Tuesday, December 27, 2011

IS THAT RIGHT?

Answering someone else's phone when they are not around to hand the phone to the conversation to the conversation what a thing with its icicles dripping from the gutters hanging there to hang on left hanging as fading vapors on into the disappearing acts of what has been written for no one answering someone else's phone when they are not around to hand the at hand look no hands as the ride takes this nobody into the next disappearing act.

"Be right there."
"When?"
"In a little bit."

Horses stream across the river that runs through her eyes without anymore patience without anymore endings just her eyes watering and drying and watering and drying into a scratchy breeze that brings another chapter that doesn't belong there for her to find another story or maybe another paragraph to tuck her frozen feet underneath a shrinking blanket as darkness slips under sheets of snow in pictures lost to her mind deleted when they are not around to hand the phone to the conversation to the conversation what a thing.

"When?"
"When my stomach settles."
"Settles for what?"
"When it settles down."
"What's up inside your stomach?"
"Too much that happens outside it."
"Or that doesn't happen?"

Stuffed animals in the backyard left around the small plastic picnic bench close to the ground close to the proximity of making things up to talk about on pretend phones answering someone else's phone when they are not around no one around to interrupt conversations between little mouths and mouths that never move mouths that never have holes to fall into to get sucked into close to the ground close to the proximity of making things up to talk about on pretend phones answering someone else's phone when they are not around to interrupt with their holes that slurp and bite small words chew them up and stitch them with needling into longer sentences that accumulate to the end of the world and come around again for nothing different.

"Is that right?"
"Is what right?"
"Can I listen to your stomach?"
"You'll only hear dinner talking."
"Between the food."
"What's between the food?"
"Gas."

The wind the hot wind the cold wind in alternating intervals spread further apart by hands that never pick up the call from voices squeezed by beginnings and endings of conversations narrowed by armies of information that huddle together on the head of a pin needling into longer sentences that accumulate to the end of the world and come around again for nothing different different for nothing.

"What did you say?"
"Did I say something?"
"How can you not know if you said something?  Even though you may not always give me permission I still listen to what you say."
"Why would I do that?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I."

The simpler the book the thicker the words and images the harder it is to turn the pages.  thicker dull the wet light drops of mandibles with spit on mirrors for a wiping forgotten and a compelled forgiveness smeared for the heels of the palms applying the brakes cracking the forehead on the edge of the counter.  can't get a grip on anything between thicker pages.  can't get a grip.

"Can you tell me a story?"
"After I fill your water bottle."
"Can you fill my water bottle after you tell me a story?"
"After I empty out your water bottle and give you all fresh new water."
"I want to finish it myself."
"There's something floating in it."
"Is it a bug?"
"What did you do?"
"Tell me a story."
"What did you do?"
"Tell me a story."
"Pick a book.  One from the lower shelf.  We haven't read one of those in a couple of weeks."
"Tell me a story."
"I will.  Pick me a book.  Lower shelf."
"No, tell me what you did.  Once.  And don't do anymore."
"The bloody nose."
"Did you tell me this before?  I think you told me this before."
"No, I haven't.  The bloody nose and I capitalize nothing."
"What does that mean?"
"Just let me continue."

Doorstep door frame framing not entrances but exits or both where coming in and going out makes for a one way ticket to less and nothing to redeem either but perhaps maybe only just yet a tiny slightly pressed insistence not even on uneven ground you know how it is or perhaps not even about the uneven ground that it how it is over your head or has slipped out the back for playing in alleys where large dark faces atop hard walls empty themselves more on what cuts short its play down below running off to reclaim their one way ticket to less and nothing to redeem either but perhaps maybe only just yet a tiny slightly pressed insistence not even on uneven ground.

"He or it might have even been me who picked at it poked at it too much and made it bleed.  It had that smell that bloody smell that's like the inside of some room with messy walls that is either falling in on you before you break open."
"Like the astronaut who had the alien worm inside him and his chest exploded and it came out growled and slid across some vegetables or it could have been lettuce."
"And you wipe your nose and get all this thick red blood all over your hand and arm."
"The neighbor across the street showed me his tumor in his arm it looked like he had an orange inside.  Made him look as if he had two elbows."
"Went into the garage and found the toolbox where there were pliers to clamp the nose shut and stop the flow of blood."
"Will this help me sleep?"
"All I could find was something metal.  That's all there is now metal things.  To stop the flow of blood.  Funny the flow of blood it makes you see funny things especially the closer you get to death and then you come back because it keeps flowing."
"I was asleep and then I woke up.  Did you say something funny?  So much about blood.  I'm falling asleep anyway.  Do you ever wish you didn't grab the pliers?"
"Bloody wishful thinking."

Horses stream across the river that runs through her eyes without anymore patience without anymore endings just her eyes watering and drying and watering and drying into a scratchy breeze that brings another chapter that doesn't belong there for her to find another story or maybe another paragraph to tuck her frozen feet underneath a shrinking blanket as darkness slips under sheets of snow in pictures lost to her mind deleted when they are not around to hand the phone to the conversation to the conversation what a thing.


