Thursday, July 31, 2014

BURNT SHREDDED CHEESE

Looking for a list
Inside the lost measuring stick
inside the off head
severed from some body
somewhere
and lying in a box
so much lying

Twice not three times
by the fourth broken expectation
swells in the cap 
toppling another wig
replaced by the next graft
less a line

less a line

working on it the wiggling room
smaller and slowing
denied death
inherit the incurable
spreading to the size
of an oleaginous life

They had followed the crumbs into the woods from a sandwich she had been eating when they heard the backdoor slam shut. One spoke of their fear of insects another of what they thought might happen to a fashion designer and two of them compared their experiences of trying to copulate in the dank underground tunnel system underneath an abandoned mental hospital as they busied themselves in conversation until one of them most likely the one with the most acne had noticed they had been following a different trail of crumbs.

"I wasn't really into it until she mentioned the thing about what was that thing?"
"Whatever it was that you were really into piqued your memory apparently."
"Who would do that to their privates?"

Perhaps at this point it should be obvious that your attention would best be drawn to that person who shall remain unable to enter the banter was a doleful and habitually morose ass-picker who found himself rarely pleased when examining his hands with a sniff. He then stood awkwardly with his mitts held in front of him as if he had just dropped something and the sound of its shattering demise would awake the world into a overwhelming denouncement of his existence. He insisted that that it was the structure of his crack that made it difficult to make satisfactory wipes after sloppy shits that were the order of the day no matter how he kept his diet the same colorless menu day after day after day after day after after colorless the same colorless menu same day same colorless menu day day day after colorless same colorless menu day after day after after the truth of it was is still is poor bastard day after day after the truth of it is that it was the structure of his crack in his mind that made it difficult to make satisfactory wipes after sloppy shitting upon from those who used up all the time with taking their time unzipping and zipping and unzipping and letting it all fall out a #2 cornucopia of feces to pour down on those who held out their mitts before them as if they had just dropped something no picking no longer necessary.

"They used the idea of selective selective or -"
"You're referring to their underlings?"
"Selective listening?"
"Not their underlings. I'm speaking of gonads not any military nomenclature."
"You excel in selective interrupting."
"That's what you've been getting at all this time selective interrupting."
"They are going to damage themselves with those objects."
"That is not what I have been getting at. How would you like me to hit you with a plate?"
"They are going to damage those objects with themselves."
"What plates? There aren't any plates out here."
"When I rejoin things it's just a series of meetings."
"Selective what then?"
"She had that look on her face."
"And did this consist primarily of people and their surreptitious intersections?"
"That's what happens. You end up with a selective fill in the blank when you pop in and out of it."
"What sort of look? Was it like she really did enjoy it after all?"
"Around a table a conference table."
"I engaged in no such popping in and out."
"Her shoulders came up as if they were going to squeeze her head right off. Just as I told her that the icetrays might have been in just long enough to get a thin layer on the top she shrugged again and retracted one of her fingers in a rather disappointed fashion. Did you? Yes, she said."
"Speaking of plates."
"Speaking of gonads."
"Speaking of meetings."
"My uncle the one with the strange scar by his right eye found a frisbee and when he lifted it up he revealed an elbow."
"How long was it?"
"I think they've dissolved into everyone's lack of availability."
"Was some goofball sleeping under that frisbee you know attached to the elbow?"
"Without stimulation?"
"Dissolved into everyone's lack to put it bluntly."
"Just an elbow by itself."
"Hand, paper towel cardboard tube, or beanbag chair?"
"Everyone's been repeatedly hit with a bluntly."
"She had nice elbows."
"Beanbag chair? Are you kidding?"
"Can you describe a bluntly for me?"

"I've never told you about her. I don't know why her elbows stand out to me now? We met on a boat that sank. It wasn't completely my fault. The only bucket I could find had no bottom."
"His scar was very distinct. It looked like a kite being flown from the corner of his right eye."
"I never had a kite."
"You didn't miss much with telephone wires and trees."
"Just tell me how many inches."
"Everyone was given credit to get their own bluntly."

