Monday, October 31, 2011

NEXT INJECTION

What's needling the situation is broken inside and lurking about under the skin.  Running out the front door and down the stairs making it to the last step to step out onto the path running out the front door and down the stairs making it to the last step out onto the path running out the front door and down the stairs making it almost to the last step and stepping over the last step as the darkness opens and stretches along with the extending foot extending and extending the darkness the chasm the dark chasm extending beyond the reach of the foot the thought drops thought drops out of the bottom of the feet out of the bottom of the rectum out of the bottom of the stomach out of the bottom of the throat out of the bottom of the voice out of the bottom of the head leaving the top clinging to the last step.  So much for avoiding the last step this time.


The next injection has been ready overdue overdue cannot put it off as the split needle ruptures one vessel after another within.  Nothing is contained that once circulated.  All that is contained is what spills and spreads about from the split needle ripping apart as it goes.  The next injection has been self-administered as the hemorrhage makes another point.  Belabored to say the least.  Is that an organ moving about unattached within?  Ingested something extra something saturated with something once liquid now shavings of needles in a cushion breathing in and out the next injection working its way throughout under the skin.  


What was once witnessed from the outside is only experienced from the inside trapped within this punctured flesh.  Feet pounding the steps and paths of stairs and doorways leading out onto dark chasms is thread back together with the next injection with a split needle mended by logic's addiction to impatience and hastily connected circuits looping into unremitting pursuit of a way out from under the ceiling of this punctured and sewn together flesh draping down in front of eyes filling with blood and thoughts swimming in contents opaque with decomposition.  Within these walls within these cells ruptured and closing in upon themselves needles fractured and coiled into wire wrapped on both sides of the fleshy border that expands and emaciates with inflammation and decay sewn back together by the threads these threads that carry the all too comprehensible themes that loop under over and under the skin leaving more holes and refilling and repuncturing with metal both cold and hot and cold stinging numbing nodes collapsing with its weight unable to crawl out from under the pressure of the next injection of being being injected from above and below and without and within.




- Max Stoltenberg

Saturday, October 29, 2011

OUTAGE

Cut off shut off.  Leave off.  Leave it off.  Arms hands out under can't find a comfortable position to doze off cut off shut off leave off leave it off.  Arms hands out under can't find a comfortable position to doze off circulation cut off shut off backed up stuffed up nose up hands up.  Hands up.  

Written off written out left out stand out stand up sit down kneel down hands up.  Hands up.  Follow the signs.  No signs. Where to turn?  Tired of turning.  This is the loop.  This is the loop.  Hold the turn until flying off.  Fly off.  Cut off.  Shut off.  Leave off.  Leave it off.  Arms hands out under can't find a comfortable position to doze off cut off shut off leave off leave it off.  Clear off.  Clearing off.  No clearing.  Nothing clear.  Clear as shit.  Clear as bullshit.  Arms out hands out hands up.  Hands up.  Eyes down.  Looking down or looking up?

As a boy or as a man looking down no it was looking up at the sky at night a night sky the night sky it was like something not like something it was not like looking up at the night sky it was more it was less it was like holding one's face over the sink filled with something very dark and very silent and it was so close to the face that was learning to be filled in darkened in with more silence more reflection of this dark something unlike so unlike itself so like something else so this so damn this.  