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, December 25, 2011

AT THE END OF THE DAY

At the end of the day this day that day the next has pretty much very much come and gone and returned and vanquished tomorrow, oh, shit.  Another sharp pain in the front cover story getting peeled away to make way for the back pain back to the end of the day this day that day the next has pretty much very much come and gone and returned and vanquished tomorrow's next day afterwards for the place afterwards placing low energy below the bar where the chips fall where the crumbs fall where the rain strokes the sky and falls elsewhere at the end of the day this day that day the next has pretty much very much come and gone and returned and vanquished tomorrow with its returns with its nonsense numbly gargling blunted sense in this glass of wine that glass on the table at the end of the table at the end of the day this day that day the next has pretty much very much come and gone and returned and vanquished tomorrow can't catch up with it the glass dropping off the end of the table afterwards for the place afterwards placing low energy below the bar where the chips fall where the crumbs fall where the rain strokes the sky and falls elsewhere at the end of the day at the end of the table that extends for that without contrast without difference without extension without extending much else much at all all day at the end of the day this day that day the next has pretty much at the end of the day waited until the end for the pretty much hands that held hands that moved hair like a curtain much like a curtain pretty much like a curtain very much like a pretty dress curtain across a tidal pool of blue eyes that one waits until the end of the day to address that at the end of the shore melted into the sand and muddied hands indecisive hands held over a sink that waits at the end of the day this day that day the next has pretty much very much come and gone and returned and vanquished tomorrow can't reach out to the curtain for any additional performances of the cricket escaping the turning pages thickening gathering pages until at the end of the day this or that day where the volume and its leanings make way for the back where catastrophe forms and cancels out the cricket and cancels any additional performances without extension without contrast without difference at the end of the table at the last glance of the last glass of the last time returning and vanquishing tomorrow knocking off all else at the end of the table at the end of the day this day that day the next has pretty much very much come and gone and returning and vanquishing tomorrow and the next day and the next day at the end a later end and a dragged out end and a drawn out dragging through the cracks through the blinds through the recycling through the box-cutters and between yellowed teeth of sand and mud and rain that strokes the sky and falls elsewhere.  




- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, December 19, 2011

OFF AGAIN

"Did she?"


Get the cables.  What was her name?  All right we'll try the length.  Was it long or short or even go with about shoulder length?  Shoulder length is a length not bad not too bad not since the party of skunks eating pizza on a trampoline and gassed the neighbor in a what would be called by many residents and their respective pets and potted plants as a particularly ambitious redistricting effort this year or perhaps it had already been attempted the year before or perhaps the year before that all right we'll try the length.  Was it long or short?


"Did she say?"


Get the cables.  What was the color?  All right we'll try the color.  Was it light or dark or in between for a length of life not bad not too bad not since the first contact that contact with sense organs in the forest couldn't pass through in an uninterrupted reverie for the neglectful or worse suppose suppose so and it was so that contact more than one one too many and would rather have waited for the falling of the leaves to bury the ruined cut out cut down and cut out for less than the screams that painted the branches in saliva and the fog of her breath their breath that scattered into the weather patterns of the parks of the plazas of the other sides of things and those dead faces long faces.  All right we'll try the length.  Was it long or was it short?


"Did she say something?"


Get the cables.  What was the smell?  All right we'll try the smell.  Was it open or closed or in a manner of standing at a threshold about to have that slab of door that mile of wall slammed into one's nose this nose for smelling not bad not too bad for getting around couldn't get around in an uninterrupted scenic route for getting around.  They're in that back corner there tangled.  You'll have to untangle them.  Just get the cables.  Enough distracting with your telling yourself how we all need a jump now and then.  Better to be left empty than started again for yet another turning over.  On second thought, leave the cables.  Leave them be among the leaves collecting in the trunk.  Leave the trunk hood up.  Leave it be to its gaping over the leaves swirling about the forest where the other sides of things can gather into their feeble headstones.  All right we'll try the length.  Was it long or was it short?




- Max Stoltenberg

Saturday, December 17, 2011

DOWNHILL

To follow the deadline the return home downhill from an uphill frustration congested breath of life congested heart what a failure.  Downhill from straining out large desert storms whipping the stranded into shape for being plugged into the metal chamber and shot across the downhill affair following the uphill frustration congested breath of life congested heart what a failure.  They bring their organs that harden into a thinner music of persuasion straining to move the waste from between their wrinkled layers.  Thinner music play and die it never fades never fades only another line to strike buttons shift buttons escape resistant to the touch no escape for the return home downhill from an uphill frustration congested breath of life congested heart what a failure.  Affairs prolonged affairs delayed by wristwatches halted in the corridor of the moment between closed doors doors closed to allow the restricted their backlog of to and fro.  Got a thing going in between closed doors doors closed to allow the restricted their backlog of to and fro.  Tutorial erased of the cat's cradle held by the accomplished woman with too much to do and options seasoning a hesitation for their creaking nodding bony heads where their vision has caved in for a season that ruptures in both directions of the past to sink below memory and of the future to never occur to anyone misplacing the tutorial erased of the cat's cradle held by the once there once upon a hesitation for their creaking for their nodding bony heads where their vision has caved in during the storms the desert storms whipping the stranded into shape for being plugged into the metal chamber and shot across the downhill affair to follow the deadline the return home downhill from an uphill frustration congested breath of life congested heart what a failure was that mentioned before probably definitely for a chance at missing the point of departure from the downhill affair to follow the deadline the dead the line rupturing in both directions of past and future that have their reunions their creaking nodding bony headed reunions where teeth chatter and wrinkled layers crust together from straining out large desert storms whipping the stranded into shape for being plugged into the metal chamber and shot across the downhill affair following the uphill frustration congested breath of life congested heart what a failure.  They bring their organs that harden into a thinner music of persuasion straining to move the waste from between their wrinkled layers.  Thinner music play and die it never fades never fades only another line to strike buttons shift buttons escape resistant to the touch no escape for the return home downhill.




