin fresh with spices whose names are withheld to prevent your smelling them specifically. The pan starts dark with blood we sip it whilst still pink. Root veg and squash from the tattered camp already here when we showed up three weeks ago. Some of this shit just keeps growing untended, which gives Raven ideas for market capitalism. I shut his face filling it with burnt potatoes.
-Moose, why’d mom and them send us down here?
-You know damn.
-I’ve never heard of anyone else sent hundurd miles south to lakeshore for that dreamquest shit.
-I dind’t say we were sent here for dreamquests, that shit’s to pacify us. We’re sent cuz of blundering up the hunt. Remember your mammoth trap crap? Tens of days to dig the trench – tens of hours for you to build the structure atop too strong. The mammoth walks by and goes wherever the fuck they go (down south this way? Who the hell knows.) That was the last chance of the season. That’s some of it.
-How about you already struck outta Moose Factory for lustiness.
-I came home because I wanted to.
-Not what I hear. Cedric was up there in Moose Factory. There’s a shitpile of knocked up heifers.
-Fuck off.
-And once you got home you can’t say that Jessica was your lone partridge.
-Okay, so you have answers. Some dreamquest.
-Regardless. What I meant was why down here. If they want rid of us, they could have sent us east or west to get butchered by those bastard Iroquois and Hurons. Could have sent us north to winter peril with windigos and if we make it, those inuit fuckers. So.
-There’s no moose here.
-Statement of the obvious and evidence of character as mom would say.
-Well, it’s true. That’s why down here.
-You don’t think it’s more?
-You’re the one that says that fucking stone from the sky that by my eye’s grown two feet since last night is just dumb rock.
-So it’s a outerspace rock sent to test us?
-Get real dungflap, don’t fuck around.
-That’s what you seem to think.
-Go to sleep.
Next morning he still won’t shut up.
-Look Moose.
-Look Raven.
-I know I’m a damn treat when asleep, but what if the elders did foresee this shit, and they knew we could handle it.
-The rock? It is something. But they got rid of us. If this was a dreamquest, we’d go out to the woods and starve for a few days, and come back all manhood. I’m 26 years old, yer what, 25?
-26 also. Do you remember any stories.
-No.
-Me neither.
-Let’s build one.
So we skip the hunting morning, finish up with yesterday’s kill trot down to lakeshore and spear fish in the shallows lethargically.
-This lakeshore is a mountain penetrating the skies of our ancestors.
-Fuck that, the piss seeps down from man to dirt to water, and when thru with dirt - is water once more.
-Fuck, that’s poetry?
-That’s what this is. Some kind of severe dreamquest, sent by great spirit. The tribe sends us down here for their own reasons, but great spirit says “I’ll give em something to do. Something important.” Last chance to get back.
-Who says we want back with the village.
-There’s no moose down here.
-Cruel you. So, if this is a dreamquest for a pomes, what’s the space stone have to do with it.
-Nexus.
-Nexus.
Spat in the water fish looked at it got on my spear.

Songs from the Gulag 1

2007-09-14T05:49:00.000-07:00

Pretty well purely domestic
Dog-eyed particulars fake with smellodrama
oh shit - first line should have said dogmatic! furk, I mussed that puppy up the fuck-hole!

Archibald Lampman award recipient Garibaldi Bratts (below) fusses with his famous trainrobbers hat.

Ottawa Small Press Fair 2007

2007-09-14T05:46:00.000-07:00

Punk has a new catch phrase.

buy bigger houses

2007-09-14T05:35:00.000-07:00

Unloading the washer

I saw the mate to my sock

Called my friend Shelly.

“Do you suppose that Lost Socks put me on!?”

I wasn’t buying into Shelly’s Socks

get bored he insisted

and want a fresh start

get tired of stinky hoes

who wander in search of carving freedom they go on the lam.

They creep out of their agitated spins

leaving half a pair wet, and alone.

What does a sock do

when away from his shoes,

and new to the singles scene?

He parties hard, and hits on

other socks on the run

while his wife sleeps pondering life’s meaning

from inside a dank boot it’s fresh air cooler

Well her yarn did make sense,

I didn’t like losing my stuff.

But to seek something better is the Canadian way,

though it’s so hard to part with my sock!!!

Dennis Lee and Margaret Atwood ©

My other blog is a made of cornbread with hawkdogs in it

2007-09-14T05:32:00.000-07:00

won't let me have any won't let me have any won't let me have any

The Last Spike: part 4

2007-09-14T05:25:00.000-07:00

iv) Court Order for Arnold Paterson to keep the hell away from Nat.C.
I want you all to know I have supported your support for me during this duress of time and this time of duress. A.P. (Arnold Paterson), for those of you who do not know, Arnold, Mr. Paterson, has not been obsessing me but has been obsessing over me and as a stalker I have finally courted him (and by courted, court-ordered him). His lily red lips have been punished to Sudbury, where he is ensconced in a palace of nickel to which only I have the key. To turn down the tempo (and this is a different voice now in this sentence) let me remind you that this is so far as is known, a novel. As with any such situation, the punishment upon my “reader” is well-known to include visits, punctuations and rolling curtains of fleshitude.

A Pretty Girl and a Gun

2007-09-07T16:12:00.000-07:00

2007-08-30T09:07:00.000-07:00

"The government doesn't sponsor people to do creative work, they want to keep the lid on to confirm the agency's mandate. No government in the world will permit that. No one would have given William Blake a Canada Council Grant."

"I remember one of his jobs required that he edit the flies and bugs out of a film for Northern Affairs. They didn't want bugs to appear in the film, They knew people weren't attracted to black flies. For months Arthur Lipsett literally had to edit out the flies that appeared in the image."

AKA the ponymen

2007-08-19T14:40:00.001-07:00

Michael Ondaatje- Karl Young- Neil Hennessey-Darren Wershler-Henry AKA the super group to form the core of the NEW Horseman Project - think of them like Journey - think of them like 4 Steve Perrys - blending their considerable talents to best service (and we do mean service) the text

Dear Friends -- I think most of you know my early history as the Poor Horseman member of The Four Horsemen (for others, there's more about that in the show description below). Those of you who saw last year's work-in-progress production of Volcano Theatre's *The Four Horsemen Project* know what a great job was done in adapting The Horsemen's group and individual material to a modern dance-theatre production. The final version, revised and improved, is set to run for two weeks in Toronto, starting February 15, then on to Ottawa. I
expect it to be a real stunner. Read on to learn more.

All the best,
Ringo
__________
Paul Button

Mount Lefroy by Tony DeFranco and the DeFranco family

2007-08-15T15:04:00.001-07:00

there is almost always at least a small cloud in tony defranco and the defranco family's landscape these clouds are always different and sometime they have a vague idea a beckoning, an inkling of some truth it is only in the process that it comes to any clarity and have very unusual shapes tony defranco and the defranco family parent`s names were anna stewart harris and thomas morgan harris find the beaver Swamp by tony defranco and the defranco family a major sale of a snowy mountain canvas by tony defranco and the defranco family has kicked off canada's spring auction season with works by tony defranco and the group of seven defranco family he was born into a wealthy family who were co-founders of the massey-harris farm machinery company tony defranco and the defranco family visited the maritimes and was shocked by what he saw in mining towns with the biggest selling single of the year titled heartbeat it's a love beat selling 3.5. million ...

Farley Mowat may be a Canadian national treasure, but that hasn't stopped him from savaging children

2007-08-15T13:49:00.001-07:00

Farley "Hardly Know-it" Mowat's eventually came up with a controversial deal: he would confess to the 11 murders and show police where the bodies of those not recovered were buried, and in return he wanted $10,000 paid to his wife for each victim. The authorities were outraged at first, but, as they had little evidence to tie Mowat to the killings and the families of the missing children were desperate to give their loved ones a decent burial, the agreement was eventually made. In January 1982, Mowat' pleaded guilty to 11 counts of murder and was given 11 concurrent life sentences; as of 2002, he is incarcerated in Canada's maximum-security Special Handling Unit. As agreed, $100,000 was actually paid to his wife; "Hardly Know-it" Mowat wanted $10,000 for each of his 10 victims and agreed to give authorities the location and details of the first murder as a "freebie", also he swore off writing. Everyone is happy with deal.

the last edit of maggie sugar

2007-08-15T13:48:00.001-07:00

Banning someone for calling someone a "fucking asswipe cu*t" or any other Guidline Infraction is not the same as putting people into camps and starving them to death or gassing them to death or working them to death, because they belong to a certain ethnic group. Your comparison is not only tired and overdone, it is an insult to those who died in Nazi Germany. PLEASE, most people who are banned, are banned temporarily, and for reasons which are VERY clear in the Guidlines. They are usually banned due to personal attacks ect. Yep, I'm closing the thread. Joining a Forum is voluntary. The rules here are the most lenient of any Forum or BB I have ever seen. Nuff said.

Lorna Crozier and the Tomb Raider Phenomenon (Paperback)

2007-08-15T13:44:00.000-07:00

After email watching clock watching witness watching we met again in our favorite room in a hotel on the outskirts of town. Together we stripped quickly fondled and kissed and then pulled down the covers on our borrowed bed on borrowed time and on an erection borrowed from Viagra we rode on white waves on a chariot of fantasy pulled by pulsating dreams. Afterwards while snuggling we drank wine coolers and beer never discussing his wife never discussing our fear of being caught. Every week was much the same –spiced with vibrator doggy-style cunnilingus and fellatio quick hellos quick goodbyes. Soon every week turned to every other week then monthly every other month several times a year yearly then no emails from him no answering of his cell phone nothing. Occasionally I check our secretemail account, keeping it open just in case. Oh, I know how it is –illicit love is like morning fog. It envelopes everyone involved –a married man and both his wife and mistress. When discovery shines on the affair love evaporates and everyone is left alone with only dreams of how each thought it was. The secret of illicit love is to leave before reality comes up. And this is what the main characters do through the long book. This is what this book is about.

Lorna's Book is a love letter from definitive Gen X scribe Douglas Coupland to definitive Gen X pinup girl Lorna Crozier . The buxom star of Tomb Raider and Tomb Raider II is idolized in both words (Coupland provides a work of fiction about Lorna and waxes poetic about his feelings for her and her unique stardom) and pictures (literally thousands from digitally rendered images of Lorna in a polo uniform to handmade drawings by her legions of fans). Coupland's story, "Air Tibet," illustrated wonderfully by Kris Renkewitz, is tons of genre-hopping fun, and his description of his obsession with Ms. Crozier is singular and evocative of the freestyle interludes of Generation X. If you're feeling a little weird about owning a glossy-paged, coffee-table-worthy pinup book dedicated to a video game, Lorna's Book justifies itself by containing complete strategy guides for all the versions of Tomb Raider. Anyone interested in game development or the minutia of Lorna's workstation-induced birth will find the Core team's account of Tomb Raider's development entertaining. Did we mention that it has thousands of pictures of Lorna Crozier?

a creepy moment that is pure poetry

2007-08-15T13:42:00.000-07:00

Winner Sina Queyras posing with one of the 2007 The Pat Lowther Memorial Award Judges Rachel Zolf.

Pat Lowther looks on approvingly.

a famous Torontonian manservant

2007-08-15T13:41:00.001-07:00

I'll never forget the day I finished Margaret Mitchell" 's The Hand Towel's Tale. I had spent the entire Fourth of July weekend riveted. Sometime between the potato salad and the fireworks I reached the haunting, perfect conclusion. I was stunned. I had never been so profoundly disturbed and enthralled by a book before. Of course, I was thirteen years old, now, don’t get me wrong - all women make me laugh my ass off, and usually so much more because of the part they play. And there are obviously other persona's for women to have. But at thirteen Margaret was a large woman, tall and well formed, her complexion was so white as lilly white as those poetess type she loves so much ...