She: Was that your foot?
He: My arm.
She: What is your arm doing down there?
He: I dropped something.
She: Good luck trying to find it.
He: Never mind.
She: What was it?
He: Never mind.
She: I want to know what it was.
He: And I said never mind.
She: Was it your watch?  That thing just won't stay on your wrist.  It's as if you are shrinking and time just gets away from you.  Is this just another one of your themes you're attempting to clandestinely let slip away into another brief preview of oblivion.
He: Not even close.  We can still hear each other.  At least as far as we usually manage a semblance of connection.  Two people only seem to convince themselves of being connected when they offer yet another one of their assumptions about the other or the dim kicking of the foot against the pathetically searching limb.
She: Still think it was your watch.
He: You keep thinking that while I give up on something else.  Trudging on to yet another story of the box of fractured light bulbs, you know the one?
She: Is this more electrical humor?
He: No. That was the story about the two electricians vacationing in a geothermal pool I told you about a couple of weeks ago.
She: More like a couple of months ago.
He: A couple of months?
She: You and time. 
He: You and money.
She: You and social interaction.
He: You and operating any type of electronic devices.
She: You and me.
He: Sorry. Run that one by me again.
She: You and me.
He: No.  Must be the absence of light.
She: The absence of light?  It's only been pitch black in here for who knows how long?  
He: Where in here?  I thought we made it outside.  You mean to tell me you think we're still in the house?  
She: Well, why not?
He: Why not?  What room do you think we've been in?  I can't even ask you what it looks like or feels like or smells like?  There isn't any of that just the fucking next thing we lose that's all.  
She: Give me your arm.
He: No.
She: You know why you won't let me touch your arm.
He: Yes, I don't want you to reach out and poke me in the eye.
She: What's the difference?  You won't need it in the dark now.
He: I'd like to at least hold on to the idea of being able to see even if everything is going to be dark indefinitely.
She: That doesn't fit in with your gradual descent into oblivion.
He: It's the principle of the thing.  Plus oblivion doesn't work that way at least I don't think so.
She: You think you've successfully gotten me to forget about wanting to feel your arm.
He: It's too dark for terms like success now.
She: Just give me your arm.
He: I could be giving you the wrong one and you couldn't tell the difference.
She: I'd just ask again for the other one.
He: I could give you the same one twice or however many times we carry on this thing that we're carrying on.
She: You don't want me to notice that your watch is missing.
He: What room have you been imagining we've been in all this time?
She: If we've been outside where has the Sun been all this time?
He: I think we've been knocked off course and we've been drifting in some dark part of the universe.
She: I remember watching my father play on his classic billiard table.  You know the ones with the pockets with the netting.  I loved that table.  I would watch him plan his shots and see the balls go where he wanted them to go.  In the beginning he let me retrieve the billiard balls for him.  When I made mistakes and dropped a ball or two after a while he would tell me to leave them alone.  "Keep your little dirty hands off the precious cargo, my dear," he'd say.  So I'd stand there quietly trying not to make a sound or a move and I stopped looking at him and the thinking and his fucking plan and after even more time I got tired of the smacking sound.  The more I ignored it the louder the smacking got.  The only time it would decrease in volume was when I put my attention on the pockets and just look at the balls hanging stuck in the nets.  Just hanging stuck.


- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, October 24, 2011

STRANDED STIRRINGS

When?  Palms.  When was?  Palms they both burn scraped against the Earth or wood no splinters what is that piece is that a piece no splinters palms they both burn scraped against the Earth or wood no splinters or something else that cannot be brought to mind or against each other maybe when was the last time swallowed dirt or something better just be dirt this fall this infection.  


When was when was the last time before this fall this infection falling infecting have some general timeline when it first started to set in the exhaustion the congestion the headache all wrapped sandwiched in a moroseness drizzled with lack of motivation.  Palms burn a little less scraped against the Earth or side of something rough when was when was the last time before this fall this infection and its spread and subsequent derailment there it comes derailing things again just before something might have come together chances were probably not favorable.  Chance gets characterized as fat sometimes maybe in terms of something corpulent behind thick walls and lots of corridors starving out what's outside and drying brooks struggling to push the dirt aside.  Swallowed something trying not to taste it trying to spit it out better just be dirt this fall this infection.  


When was when was the last time before this fall this infection falling infecting impact when the impact occurred actually followed by a cascade of other impacts when the forced swallowing if forced to swallow let it be dirt just dirt pushed aside by drying brooks.  When was when was the last time before this fall this infection this talk of drying brooks was it then when we got sticks when we got sticks to stir in the remaining puddles when we got sticks to stir in the remaining puddles and watched the disturbed mud make cloud formations.  When was that that was a we there was that girl with the greasy feet but pretty face there was a we wasn't there when was that that pretty face there was a pretty face wasn't there it had when was that when was the last time took a breath?


Breathing a weird sound coming out like that violin theme drifting up into a grey sky and narrowing its path when was that that the violin theme was heard like the narrowing sky a scene being squeezed into palms palms that still burn not as much as before when was when was that before these palms burn from scraping against the Earth or against something else cannot be brought to mind all that comes up are colors the colors of infection green sometimes yellow mostly green.  Swallowed something the impact was it forced to swallow something trying not to taste it trying to spit it out better just be dirt this fall this infection.




- Max Stoltenberg

Friday, October 21, 2011

NO LONGER AT THIS ADDRESS

The only thing being returned.  Slipped the envelope into the outgoing mail slot.  Touching nothing.  Dull sound of the empty metal box letting it drop flat now.  Letting it drop flat now.  The only thing being returned.  The rest is junk.  Walking away from the set of mailboxes.  Looking up at the night sky.  A light up there as if moving indicates nothing but that it is still.  Touching nothing.  The only thing being returned.  Slipped the envelope into the outgoing mail slot.  Touching nothing.  Dull sound of the empty metal box letting it drop flat now.  Letting it drop flat now.  The only thing being returned.  The rest is junk.  Walking away from the set of mailboxes.  Looking up at the night sky.  A light up there as if moving indicates nothing but that it is still.  Going nowhere.  Touching nothing.  The rest is junk.  