- Max Stoltenberg

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

PAPERCLIPS

Wiping hands of dust and ink hesitating and hesitating but not much before lips tighten and soften to blow more dust out of the bottom of the plastic container where the paperclips reflect dimly dimly they reflect as the dust floats and descends around a desk where the paperclips reflect dimly dimly reflect. Plastic container bottom emerging from the bottom below lips that tighten lips that soften to blow above the plastic container above the bottom of the plastic container where the paperclips reflect dimly dimly they reflect as the dust floats and descends dimly reflecting floating descending dimly dimly they reflect.

Padster: How is that helpful?

Vroof: Did you say something?
Padster: Yes, I said something.
Vroof: Something of use?
Padster: Of course, I was inquiring about the usefulness of what you were doing.
Vroof: The usefulness of what I was doing?
Padster: Forget it. I’m in the mood for a snack.
Vroof: You mean my cleaning the dust out of my paperclips container?
Padster: I am moving on to snacks.
Vroof: Moving on are we?
Padster: I am moving on, you are still over there with your paperclips.
Vroof: So, what you’re doing over there is moving on?
Padster: I guess not if I let you pull me back to the paperclips.
Vroof: I was becoming curious about your moving on to snacks.
Padster: Were you?
Vroof: Was I what?
Padster: Were you curious?
Vroof: Yes, I believe that is the word I used. As a matter of fact, I’ll use it again. Curious.
Padster: Now you're just making it stand out separate from the rest of the group.
Vroof: I believe that is a halfway decent description as I see the lone figure isolated to make the journey as far as the footlights that become the edge of its world where the audience retreats into the darkness on the other side of the planet.  The stray never makes it back as the rest disappear to celebrate at some undisclosed location where they can vomit what little they will never absorb to laugh over one less oddball to worry about upsetting the execution of their performance.
Padster: I'm looking at my shoe and noticing how my foot moves in that way so that it seems the only function it serves is so you can check for any scrapes on the side of the in-step.  When I was small about maybe 4 or 5 my mother got me these black shoes that had these stiff edges.  She used to get so angry when she would discover I had put on 3 or 4 pairs of socks to protect my feet.  She'd rip those extra pairs off and declare that I would break the shoes in and they never did get broken in.  They were always too small and the only one who got broken in was me.  Somehow as I grew and it has always baffled me how old I am now and how many decades have been torn from my grasp that along the way how much I got broken in and would remain small in my feet and my legs and my arms I would somehow get broken in enough to stay small in my chest.  Not a surprise the world or just a small piece of it can't breathe it in just one deep breath to take something in and instead and so instead  it just stays out there. Somehow stay small in my skull.  Not a surprise I get these headaches no room for thinking with staying small.  I try to tell myself I'm not the only one staying small you know.  That has to be the only miracle that genuinely takes place that no matter how much I get old there's this getting broken in and staying small and keeping these stumpish hands to myself like a gadget or some device.  Device is more like it because others at least find gadgets more interesting.

from the bottom below lips that tighten lips that soften to blow above the plastic container above the bottom of the plastic container where the paperclips reflect dimly dimly they reflect as the dust floats and descends dimly reflecting floating descending dimly dimly they reflect.

Vroof: Now, was that helpful or of any use?
Padster: Was what of any use?
Vroof: All that talk.
Padster: You had your talk, too.
Vroof: I believe that, uh, maybe, wait a moment.
Padster: Wait for what?  I want a snack again.
Vroof: Wait.  It'll be here in a minute.
Padster: What will be here?
Vroof: What I was going to say.  I was pretty sure it was going to be useful.
Padster: I can't decide if I want something crunchy or soft.
Vroof: Thought for certain something was going to come out and and and
Padster: And do what?  Do what?
Vroof: It's not showing up or I was misled about some arrival of something.
Padster: Was it that you lost hold of it or it was never there to begin with?  I'm leaning towards something either soft or what was it?
Vroof: It's not clear.  I feel like I was misled about something being there from the start the emergence, you know what I'm trying to get at?
Padster: All I know is that I'm digging through this drawer trying to get at some snacks and I'm not finding any.
Vroof: What I'm getting at is the emergence the start of the emergence.
Padster: What the hell is the start of an emergence?  It emerges doesn't it?  Or it's always emerging or always starting.  Like fits and starts.  After all these years and all this life fits is more like it.  Just one obnoxiously tenacious narrow rivulet of fits.
Vroof: This is your moving on thing?
Padster: Why do you keep asking me like that?
Vroof: Like what?  Like your moving on thing is all about how much horse shit examining your in-step can generate?
Padster: I'd appreciate less questions and more evidence of something freakin' crunchy to flippin' munch on.
Vroof: You should make such statements about questions when you're the one asking what is of what use like some monitor monitoring.
Padster: You have no idea how much I have had to watch my every move since you came into this department.  It was bad enough having the hag before you with the stomach that was dying and peeling the paint off the walls with her mephitic fumes.  The only thing that occupied my mind was imagining what colors her wardrobe came in when she originally purchased them.
Vroof: What every move?  I don't know how you accomplish anything.
Padster: See what I'm talking about?
Vroof: See what?  I glance over in your direction and only manage to catch a brief image of what I thought appeared to be a hole of some sort where all your moving on vanishes into and then the next time I look there's not even a hole not even a brief image not anything suggestive of any image.  
Padster: Was any of that of any use?
Vroof: There you go with your inquiring and investigating.
Padster: I always ask myself whose final decision it was to put you here.
Vroof: You know who.
Padster: I know, but did they really make the final decision?  Who did they consult with?
Vroof: Who put you up to inquiring?  Was it the consultant?
Padster: Nothing crunchy.  Nothing soft.

from the bottom below lips that tighten lips that soften to blow above the plastic container above the bottom of the plastic container where the paperclips reflect dimly dimly they reflect as the dust floats and descends dimly reflecting floating descending dimly dimly they reflect.