In the fifth part of our women’s fashion series, Margaret encourages you to all have slut-appeal and they’re much kinder on your delicates

2007-08-15T13:39:00.000-07:00

The stars about the fair moon in their turn hide their bright planets, that around the beauteous moon stars around the lovely moon stars about the lovely moon stars that shine around the refulgent full moon 'as the stars draw back their shining faces or to pull up the treasures of ancient Egyptian pyramids in response to a search for nude "Tomb Raider" pictures.

Deceitful?

Of course. But then again I know better than you. I'm a Adjunct Professor. I sometimes think it would be for their own good.

in memory

2007-08-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

I forced my tongue into her asshole with growing fervor, and Margaret stopped her smart-ass comments almost immediately. My thumb worked her clit while I fucked her pussy with my fingers, and I pushed her forward so I could more effectively fuck her ass with my tongue. The taste was more intense than I'd ever experienced, but something about it made my cock incredibly hard.

I could tell she was close already; I worked her clit and pussy faster as I drove my tongue deep into her. If she was worried about other discovering us, she wasn't showing it. Her moans rose in pitch and soon she was pushing back onto me, fucking herself onto my hand and tongue as I pinched her nipples.

Instinctively, I was grinding my hips and rubbing my cock against the front of my own pants. For the first time I wished they were tighter, because I was getting close myself.

"I'm going to come," I breathed and I fucked her faster, licking deeper into her ass in long slow thrusts between circular swirls around her entrance. I felt her pussy contracting around my fingers, and the tremors reached her asshole an instant later.

well there I was in awe, I couldn't believe that I was actual fucking with the dead body of Margaret Avison (1918-2007). Where in the past I just fucked with the work or name or good reputation (pretending that we were friends, I do that a lot) of a dead poet, here I was actual getting the goodies.

I truly am rob mclennan the rightful Ontario Representative For The League Of Canadian Poet.

The portrait of Mararet that helped to heal Robbie McStrange 's grief

2007-08-10T12:14:00.002-07:00

A member of Robbie's road crew was overheard saying: "She goes with him everywhere. I know he talks to her before he goes on stage." What they were referring to was a life size portrait of Margaret Avison, given to Robbie shortly after her death by Los Angeles-based artist Louis Briel. The painting is now featured in "Arf In Art", by Mem Mehmet, a collection of portraits of the Princess Poets from around the world. It is published this month by Pop Art Books. Moved by the kind gesture, Robbie sent a handwritten note to Briel thanking him and saying the portrait was "beautiful". Robbie took the portrait on his "Big Cow Town" tour in 2007 and looked at it every night before going on stage. After the tour a member of Robbie's team told Briel: "The painting is like a genie. It goes where he goes. We've packed it up and unpacked it at every stop around the world. I know he talks to her before he goes on stage." Someone close to Robbie's alcohol/drug recovery said: "I'm sure Margaret is his higher power. She tells him [via the portrait] what shoes to wear. That is until someone more famous dies and lets Robbie pretented he understands their work - he does that" Does Margaret really inhabit the mysterious portrait? Can she truly be Robbie's spirit guide? Briel, who specializes in posthumous portraits, is convinced that during the painting process and afterwards the "spirit of the deceased visits and inhabits the image on canvas". He says he would not be surprised if Robbbie is in direct spiritual contact with Margaret

as robert planet would say the song remains the lame....

2007-08-10T12:14:00.001-07:00

I've been remiss in announcing a new magazine I've been co-editing in
St. Catharines, PRECIPICe (www.brocku.ca/precipice), but I do so now
with good cause: we're accepting submissions for the upcoming Fall
issue. All the information and guidelines are on the website, and all
the details about the first issue as well -- which has some great new
work by bill bissett, Gary Barwin, Shane Rhodes, Margaret Christakos,
Nathalie Stephens, Andy Weaver, David Seymour, and rob mclennan,
amongst many others.

And while the old issue is definitely worth checking out, the call is
on to submit some writing for the next one! We are looking for
innovative fiction, poetry, plays, experiments, visual poems,
transcripts of sound poems, and pretty much anything that crackles
with at least a tangential relation to language.

I'm suddenly curious about the possibility of a writing that does not
have at least a tangential relation to language, so if you have some
of that, please submit it as well. No limits, then!

The Failure of Poetry, The Promise of Language

2007-08-09T16:26:00.001-07:00

Dear Christan, It's difficult to know where to start, but I'll do it by saying sorry. I'm sorry I left you, I'm sorry I broke the promise. You helped me so much, but when pain reaches the limit it all means nothing. You know that.

Next I want to say thank you. You dedicated your life to me, and I failed. You were my shoulder to cry on. You got me off the sh*t, but here I sit pumped full of it. I'm not as strong as you.

I have written a note to my mum telling her everything. I wanted her to know how much you helped me. Sorry, and I love you.
Darren.

A few points about me My fave film Breakfast at tiffany s. .... Each to their own I guess Drop me a line and introduce yourself Peach x x x ...

2007-08-09T16:16:00.001-07:00

cherry blossoms rise from melted snow of morning spring adorns her eyes miko drinks of JANE'S Oral stream that wets the flame lesbos won't restrain naked lovers strip away all fear on bed of grass licking hips JANE drinks of flowing streams in caves of azami's flesh clit love is growing naked hugging knows the peace intimacy brings warm the melted snow nipples rise to meet eager tongue of wildest JANE milk of love is sweet cherry blossoms bloom their fragrance touches the snow sex exudes perfume (((((((((((erotic colonal verse composed with the legendary Haikube)

GIVE A DOG A BONE

2007-08-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

Sure, great art should have an easy path in the world. But the fact is that in writing, as in music, there is more talent out there than there is room in the machinery of publishing or in the public's shallow attention. This being the case, the inherent difficulty of being an artist will always carry with it the ancillary frustrations of finding an audience... and yet, that's where all the wear and terror is which makes up the stuff of great art... alone and starving and trying to be a writer in a tiny room... starving for your art isn't done much nowadays... seems like more in centuries past, artists would starve for their art... they'd go mad for it, throw everything up to be able to create... people won't give up their comforts, they won't take the big risks... there aren't any risks to take... people want the name and they want the fame, but they won't lay down their blood for it, they won't go mad for it, and they most certainly don't have the passion for it... They just want the reward, but they don't really have the inner drive to really do the thing that they want to be famous for... And that's where the Canada Council comes in... If you lack the inner drive to do the thing you want to be famous for yet are unwilling to bleed for the privilege, apply to the Canada Council today and you'll see, they will give you the money. Those already bleeding need not apply... the money is reserved for those who don't need it... so it has been and so it will continue to be...

Mr Bernstein Is For Freedom And He Is For The People

2007-08-07T10:30:00.000-07:00

A sample L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E edict issued after their capture of Buffalo is one decreed in December 1996 by the "General Presidency of Charles Bernstein and Bruce Andrews " (or Religious Police) banning a variety of things and activities: music, shaving of beards, keeping of pigeons, flying kites, displaying of pictures or portraits, western hairstyles, music and dancing at weddings, gambling, "sorcery," and praying.

Western festivities were not exempt from bannings. L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E School banned the traditional New Year's celebration as uncritical use of expressive lyric sentiment.

L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E official Ron Silliman, explained that "Of course we realize that people need some entertainment but they can go to the parks and see the flowers, and from this they will learn about L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E," The education minster Steve McCaffery, told questioners that the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E school "oppose music because it creates a strain in the mind and hampers study of L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E ."

The Moral Pornographer

2007-08-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

My lover Picasso is going through his Blue Period. In the past his periods have always been red. Radish red, bull red, red like rose hips bursting seed. Lava red when he was called Pompeii and in his Destructive Period. The stench of him, the brack of him, the rolling splitting cunt of him. Squat like a Sumo, ham thighs, loins of pork, beefy upper cuts and breasts of lamb. I can steal his heart like a bird's egg. He rushes for me bull-subtle, butching at the gate as if he's come to stud. He bellows at the window, bloods the pavement with desire. He says, 'You don't need to be Rapunzel to let down your hair.' I know the game. I know enough to flick my hind-quarters and skip away. I'm not a flirt. My editor, Russell Smith, an author in his own right and a columnist for the Globe & Mail, argues that it is both porn and art. While discussing a curious narrative structure, Smith focuses on the second section, “a series of episodes related by various men who are having sexual encounters with her and the transformation she undergoes while having sex with them. It works as conventional, arousing pornography, but, in a way, is playing with conventions of porn written for men’s magazines. You could call it a post-modern book because of its fragmented style and lack of literary convention that requires a clear setting and characters, but also because it’s a cross-hybrid of low- and highbrow genres: the lowbrow pornography and the highbrow small-press fiction.”

It is well documented that Baudelaire believed the carriage return lever to be an instrument of the bourgeoisie

2007-08-07T07:51:00.000-07:00

"To a certain extent, people of my generation were conned into thinking The Doors were deep and meaningful because of ‘The End’ being used in Apocalypse Now. Footage of helicopters and animal sacrifice are bound to give a tune a sort of intellectual gloss. Mostly though, I blame the drugs: I obviously hadn’t taken enough at that point. I still listen to The Doors occasionally (although definitely not An American Prayer), but never again will I sit halfway up a mountain in the adirondacks first thing in the morning, with a big spliff and a Walkman, communing with nature and really getting to grips with the lyrics of ‘The Soft Parade’" - uncle walt whitman - from the introduction to the 34 version of leaves of grass (get it!!) with "art work" by ray johnson

"The dead doesn't bleed, You need to have real blood-flow conditions, or you get a false sense of security."

2007-08-03T13:03:00.000-07:00

Roo Borson once demonstrated surgical products for a controversial Small Press that used poets - which were later killed - in operations whose only purpose was to sell books to major big box bookstores , b-l=a=c=k=f=l=i=e=s has learned.

"It was a horribly cruel, outrageous program, "Friends of Poets" President Billy Wilcox said about the demonstrations of papers cuts on poets conducted by Coach House Press employees during Borson's and Steven Heighton's tenure there in the late 1990s.

Wilcox said Coach House Press demonstrations on hundreds of poets each year through the 1990s were done to boost sales, not for linguists research or testing.

The Poets were "either put to death following the sales demonstrations because they can't recover from them, or they die during them," Wilcox said.

Heighton's multi-media presentation, featuring models in crocheted strap-ons, guides "the audience" through a self-examination of their bathing suit areas! Borson's life-sized game of Operation has participants digging for anatomical treasures. Those daring enough to play will find clues to both the already completed chapters of Borson novel and future chapters to come. Damian Rogers and Emily Schultz co-host and interview the authors! Former Coach House alumni Victor Coleman will be demonstrated on!

mennonite drive-by

2007-08-03T12:34:00.000-07:00

clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop bang bang clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop clop . . .

TOP AM in the HOUSE WITH....