They came they came upon soft ground made by their digging and their burying imitating upheavals I knew a man named Lava and that's all I know about him. They came they came upon soft ground made by their digging and their burying imitating upheavals I knew a man named Rubber I could have been mistaken about that one and that's all I know about him except the woman who was always with at least on the few occasions I bumped into him and I do wish I could have known her more she had a beauty that was dimming probably due to the way he treated her at least that much that I saw never knew her name before her light went out or flickering somewhere near where they came they came upon soft ground made by their digging and their burying imitating upheavals.

Introductions exit
leaving monitoring
mistakes discovered
noted
not what remains 
in hardening dirt


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, July 27, 2014

OUT OF

Toward what seemed like an appallingly drawn out matter of course the events of the night twisted around and between limbs of dissatisfaction curling shards into frozen smiles dripping into bowls of moldy salsa ignored and thawing frustrated glimpses of puffed up expectations under slices of limelight pitted against fixtures of determined and pathetic squandering of attention toward what had seemed as if it had a familiar lack of a developed sense of possessing a ring to it between knuckles as he fell off the chair and was made aware of the scraping of wood against skin and bone of his back sitting with a thud his body folding and staying slumped in the sleeping bag diaper of his current adherence to the floor mitigated by the perspiration and excrement in the seat of his pants under the bleachers accompanied by the disposed not so eager to rejoin the top or the bottom or the top of the bottom of this upended place ready or not whether or not all are ready put an end to it already.

He slogged towards the window might get there to pull himself up for looking down upon the sidewalk if he could pull himself up if he could slog towards the window might get there what made him think what made him stick to the room to the building he found himself in he had been asking questions again lately and the same answers surfaced between each flush between each lump of defecation he slogged towards the window might get there to pull himself up for looking down upon the sidewalk if he could pull himself up if he could slog towards the window might get there what made him think what made him stick to the room to the building to his own tongue.

"Everything looks like blood to me in the dark."
"But it isn't dark now."
"I know that. I can see that."
"And what does everything look like to you in the light?"
"Petrified and set in silent stone."
"So I said to the doctor."
"Are we giving one of these another going around?"
"Sure why not? So I said to the doctor."
"I was going to offer a response to that."
"To what?"
"You asked why not and I was on the verge of an argument against leaving more bloody worn out footprints in the overtread so I said to the doctor."

"Bloody worn out footprints?"
"In regards to all the circles we go in."
"Like that time we circled that area with the hills made out of bed coils."
"Everywhere we go we manage to go around in circles."
"Name some other places we went in circles."
"There was the ditch with the rotten pancakes."
"I remember the rotten pancakes unfortunately. What else?"

When I remember to forget
I forget with the condition
That I remind myself
to make a reservation
somewhere inside myself
somewhere outside myself
to hang in there
to be hung out to dry
grabbing the broom
keeper of the rocky yard
from spilling onto the roads
with holes in them