- Max Stoltenberg




Saturday, December 10, 2011

ROUGHLY ORDINARY

Roughly so and such as had it in for a couple a couple of encounters or so roughly so.  A noise outside or between or wedged in the midst of a couple a couple of encounters wasting the sand as it pours through chairs sat upon in separate rooms dished out to serve in different times further apart than when they paid little to no attention to each other.  


No wonder and roughly so and such as had it in for a couple a couple of encounters or so roughly so.  Used to have that music made out of leaves some time roughly some time ago that perhaps might roughly sound somewhere else that music almost used to roughly used to and gone somewhere else where it crinkles between pages where it is roughly stored in its polarized and deconstructive fragmenting betwixt roughly and so.  No wonder.


No wonder and roughly so and such as had it in for a couple a couple of encounters or curiosity or so roughly so.  Nominally roughly nominally or so roughly so or dying ink expressed from bitten nipples roughly so into pages employed to support ceilings that sever lower and lower heads.  Nominally roughly numerically or so roughly so subtracting roughly so from nothing of wonder.  No wonder.




- Max Stoltenberg

Friday, December 9, 2011

FALSE STARTS

got there it got there how it got there nut glare shoulder got there it by italicized slanted tilted giving slanted tilted giving giving up and then it got there in time to miss its time to unwrap the giving up into a present of merciless now yet for chimes to bleed the unwrinkling brain into this pool this here there it got here, too as a chasm vanished into the bed skirt once someone's skirt a short close distance to the hard cold floor, too just got there it got here in time to miss its time sometimes too late sometimes too soon a moment just a moment too soon too late just a moment wait too long not long enough for who never said got here it got here in time to grab who never said away in the short close distance to the hard cold floor, too just just got there it got here in time to miss its time as time soaks into the cleaving wood of broken kitchen drawers pulling pushing pulling shoving as contents crash from the front into the back and behind for walls to harbor, too just a moment just just a moment wait too long not long enough for who never said got here it got here in time to grab who never said away in the short close distance to the hard cold floor lies the dislodged tooth and a mouth its dry bottom lip hanging down the short close distance from the bed skirt once someone's skirt where wishes unvoiced gather and freeze at the end of a hose in the back from the front into the back and behind for walls to harbor frigidly reddening eyes as grey skies dim beneath awnings covered in soot and trash adrift on air heavy with discouragement's belches covering the streets in the atmosphere's drool, too here how it got here also also here got here already here and gone and said and unsaid and done and back here into the back and behind for walls to harbor in this stagnant harbor blemishes rise to the surface of her skirt and a mouth its dry bottom lip hanging down the short close distance from the bed skirt once someone's skirt where wishes unvoiced and her wishes their reprimands drag feet down the short close distance to the hard cold floor where wishes unvoiced gather and freeze at the end of a hose in the back from the front into the back and behind for walls to harbor frigidly reddening eyes as grey skies dim beneath awnings covered in soot and trash adrift on air heavy with discouragement's belches covering the streets in the atmosphere's drool.




- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, December 5, 2011

THROUGH THIN AND THIN

Towards the door
Knob now in the shoe
Cracking balls
of feet


Losing interest
in
what was 
an it
of some
sort


Dead roaches fill pockets
Falling out along with 
pens


Don't think this will be
Of any use to anyone


Walking down hallways
Of whatever building
happens to be the compensating
chewing of the tongue
at the time
for squinting


Is this what is wanted?
Nothing is wanted
until another sign
is pinned into the skin
wear that
wear this


until the smell 
gets a room
of lonely small
shrinking back
sneezing forwards


these lines
dusty lines
thin and thin hairs
only triggered 
by the desperate fingers
of the expiring wind




- Max Stoltenberg

Saturday, December 3, 2011

IN OTHER WORDS

In other words it's as before undoing what has been done so that it needs to be done again in other words repeated so as to put another nature over the last one and call it something else while it has an odor that questions work and home in other words something else has landed on the desk in other words fallen out of someone else's back door onto the desk in other words on the bed been in the pillow digging deep into the right ear left ear in other words in other directions in other words didn't read the directions on the other hand in other words the same hand the one that does the job when bathrooms are somewhere else in the same location a few more times will do it until the cat and its contortions bring with them images of vomited fur balls in other words amputated hands just the hand the same hand the one that does the job when bathrooms are somewhere else in the same location shower curtain fantasy theater closed due to complications in other words deleting all those items deleted before in other words it's as before undoing what has been done so that it needs to be done again in other words repeated so as to put another nature over the last one and call it something else while it has an odor that questions work and home in other words something else has landed on the desk in other words fallen out of someone's else back door on the bed been in the pillow digging deep into the right ear left ear in other words in other directions in other words or the same words digging for clues digging for what was buried digging in the sand at the beach until the sand becomes darker is that where she was is that where she was seen walking by like a brush stroke in a painting one brush stroke that somehow set things right for getting off course in other words it was off course from that point on in other words more off course than the deflection that curved sharper with every breath in other words the texture of the brush stroke in other words the dress she wore in other words the way the waves of the brush stroke rose and fell along her body and collapsed the most deeply into her eyes where it could all end and just ended up collected in a sink drain in other words green and orange in other words peas and carrots in other words little cubes in other words of existence in organic living spaces hewn into tiny little spaces in other words where a face once thought beautiful was soft and blurry and awkward with self-conscious in other words not one's own words from mouths that obscured eyes where everything could descend where it could all end and just collected in a sink drain lying there as a face once beautiful changed into someone else's telephone poles in other words tall thin towers dug deep into the corners of eyes blinking with mucus for suppuration that goes unanswered in other words back on track to follow along the cracks in the mind knocking on the forehead with a fist emptied of questions no point just knocking on the forehead to check on the growing number of cracks in the mind knocking sometimes on the skull above the left ear in other words right ear in other directions without directions dosages too large in words too small to read knocking on the skull checking on the growing number of cracks in the mind in other words checking if anyone is still home or work in other words an odor no longer making one question when fists have been emptied of them as they knock in other words repeating things as to put another nature over the last one and call it something else in other words it needs to be done again things need to be done again in other words it's as before undoing things that have been done.