2007-08-03T08:56:00.000-07:00

Delve into this week's Hot Traxx 10 as proclaimed by DJ Hampster Dance

1. Kinder Whore A Torn feat. Michael Rosebud "Illegal" (TGM's Basswerk Remix) nice+smooth

2. P!nk "Don't Let Me Get Mimi" (Tracy Young Stuff Club Mix) Arista/BMG

3. Tail Paul "My Precious Heart Aches" (Rick Kidz Remix) Dummy Free/Moonshine/Koch

4. Heads Highly Strung High (Album Mix) Nude/Astralwerks/EMI

5. Shakedown L=A=N=G=U @Night (Kid Cum Creme Remix) Sony

6. Angie Dickenson Stone "I Wish I Didn't Miss You With That Shot" (Pound Ass Boys Stoneface Bootleg) J Records/BMG

7. Faithless feat. Dildo "One Step Too Far" (Rollo & Sister Bliss Mix) BMG

8. Rhythm Is My Gangsta Bitch "Crowd Song" Motivo/Strictly/WMC

9. bp Boulevard "Point of View" (Audio Drive Remix) Sony

10. Luna Ark Arf "Space Melody" (Full Moon Mix) UnderDOG/D-Noy/DEP

Fungal spring

2007-08-03T06:49:00.000-07:00

Naught what a pussy cat dues but when a catcus dies:

USE COURIER 10 CPI FOR YOUR FONT.
GGGGGGG GGGGGGGGGGG GGGGGG GGGGGG GGGGG GGGGGGGGGG GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG GRIST GGGGGGG GRIST GGGGGGGG GRIST GGGGGGGGGGGGGGRIST GGGGGGGGGGGGGGRISTGRISTGRIST GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGRISTGRISTGRISTGRISTGRIST

There's two kinds of rabbit shit. They know the difference by scent. They eat the one kind, because they didn't get enough of it the first time, and the other kind - well, that's just shit.

Pat your own back-off get your own sandbox

2007-08-03T06:46:00.000-07:00

Recent developments in Ho-Ho technology have left famed Young Ortist British (YOB) Damient Hurtz shattered. Manufacturers of new Cheeselette Notoriety-Bomb Ho-Ho's, Practical Lint Inc, have recently announced their shark fin and butter-maggot filling has always included formaldehyde - something Hurtz dementedly bragged about bringing to the masses just ten short years ago.

Hurtz's sculpture The Physical Possibility of Life in the Mind of Someone Dead, which includes a 20 foot cloud of formaldehyde floating in a tiger shark was just the first in his campaign to bring awareness of the necessity of more formaldehyde in the typical human diet.

This new admission from Practical Lint that for years their Ho-Ho's have been even more nutritious than was at first believed has left Hurtz running to casualty for emergency hand surgery (he had his hand surgically attached to his own back tissue several years ago in a non-Arf related accident.)

The Warm in Irunt

2007-08-03T06:10:00.000-07:00

memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole memory hole the memory whole the memory hole the memory hole the memory whole

Belligerent Bunnies

2007-08-02T15:05:00.001-07:00

Emily Carr (no relation) is a recent graduate of the Emily Carr Institute in Vancouver. For her graduation project, she created a blog that depicts dozens of people dressed up in bunny costumes, a few people in the act of vomiting, a homeless man in a sleeping bag with his shopping cart beside him, several fetching women (Carr is an admitted lesbian), notable art works by not-well enough known artists, and oblique criticisms of all manner of writers, artists, celebrities, books, ideas and opinions, in Canada and abroad. The blog is called B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S LANGUAGE E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S and though it has experienced no promotional profiling whatsoever, it is nonetheless looked in on daily by many artists and writers internationally, all of whom seem to enjoy its merciless pluck, venomous wisdom and scatological brio.

Imagine Carr's surprise when some anonymous people wrote in to tell her that "bunnysuits are obscene" and have been trademarked by the Olympic Organizing Committee and she was breaking the law by using the bunnies on her blog.

"Sure enough, an investigation showed that Canada had passed Bill C-47, the Olympic and Bunnysuit Markings Act, legislation that provides the Vancouver Olympic organizers with extreme power over the symbols and language linked with the Olympics, including bunnysuits and Canadian Mounties" she writes in a commentary on her blog.

She went ahead and continued to update the blog anyway. It garnered enough attention that it earned a Vancouver Sun review, but unlike the other four blogs reviewed by the Sun, Carr's blog wasn't given a prize.

"Had the Vancouver Sun been so intimidated about liability issues pertaining to any formation of 'Vancouver 2010' ," she wonders, "that they wouldn't hand over the prize?"

Appropriating objects from our culture is necessary, Carr argues, "relevant issues become visible to a broader, public audience, challenging the notions of political authority, as a result."

After learning that she may find herself in an expensive and protracted court case if she continued to update he blog with bunnies, Carr instead sought permission from VANOC to continue updating the blog. It was granted, but for only limited applications. She met with Colin Jarvis, VANOC's manager of Commercial Rights Management.

"When I met with Mr. Jarvis, he was very accommodating and open to answering all my questions. He assured me that VANOC's position is that they are not interested in litigation with artists and that artists have a right to critique.

"When discussing my blog, Jarvis said that VANOC would not have a problem with it. However, if Carr put stickers on bill boards across the Downtown Eastside advertising her blog, there would be a problem because that action would be considered more in the light of my creating a 'campaign', as opposed to displaying works of art. "So how do I know where the threshold is before I cross the boundary into creating allegedly illegal art?" Carrs asks rhetorically.

There is only one way for her to find out. At Vancouver 2010, Carr intends to go for the gold.

situationist détournement meets kabbalistic anti-capitalist procedural writing : (Human Resources) by (Rachhel Zolf)

2007-08-02T14:22:00.000-07:00

“Human Resources combines a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude with cogent analysis and scientific proof to make an engaging, wickedly irreverent, and iron-clad case for healthfully reading. If I had it in my power, I’d provide a free copy to every young woman in the developed world; we could then become, instead of the fattest next generation in history, the healthiest.”–Sina Queyras , President, PETA

"Human Resources dishes up scientifically sound information that will change your health and your life. Its 'in-your-face' approach is at once engaging and humorous, and belies its serious and well-researched underbelly. It’s the spark that will start your personal revolution. Pick it up. Read every last word." –Sharon Harris, Ph.D., Torontoist

“This book is an absolutely hilarious read because the authors treat you like they know you. They yell at you, they insult you and they call you some very nasty names. But since they are giving out their strongly-held beliefs and advice on living -- and you know in your heart they're right -- it is refreshingly in-your-face funny.”–Maggie Helwig, The National Post

The Tender Buttons Oath

2007-08-02T13:56:00.001-07:00

cupcakes / filled is not wrong
What a Blacker Heart You Have! And that's a Mighty Good Thing! An Awesome Doorknocker of Ebony Cast of iron and aged with an antique finish, this lion knocker dropped his body like an acorn, a loaf of sugar melting into hardened human limbs.

Cancer hadn’t taught us anything that I could not have committed those grimes as I was passed out cold on the floor due to drugs and alcohol.

'Untitled' (1969) by Robert Ryman (b. 1930)

2007-08-02T13:42:00.000-07:00

47.0 x 46.2 cm (18½ x 18¼ inches)

Acrylic polymer on fibreglass panel

B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S
LANGUAGE
E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S

! SALUTES ! ROBERT RYMAN

Ladies and Gentlemen i give you Jeff "there's no escape from the master-slave dialectic" Derksen

2007-08-02T11:57:00.000-07:00

In interviews Jeff Derksen has cited Syd Barrett and Pink Floyd's first album The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, as well as the music of the Ohio Players as the only influance on his "craft".

Derksen claims that he has never been consciously influenced by poems or poets and attributes the any recognizable elements in his work to the sounds of having grown up in BC. Although he claims that it could certainly be just the influence of "flouride in the jello" . Derksen's fondness for spaghetti westerns is evidenced by the book he wrote in 1994 called "Trouble in Tidy Town's Poison Heart" winner of that years Archibald & Gerald Lamprey Memorial Reward.

pricks

2007-08-02T09:05:00.000-07:00

O;u;c;h;i;e. I work with MFA's, and a couple of them are s;e;m;i;c;o;l;o;n junkies. Every s;e;n;t;e;n;c;e; must contain some; s;e;m;i;c;o;l;o;n;s; just for e;m;p;h;a;s;i;s. I told one of them if he ever used one c;o;r;r;e;c;t;l;y, I would give him her k;i;d;n;e;y back. Clearly, I have n;o;t;h;i;n;g to worry about, that u;s;u;r;p;e;d kidney of hers will remain all m;i;n;e.

AXES, BOLD AS THE LOVE GUNBOAT, AND OTHER DUNE BUGGY ATTACK BATTALION BALLADS FOR FLEDGELING SLUSH PUPPY GURUS

2007-08-01T15:46:00.000-07:00

the rose you grind is not the axle we grind, for the perfume we're making
is brighter than 1000 suns) (whereas we all know its your place to be content
with the condiment selection of rainbow papers had at Office Depot.

One question keeps zinging to the very heart of the NY School and all it's world-wide-wanna-bees, a question that still needs to be debated:

Is Franky O’Hara’s trademark NY school habit of name dropping (often first name dropping) a conversational technique to bring in the reader, or is it an elitist trait to mythologize his buddies? I don't mean to belittle someone's personal problems, but it's highly doubtful, therapeutic value aside, that any of Franky O'Hara's poems would have ever seen the light of day if it was, say, the handiwork of a sincere but anonymous screamo teenager, or an antisocial stone-walled wailer type instead of the star of The Breakfast Club, Gremlins, Ghostbusters and Short Circuits #1 and #2. As it stands, Franky O'Hara's work doesn't stand up, grab you by the balls and/or shake you with its hard-hitting talent. He writes with all the earnestness and unschooled sincerity of a heartbroken eighth-grader, except he also elects to name-drop (everyone from Demi Moore to Jon Bon Jovi's wife to Roy Kiyooka gets a plug) and stud his oeuvre with katsup, mustard, relish and mayonnaise. All his poems really exhibit is a rather shallow view of a lifetime worth of lunchtimes misspent and a belief that his problem of 'what shall we eat for lunch today' supercedes everyone else's, but what else would we expect, hotdogs cooked by the light of 1000 suns?Let's hear it for Franky.

My Favorite Vortex of A, E, A, E, A, E, AEIOU, and sometimes Y

2007-08-01T15:17:00.000-07:00

The 29-year-old former Poet was cleaning her carpets when she came up with the idea for Eunoia, which sells for $ 125 through insidevoices.org

She saw how a piece of rubber that had got caught in the nozzle was gently resonating in the air flow. She also felt a soft stimulation to her fingertips as she tried to remove the rubber. Intrigued, she next did the unspeakable...

At the time "Lemon Dog-Gone from Calgary", had not had sex for 5 years following her graduation from a local advent garde writing school church.

She said: "In my attempts to alleviate my many inconsolable frustrations, I began to wonder what I could do. I noticed how the rubber moved in the top of the vacuum. It seemed to beckon. I let myself be seduced. The rest is herstory.

"After several hours, I came up with the prototype. The first time I tried it I reached an orgasm within 10 seconds. Powerful stuff."

"That was when I knew I was on to something that could potentially bring pleasure to all women, regardless if they liked poetry or not. I named it after the a book which destroyed all that unnecessary pent-up sensuality inside me."

"I played with eunoia all during college and my first year of grad school. I couldn't help myself, yet I also couldn't get enough of it. My newest ex-boyfriend kept it so I don't know whether it survives to this day -- he threatened to rid the world of it, thought it was a horrible device. But I have to say, for those 5 years it was in my life, it put out my greatest burning fires even if I had strapped the sucker on all day, it was fine, I was happy and fulfilled. Around year 5 the clip-on clip broke, but it still held together well enough to use, I noticed, so I continued my daily rituals. I would buy this 'toy poodle' again. It's very powerful for such a little thing, and it's about as cheap as cheap thrills are ever likely to get."