Standing in the garage next to the garage in the alley where the bins arranged the contents once in the garage now in the alley the contents once in the alley before becoming the contents of the garage to return to the bins arranged and rearranged.  Leaning against the wall of the address the wall where the bins arranged the contents too dark to see the bug that waited there stuck there died there too dark to see the bug there on the wall leaning against the wall of the address.  The only thing being returned.  Letting it drop flat now.  Touching nothing.  The rest is junk.  Hands tear envelopes and paper within.  Paper within.


A couple of sheets half-torn fall to the ground leaning against the wall.  Hands pick up and unfold the half-torn sheets.  Small print whispers the following:


Program instructions for tracing.  After creating identities tracing out traces with a program developed based on instructions for following traces of created identities developed out of paths developed and traced out skip a tear to understand skip out of programs built on skip tracing based in part on identities torn here and here skip skip to an end.  Notoriously brief due to hesitation and indecision.  They moved about each other tracing paths traced out of hesitation and indecision.  Unfinished approaches completed by isolation.  Clouds hung above with no progress like leaning against the wall of the address where former and subsequent residents no longer occupy only occupied with tracing out something the only thing returned.  


Leaning against the wall of the address the wall where the bins arranged the contents too dark to see the bug that waited there stuck there died there too dark to see the bug there on the wall leaning against the wall of the address.  Too dark for the figure with long brown hair brushed from her face by a wind carrying her words in small print absorbed by the patterns traced in the rock she is leaning against the large rock that obscured the vast forest in the valley below and beyond. The only thing being returned.  Letting it drop flat now.  Touching nothing.  The rest is junk.


Approaching the set of mailboxes.  Beginning of the week's middle waiting for the end to last and it does for not so long as it lasts.  Tail ends before resuming the block copy and paste this street these houses across the street where the set of mailboxes now on this side of the street where the tail ends before resuming the block copy and paste of steps following the steps.  Approaching the set of mailboxes walking away from the set of mailboxes the only thing being returned the rest is junk.  Touching nothing.  Walking away from the house approaching the address the address on the envelope the only thing being returned with the wrong name.  Stepping into the house and standing in the doorway noticing the books and the picture the rest is junk.  Dull sound of the empty metal box letting it drop flat now.  Letting it drop flat now.  Touching nothing.  The set of mailboxes towards approaching towards resuming the block copy and paste of steps following the steps.  No following steps.  No approaching steps.  Across the street on this side where the roofs obscure the cemetery where a vast forest below and beyond no longer at this address.  That side across from what once was has followed what once was becoming the contents returning.  The only thing returned.




- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, October 17, 2011

WASTED EXPLANATIONS

Ran out of rocks to throw.  The water is settling.  The circles are getting smaller.  The circles are fading and disbanding no more performances.  Absent depths there for too long still prolonging madness and chewing on the inside of jaws chewing on things until they bore holes through profiles never knowing which one was preferred.  The circles are getting smaller.  The circles are fading and disbanding no more performances.  Absent depths there for too long still prolonging madness.  Absent depths absent until the bottom falls out.  It fell out no point picking it up where they left off others continue on where to pick up from?  It fell out no point picking it up where they left off others continue on where to pick up from here or there or anywhere absent depths absent until the bottom falls out falling out they had a falling out from the story above theirs while the fires burned on every story in the building it had been building up to this thickening of the plot the corner plot the corner office the corner where the building went up the corner where the building was going up in smoke until the water the water for drowning out the flames and the dirtying of the day until the water is settling the circles are getting smaller the circles are fading and disbanding no more performances.  Absent depths there for too long still prolonging madness and chewing on the inside of jaws chewing on things until they bore holes through profiles never knowing which one was preferred.  The circles are getting smaller.  The circles are fading and disbanding no more performances.  Absent depths there for too long still prolonging madness.  Absent depths absent until the bottom falls out.  It fell out no point picking it up where they left off others continue on where to pick up from?  It fell out no point picking it up where they left off others continue on where to pick up from here or there or anywhere absent depths absent until the bottom falls out falling out they had a falling out from the story above theirs while the fires burned on every story in the building it had been building up to this falling out they had a falling out before this falling out feeling out of it for dropping out dropping the subject subjecting themselves to subjects of absent depths until the bottom falls out each of them belted dropping the subject nonetheless subjects falling out fallen into this falling out for a dropping out subjecting themselves to every breath taking no more leaps while they subjected themselves to every breath until the water the water for drowning out the flames and the dirtying of the day until the water is settling the circles are getting smaller the circles are fading and disbanding no more performances no more performances the run is done.


Absent depths there for too long still prolonging madness and chewing on the inside of jaws chewing on things until they bore holes through profiles never knowing which one which window they opened windows windows opening onto a field windows opening onto a playground windows opening onto a classroom windows opening onto a voice never called on windows opening onto a roster with a missing name windows opening onto conversations explanations that fall on faces turned towards the screen that grows flatter with every explanation windows opening onto hands that lost the balloon floating off on the wind windows open on color what color was it the balloon floating on the wind floating on the wind through open windows opening windows for the wind against them and through them through the passages their passages for absent depths there for too long still prolonging madness and chewing on the inside of jaws chewing on the shrinking size of his work looking down at the toilet pissing into realizing the sinkhole opening up the absent depths until the bottom falls out as the piss sprays further down feet teetering on the edge teetering teetering.




- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, October 16, 2011

INCOMPLETE SENTENCES

Oversight frames them into snapshots.  Haven't forgotten them never will will will never will from passed it passed over with tires large tires shaping minds into rolling waves where ships are sunk and fishermen carved out from between unfinished lines of thought cast out as bait dispensed in ear droppers for another tale.  Can induce vomiting conclusions.  It is the scratch work that claws at the hills rolling like the waves passed over with tires large tires shaping minds into rolling waves where ships are sunk and fishermen carved out from between unfinished lines of thought cast out as bait dispensed in ear droppers for another tale.  Can cause discomfort awkward canned laughter followed by the gag response.  Up from servitude onto loftier levels along the walls of the towering egg carton cracking each other up rolling from one holding space to the next one depression to another separated by outcroppings of peering into the business of another cushioned by oversight frames them into snapshots.


From one ever after once upon a time to another narrated by infection the shell game continues.  Passed on with radial voice-overs wrapped into tires large tires shaping minds into rolling waves where ships are sunk and fishermen carved out from between unfinished lines of thought cast out as bait dispensed in ear droppers for another tale.  Can induce dizziness where the world spins with its spin revolving positions around the maelstrom dragging brains from rolling waves and rolling hills being clawed at by forgetting lines of thought cast out as bait dispensed in ear droppers for another tale as rolling hills the soft rolling hills are expurgated from between valleys emptied out into depressions along the towering egg carton shelling out tiptoeing and carelessness.




The Interview


The wallpaper was not only distracting it clashed with their complexion.  


(Needs a hell of a lot less polish).




Interview with an Equation


Both sides agreed that a shave would do the trick.  Going out on a limb here and a limb there until the figure was truncated.  


"Can tell from your getting back up from that bat to the head that dinner is going to be delayed."


"Stop procrastinating and mix them together and see what happens.  Stop using your fear of the roof coming off as an excuse.  See what happens.  Come and see and come and see what happens.  Your fear in your face watching the splotchy red palm marks swim about your skin makes up for things when one is in not so terrible a mood."


"Which one is which one is which one you both take turns being good and being bad mostly bad."


"All part of the same face same gestures for taking these daggers and making those eyes halt their shifting from side to side.  May as well let you tip this boat right over right not over for quite some daggers and mud."


"Another postponed funeral prolongs the interview."




An Audition Instead


"What motivates you?"
"Some of my organs."
"Which ones?"
"A small minority."
"Can you name just a couple?"
"They prefer anonymity unless they're being replaced then it doesn't matter does it?"
"How would you describe your personality?"
"Double A."
"Alcoholics Anonymous?"
"Battery."
"Energetic?"
"Threatening contact."
"What?"
"I meant power source."
"I thought you reminded me of my father."
"Was he threatening?  Did he ever threaten you with very dark green wet vegetables or pungent fish?"
"Pungent?"
"Formidable was the word I was preferring come to think of it.  Did he wear sunglasses frequently and unnecessarily?"
"I'm beginning to notice my chest tightening with this word of yours - threatening."
"These words of mine these words of yours.  I've been noticing your chest for a spell the spell you cast.  You know come to think of it I believe I more accurately remind you of your boss sociopathic authority figure that he is while your father probably turned grey prematurely in fact I could wager that there is much he probably did prematurely.  Additionally, come to think of it, you know what I would change about this audition?"
"That people like you wouldn't be eligible?"
"Eligibility doesn't apply to me.  I would change the format."
"The format of the audition?"
"No, the format outside of the audition."




Fingernails tapping on the counter in front of the teller's window.  Oversight frames them into snapshots.  Haven't forgotten them never will will will never will from passed it passed over with tires large tires shaping minds into rolling waves where ships are sunk and fishermen carved out from between unfinished lines of thought cast out as bait dispensed in ear droppers for another tale.  Can induce vomiting conclusions.  Don't forget to check your work.  The scratch work that claws at the hills sinking along with the ships between the rolling waves.  Missing the hills forgetting more than missing with their oversight can't forget what they want to remember with their tires large tires passing over shaping minds into rolling waves.  Some died before their sentence was complete.  Some were born so they wouldn't miss out.