- Max Stoltenberg

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

BETWEEN OUTBURSTS

Waiting is all the more awkward as the flushing of the throat runs on and on and beyond into the wall of the winter coat of the next person here for the moment the  occasion lifting curtains and silhouettes revealing the yanking of the chain.  Continues on the flushing with its inconclusive gurgling prolonging the oppressiveness of sound.  Still photography is plastered with the gore of animation slogging through a mud of humiliation. Another star is witnessed re-entering the atmosphere as their shields heat up as they crash down among the winter coats as a spotlight remains focused on the leaky plumbing of their latest utterance.  


Weeds shit wind winter wind against the winter coat of the next person here for the moment the occasion lifting curtains and silhouettes revealing the yanking of the chain.  Of the chain yanked while waiting waiting while in line waiting in line.  Line up crash down another star is witnessed re-entering the atmosphere as their shields heat up as they crash down among the winter coats embedded among the bricks of the wall between winter coats as a spotlight remains focused on the leaky plumbing of their latest utterance leaky plumbing dripping slower continues on the flushing of the throat yanking of the chain lifting curtains and silhouettes yanking of the chain.  Of the chain yanked while waiting waiting while in line waiting in line. Line up crash down another star is witnessed re-entering the atmosphere as their shields heat up heat weeds shit summer heat hot wind blowing hot dirt blowing against the dark summer window screens where eyes that cannot be seen look out upon the lifting of curtains and silhouettes revealing the yanking of the chain. Of the chain yanked while waiting waiting while in line waiting in line.  Lining up crashing down among the dark window screens embedded among the bricks of the wall between dark window screens where eyes that cannot be seen look out upon the lifting of curtains and silhouettes revealing the yanking of the chain.  Of the chain yanked while waiting waiting while in line waiting in line.  Lining up crashing down in a shower of little stars that stab or shoot back in eyes that can no longer remain squeezed so tightly closed forced open weeds shit summer heat all still there as the flushing continues gurgling inconclusive in what does not come together nor what does not come apart only to leak and slog embedded among the bricks of the wall in winter and summer embedded among the bricks of the wall.




- Max Stoltenberg

Saturday, November 26, 2011

SCRAWLING WITH BONES

They had been boning up for this for up to several what were they called units of time sometime prior to the current how do you say of can't remember while they had been having been less broken up (except for the routine fracture worming its way) over more things distressing and read and skipped over and only then having stood out to them long after the countdown was started and even over skipped over.  Their crisis of so much unfinished business was a footnote of an overarching arch that had dislodged hefty chunks onto their heads or heads when they remembered to wear hats (did it matter?) or tales they thought they were in while they formed and reformed their little ensemble on and off and on again onto the path of re-careering themselves and one another through the conduits of one another's connections through the alternate feed of one another's self-employment through the upwards and downwards of one another's thumbs through the revisions of one another's preferences and profiles through the symptomatic deletions of one another's one anothers.


They had been boning up for this for up to several what were they called units of time sometime prior to the current how do you say of can't remember while they had been having been less broken up (except for the routine fracture worming its way) over more things distressing and read and skipped over all the little detailed pulverizing happening on the microscopic level while the macroscopic wiped the usual crust from the eyes that tired of the latest drift of land making space for more others to tumble into the bottom of their final frontier.