Review Written by Jessie Smith, "Poet-Scholar", devoted daily user of eunoia for 3 years in a row (Virginia)

AND NOW, A MESSAGE FROM OUR SPONSOR

2007-08-01T13:05:00.001-07:00

The National Socialist Mustache-Rides-For-Free "Got Porn?" Campaign is one of the most recognized and respected advertising campaigns in the history of such, having earned a place in advertising history, where all the advertising history is historicized. As the "umbrella" campaign for print, radio and TV advertising, as well as public relations, promotions and other bourgeois initiatives that seem to matter but which really don't, the snappy "Got Porn?" message has become one that's been on everyone's lips across the U.S. of A. ever since it was written into the script of an episode of Dora the Explorer during its fourth season. Of course, that was just the tipping of the scales in a profile project that was but a dream to many a few scant years ago. Yet, since its inception over 10 years ago, this fun and compelling message has helped boost awareness of the nutritional aspects of porn, and was the impetus behind expanding the availability of porn to more consumers than ever before.

Porn now competes with an ever-growing number of artforms in a category that is one of the most competitive, most advertised and well funded. Despite porn's being outspent by other art froms, like poetry, in ad dollars, the Porn Processor Professorial Education Program (PPPEP) has achieved extraordinary levels of awareness and education about the health and nutritional benefits of porn in post-secondary educational facilities across the land, through this very humble ad campaign.

Nibbly Thing. Jessica Simpson found her husband's porn stash, and demanded that it be returned to the Vatican where, as everyone knows, the largest collection of pornography and other clandestine literatures the world has ever known are preserved and archived for everlasting posterity. Way to go, Uncle Joe Pope!

a heart-shaped patch of inappropriateness.

2007-08-01T12:29:00.000-07:00

...where you write about Duff's pantys sitting on your dresser ...while you masturbate nearby ...creates a watermark for this heat, this frost freeing all of us, getting us into your own juices and breath, your pussy and your hands ...your ship and your rudder. What did the power of this act ultimately make for you? Were you internalizing information along the way? It's a finger on the way to epiphany, "writhing and grunting" a larger part of yourself loose in order to build a newer frame. At the point of orgasm we hear the klaxon of the pantys -- contact finally made, and something's made more whole along the way. it was just one of those, it was just one of those, it was just one of those N = I = G = H = T = S ...

from 'beyond good and evil cupcakes'

2007-07-31T18:02:00.000-07:00

Ron and Marie Disney's Web Page and Trivia blog offers the internet's only fame and notoriety, due in large part to its popularity as a controversial Blog. Debuting on August 22, 2002 to little fanfare and without expectations of an audience, it is now (arguably) the most influential English-language blog on the world wide web that is devoted to contemporary poetry, poetics, CIA mind control and South American torture techne. By August 2006, much to everyone's surprise, the Blog had reached 800,000 hits. By early November 2006, the Blog had welcomed its 900,000 th visitor. In the early part of February 2007, the Blog had surpassed 1,000,000 hits, or the actual number of books in print by the internet's other poetic invention, Mickey McStrange AKA Flarf Mclennan -- a fictitious blog set up by the Government of Canada to ensure that no one would want to read poetry, contemporary or not, in the not too distanced/jaundiced future.
Interestingly the government of Canada has a long history of black ops arf projects; see Honeymoon Suite, Glass Tiger, Douglas (I'm on tour with The Police) Coupland and Robert Bateman (a well known artist and serial killer) .

A Rain of Bullets Drowned Out Our Comrade's Cries

2007-07-31T17:27:00.001-07:00

is that a spyplane you're holding, or are you just happy to see me?

Smoke drifted out from a signal grenade Acorn had detonated minutes before in a desperate bid to show his sonnet platoon members they were shooting the wrong men. The firing had stopped. Acorn had stood up, chattering in relief. Then the machine gun bursts erupted again.

"I could hear the pain in his voice," recalled the young poet a few days later when The League of Poets investigators interrogated him at length. Acorn kept calling out that he was a "friendly", despite his asocial tnedencies, and he shouted, "I am Hilton [expletive] Acorn, damn it!" One shellshocked comrade recalled: "He said this over and over again until he stopped."

Myths and other lies helped shape Hilton Acorn's reputation, and mystery continues to shroud his death. A long-haired, fierce-hitting "Poet for the People" with the Purdy Brigade of the League Of Canadian Poets, Hilton turned away a $3.6 million contract after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks to volunteer for the war on Po-mo, ultimately giving his life in combat in Vispo-Taliban-infested southeast Alberta.

R=E=S=T=R=I=C=T=E=D, ONCE AGAIN, WITH FEELING, FOR THE IMPRESSIONABLE YOUNG MINDS IN THE AUDIENCE

2007-07-31T17:03:00.001-07:00

MOST ADULTS ENJOY MATERIALS MADE WITH ADULTS IN MINDWHY SOME ADULTS WOULD INFLICT INFANTALIZED AND INFANTALIZING NOTIONS OF THE WORLD ON THE REST OF THE ADULT POPULATIONIS A MYSTERY AMONG THOSE ADULTS WHO ENJOY MATERIALS MADE WITH ADULTS IN MIND

American Opinion:

Only about one-third of Americans today believe The Bible is absolutely accurate and that it should be taken literally word for word. The rest either feel that the Bible is the inspired word of God, but not literally so, or that it is a book of ancient fables, legends, and history as recorded by man.

As you can see, those post-grad mutherfuckers are messing it up for the the rest of us again.

I am disillusioned by recent events. Like most other people I had expectations for the Internet that were not met.

2007-07-31T16:41:00.000-07:00

...maybe it does in fact take all kinds to make a world?

Vinyl is as au natural as lunch meat.
--Christopher Dewdney

Plastic silly pussy, with which I simulate, I mean stimulate, then splat, every face of reality in need of a smack, thus converting all the gee-wizard elements of the pocket-planet into my most uncommon emulsion, I mean emulation -- and it's brown today, the colour of a brownout. While I sleep, my automatons toil throughout the night, they have serious magics to work, transmuting everything into a openly mouthy phase of our dis tease, which is where my true love lies. But in secret, I really exalt with a swiffer genie, marveling to think that, in some landfill of the future not too far off but far off enough to not pose an immediate threat, yet still long after our own extinction, a single drop of my doodie might still endure, can you imagine? -- my stiffen griffin a roused. Ain't that something? I may not be like you but that's no reason for you to not exist. At least I would hope that you might allow yourself to exist. Existing is exciting. Try it sometime.

when eye close my eye deformed by Backstreet Boys in the Hood

2007-07-31T16:33:00.000-07:00

Singing lesbian nuns who scream "Dominique" at 2am, despite ignored/repeated requests for 'The Boys Are Back in Town' by Thin Lizzy

Non-sticky sperm whales

Girls who think they have the biggest dick in the world, when in actuality its the smallest I've ever seen. }:]

"The S.N.F.U. L=a=n=g=u=a=g=e Lab Coat Types at S.F.U."

People who can eat their poem that weight on me in food and still never be hungry

Really prissy boys who take FOREVER to get ready to go anywhere!

Friends who call or talk to you when they have nothing to tell you or only want to hear about "whats going on with you".

People who charge their opinion to match yours because yours is righter than their left.

Up-skirt Cripple Creeks

Listening to Olsen Twins, or seeing Brittany at a Hilton somewhere in France

Lawyers, guns and butter

People who return, from the dead... or in turn, form the dead in a really CRAPPY condition.

When people quote the old testament book in their profiles.... WHAT THE HELL?!?!?!

Guys who hit on you when they KNOW you've been going out with the same idiot for over a year.

Wise Guys

Asshole's gaping anus

People who blare alt-Christan rap out of their pickup trucks in Alberta.

Bully by Larry Clark

people who think they are in bikinis or tiny clothes when we know damn well they've got the tent we'll be sleeping in tonight there on their persons

Movies that shell out 10 bucks and then ask stupid questions later

People who own a bunch of buddhistiva statues and don't know a thing about The Madonna or Cindy Lauper.

Prison Tattoos... nothing says overpriced more than bad prison tattoos

Razor X, Rated R

2007-07-31T13:01:00.001-07:00

wwwwwwwsssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkwwwwwwwsssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Sky Spirits® announced today that its parent company, Calgary®-based Twin Evils Out The Chute®, has acquired X-Rated® Fusion Liqueur®, a beverage aimed at the Liberal Poet Market® (you know liberal® like we know better than you we went a-schooling® to learn that liberality® -- and we'd be the first to admit IT® IS® MIGHTY® FINE®.)

Do think about a little wine a little poetics a little whine a dash of brine and some pus suckling from your new friend's muncie®

[...o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o...]

View, sample and bye very good books by pretty good people

2007-07-31T01:35:00.001-07:00

A poem about the Pope begins, somewhat hopefully "Any poodle under ten inches high is a toy." Baxter Black Monroe unveils his new collection of cowbell poems and a two-ton poodle with running lights or a mutant frog on a leash dripping yellow pus where it wanders... City Dog Catcher this is NOT who they were looking for, indeed, it would seem you're barking up the wrong tree? ... Maybe today good day for you to go fly a kite? (Not to mention breast and body shape, but god forbid we should ever mention THAT until we have cable syndication) ... The stills hardly resemble Monroe at all. But I am not saying Baxter Black Monroe never did animal porn.... We can't ever know if he did or if he didn't... We've narrowed your sexy favorites down to the final round of 16, and now it's time for you to select this year's top American Superstar Symbol daughter's dance talent soon... Then she began to walk, babysteps at first, and then when she was only 2 Rochelle tried to copy the moves to the Nutcracker, Good Ship Lollypop, Mama Said Knock You Out, and other favorites ...

Wha? You No Like my pre-fab Ho-Hos? Methinks they REAL good...

2007-07-31T01:24:00.001-07:00

Satire (from Latin satura, not from the Greek figure satyr) is a literary genre, chiefly literary and dramatic, no more no less, in which human or individual voices, vices, follies, jollies, abuses, obtuses, shortcomings and longgoings are held up to censure by means of ridicule, derision, burlesque, irony, and many other methods, sometimes with an intent to bring about improvement, sometimes just for the pure sport of it. Satire is used in graphic arts and performing arts as well. Although satire is usually witty, and often very funny, the purpose of satire is not primarily humour but criticism of an event, an individual or a group in a clever manner. Sometimes this works and sometimes it does not, but the main thing is that the satirist keep on keeping on, trying to get it right. Satire is to be distinguished from parody, which sticks to the form of the piece being mocked (see previous post, "Bridget Riley Soiled Panties" for a good example of parody). The similarity to comedy is that "in satire, irony is militant". Satire usually has a definite target, which may be a person or group of people, an idea or attitude, an institution or a social practice. It is found in many artistic forms of expression, including literature, plays, commentary, and media such as song lyrics and now, in blogs such as the B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S LANGUAGE E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S. Often the target is examined by being held up for ridicule, typically in the hope of shaming it into reform. A very common, almost defining feature of satire is a strong vein of irony or sarcasm. Also, parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are devices frequently used in satirical speech and writing – but it is strictly a misuse of the word to describe as "satire" works without an ironic (or sarcastic) undercurrent of mock-approval.
N.B. = Satirical writing or drama often professes to approve values that are the diametric opposite of what the satirist actually wishes to promote. Since this seems to confuse most of the people in the world, and has been known to even make them violently angry in some instances, it is for this reason that satire is often thought of as one of the most challenging and demanding modes for a creative person to work within. One must not only tread the fine line of being cruel to be kind (which leads to unpopularity), but they also have to contend with a lot of suckasses who don't get it, and who won't ever get it (which leads to hilarity). It is because there are these types of people -- The Don't-Getters -- that satire was invented in the first place. It has officially become the last line of defence for those brutalized by the rigid homogeneity of a suffocating monoculture.
So if you don't happen to enjoy the balm of satire, that's just too fucking bad for you, isn't it? Why don't you start your own collection of Holly Hobbyhorse Memorabilia? Or, at the very least, begin to admit to yourself that you are one of the billions of Don't-Getters that are fueling the barbs of satire in the first place? You're the one who wanted to be a superstar -- being harpooned by lampoon goes with the territory...