"There was the well we kept ending up at until we were beaten up by those men."
"Lawyers they were."
"How did you know they were lawyers?"
"The comments they made."
"What sort of comments?"
"I object to this and I object to that."
"They objected to us? Everyone objects to us."
"They used some other legal terminology."
"Reminiscing were they?"
"While they kicked our asses."
"And sent us on our way."
"Since when has it ever been our way?"
"Since they kicked our asses. A thorough ass-kicking can set you straight."
"Until we end up in circles somewhere else."
"Until we end up in circles somewhere else."
"Well?"
"Well?"
"There was the well."
"Do you think it was their well?"
"It ended up being their well after the fact."
"Well after the fact. It had been dry for who knows how long."
"One of them actually wore a watch I think. It stood out to me because I specifically thought to myself that I hadn't seen anyone with a watch for some time some undetermined amount of time."
"It wasn't a watch. It was a spiked bracelet. It stood out to me because I specifically thought to myself that hurt after he hit me with it."
"I specifically thought to myself."
"I know what you specifically thought to yourself. I believe you that you thought you specifically thought to yourself something or other."
"That explains why you've been stuck with me for so long but I was referring to something else another something or other. It wasn't a dream. I know when I'm awake and that is truly a sad thing. I once thought to myself what if I stood on the edge of a forest and I know it's due to my thinking my specifically thinking to myself what if there is a forest at the end of the desert even though I'm a little more than beginning to suspect that there is no forest at the end of the desert and there's always this bundle of nerves in my brain just before I specifically think to myself and this bundle of nerves confers with one another and decide let's give him enough rope and then I see myself standing at the edge of this big forest the kind you could hide in for the rest of your life and standing there in my way is this person and they look like all the people I have ever sat across from in a job interview and they ask me what would you do in this situation: go back, stay where you are, or go forward? And I find myself looking down at the sand and then I look up at their face and their expression where sand and bark meet where the gestures of impatience and indifference meet where the thoughts behind the scouring eyes of where's your gratitude? and don't you realize I brought this forest with me? meet. And I answer them that I don't recommend any of the options. And as it all starts to fade into a dry well, rotten pancakes or bed coils I know I keep putting the forest there I keep putting it there at the end of the desert even though I'm a little more than beginning to suspect that there is no forest at the end of the desert and I still see the person's face no forest just their face and I specifically think to myself I guess we'll stay in touch."

Toward what seemed like an appallingly drawn out matter of course the events of the night twisted around and between limbs of dissatisfaction curling shards into frozen smiles dripping into bowls of moldy salsa ignored and thawing frustrated glimpses of puffed up expectations under slices of limelight pitted against fixtures of determined and pathetic squandering of attention toward what had seemed as if it had a familiar lack of a developed sense of possessing a ring to it between knuckles as he fell off the chair and was made aware of the scraping of wood against skin and bone of his back sitting with a thud his body folding and staying slumped in the sleeping bag diaper of his current adherence to the floor mitigated by the perspiration and excrement in the seat of his pants under the bleachers accompanied by the disposed not so eager to rejoin the top or the bottom or the top of the bottom of this upended place ready or not whether or not all are ready put an end to it already.


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, July 20, 2014

WHEEZING FRACTIONS

Drunken piano music vibrates against the sides of the glass bearded and struck from the record so that it was no longer playable at least to some ears at least to some behinds some card tables unfolded and put away not put away about to be never getting there and she has left ahead of the clueless man having grown finally into his portfolio his sack for balling up just in time to make way for the announcement of his terminal illness half way the doctor estimated more like more like less like is how it shapes up for the plummet the damned fruit preferred as horizontally as deemed fit rolling into the gutter where the doctor's notes have curled up the other side for phone numbers, email addresses and insults such as: doomed buffoon weakling and coarse sock puppet.

I can't concentrate on what was I concentrating on something made from concentrate concentrated beam beaming from ear to ear until they split their face across until the top came off or bottom fell out from top to bottom of this life a coming apart a split fissure for then dropping into lost in one's own crevices that meet in a puckered hole of what one never cared for never really cared for the pulp that coagulates in the nostrils chunks of brain wet red roses of histrionic ranting the door won't open and I have stay seated until reaches across the calendar and begins to rip in half and half again and half again as the days continue slowing down into this nothing this corner of a wasteland shaped somewhat like a corner I seem to have stepped out into it I can't concentrate on what was I concentrating on something made from scratch how did that get there must have done that while I slept behind that trash heap or in front of it never cooled down never cared for that for about must have done that while I dreamed of clawing at something or being clawed flashes of sharp talons her fingernails when her hair was short would put these fingers on the back of her neck and move up moved up and that was the last the highest floor it wasn't me who jumped off that was her lot the lot below where she was found by some school children started to move in a way that reminded me of hard to concentrate until bigger people taller people walked up and scooped them up like a detachment of front-loaders.

Get on with it then you bloody lunatic individuals with reassembled shred applications for brains strain your eyes to see through the tears and sweat if every box was filled in until all the shit of your mechanical lives squirting out of your corneas your irises your sunflower seeds as chew and spit sitting at the window with the drawer you lean over to take their forms and misunderstand what they try to explain no one hears much just parts just patches of a dying lawn under the Sun's desert halitosis.