Qualmberger: Where do you suppose the last turn will take us?
Dearthton: Based on the navigational patterns of the depreciating minds steering our typical discourse, not to a very useful point.
Nadirloop: I most certainly do concur with that, but I think Qualmberger is asking about a geographical turn rather than a topical one.
Dearthton: But we were not discussing anything in the proximity of geography.
Qualmberger: And since no one has mentioned it for many portions of an age, I have yet to be able to locate any of our inscriptions.  
Nadirloop: Is that due primarily to inability or illegibility?
Vexedmoore: I would invite us to consider that no one has taken into account the possibility of reference to a turn of  a topographical nature.
Nadirloop: I most certainly do concur with that, but I think it had more to do with what I thought of as an insightful retort the other day and can't for the life of me recall what it was.
Qualmberger: How many times have we told you to write things down?
Dearthton: I confess that I have conformed to holding the fire hose of that message for many a defensive reaction as well as a thoroughly shred pair of trousers and I have come to the conclusion that when it comes to writing things down that the more one expresses oneself the more one's words work their way down the page down the ladder down the sewer down to a deeper burial.
Vexedmoore: Could be worse.  One could end up prey to a brain-eating amoeba.
Nadirloop: My sister's mother died of a brain-eating amoeba.
Dearthton: And she was very obsessive-compulsive about making lists.
Qualmberger: Why do you say your sister's mother when you could just as easily say mother.
Vexedmoore: His sister could have a different mother.
Nadirloop: No. I insist on doing that to create a resentful distance.
Qualmberger: My difficulty finding any of our inscriptions is probably a result of failing eyesight as well as an unsteady hand.
Dearthton: Are you talking about the graffiti we've made on these pieces of wood that give their weakening support to our shaky ranks?
Vexedmoore: Our rank asses you mean.
Dearthton: I'll be the first to admit that if one follows the trail of the smoking gun it leads right back to my fuming butthole.  At our decrepit age we can have our marring of nature just as much if not more than that petulant lot of whipper-snappers.  The old invented graffiti before the young of today were soiling ourselves.  Must you really have to keep bringing up some existential investigation of "inscriptions"?
Nadirloop: Existential?
Dearthton: That's not the word I was looking for.  What is it when you're trying to do something and it comes out meaning something worse?
Vexedmoore: I don't think that's what you're getting at.
Dearthton: Of course not.  That's exactly what I'm getting at.  What I'm saying is an example of a case in point.  Like this morning, I was trying to set up my dog's new bag of food and I was trying to pour the old bag into the new one and there were pockets of little old dried kibbles stuck up in the nooks and crannies of the old bag and as I tried to work them out they kept dropping at unexpected intervals onto unwanted coordinates such as any other part of the garage outside the new bag of dog food or into just about every opening in my head: my eyes, my ears, my nostrils, and one even landed in my mouth.  With all this technology one would think that after putting people in their proper place we could put things in theirs.  It was like I was cleaning out some orifice of some larger thing with a big grin on its face the face of my misfortune like I was getting hit with its uneaten food or the lint from its bellybutton or if it seemed wasted and insulting enough as embodied in the piece that landed in my mouth yet another remark expelled from its crapper hole.  I spit it out though into the new bag.  Putting things where they belong after the fact after the aftermath with my face all hot with anger and my hands shaking.  The steadiest hands have been reserved for the best shell games.
Vexedmoore: I most certainly do concur with that, but I still don't think that's what you mean at all.  You're talking about when someone is trying to make something sound better than it really is.
Nadirloop: Oh, yes.  What is the word for that?
Qualmberger: Is someone listening to a composition for large orchestra with a great deal of passages for doubled sections of trombones?
Vexedmoore: None of us has a portable working sound system anymore.  Can't even remember the last time one of us shared a poignant sequence.
Dearthton: What are all these bones lying around our bench?
Nadirloop: People bring them to the park to play fetch.
Vexedmoore: In fact, none of us has a sound portable working system anymore.
Dearthton: I think what you think you're hearing Qualmberger is not the pronouncements of orchestral instruments upon digesting a composer's notes, but denouncements from archaic sphincters exhausted from cheese, white bread, bananas, celery, broccoli, and cream of wheat.
Qualmberger: I think that you think I am thinking that the contra-bass quality of the trombone is even vaguely comparable to the sonorities of the irresolute flatulence of our languid quartet.
Vexedmoore: In further fact, none of us has anymore an imperturbable demeanor for working with an unsound system anymore.
Dearthton: These are not dog bones.  
Nadirloop: There seems to be no end to exhausting how we continue to share in one another's exhaust.
Qualmberger: I think that you think that what we all think about all day long is thinking about the end.
Vexedmoore: None of us have an end of perturbation nor medication for making an end of it let alone a go of it.
Dearthton: This looks like a thigh bone.
Nadirloop: Well, don't look at me.  It's not one of mine.  I have all my original bones.  Not a single buckle or break clean or otherwise.
Vexedmoore: Qualmberger should be one to talk when he's been wearing headphones all this time.  
Qualmberger: (holding up the cable) Look here, see?  It doesn't go anywhere.
Nadirloop: Then why are you wearing them?
Qualmberger: My ears are cold and I turned my closet and trunk in the bedroom inside out looking for my earmuffs.
Vexedmoore: When did you manage to come up with 2 months' down and 3 months' security?
Qualmberger: All right, I turned my refrigerator box upside down trying to find my old pair of earmuffs.  Are you happy?
Dearthton: Haven't been for in can't remember.
Vexedmoore: On behalf of the rest of us, I most certainly do concur with that, but why bother keeping all that cabling attached?
Nadirloop: Must be one of those sets that comes with the 20-footers.  Seems excessive.  I'd continually knock over coffee cups and get it tangled in the phone and the blender if I wandered around with them on.  Of course, it's not an issue in a refrigerator box.  Silver lining in the dampened cardboard if you know what I mean.  I'll be damned if I can remember that word for trying to put a more polished spin on something.
Qualmberger: I thought the cord might come in handy when I really felt like offing myself.
Dearthton: You're too feeble to climb up any of the trees in the park.
Qualmberger: That doesn't seem to blossom into anything practical.  By the time I make it to the park I'm overcome with that sort of anesthetized sensation and I mostly don't give a shit about anything.  One gets fed up with waiting for the coughing up enough blood thing to carry you.
Vexedmoore: Mostly don't give a shit, eh?  Is there any part of you that feels more miserable and despairing?
Qualmberger: There is, but I usually experience that as a sinking feeling in my feet concentrated in the ankles.
Nadirloop: And then how does it manifest itself?
Qualmberger: Then the physiology of the sinking sensation ends up discharging through the holes in my socks.
Dearthton: Should I dare ask if you have another pair?
Qualmberger: You already did and I've haven't been able to change this pair for in can't remember.
Vexedmoore: Maybe you can switch the socks or rearrange the front parts of them in your boots so the holes don't line up with your ankles.
Qualmberger: Look, I appreciate what you're all trying to do, but I thought maybe when this thing starts up again you could all help me tie the cord to the back and if the cable is durable enough and holds out it might break my neck.
Nadirloop: What starts again?
Qualmberger: The truck.
Vexedmoore: What truck?
Qualmberger: The truck our park bench is in the back of with all the bones piled around our rotted feet?
Nadirloop: I must conclude that I most certainly do concur with that now that you bring it up, but won't a 20 foot headphone cord get caught in something else possibly botching a well thought out plan?
Vexedmoore: After all those turns and mixed signals we've been going nowhere.  Any clues to what place this is?
Qualmberger: Look around for a street, landmark or something.
Dearthton: There's a stop sign.  Now we're getting somewhere.
Vexedmoore: (holding up another bone) This looks like one of those smaller pieces in the middle of the foot.  What are they called?  The lateral cuneiform, I think.  If these bones are human like Dearthton suggests.  
Dearthton: Reminds me of when I broke my left foot kicking my last lawn mower.  Haven't got an original bone in my body.
Nadirloop: Reminds me of that word I can't think of.  On the tip of my tongue.  The one where you try to make something distasteful seem more agreeable.
Qualmberger: Fucking euphemism.