- Max Stoltenberg



SNARL

Seeing things.  Things that are there.  At least to get it down on the surface not any good on the surface as far as that goes down with the words from a distant song a song screeching around within the walls of a head under a sky between hands with fingers missing from some such that refuses to be spoken about time it was put down to trauma and its changing lanes so carelessly while reciting lines of the do not worry slapped onto the box that leaked when set right side up fuck that right side up who said?  Who said that so hushed as if this head was turned off or something turned off to all the surface stuffiness holding this nose in place this place for looking around seeing things things that are there at least to get it down on the surface not any good on the surface as far as that goes with the words from a distant surface was it bed was it thighs were they?  Who said that so hushed as if this head was turned off or something turned off to all the hands with fingers missing gaps in hands gaps not where they need to be where they are needed to be when surfaces get in the way of gaps in surfaces an idea at some point in some place where surfaces are busy being vertical for a great deal of falling and landing bad landings leaning on another criteria slanting into landing bad landings who said that?  Who said that so hushed as if this head was turned off or something turned off to all the hands with fingers missing gaps in hands gaps not where they need to be where they are needed to be when surfaces get in the way of gaps in all the surfaces slanted towards versions more appealing to those more appealing as they move and glide along surfaces their surfaces beyond elbows that never make it to tables turned as surfaces slant slanting into landing bad landings who said that?  Who said so?  Who said so so hushed as if this head was turned off turned on if one must know no one needs to know the needs or the needing to have it known as no one has ever asked who's asking?  Who said so so hushed as if this head was turned off turned on if one must never care.


He carries the plastic gun that shoots the plastic stick with the suction cup at the end of it.  At the end of it the suction cup never sticks to anything standing up on toes to reach the sink and run the water on the suction cup to make it stick could have gotten the water gun instead but didn't what was this head thinking must have been turned off who said that?  Who said so so hushed as if this head was turned off turned on if one must know about what screeches around and whispers in hushed tones in this head as if turned off turned on if one must never care.  Wouldn't do that.  Wouldn't care, that is.  Missing fingers the gaps turn it off for a shorter time than one would estimate or guess or estimate how many missing fingers how many gaps that surfaces for thighs when a surface for a mouth on contact reappeared on contact was itself landing bad landing will suffice suffice it to say who says so?  Who said that so hushed as if this head was turned off turned on left on all night forgotten glowing with neon signs facing the back of the eyes facing the back of the head facing the back of the face always facing the about face.  


The mask is on inside out doing the about face always facing the about face half a mind to run through it again the 180 degrees turning about behind this mask that is inside out doing the about face always facing the about face half a mind to run through it again the 180 degrees turning about behind this mask that is inside out doing the about face on the surface arms next to those thighs that gave off something when giving still existed alongside arms alongside things on surfaces that held up before slanting into landings bad landings shaking the turned off head coming to this who said so?  Who said that so hushed as if this head was turned off turned on left on all night forgotten glowing with neon signs facing the back of the eyes facing the back of the head facing the back of the face always facing the about face covered in the mask that is inside out doing the about face always facing the about face within half a mind to about face.




- Max Stoltenberg

Thursday, October 13, 2011

VARVES

Determination was under layers. The oscillating fan was turned on high. There were too many tunes to accompany the loner. And there were no more tunes along the going along a long going. The symbols crashed to the floor making an awful dramatic racket. There was no hole back there. Back there behind the bookcase there was no hole only wall from which crayon drawings have dropped onto dead bugs. Comas punctuated their lives until the reprieves were spliced with scenes from the day to day menu prolonged by excessive quotations. Just saying.

Margant: Exactly.
Looprin: Exactly what?
Margant: How you put it.
Looprin: How I put what?
Margant: What you just said.
Looprin: Are you just saying that to cover the fact you weren’t listening?

What will he say now? Will it entail another form of rationalization, linguistic parry, or focusing her attention on some emotive minutiae? Maybe he will camouflage himself in silence or look helpless and appropriate social cues from their last dog’s terminal illness? Maybe not or perhaps he will choose to walk about the room as he ponders her question only to unintentionally make a conscious effort to smack his shin against the corner of the coffee table. Perhaps or maybe not perhaps with the coffee table being out of reasonable range for extending unintentionality within the bounds of his conscious awareness as far as that goes along with other ongoing investigations along with other goings-on a long going.

Looprin: I’m waiting.

Not on the same page are we? Someone is certainly giving the sheet a deathly glare. Are her nostrils flaring and does that not enhance her facial features featured in his thoughts less as he drains an infected ear only to flush another swatch of blue once a glimpse of one of her eyes along the dripping to the floor mixing with unswept fur along the tile going along with is what it will end up doing and going a long way going along with it all a long going.

Margant: I was just saying.
Looprin: What are you muttering?

What do you know? She’s giving any exit strategy he might try an additional dead bolt. He was beginning to count on any leeway she might inadvertently traject in his direction regardless of her being dead set against it. What do you know? What do they know? They were both dead set against it. Irregardless of whether neither of them or those they lived their lives in reaction to not wanting to end up in any way reminiscent of the people they were refusing to emulate quite intentionally putting out of their minds the very people who would in no way shape or form or mold or fungus or baneful discharge have the most miniscule influence on the patterns the patterns and the patterns stemming from the determination that was under layers outer layers and inner layers along with those ever thinning and thickening patterns associated with patterns patterns of ongoing along with a long going.