"I am going to I am about to I am going to crush that bug crush it with I am going to crush that bug with looking around for something to crush that bug with a tissue my tissue a tissue a piece of paper cardboard a newspaper a newspaper how about that about to I am going to crush that bug with still looking around for a shoe a sandal a rock the Earth has been ground down into smaller particles remember that crush that bug looks like a tangle of string actually always do this and then leave it tell myself to pick it up and throw it away and tell myself never mind because I would just throw it away and I'd run into again and did anyway whether I picked it up or not."
"You were going to crush something what was it?"
"I don't know."
"No you don't."
"I am without a brain."
"You continue to have a brain and it's very damaged."
"You were there."
"I was where?"
"You were there to see the car the red car with the brain stuck to the treads of the front right tire."
"Red car?"
"That was my brain turning over a new leaf flattened between the pages of another absurd chapter."
"When was the last time I saw a leaf?"
"It was a bug I was going to crush."
"About to crush looking about to find something to crush with have you seen any leaves none have you?"
"Just my senses that I have taken my leave of."
"I should take my leave of you and your senses you have taken your leave of."
"She had some meat on her that's what I liked about her and she could belch like a sludge tanker."
"Then she took her leave of you," said Chum-Guin.
"And her eyes."
"Why don't you take off your shoe and kill the bug with it?"
"I've learned not to take anything else off these days. Took off my shoes to give my swollen ghastly feet some dusty air and that was the last I saw of them. Got these sandals from a corpse. Looked like he used to be athletic. Lot of good that did him exercising in the desert."
"Wasn't always a desert."
"It's a brown ball floating in the waters of space-time. The color is in our eyes her eyes."
"Was in her eyes."
"I used to like watching her sleep."
"Why? Her eyes were closed."
"When her eyes were closed it was like a power outage that disarmed the world."
"So you won't use your sandals even to demolish the bug?"
"Everywhere I moved or wandered I got there just as the construction or demolition was done. Plus anyway sandals wouldn't do for the likes of him. He's a rather large chap like one of those ticks."
"We haven't seen those monsters since we were in the sewer."
"We haven't gotten that far never do. She once said to me."
"Here we go again."
"No the here we go again is the waking up part let's get that straight you fuck-crack the one thing I want to take off and never get back again is this and it doesn't go away and that's why when I took the sandals from that corpse I looked at him ever so briefly and didn't say a word I only thought one as I turned around and never saw him again."
"Until you tripped over another one."
"That's the word I thought to myself."
"What word?"
"Until."
"The word I think to myself the most has to be just."
"Just?"
"It was in all my questions when I thought I had grown up and don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. That feeling you don't know what the fuck you're doing and that's why you need someone else to see the stuff you're missing and the only stuff you're missing is the someone else even though they are right there in front of you because they don't want to know you and you don't want to know them and this bathroom of a skull I have the only place I could go to get away from all the fake re-framing of things has been clogged with that word just as if the outside has told the inside: you wanted just you can have it and choke on it! and it's smeared all over the tile of my bathroom mind until it stretches my gut and leaks out of my ass."
"You haven't said a word to me about this word until now."
"Metaphors are like the debris that gets blown around and clings to us."
"I was sharing one of my bitter reflections with her and the topic of destruction was raised. She argued that you can't really destroy things. Her example was food and how it goes from the mouth to the sewer. And she said to me she once said to me: the sewer is a good place for a piece of shit."
"And now she's dead."
"She's been dead. Now we have ticks."

The fragments keep me together us apart from each other together again among the fragments in our midst the bonds so thick with walls holding up the roof the sky the fragments keep me together us apart from each other together again among the fragments in our midst the bonds so thick with walls holding up the roof the sky it's falling again in see-through pieces all together blurring us apart wet with drowning among the fragments keep me together us apart from each other together again among the fragments in our midst the bonds so thick with walls holding up the roof the sky it's falling again in see-through pieces all together blurring us apart wet with drowning among the fragments keep me together us apart blurred by the rain together we blob in the middle of the table on the paper plate.