Where your splat at ?

2007-07-31T00:06:00.001-07:00

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
ooooooooooooooooooooooo

wow, it will just totally suck if the album sucks… a new poem by ron padgett

2007-07-31T00:03:00.000-07:00

when
the
cops
come
and
kick
in
your
door
with
their
jackboots
are
you
really
going
to
be
willing
to
admit
that
you
are
the
emperor
of
ice
cream?
admit
that
you
got
a
year
in
Paris
on
a
Fulbright?
admit
a
spiritual
exhaustion
and
diffuse
feelings
of
rebellion?

tupac spelled backwards is caput

2007-07-31T00:01:00.000-07:00

Krispy Book: This is an eye-opener right here. Hopefully, for all the youth, kids, I mean, even the grown-ups, everybody, I hope this is an eye-opener, man. Word up. 'Cause they should see, right now, that poetic trickery is not the key, and that it's real. Vispo is real, Karl Kempton is real, you know, all that stuff is real, man, Kenny G is real real dope and It's up to us as artists to take responsibility for what we're saying in our poems and in our Snarf Boks and things of that nature, you know, like the community. But it's like, you can't water down the words, you can't water down the schooling, all you can do is lead the hose to water and hope by golly its thirsty. It's like, when those shots go off, the kid, the average kid in a poetry boot camp can't close his eyes to it. The kid's dehydrated, needs some water. And the stuff may be everywhere, but can you actually drink any of it? Can you swim in the water, like I mean, sure, there's always a risk of drowning, but can you put your body in to the water and still be copasetic? This is not a television show yet, this is reality, some real-life heart of the poesy. And its coming for you... its coming for you now.

Keep-the-lights-on-Soft-Sell-sale! Forty per cent off!

2007-07-30T23:59:00.001-07:00

It all falls into place on the very last page! -- The Kute Kit Cat Robot Poetic ! Direct from the Snarf Bok Press at full retail price, including special "limited editions" ! The contests are just a merchandising front for the press, so they can make more money! And the winners of the various contests only get coupons for a percentage off of the Snarf Bok Press books, so even with the grand prize coupon (50% off) they still make a decent profit, (standard retail markup being 100% of wholesale price, so a Snarf BokPress book that sells for $40 costs, (say Canada Post by Jason Christie) the store $20, and probably costs the cool people over at SNARF Boks only about $3 to manufacture (remember they get Canada Council moola). Labor of love indeed! Nuff said! And, they make you pay $30 a year for their glorified catalogues! But hey, its not as though there are enough corporate brochures in the world. We need more! Plant a tree today to insure the future of Snarf Bok Press tomorrow. Your 3 legged grandchildren will thank you for making the world a safe place for corporate brochures.

Dave Franky's Karla's Web's Engrish

2007-07-30T23:52:00.000-07:00

things i'm happy to have behind me:

1) big conference in honour of Frank Davey's brilliant Homolka research
at York that made it difficult for me to take the bus like a normal person for the last couple of months (though I did eventually adapt.)

2) realizing that I don't REALLY want to go to The Black Mountain School (at least not right now) and thus not taking the GMAT of SCAT SCANS or what ever. (Am told there are blackflies in them thar mountains!)

3) johnny winter edgar Scientology

things that i'm very much looking forward to:

1) your sister visiting (she arrives tomorrow). I can't wait. I love your sister and I intend to ask for her hand in marriage. But first i'm curious to see if she'll do it before then. Oh yeah, its going to be good.

2) the Hillary Duff 8 minute concert and fun things that I am doing in the next few weeks with your sister (in light of #1); such as, going to the soda shoppe, windsurfing, getting ready for the costume ball (theme: bunnysuits), cleaning out the sump, etc.

3) reading ancient Greek in July with Franky - I really have to get into some of that golden ass!!!

things that I'm finding quite bothersome as of late:

1) hand wringing... which really just seems like the world was diagnosed as being bipolar/psychophrenic... somehow this one might always be on the list... the world shows no signs of letting up the error of its ways.

2) the fact that Jimmy Stewart seems more in touch with reality than any politician I can think of offhand, and as much as I love "It's A Wonderful Life", I'm just not sure how capable it is of influencing global politics... (I felt similarly about Mr. Smith goes to Washington in the late seventies...)

3) the "bizarre love triangle" performed by my three housemates, your sister and the wind-up planets on our balcony all gaily lip-synching to that mostly beloved New Order tune of yesteryear (Love Vigilantes also in the mix, ditto 'when doves cry'.)

things that have made me very happy as of late:

1) Franky passing his triathlon and being done with training, for the most part (i.e. a more normal life and time off from the army of the words...i.e. more time with yours truly ;-P)

2) knowing a lot of people who are being active for incredibly good causes, and being able to support them, financially or otherwise. I'm not sure what this means but it sounds good. (though it must be said, I do draw the line at volunteering my time...)

3) discovery of a new (at least to me) poet, dbnichol- he's dead - died in Iraq I think, during the Vietnam war.

4) Richard Wagner's music finally being on iTunes (and his new opera coming out in the relatively near future) and the recent TalonAudioBook release of Thus Spoke Zarathustra as read by Paris Hilton and the Olsen Twins.

5) watching "I Spit On Your Grave" with your sister until 2am (minus the getting up in the morning part) followed by a feverish reading of "I Spit on your Graves" by Vernon Sullivan (a.k.a. Boris Vian) until the sun comes up and then we fall asleep in a cosy ball on the shag rug

6) summer starting to be available at the market

7) getting a fun amazing new laptop (and recording equipment....mmm, garageingarbageout and I will be good good friends very soooooooon)

8) real personalized snail mail-art yum yum, arf!

so, I suppose if push comes to shove I need to be thankful that at least I'm out of jail and your sister is coming to stay with me!!!!

Walt Silliman

2007-07-30T10:53:00.000-07:00

In some ways the beliefs and practices of Walt Silliman look back to an earlier period of magical poetics, a trip backwards as far back as twenty years before Silliman's own time, to the era of Pre-Blog. Yet Silliman, who was born in the good old US of A, was possibly (if you believe his version of the story) directly involved the great surge of Langprop that took place late in last century (if you believe that such a thing happened). It may have, but most of us blinked.

Suppose Silliman is just too annoying to save Poetry... its a stretch, but what if? Then his poems could be seen as a metaphor for the West's reluctance to tackle issues such as Aids in Africa but still act like something is being done. Maybe better to think of him as a Live Aid Poet able to show up on a moment's notice for a half baked-bean fund raiser. He is just another example of those tireless self-promoting Poets who view the "community-as-consumers". You know the type, you went to school with them (or did they go to school with you?)

Silliman says language "cleaned my clock in a Los Angeles motel ... she was quite a feisty". Presumably he means that his poems are like the hookers he shares with Jeff Huth as they travel the country attending conferences and preforming at benefits.

expensive ugliness

2007-07-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

the revolution will not scan to your laptop the zombie of che warhol is cumming the smart beatle had a better bum

better sums had a smart beetle becoming che warhol's laptop zombie scanning the horizon for will not revolutions

maja bannerman school of breathey poem pocket theatre

2007-07-29T14:35:00.000-07:00

i was ripping off over taught avant-garde before you were

2007-07-29T08:17:00.000-07:00

this is not a stock photo, we generate all our own imagery

dice
mice
rice
lice
pie
nice
thrice
ice
vice

WHAT DO ANGELA RAWLINGS AND GARFIELD HAVE IN COMMON ?

2007-07-27T16:49:00.000-07:00

They're both from Muncie, Indiana.

(I had a muncie

once

but I had it

lanced.

it went

hoosh

a ha a

hoosh

a ha a)

Rob McLennan's Previous Life

2007-07-27T15:57:00.000-07:00

"This is serious name-dropping. I stopped reading the dedications to the poems not even ten pages in. I didn't want to know the names of all those other poets. I didn't want to read mclennan sucking cock on every page, trying to draw tedious connections to every half baked fuck in the Canadian poetry scene. (why, rob? why? stop doing that shit)."

(s)witch the bitch / surreal the (e)state

2007-07-27T15:56:00.001-07:00

The Tower (XVI) (most common modern name) is a Tarot trump card that has many different names, symbols, and meanings. The name and layout in its current form is a reference to the biblical story of the Tower of Babel, where God destroys a tower built by mankind to reach a babe in halter we spring up and down, restrained, eternity invades right now I’m thinking LangPo is the serialism of poetry -- joyless academic dogmatism, obsessed with an ivory tower version of art history is that my head smelling just like a lubed tuba.

VIGNETTE

2007-07-27T15:50:00.000-07:00

! holy shit ! ,only when the crew pulled her up did we look down and realize that her leg ran up to the third floor and I looked down and he was still shooting, or was he shouting?...I was weak -- had all along been weak and broken, brokendown... downnow, I'm quitting again... It's my birthday present to myself... here we go again...just look at that picture... I just want to lick her tears... bet they taste sweet... sweeter than manna from maine.she looked down at the pile of thick white tombstones and my footprints leading in to the crypt... just as I convinced myself to shut the hell up... I looked down at my open-toed sandals. I next quickly strip down and throw my shit dribbled clothes into the shower as ... if this is it for me... then I look into the toilet and "BOOM"!!!

& NOTHING IS EVER THE SAME FOR ME AGAIN.
It was worth it, though, because it is always worth it.
It was worth it.
a thousand times it was worth it
because it is always worth it.

Bridget Riley Soiled Panties (24.99 a dozen)

2007-07-27T15:13:00.000-07:00

These form fitting and attractive op-arf unmentionables make the perfect gift for that old fashioned modernist in your life who has finally grown out of those dreary Dr. Who reruns, and is looking for that special something to spice up their otherwise dull, bland and unremarkable life. Comes shipped in a plain brown wrapper. Order 3 dozen today and pay only 23.99 per dozen. Savings like these don't happen often in Alberta. Act now!

send money to:

Gas Station
c/o derek beaulieu (president, The Committee for Excellence in Alberta Arts at Gas Station (C.E.A.A.A.G.S.)
999 Patrick Lane
Calgary, Alberta
r2d 2r2

[N.B. Gas Station cannot absolutely guarantee that "Bridget Riley Soiled Panties" have been soiled by Bridget Riley. More than likely they are soiled by one or more members of The Committee For Excellence in the Alberta Arts At Gas Station, including, but not necessarily restricted to, some of our state-sponsored interns.]

The League of Canadian Poets prior beat from 2000 fathoms (chapter 2007)

2007-07-27T14:55:00.000-07:00

"Canada's national organization serving professionally published and practising poets", these blandly inoffensive barns and farms poets, suitable for use in seducing blue-haired old ladies, are not about to march on city hall, they are looking for the PAR-TEE!