Margant: What I meant to say was that I was just thinking about that story about the six monkeys not monkeys giraffes that told the four bankers regarding the article series of articles where they interviewed they being the football players whose coach was caught having not set his recorder to record their most recent game trial where they had to defend themselves against suspicions of foul play a foul smell that neighbors were complaining of what had reminded them of a barbeque they had been invited expelled from which they had been expelling food that was bad meat dead meat dead people who had recently died from ingesting bad meat made of dead people who originally thought they had been dead set against ending up on the menus they had ended up with.
Looprin: You’d think the four bankers would’ve known when to say enough is enough.
Margant: Three bankers now that I lay out the whole thing in front of me.
Looprin: And me.
Margant: And you.

Well, what do you know? What do they know? Now what has become known only just now was that one of the giraffes eight in all two down is all that was managed managing pins out at the bowling alley all day avoiding a day at the office where room was disappearing as entourages moved along going along hour after hour throughout the day avoided at the office where room was disappearing as entourages moved along going along with not enough going along with ongoing investigations the advanced symptoms of audits advancing into the next stage along the later stages of ongoing along with a long going.

Shoes to fill. Bowling shoes. All day avoiding a day at the office where room was disappearing as entourages moved along going along hour after hour bringing their attention focusing their attention on those little marks watermarks that were difficult to adjust their darkness a darkness for hiding information obliterating details not done yet how can it possibly get done soon to get it done eventually if only those benchmarks those little marks on the space in front laying it all out in front of them putting it out there with less room disappearing as entourages and their badges and their shoes to fill. Bowling shoes. Refocusing on the little marks reframing into the next frame after frame haven’t found the little marks there focusing finding the one that worked the last time when was the last time didn’t leave any standing there is still some standing with their badges standing there until they move along with going along with ongoing investigations all day long avoiding the office where room was disappearing as entourages moved along hour after hour bringing their attention focusing their attention on those little marks watermarks that were difficult to adjust their darkness a darkness for hiding information obliterating details not done yet how can it possibly get done soon to get it done eventually if only those benchmarks those little marks on the space in front laying it all out in front of them putting it out there with less room disappearing as entourages and their badges and their shoes to fill.


- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, October 10, 2011

RESPECTIVE CORNERS

Where has she been?  Where is he now?  Together on paths attempting to braid something along the way.  Upbraided with conclusions wrapped in plastic blown about.  Fences display trash at intervals that convince others of something but not them.  Not them.  Where has she been?  Where is he now?  Knitting words out of letters stirred by blinking.  Mummified in labyrinths of the next to next to last spoken and unspoken scripts tied into loops and sealed with saliva ready to pop with dehydration as they almost do and don't yet come to any conclusions wrapped in plastic blown about. Searching for broken fences to pass through and come upon upbraided by fences and their latest erections spraying compartments for minds getting smaller and tired of wondering.  Ever?  Ever?  Put a hand on a knee?  Canoes.  One canoe on a lake when there was a lake.  Where was she?  Where was he?  Where did it go?  Together or not so together on paths attempting to braid something along the way.  Upbraided.  That's all.  That's all there is.  Didn't go on very far only to go on and on.  


Dried leaves joining plastic blown about to the fences fenced in.  No clearance.  Dried leaves splitting and rustled uncover a thumb fleshy or rubber some one thing outside a closet not to be found not near.  Circling around it to see which crack in the space leaves it to circling around dried joining about fences fenced in.  No clearance.  Unclear how splitting and rustled they crack into circling around it take it up upon themselves itself blown about to the fences fenced in.  No closet to be found finding less restoratives just fences fenced in.  More fences needing space for circling around it take it up upon themselves putting it together circling around it splitting and rustled they back into it and circling around it take it up upon themselves rubber fleshy some one thing outside the closet the one once storing the last oar splitting and rustled they crack into circling around it taking it up upon themselves.  Where has she been?  Where was he?  Together upbraided along paths down twisting wrists knowing what they know for the next to next to last upbraiding.  She goes he goes goes she goes first or after him after her sharing another upbraiding circling around it taking it up upon themselves knowing what they know until they ask until then then all for that for all that it's lost in the circling around taking it up upon themselves eyes his and hers coming off with the force of the spin don't need to see where she has been where he is upbraided together in ever ever put a hand right on this until next to next to last escaping breath it has been for what waves do to her do to him circling around it taking it up upon themselves for another upbraided some one thing.




- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, October 9, 2011

RETURN TRIP

Checking.  Checking another box.  The box next to vacation.  The vacation that was ending.  Driving through the time and space between vacation and routine.  Back to it.  Turning around the corner of the mountain revealed back to it.  One hand on the wheel the other as far from the magnetic pull as possible got stiffer with discomfort until adjusting as much as adjustment was feasible.  


Fessing up was divided into quantified statements.  She read a poem to him in the car on the way back until nausea led to silence for a period interrupted by sounds of emptying.


Checking.  Checking another box.  The box next to ill.  They both of them couldn't think of the word.  It was not on the tip of the tongue.  More like the back.  Back to it.  Back of the part of the throat where it all backed up back to it.  Turning around the corner of the stomach the mind the stomach revealed back to it.  One thought on the next day the other as far from the magnetic pull as possible got stiffer with discomfort until adjusting as much as adjustment was feasible.  Not very feasible.


Emptying was divided up into smaller and smaller fragments.  Tangled limbs cloths absorbing mostly absorbing spots left to vanish mostly vanish left to smolder in the light.




- Max Stoltenberg

Thursday, October 6, 2011

CROWD SPITE

Room of excess
Waste of space
Extra waste
Crushed in
Steady there here is it
Take a pen and stick it in the glass of wine
The pen the glass of wine


Swirling in the blood of the dark
No business of this all that
For all that channels air and dirt
Bouncing along necks break in folded pieces
Collapsing mirrors
Nothing re-emerges
But wait


Still
Wait
Kidding aside all stupid seriousness aside
Inside of the lungs burning with the pulse
Of something that calls itself someone
Large venus flytrap of a reproductive blossom
Opening onto an audience engulfed
Curtains


Was that so bad?
No business of this all that
For all that channels air and dirt
Bouncing along necks break in folded pieces
Collapsing mirrors
Nothing re-emerges
But wait


A little faster this time
Here it comes again
No
Not yet destined for the center stage
Of the abundant overflowing sewer
Settling down
Well trained for this all that
All that business
Denied 
Chiding mouths gnawing on the bark
Of the tree in the grass
Dying and transplanted
In the rocks
For all that channels air and dirt
Bouncing along necks break in folded pieces
Collapsing mirrors
Nothing re-emerges
But wait


Even faster now
No nothing re-emerges
All that business 
Denied denials
Confessions signing 
Double ply forms
Wiping that expressionless look
Of all that faces away
Away towards the ocean
Poured into the bottom of it
Here it comes again

No
Not yet destined for the center stage
Of the abundant and overflowing sewer
Settling down
Well trained for this all that
All that business
Denied 
Chiding mouths gnawing on the bark
Of the tree in the grass
Dying and transplanted
In the rocks
For all that channels air and dirt
Bouncing along necks break in folded pieces
Collapsing mirrors
Nothing re-emerges
But wait


Here it comes 
No nothing
Here it
just


waits




- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, October 3, 2011

DOWNLOADING

In the back
Not with anyone
But one
More minute
For dumping


Guessing
Nothing but guessing
All the time
So sure
So certain


Dumbfound at last


Per instructions
Per second
Squared
In the head
Form
Into corners
Sent by lifetime memberships


Copulating with the water
Under the bridge


She strolled out between films
Of budding yeast
Homegrown with alienated presence
Dress gathering a breeze
From the updraft of charming utensils
Cold moonbeam grins
Sizzling with chips and dip


She spreads branches
Onto the dead mountain
Running its gravity
Such majestic lament
Downward into the town
Tucked in the seam of breasts
Stitching humorless form
Into corners
Sent by lifetime memberships


Guessing
Nothing but guessing
All the time
So sure
So certain


Dumbfound at last


Veil
Face up
Eyes lifted up to the feet
Their toenails
Slicing off at the knuckles
What grips the floor
Letting go 
To fall
Impaled by the abyss




- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, October 2, 2011

DISORDERS OF OPERATIONS

Do tell.  How telling is it?  Fingers smell of acting of simulation of rehearsal after rehearsal.  Kitchen soap can't get it out.  Doesn't have it covered if it be told.  Do tell.  How telling is it?  Hands in the foreground up close and impersonal block the way ahead or make the way ahead a block peeled from a shattered watch handed down in a dusty and broken stream of unconscious hand-me-downs.  Things look up for hand-me-downs while hands are down for looking things up.  The ups and downs glaze the body in eye fluid for staring off into space funneled into depletedness.  The ups and downs have it covered in headstones throughout the cemeteries throughout the town block after impersonal block.  Do tell.  How telling is it?  


Metaphors and medication rack brains to recall the color the shape.  What is it for?  Back at the stain the spilled soda on a park bench taking the sitting down and standing up of visitors visiting across from the cemetery that wriggled along on all fours or on all sixes or eights or most of its segments.  Segments wormed over sediment in an underwhelming approach that was not considered Earth shattering.  The deteriorated worked their way on top of the conditioned and inexact.  Getting the most current dirt on the very grounded.