While they had been having been less broken up (except for the routine fracture worming its way) over more things distressing and read and skipped over all the little detailed pulverizing happening on the microscopic level while the macroscopic wiped the usual crust from the eyes that tired of the latest drift of land making space for more others to tumble into the bottom of their final frontier.  Sometimes wheels that turned stopped many times as it turned out turning out what has never ceased to be turned out and thrown out to search many times for wheels that turned and ended up stopping always for turning out one anothers without a turn or one anothers given another turn at being turned out or taken out many times added to many times times many times multiplied by nothing for it had been having been less broken up (except for the routine fracture worming its way) over more things distressing and read and skipped over all the little detailed pulverizing happening all the time sometimes many times times many times multiplied by nothing for it had been having been less broken up (except for the routine fracture worming its way).  Worming its way.  Its way.




- Max Stoltenberg

















POPCORN CEILING


Is it? Has it? So it has. It has what with it what is unnecessary and with this and there it went away to the hemispherical unconscious to render the goat illiterate for another duration of the pulse of the colon pulsing from within the digital display of the time in the dark kitchen of the rusted trailer. Maintaining. Maintaining. Maintaining.

Maintaining. Maintaining. Maintaining. Maintaining what was it? Is it? Has it? Underneath or all around underneath like pounding out the ground like playdough spreading it out flatter and wider all around underneath like pounding out the ground pounding with all the pounding of the eardrums sliding an eye to one side to see if the cellphone lights up with a call lights cellphone lights muted by the pounding of the ground pounding with all the pounding of the eardrum skins stretched across peripheral vision to gag the incoming.

What’s the gag? Is it quite that much of a stretch of the eardrum skins stretched across peripheral vision to gag the incoming? Incoming outgoing exercising social skills chocolate-layered and frosted with friendliness to practice in circles that get around and go around and around the circles in circles and end up in cul-de-sacs of respiratory infections breathing in each other’s germs of belonging and affirmation painted into the make-up of sandwich board people. Bored people trying to fill their sacs with loose change of leftover sock puppets turned inside out. Dependency gasps as it misses a breath or more or more and more and more and more as it is maintaining maintaining maintaining maintaining with the popcorn ceiling leveled at its guests leveled at its guests be here be here as the now has it underneath all around underneath like pounding out the ground like playdough spreading it out flatter and wider all around underneath like pounding out the ground pounding with all the pounding of the eardrums sliding an eye to one side to see if the cellphone lights up with a call lights cellphone lights muted by the pounding of the ground pounding with all pounding of the eardrum skins stretched across peripheral vision to gag the incoming.

The celery has been shortened at the top or bottom depending on which end is up depending on which end is down depending on who is depending on who depending on which end is next to be tried on for size connected by the lubricated short cut dug through the tunnel right down the middle from end to end. The lettuce fell to the floor not realizing someone had ripped the bag open already not realizing that the someone who had ripped the bag open already had not realized that they were that someone who had already ripped the bag open already not realizing that the lettuce had gone bad already not realizing that the lettuce that had gone bad already had been eaten after the lettuce had gone bad already not realizing that they had spent most of another night already tossing and turning while trying to rip their thoughts out of another bag of already fermenting lines of thought concerning concerns they had about connecting reasons for circles that remained welcoming and impervious within gestures of each other’s gestures of each other’s comments of each other’s inflections of each other’s reading of the situation within the situation each was situated within and had been situated within already for another sleepless night beneath the popcorn ceiling.


- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, November 21, 2011

DARK LAKE

This is the last sentence before the next one.  And this is the next sentence after the last one.  Both could and probably do claim to be the other and the other claims to be the other.  And this is the next sentence and its claims are dehydrated by exhaustion and narrowed and thinned by claims and eyes that hover over to see if they try to accelerate around the corner mountain of mattresses with identically scribbled notes on every individually discolored layer coughing upward coughing downward with a distant throat clearing the only clearing around the corner mountain of mattresses with identically scribbled notes on every individually discolored layer coughing upward coughing downward with a distant throat clearing the only clearing around the table were the cups emptied by mouths that sat back on their beanbags.


Beanbags the beanbags have been taken away maybe one or two were leaking beans at the most didn't amount to too many beans they fell off the wagon the station wagon behind the station where gas was pumped into the already foul air by a rather large man wearing a long vermilion trenchcoat given to him by his rather vengeful father who abhorred his girth although the rather large issue of the father was rather dead set on convincing himself that his rather fuckheaded father was envious of his nob although this could not be contradicted by everyone who avoided him or maintained rather great distance from him.  The rather large man was waiting a rather long time for the next train at the rather rundown station where the waiting room reeked of urine and wet magazines with dampened perfume samples.  