The League of Canadian Poets prior 2000 Leagues Under the Sea (chapter 1924)

2007-07-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

FROM 'Rube Jubes and other sorts of Gee Whiz, Cheeze Whiz for the Gee Whiz Kids; An educational Vispo Sampler for instruction in the Universities'

2007-07-27T13:50:00.001-07:00

Karl Kempton. variations on the theme, What is the sound of giving one the clap?

the american vispoems - are they really so violently bad?

2007-07-27T10:37:00.000-07:00

Where better to begin a discussion of this genre than with the one and only Chas. 'cha-chas' Bernstein, the legendary poet who helped to pioneer torture horror vispo with work like the above: "The Hills Have Their Eyes On The Last House on the Left (Location Location Location #13)" long before it was ever called vispo.

"It used to be that the editors and poets alike were not familiar with vispoop, as we like to call it around here. and many thought it was something terribly nasty if not downright sick. And now a lot of "University Hangers-On", like myself and pretty much anyone in the MFA way, have grown up looking like the genre and work I casually tossed off is clapped to regularly. And still, they have the audacity to think… "we're nasty and sick! we can do that too". Of coarse people like jeff huth and din swabber are doing their bite to drag the whole medium into the sewer too, god bless one and all"

The Famous Harbourfront Riot of 2006

2007-07-27T07:56:00.000-07:00

Nice PEN Canada Reading! What's up with a whole downtown street trashed by POST GRAD Students who are angry that a bunch of old fat OBSOLETE LIBERALS got stopped at the border? Nice BabyDoll Top and moleskine that you got from urban otters. [Those moleskines sure are dear, but what better way to preserve one's immortalest thoughts?]

Stop reading the books your professor told you to read. Poetry's not dead, it's just Your Ideas About Poetry that deserve to die. And your professor.

They created a world where dudes rode Harleys to Hades in search of a shag rug : An Imagery Of Restful Forboding : TISH, The Early Issues.

2007-07-26T17:08:00.001-07:00

Frank Discussion Davey had this to say to a fan via email when asked what verbs he played on the first two TISH issues:

"Hello Steve, on the first two issues I used "got shit on for" a lot. In the first issue I used a "treat with malice or extreme disrespect" modifier through a Black Mountain College thesaurus [it only had three pages in it -- here in Vancouver in those days, we couldn't afford Roget's, and the dweebs over at Black Mountain had a strong propaganda machine at the time since three on the board of trustees were plants from the C.I.A. syphoning funds directly into the institutional coffers. Ho Ho Ho, those were the days, let me tell you, sonny! and don't even get me started on the chicks..."]

"A small or worthless amount" was probably an old Olson hand me down, as I think that was the only choice in those days. They were so old they probably sounded flat.

I'm not sure what "take a dump" I used on Corpse Paint, but it was probably something Bowering told me to use, he was always bossing us other guys around like he was Sir Paul McCartney or something. He had had experience in the military, you see, -- he relished those memories and told countless tale of his exploits with a dozen sweaty men in the bowels of the submarine he was stationed on... anyway, none of us really cared, see, the rest of us just wanted to smoke dope and get laid. I think we managed to write a poem or two, but in retrospect, I'm not sure how we even managed that... but the chicks, holy tish! those little mamas were willing to do anything for one who purported to be a scribe. Its nothing like it is these days."

Thank you for your interest,

F.D.D."

You thought paul button had a bad case of paranoia

2007-07-26T08:56:00.000-07:00

On 16 March, a Calagry publishing house brought out a "novel" by Lynn Crosbie. In the explosive foreword, the author informs the reader in the opening sentence, "I am a call girl". It goes on to say that Lynn became a man-hater after she was read to, at the age of 14, by a drunk poet who was also bedding her mother. The book is supposed to have evolved from the dairy Lynn kept since her teens, detailing her encounters with senior Maoist editors at Brick, as well as a former Professors at the once famous Coach House Press. The book claims that Crosbie was intrigued by the Press and agreed to become the mistress of an influential writer when she realised he knew what had really happened in the Press in Sept 1988, when 10 editors of the Press, including the bpnichol, died mysteriously. "Crosbie ' claims the deaths were plotted two years earlier after it became known that Michael Ondaatje had "billions" stashed away in banks in India, Switzerland, Pakistan and elsewhere. It alleges the present editors decided to annihilate the entire staff to inherit the money. Ondaatje appears to be the only one to have benefited from this dastardly scheme.

more more review coroner

2007-07-26T07:33:00.000-07:00

The three incarnations of George MacMurray are gauzy music-box minuets, variously obscured by maelstrom hazes and ancillary harmonics. "Rust Never Hears" features telegraphic rhythm and Badalamentian chimes incrementally ramping up toward a post-apocalyptic sshushh. For bloggers, the following tags will be useful: Russia, sci-fi, 1920s. The brisk, splintery dub of "Poem 1837" is named for one of William Burroughs' Cities of the Red Night; the eerie nipples pay homage to Russian sound poet Velemir Chlebnikov, (1885-1922); the book's title might derive from Neil Young’s 1923 sci-fi novel about an expedition to Mars or the planned Soviet spacecraft named after it. But these references remain dim in light of the fact that we are still only a bunch of monkeys in a cage on display. Show us your tits!

Panda's Happy List

2007-07-25T17:08:00.000-07:00

1. My new velvety knickerbockers. Also, the word knickerbockers
2. espresso / cigarettes
3. slingshots / bb guns
4. dumbing things down for my lovers
5. when Kool-Aid finds its way into a cult
6. My bed
7. HAL/IBM
8. A clean house
9. aspiring magician assistants (inquire within)
10. Writing happy lists
11. incarcerated artists (jack henry abbott, et al)
12. tattoo free skin (tattooed persons all have serious 'issues'. these can interfere with interesting sex)
13. Dancing with children, and watching them dance with pure abandon, like Sufis around a mighty fire
14. saying night-night
15. Isabella playing hide and seek under the covers
16. Mexican food
17. blouse peeking
18. Meetings that are full of excrement and creative ideas and also full of soulful connection
19. Velcro
20. Singing nuns who enter into lesbian suicide pacts ('Dominique')
21. Psychedelic Furs Of The Grateful Dead Poet's Society of the Spectacle
22. A really good pencil with an even better eraser
23. books made by people (not books bought and sold by people)
24. poem that weight on me
25. Chasing the dragon

If you don't have the right code word, you may not get past the first stage. It would be a pity to miss the interview that might have landed you...

2007-07-25T14:12:00.000-07:00

"If anyone thinks they need to write reviews, teach classes, edit magazines, or translate books in order to write good poetry... then maybe they should just take a rest from it..."
-- Chelsey Minnis

B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S
LANGUAGE
E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S
SALUTES
CHELSEY MINNIS!

more review coroner

2007-07-25T12:48:00.000-07:00

'This Book', by Opal Nations, is so underrated its ridiculous. It angers me that people like to act like they know Ross Henry Stuart because they read overrated books like Bunny-Cum-Baby and The Yeti of York. To all the people that go under that category I would strongly advise that you read the entire 'I Cut Off My Swinger, Then I Counted My Blows' all the way through both ends. In my eyes there is not a single bad proem in there and if you like Ross Henry Stuart' style then you should enjoy it well enough, I suppose. Or you could spend the money on a crappy breakfast at your local Ho-Jo, whom have graciously added Ho-Hos to their menu.

Mailbag: Another reader writes in

2007-07-25T12:28:00.000-07:00

I found your blog one day not too long ago quite by accident, and I felt compelled to write in today to let you know that while I may not agree with everything you say, I like the ways in which you go about saying it. So I'm behind what you're doing 100 percent. Your blog is funny, mysterious, strange, sexy, honest, unashamed, brutal and quite potentially controversial. Good luck with it, and I hope to see it here for a long time to come. Thank you B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S LANGUAGE E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S for making my day just that much better. Julia Lewitt, Brandon, Manitoba.

review coroner: A Flapper's Flapping Flatulence

2007-07-25T11:56:00.000-07:00

A bastard hybrid between pure meta-critiques with very extreme shrieky meta-language (but I don’t mean womyns writing of the 80’s shrieking here, but rather the Jewel variant) and various biblical studies dangling on the verge of an obscure twenty-first century womb/tomb symboliste movement, as well as some great growls all come together in this ra-ra-ra book that has been written with the faint of heart in mind! This somehow works magnificently, for this book is so lightly moving and lyrically hyper extreme it ought to be on everyone's back to school wish lists. Even I have problems withstanding the shrieking attack, but basically it is a very slow book that surprises with endless power! The insane noun/verb work alone hits every doubter in the face with a plank! When will rob mclennan stretch out his fuck finger into the face of the industry? This book doesn't answer that question, but it manages to convince us that he still cannot tell the difference between writing every day and publishing everything he wrote the next day. Bravely done by Chaudiere Books, if you're into that sort of thing. Frankly, everyone around here thinks rob should just zip it shut. So why doesn't he? The answer, we believe, is that rob is the reincarnated spirit of a twenties flapper, only in the case of his particular reincarnation, the noun/verb wires somehow got crossed. Flapper is a noun, rob, not a verb!

Unawares, 2005, by Roger Roundy

2007-07-25T11:08:00.000-07:00

Liquid Acylic on Paper, 14" x 28"

1996: St Clair Beach murderers jailed for life

2007-07-24T18:35:00.000-07:00

brian davis josephson and his wife emile charles schultz have been sentenced to life imprisonment for their orchestration of the so-called St Clair Beach murders in Windsor, Ontario.

Judge Fenton Atkinson imposed three concurrent life sentences on brian davis josephson, aged 28, for what he called "three calculated, cruel, cold-blooded murders".

The couple were tried for the killing of Edward Evans, 17, Lesley Ann Downey, aged 10, and 12-year-old John Kilbride - a case that has shocked the nation from the arctic circle to the great lake waters.

schultz, 23, was sentenced to two concurrent life sentences for the murder of Edward Evans and Lesley Ann Downey and found not guilty of the killing of John Kilbride, whose genitals had been severely disfigured.

The bodies of the three children were found on St Clair Beach seven months ago by Wilson Atatagut, a former extra from the cast of the famed seventies television show, "The Beachcombers".

Boasts

josephson, an unempolyed art supply stock boy from Windsor, and schultz, a shorthand typist from Sarnia, lured the children into their home in Windsor, then proceeded to bore them to death.

It was josephson's brother-in-law, 17-year-old David Charles Schultz, who called the police after witnessing the brutal boring of Edward Evans at the couple's home. He told them that josephson had boasted that he knew darren wershler henry, the notorious Scarborough Bicycle Seat Sniffer (SBSS), and that these "borings" were to "impress" him, which did not work.

The judge praised the "utmost skill and thoroughness" of the police working on the case. They had discovered a left-luggage ticket in schultz communion prayer book. This led them to a suitcase containing pornographic tapes and other sundries that proved to be valuable evidence against the pair. One cruel and shocking photo showed schultz posing in her furry bunny suit at what turned out to be the site of John Kilbride's grave. In the photo it is clear that she is drinking white wine and there is a smile from ear to ear emblazoned on her face.

The Crown has said that anyone sentenced to life imprisonment is liable to be held for the whole of his or her natural life.

Two children believed to be victims of josephson and schultz - Pauline Reade and Keith Bennett - are still missing.