Dark dirt where is the water?  Haven't seen it where is the water?  Cattle lie down in puddles full of mostly their shit rather than water.  Time is dispensed in larger dosages time release capsules leaking out more life more slowly and here we are for more dread more bad news more ends to justify the meaningless that goes on and on there is no end just the taking away of moments that cannot be relished long enough only dosages of time between them that swell in inflammation.


Man: Better get to the doctor.
Woman: What is it now?
Man: It's not healing.
Woman: I find humming helps.
Man: Humming?
Woman: It creates a really nice buzz along with a warmth that or was it a ziploc bag filled with 6 inches of shortening and dipped into a bucket of ice water? No, realistically the same effect can be achieved with just a few tons of whale blubber.
Man: Why did I convince myself to listen and wait as if you would have something useful to say at the end of all that?
Woman: Because there's no point after all.
Man: That you have correct.
Woman: No point since we've broken away.
Man: I was beginning to put that out of my awareness.  Now thanks for reminding me.  
Woman: So you could go about your business of not healing?
Man: Damn straight ahead.
Woman: I don't know if we are.  Disasters send us in a direction I wouldn't describe as straight.  We can get very focused and concentrated except for the preoccupations of the every day.  All this while we're being sent off in some sharp angle so sharp with its quickly dissipating radius turning around the vacuous basin holding our neighborhood slowly settling and sinking into the cavernous chamber pot that awaits underneath until it churns and breaks up another grid to send more houses off to the edge of the impression where we might think we've reached a new plateau only to return back into the dry heaving wave pool as it casts and recasts us about unable to find the power switch.  
Man: I'm definitely not healing. I think the infection is spreading.
Woman: Forget what I said about humming.
Man: I had until you brought it up just now.
Woman: You should be glad I've stopped bringing up breakfast.
Man: I am. How's lunch doing?
Woman: It's having too much fun fucking around with my esophageal elevator, but it's feeling like it's eventually going to make for the rear exit soon.
Man: Your plumbing might finally be working again, but I don't think the house's is.
Woman: I could go out for alternative facilities but I don't think I'd be able to keep up with the trajectory of the house.  Plus the cemetery might overtake me.
Man: This might be an opportunity to practice your body surfing.
Woman: Since I opened the window and popped off the screen it hasn't slowed down, but I'm willing to give it a shot.
Man: Your nightgown might get caught on the sill.  I'd get an erotic view as you dropped unless knowing your luck you wedged between the house and the waves of earth.
Woman: My luck? When was the last time I was wedged nude between the house and ground?
Man: Just that sloppy spill you took last week that kind of makes me think of this situation.
Woman: There were three spills last week.  Which one are you referring to?  Anyway, what makes you think I would jump in my nightgown?  Don't answer that either.  
Man: I do also have my mind on the burgundy blouse, I really like that one.
Woman: I can't seem to get those annoying spots out.
Man: On the burgundy blouse?  Damn.  Damn it all.
Woman: Why are you shouting?
Man: Either the movement of the house is getting louder or faster or I thought a little more dramatic reading would be appropriate at this juncture especially with you offering to jump out the window.
Woman: Why would the house still be accelerating? Don't tell me you're going to put it down to dark energy.
Man: No, soon it'll be getting too dark to do anything and we'll have to wait for the morning so we can see more of what the dead have left us.
Woman: We might want to close the window so nothing grave will flood in.  I've getting tired of bailing foul earth.
Man: I flopped two dead bodies out earlier, I just remembered to tell you while you were barfing.  I figured they were sort of related.
Woman: It's more difficult to dignify or normalize anything nowadays.
Man: I admit I got behind on disposing of the bodies.  I get carried away reading some of the epitaphs even though they are rather pathetic.
Woman: We'd better move the bookcase.
Man: I'd settle for you trying on the broom skirt again.
Woman: The bookcase needs to be against the window to function as a barrier.
Man: To function as a barrier.
Woman: What?  Yes, function.
Man: I'm sorry.  I'm still trying to parse that one.  My mind must be rejecting that term.
Woman: Function.  Flustered.  Fucking.  Furious.
Man: I guess those are the next to go after all the vowels those long round vowels. No music.
Woman: Maybe I will try the broom skirt.
Man: It's getting too dark.
Woman: We could try both jumping out into the dark.
Man: Whether we're inside or out the Earth takes us on its back shaking us apart along the way and smashing us into each other.


Rollover turnover right side up. Back up and not for long.  Longer and longer between each foot ending back up on the ground.  Rollover turnover right side up.  Back up and not for long.  Longer and longer time release capsules stretching intervals between each step stepping out measuring what the dead roll over rolling over and the living turnover turning and turning the roundabout.




- Max Stoltenberg