The rather large man stood outside the waiting room turning his head to see the overgrown train tracks and then turning his head back to examine the broken window of the waiting room.  He noticed the fractured pieces jutting up from inside the bottom of the sill had collected a mound of dead flies.  A rank breeze would rock the shards and the dead flies would be blown about to flick against the shards like a stubborn build up of morbid plaque.  The rather large man continued to stand outside the waiting room occupying himself with turning his head in a pattern he did not care to maintain a consistently timed manner between the train tracks and the broken window of the waiting room.  He kept this up for many turnings of his head tending to linger on the dead flies contemplating the lack of variation in the intensity of the wind as well as feeling rather confident that he could expel the balance of gas from his vehemently digested lunch before the arrival of the train.


It was rather frustrating when the turning of the head from overgrown train tracks to dead flies passed by a building with an enormous hole in the roof that divided the pendulum swinging over the dark lake beneath the storm abbreviating their last meeting.  Rather frustrating when images punctuated with gaping holes and dark lakes lancinating the growth of something so that as it leaked odd shaped beans not amounting to too much spilled in the form of either something that happened or happened only in a dream a dream of someone some other that would escape sharing all the waiting all the turning all the different turning and changing of direction all the words the other would never hear by the dark lake beneath the storm abbreviating their last meeting the last meeting with the other.  Both could and probably do claim to be the other and the other claims to be the other.  And this is the next sentence and its claims are dehydrated by exhaustion and narrowed and thinned by claims and eyes that hover over to see if they try to accelerate around the corner mountain of mattresses with identically scribbled notes on every individually discolored layer coughing upward coughing downward with a distant throat clearing the only clearing around the corner mountain of mattresses with identically scribbled notes on every individually discolored layer coughing upward coughing downward with a distant throat clearing the only clearing around.




- Max Stoltenberg

Friday, November 18, 2011

STEEL WOOL ROMP

That key was missing for about since the other four keys previously spent on doors to rooms with no room at all until the next key was taken or given confused about since the other four or was it three no it was definitely five or about confused that that key was found missing again reappeared on the lost and found list flossing the teeth of the shredder that was the key principle with no room at all until the next key was taken or given confused about since the other two or was it originally three or four and ended up being definitely five or none whatsoever is what's left of what previously was spent on doors opening as others close into each other for each the other others onto no room at all until the next key there was always a next key copied and recopied to straighten out the bending bent so often in  locks spent on doors stinking of ass more than possible anything possible in the handing out of keys the backing up of keys the backing up against doors that open as others close onto no room at all.


Tools.  Plenty of tools for digging for screwing for screwing in blind spots hot spots off camera on camera.  Plenty of tools for digging for screwing screwing blind hot off on opposite same same old young same old same old.  Tools.  Plenty of tools for digging for screwing for tossing for tightening for loosening for cutting for getting until forgotten and bumped into again for collision sake out into the open bumping into again for the sake of another collision for the sake of nothing different only the ordinary bumping into the forgotten and familiar smacking into the face same old same old smacking of the face into the bumped into stuff.  Tools for cutting through the fence the last of several the last barrier of this prison the next prison in a line of the residential block prison block same color scheme same number scheme same scheme same old cutting out onto some room for only a short extending into a desk in the way the way the desk in the way crawling under the desk and clocking the top of the head into a clock an old forgotten clock remembered with a clocking to the top of the head off the top of the head it eludes a space only space blanks strung together thinking and thunking between under and soon over more junk more junk to come a lot out there in the junkyard outside to return to which direction?  Others say they know only know each object as it is encountered with a bang and a thunk and a smack to the face the nose wiping blood with the sleeve snagging on eyelids and lids of containers falling between abandoned vehicles climbing through backseats stinking of ass and other orifices and artifices of exchange wiping wet and crusty with pants thighs shrug inside withdrawing into numbed forgetting of the briefly thawed faked loves and frozen made up faces of years ago years years plenty of tools tools for escaping for escaping out into the junkyard just outside along the residential prison block blocked hole blocked by neglected fishing boats with holes of their own holes of their own getaways ended too soon only to extend the stench of fish that have gotten away to linger in the nostrils tumbling over furniture deteriorated but enough remaining to hamper escaping out into the junkyard just outside along the residential prison block blocked hole blocked by neglected fishing boats with holes of their own holes of their own getaways ended too soon only to extend the stench of fish that have gotten away to linger in the nostrils tumbling over furniture out into the junkyard just outside along the residential prison block blocked hole blocked on both sides pushing against each other pushing pushing to get in pushing to get out pushing pushing pushing get out get in get out in out in out out out in in in out push out push out push out push push push hold it hold it hold it hold hold hold hold wait wait hold scream scream scream let it out keep it in let it out keep it in voice screaming voice holding holding pushing pushing fists gripping gripping smacking into junk more junk blocking blocking the hole blocked on both sides pushing against each other.




- Max Stoltenberg

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

UNDER WRAPS

Headlights compete for the air
above the asphalt
stabbing light into the thickening darkness
that will not part




Headlights splash against fences
Lemon sting of metal wires
Knitted impatience 
caught in webs of restrictions
chaining
cutting
links
bottoms fall out
and land on shafts
of probes


sent by someone


Who knows who
Making violins wait their turn
no feed
just conducting sphincters
that's what the notes
were written in


High beams again
illuminate nothing
but blind the back 
of the inside
of the head


forgot


who knows who
something about
being sent
up
into the body
whatever it was


can't rid this
of that


forgot


flash reflection off teeth
maybe hers


forgot


High beams again
illuminating nothing
but blind the back
of the inside 
of the head


forgot


fingers rub the neck
dying whispers below the skin
sinking away


sinking


away




- Max Stoltenberg