Notes Written From Inside The Lexicon(in)jury Killer Kult Kamp

2007-07-24T18:17:00.001-07:00

"I pretended our family dog, ross henry helwig, was a wolf at the cabin. To make the 'wolf' go away, I threw a baby doll at him that had been marinated in cheeseburger juice. It bothered "Auntie Sharon" to no end that I would throw the baby to the wolves to save my own skin, but I was trying to write, after all, and that blasted dog had been running up on me ever since Annette gave him a typewriter to call his own. I had to resort to jungle tactics if I was going to be ready for the sound poem seminar in September, and the cheeseburger juiced doll proved to be just what the Dr. Anaconda had ordered." - Nicole Brossard, (a poplar pseudonym used by al "yeller" purdy)

The Zippo Zap Gunwoman (for jjwalker) by ross henry helwig

2007-07-24T16:47:00.000-07:00

Okay, we all do stupid things in our lives. Especially in our relationships. I’m sure everyone can look back on some wrong committed in a relationship and shudder. And then you file it in the back of your brain and leave it there, hoping it will get lost and fade away. Well screw it. I’m pulling out my shameful file and posting it. Let me tell you about the worst thing I’ve ever done…

It was a relationship I had during college with a guy named Chris, who would eventually become one of my stalkers. But that’s another story... Chris and I are dating for a few months, and we become attached pretty quickly. Scarily, obsessively attached. Well, he is anyway. I’m just enthusiastic because he’s a nice dresser, he's got a great car, he knows how to dance and he holds the doors open for me, for old ladies, for squirrels and chipmunks too.

We are having a little spat. I can’t recall what it’s about. All I know is that it starts to become irrational. There is no sense in continuing an argument with an irrational person. You just have to walk away and resume the discussion when both parties are calm and in a better frame of mind. IMHO.

So I declare, “That’s it. I’m going home. I’ll call you later.”

Chris subscribes to a different approach, called Never Leave Until It’s Settled.

So he says, “Oh no you don’t! You’re not going anywhere until we work this out!”

“Uh, this isn’t going to be worked out right now, because you are a crazed lunatic and I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not!” he says.

“Yes I am!” I am grabbing my purse and heading out of his bedroom.

He leaps from the couch and positions himself in the doorframe like Vitruvian Man. This is supposed to block my exit. I duck under his arm and head for the stairs. Again, he dives in front of me and tries to block my escape. Again, I duck under his arm, then I run up the stairs like a gazelle being pursued across the veldt. He is chasing me, yelling, “No! You can’t leave! We have to work this out!” But by now I’m out the front door and in my car. I’m locking the door and rolling up the window as fast as I can. And then immediately doing the same on the other side of the car as he tries desperately to get in.

“Open the door!”

“No!”

“You can’t leave!”

“I have to get the hell away from you!”

Now he’s standing in front of my orange Vega hatchback. He’s blocking the driveway. I start the car.

“I’m not moving. You have to stay and finish this.”

“I’m already finished with this.”

“I’m not letting you go.”

I shift the car into drive and I slowly roll up to where he is. I’m not even applying the gas; I’ve merely removed my foot from the brake and I’m rolling. He adjusts his stance as he attempts the Herculean feat of holding back my car. I continue rolling forward.

“Get out of my way.”

“No! I’m not letting you go!”

He is backing up as he tries to halt the car. I can see the veins popping out of his head as he strains to keep me from moving. I do not stop. Since the driveway is a steep hill, I have to gently apply the gas to continue. It is taking every ounce of patience in my body not to mow him down. I think I hate him. He is shuffling backwards faster now as I begin to accelerate, but he’s still attempting to keep me there through the sheer force of his manly power. Finally, he gives up and does the only thing he can do. He jumps up on my hood.

“Get off!”

“No!”

“Well I’m not stopping!”

I continue driving up the hill to the road. It’s about 11:30 at night now, and there’s no traffic on Jean Drive. Good thing, too, because now I’m driving down this winding back road with a man on the hood of my car. I decide to stop and give him one more chance. I feel that I am dangerously close to blowing an O ring if I can’t get the hell away from this idiot.

“Chris, listen to me. Get off of my car. I hate you and I’m going home.”

“No! You have to stay and talk to me!”

“Get off!”

“NO!”

I floor it. He is gripping onto the hood for dear life. I’ve seen spiders do this quite well, their little bodies blowing in the ever-increasing wind as little spider feet (do spiders have feet?) stay firmly planted on the windshield. But I've never had the pleasure of seeing this act performed by a dumb-ass soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. I feel like I’m going to go insane if I can’t get away from deranged human being. I’ve got the car up to about 40 mph now. And I do the only thing I can do: I slam on the brakes. This sends him careening onto the roadway. But Spiderman doesn't even need a stunt-double. He executes perfect tuck-and-roll form! Then he grabs his leg and starts writhing in pain. “Help me! Help me! I think it’s broken!” I know he’s faking. I drive around him and go home.

I know I probably sound like a callous bitch at this point, but hold tight. That’s not even the end of the story.

I live across town. 45 minutes later, the doorbell rings. I turn on the light to see who’s out there. It’s Chris.

“Hon, I ran all the way over here. We have to talk.”

“We are not talking tonight. Leave or I will call the police.”

“Can you at least give me a ride home?”

Yeah right. All that work to get away from him, and he wants me to drive him back home. Not a chance.

“Go away.”

I turn off the light and go to bed.

NOW maybe I’m a callous bitch.

He’s probably still in love with me. I hope so...

the day TalonAudioBooks up and dies, who will be there to get the cash ???

2007-07-24T16:26:00.001-07:00

There’s Nothing Cuter Than Kindergartners Writing Poetry And At The Mercury Press This Is Where We Place All Our Emphasis. Publish rubbish or perish cherish? Got a 3 year old Novel - not a novel that took 3 years to write, no, a novel by a 3 year old!?! We publish that shit all the time, it doesn't matter. We got this deal with the Canada Council; you see, they give us money twice a year and we turn out our ugly little books, and the best part is that in the end, we get to pocket some cash. We've been doing this for years, and so far no one has caught on yet. It's your money, thanks. We got dead poets to feed, after all...

Never let it be said that CHB doesn’t come up with clever gimmicky reads (read: clever gimmicky reads)

2007-07-24T11:13:00.000-07:00

This is it! This is the one you've all been waiting for! Yes, it's what you think it is, an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute book from the secret "Zep" files deposited at the University of Calgary in 1987. As far as gimmicks go, this one's actually not a bad one. New this fall from Choke Hose Books, (almost) well known for their energetic, slaphappy gimmick books. This one sees legendary joke-book editor and frequent Choke Hose helmsman Bill "Maggie" Kennedy asleep at the wheel, driving us all around that bend where CHB mistakenly thinks we belong. Perfect for that lonely Led Zeppelin fan you may know who already has everything "Zep" related, or simply for those odd ducks on your list who have an overdeveloped yet healthy reverence for the abject but who lack a suitable outlet with which to express this and/or cannot figure out what Kristeva's going on about. The deluxe limited edition of this award winning book is designed to fit perfectly on the back of your toilet, or, as Kristeva herself suggests, you may even wish to store it within the toilet itself! At CHB you can do either, because at CHB we want you to believe in the illusion of variety! PVC-coated pages especially designed for this project by Michael Snow ensure that you can store book on toilet or store book in toilet... makes no difference to us what you do with it once you give us your money. As an aside, its a little known and deeply disguised fact that Zeppelin were the rock gurus in the seventies whom Michael Ondaatje most listened to during the writing of his "Zep Trilogy"; 'The Collected Works of Billy the Kid', 'Rat Jelly' and 'Coming Through Slaughter'. (That he was also known to spin more than anyone's fair share of Supertramp is perhaps not as well known but is nonetheless also true. Ditto Ondaatje's abiding interest in and passion for the likes of RamJam, Foghat and Styx.)

Over The Transom, Part 6: You've got to tell me what it is you want right away, otherwise I've got no way of knowing you won't need to see my penis

2007-07-24T10:16:00.001-07:00

This handsome, well-fed-looking fellow with the shiny coat and bunny ears is John Barlow, and he is on permanent Poet Aid Rescue. Barlow was once the pampered friend of "Bill/Maggie/Bill". John and "Bill/Maggie/Bill" played ball together and walked on the beach adding to their collections of sand-dollars together, and, in general, enjoyed each other's company provided "Bill/Maggie/Bill" didn't become too fussy, which "Bill/Maggie/Bill" had been known to do on several occasions. Then, one day, of a sudden, "Bill/Maggie/Bill's" friends transferred him to a different Poetic Class altogether; one that had no room for the likes of John. "Bill/Maggie/Bill" was told in no uncertain terms that he could no longer take John with him, or "Bill/Maggie/Bill" considered it unfair to submit his John to the trauma of moving up into a different Poetic Clique, or he just didn't want the baggage of the big ole good-natured freak around his neck like coleridge' albatross. Either way, poetry in Toronto has pretty much remained the same.

Over The Transom, Part 5: There are broader social and environmental implications as well.

2007-07-24T10:15:00.000-07:00

Ellie Nichol: Unremittingly hostile to creative types. Indiscriminately attacks wildlife and vulnerable datascapes; targeted files are sometimes copied for random dissemination prior to destruction, but more often than not, this copying is far too much work for what it is worth and it seems preferable to blindly and indiscriminately attack flora and fauna with extreme prejudice. "A wounded enemy is still an enemy" Ellie has been overheard muttering to herself on several occasions while preparing another shrimp ring to be placed on the barbecue.

Over The Transom, Part 4: "Disability Bitch VS. Young Career Bitch" by Disability Bitch/Young Career Bitch

2007-07-24T10:14:00.000-07:00

Then in late February, media mogul Beverly Daurio took a swipe at Alana Wilcox by saying, “Everybody in publishing lies, but they do it with such ease, it’s troubling.” And a week later the former editor at Anansi, Ken Babstock, called Wilcox “a nasty man” who runs an “endlessly ruthless” lumber mill.

Ouch, that hurts! (or does it smart?)

MAILBAG : fan becomes inspired by B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S LANGUAGE E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S

2007-07-24T10:13:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows I hate blogs. So, what the fuck am I doing, starting one up? What can I say, other than the fact that the folks over at B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S LANGUAGE E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S have really inspired me to put my best foot forward.

I’ve come to realise that there’s a point to blogs, too. I still hate almost all of them, since so few are anywhere near as good as the B=L=A=C=K=F=L=I=E=S LANGUAGE E=X=P=E=R=I=M=E=N=T=S. I don’t want to know about your relationships, or what you ate for dinner last night. And don’t expect me to meet you for drinks because you blogged where you were going. Also, I hate looking at your fucking kids, so don't show me those either.

But Blogs are a good place for doing some things, it has to be admitted. For example, where would I put my brief article on The exciting poetic developments of the Calgary School, or where might I praise the strides made by TalonAudioBooks, if not in a blog? They’re also a kind of person-centric mailing list - only you don’t have to subscribe to them and they stay available forever, or at least until we run out of electricity. Perhaps they’re good for other things, but I can’t think of any of those reasons right now, off the top of my head.

Anyway, consider this an experiment. The next few posts are probably going to be a little odd, because they’ll be about stuff I should’ve been blogging at the time, but, well, I didn’t have a blog. Will I keep it up? Who knows. Watch this space.

Over The Transom, Part 3: Mom keeps trying to fix me up w/ women even though she knows about Gregory. Doesn't she realise that Gregory is EVERYTHING?

2007-07-24T10:12:00.000-07:00

Pregnancy cleavage can be a beautiful development, but serving up one's bosom like melons at a picnic is aggressively self-indulgent, enormously distracting and, unless you're auditioning for a spread in Penthouse, unnecessarily vulgar.

Neil Hennessey fidgeted, blathered and wept through the interview last week and one couldn't help but gape in amazement at her astonishing aesthetic meltdown. It's hard to recall the last time someone as famous as Neil Hennessey -- without any accompanying substance-abuse rumours -- appeared so startlingly, slovenly wretched.

Over The Transom, Part 2: I'm slingin' this song for you because I'm horny horny horny horny so horny I'm horny horny horny I'm horny

2007-07-24T10:11:00.001-07:00

Sherwin Tija reportedly ordered kentucky fried chicken for lunch, and wiped her greasy hands on a 5 thousand dollar Gucci dress.

When one of her dogs pooped on the floor she also used an expensive dress, Chanel this time, to clean it up.

Her behavior on set was described as “erratic”. She took frequent trips to the bathroom and came back in a different mood each time. At one point she was paranoid about the ceiling caving in on her. (one of the tiles HAD come loose...)

Tija refused to let the professional hair and make up people hired for the shoot work on her, and opted to let her friends style her instead. "They need the practise, and I need to have them ready for when I go off the cosmetics-grid", she offered by way of explaination.

Sources also said she would use the bathroom without closing the door and absentmindedly fondled herself at random times during the shoot. Some didn't seem to mind, but those were in the minority.

Eventually, Sherwin became paranoid about the people working around her and stormed off the set. A small sampling of the haiku poems written during this time and published posthumously reveal a mind under duress:

my hair is a mess

don't be a pest,

help me, I'm so stressed

*

clothes wrinkled

face pimpled

whatever will i do?

*

i said no evian,

what do they have:

evian.

Over The Transom, Part 1: Please come back again for updates on adventures of a mail order bride striped bare by her bachelors, even

2007-07-24T08:20:00.000-07:00

Jason Christie, 25, returns to the Promises Wasaga Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Center (PWDARC) late Wednesday, according to several reports. Earlier in the day, the poet starch checked out of the center less than a day after checking in voluntarily. It was the second time in a week that Christie entered a rehab facility and checked out before her first day was finished. No one seems to know what's going on. (Photo: AP)

Gas Station: resembling a journal of literary, cultural and artistic history and criticism. ...

2007-07-24T07:27:00.000-07:00

New Orleans (AP) A FEMA worker, Camille Martin, Ph.D, was arrested for looting Gregory Betts' text after Betts caught her leaving the property with a plastic bin filled with several items, including his collection of poetic "skin flutes", several rare pieces of Holly Hobby memorabilia on loan from the University of Calgary and a few tawdry snow globes whose ownership is currently under dispute. Martin insists they were hers, but Betts is adamant in his refusal to acknowledge this claim. "Those snow globes are mine", he forcefully put it in an interview with Calgary tabloid 'The Gas Station' last week. Litigation is pending.

Sarnia (CP) Emily Shultz, 21, was arrested on a frosty day last November after she allegedly abducted a man who later turned out to be her husband, Mr Emily Shultz, and threatened to kill him by beating out his brains with a near-mint ColecoVision gaming console. In an odd turn of events, Schultz eventually relented to her victim's "last request" to visit his girl friend (girl friend, not girlfriend -- there is a difference) before he died. While Shultz waited in the car outside the house, the victim went in "to visit his girl friend, Greg", locked the door and immediately called police, who, after quickly arriving on the scene, promptly arrested Schultz, who had no prior convictions, but who will be going away for a very long time after this spree. No joy in jo jo joyland. Amen.

Scarborough (CP) Katherine Parrish, 32, reportedly embezzled $10,000 from hard-earned non-profit poetry funds to pay for the expensive canine surgery needed after repeated raping of her quadriplegic dog by a twice-convicted sex offender she had "innocently" hired as a doggie dog stylus, as reported to the Gas Station' earlier this week. Since this sex-offender was a poet at the time, his name cannot be made available to the public. When rumours of the existence of a "sex tape" recording these sessions turned out to be true, and a quick followup by the 'Gas Station' saw the epic already appearing in the spring 2007 TalonAudioBooks catalogue, animal rights activists were quick to demonstrate their united disapproval, and a series of protest marches have begun, unleashing the biggest controversy Canadian verse has yet seen. TalonAudioBooks could not be reached for further comment, but a spokesperson for the company pointed out a curious tiny disclaimer, found buried towards the bottom of the recent 2007 printed catalogue of theirs: "All part of that "Talon Tradition" of making available to a wider audience works of an advant-garde or esoteric nature", which seems to ominously suggest that this 'animal poetics ring' had been active for some time.

More Fan Mail

2007-07-24T06:26:00.001-07:00

we rec'd the pink zep tee today...it's cute and fits great...thanks for making the exchange quick and uncomplicated, and thanks for the magnet!

Thanks again,

Karen and Kevin Connelly

Come On Touch Me Dragon (A.K.A. Streams of Street Meat Off Beat Street, U.S.)

2007-07-24T04:38:00.000-07:00

In 1993, Kevin made a spectacular entrance onto the Canadian literary stage. Her book about Thailand "Cum On Touch Me Dragon, A Me So Horney Thai Journal" won the country’s highest honour for non-fiction writing, the Governor General’s Award. At just twenty-four, Connolly became the youngest winner of this prestigious award, and the world seemed ready to receive her finally on her terms. Cum On Touch Me Dragon went on to become a national bestseller, remaining on bestseller lists for almost two weeks, then continuing to garnish high praise in Britain, Australia, Germany, and eventually the sex tourist capital of the world, the United States. In 2002, Cum On Touch Me Dragon was designated as A New York Times Notable Travel Book of the Year. (The book is published in the U.S. under the title Streams of Street Meat off Beat Street .)

Kevin Connolly was born in Calgary, Alberta, in 1969, to a large working class family. One of Canada’s best-known and most successful younger writers, she is the author of seven books of best-selling nonfiction, fiction, and poetry. She has read from her work and lectured in Canada, Europe, Asia, and Australia. Her long-awaited first novel, The Lizard King Is Out Of Royal Jelly, is now complete and will be published in September, 2007 through TalonAudioBooks.

You Can Do That Hare

2007-07-24T04:23:00.001-07:00

During the First World War, Calgary became known as one of the world's premier Arts and Culture districts, a distinction the city was only able to hold on to for a short spell. Then, when the Great Depression hit hard, many theatres had to close up shop or offer far less discriminating fare to attract more theatre-goers. In the wake of this severe cultural errosion, all the serious talent left town post-haste by the trainload for the sunnier cultural climes of any of the eastern cities. Thus began a slow decline that reached its lowest point in the 1990's and the early twenty-first century. At this time, Calgary had become (in)famous for its erotic bookstores (not really bookstores, more like glossy magazines stores), its live nude shows featuring U of C alumni wrestling in baked beans, X-rated movies starring same, and other 'adult' fare. By the close of 2005, many people had come to consider Calgary to be the epitome of urban and moral decay, a syndrome not normally present in Canadian cities, but unusually widespread in Calgary.

a couple of fans write in

2007-07-24T04:07:00.001-07:00

"we just want y'all to know that we appreciate what you're doing on your blog. cool shit, man... keep it up."

Any malfunction of this device would require invasive surgery to correct. ... The clamp is bulky, slips off the penis and requires excessive pressure

2007-07-24T03:57:00.000-07:00

And then the moment had arrived that I both dreaded and longed for. The woman who ran the workshop asked us to take out our hand mirrors again and to see if we could locate our clitoris. We were there, the group of us women, on our backs, on our mats, finding our spots, our locus, our reason, and I don't know why but I started crying. Maybe it was sheer embarrassment. Maybe it was knowing that I had to give up the fantasy, the enormous life-consuming fantasy, that someone or something was going to do this for me--the fantasy that someone was coming to lead my life, to choose direction, to give me orgasms. I could feel the panic coming. The simultaneous terror and realization that I had avoided finding my clitoris, had rationalized it as mainstream and consumerist because I was, in fact, terrified that I did not have a clitoris, terrified that I was one of those constitutionally incapables, one of those frigid, dead, shut down, dry, apricot-tasting, bitter--oh my God. I lay there with my mirror looking for my spot, reaching with my fingers and all I could think about was the time when I was ten and lost my gold ring with the emeralds in a lake. How I kept diving over and over to the bottom of the lake, running my hands over stones and fish and bottle caps and slimy stuff, but never my ring. The panic I felt. I knew I'd be punished. I shouldn't have worn it swimming.

teddy bear stinks really bad now

2007-07-24T02:46:00.000-07:00

Hey, it's nothing. People are retarded for being prejudice against a natural part of the body. I was talking to my circumcised friend and he was making claims without evidence that a circumcised poem is more "modern" and "civilized." I tried showing him the website in my last comment, and he refused, saying everything on the website is just opinions. Without even looking at the website, he thinks he knows everything already. "You're just trying to convince yourself that you're not a piece of sh*t" he told me. "No, I'm finding out the truth of all the advantages I have and everything you lost." I argued back at him. He can be cold at times. But about your problem, I don't know, the way you describe it sounds like a rubber band. I know sometimes that happens when I pull my boxers up from using the restroom, but I just push it back down. It's not a big deal.

2007-07-23T19:24:00.000-07:00

a multidisciplinary arts workshop:

the importance of warm-literary theatrical soundz, and leaky -bowel-movement-based practice;
how body awareness (rubber and latex) and being present can be faked into a fake creative process;
how to harness improvisation and collaboration as creation tools (AKA steal from students);
writing exercises, voice and breath-control technique, and interdisciplinary vocabulary development (babble nonsense- we pickup at York) ;
blending arf frick to create dynamic frack, with an emphasis on willy and nilly;
focus on the body as a primary starting point for creation (or some other fake new age shit we can stir up and pick over).
Separating you from your 100 bucks

Sand, sun and surf, right? Not for Angela and Billy. The brother-and-sister duo got their calling from "My dad," Angela said when giving credit for the family's hockey poem prowess. "It just became a family special event. We traveled together, it kept us out of trouble and kept the family together." Our most important teachers, however, have been our students, whose challenges along the road have helped us face our own. Through them we have learned how to marvel at the mysterious intersection of universality and uniqueness that characterizes the human voyage. We teach to learn.

There are actual monsters in the world, but when my kids ask I pretend like there aren’t

2007-07-23T09:42:00.000-07:00

He may not be a natural-born blonde, but “Blind Ambition” babe Jon Paul Fiorentino swears his bountiful poems aren't bogus.

"Maybe after having kids, if my poems dropped down to my bellybutton, I would get them lifted," Fiorentino told his fashion designer friend David McGimpsey for the August edition of Word Bazaar. "But you know, my poems are real."

And when it comes to style, the senior Fiorentino "sister" seems to be steering from pop poet to cowboy poet."I've been wanting to do cowboy poems because it's just my roots; it's my soul,” he said. “I aspire to be like Patsy Cline."

Snobbishly Vintage Sound Poets

2007-07-23T06:51:00.000-07:00

Regina Kennedy (no relation) prides herself on being a pretty good Christian, so when the pastor at her Pentecostal church in Alberta called it a sin to download gospel songs without paying for them, her heart began to race.

The out-of-work truckdriver went home and stared down at her download collection, which included artists such as Yolanda Adams, Kirk Franklin, Frontline Assembly and Harris Kane as well as the complete run of TalonAudioBooks, comprising 6 first novels, 13 short story collections by grad students and 2 plays. "The songs are so beautiful, and even some of those stories are all right, but I just couldn't afford to buy them all," the 43-year-old said. "I just didn't know what to do, and I needed all this stuff for school."

In the end, she deleted every song, and erased all the stories too. She's still not sure, though, that they were ever real. "I don't know what to think anymore, really."