Marinate me in sterling serendipity;
a lace handkerchief blowing in electric blue
Chinook.
Howl and twist your obsidian spit down
her leather throat until she reproduces
glass golem.
Clang & the brass of the thunder,
muffled underneath a Reith that was last
lathered
in hathgraven gatherings.

**** him with your sour tongue
&
rag water whistle .
Cut him down from that arugula suspension
&
let gravity fold into him,
like an aluminum foil gargoyle,
crush to the core.

I find a part of me produces verse
(well, not verse, not really).
Really, I produce a play.
So, really, the part of me producing verse
produces parts.
So, really,
The part of me producing plays
is part-producing.
The work this part of me produces ,
produces parts in verse.
But really,
It's an inverse play, since really,
the work (a play, with parts in verse)
(Or, really, a play with verse in parts))
is divided into three parts. Like Gaul.
Within this work, this play,
these three parts produce
(or, really, reproduce) a play.
This play, in verse, within this work,
is, in part, an inverse play,
since, really, they produce (or really, reproduce)
a part of me.

The play plays back a part of me -
an inverse play plays back words, in verse,
ever onward.

It's a bit of a play on words, really.

It's partly words at play.
It's partly an inverse play,
producing bit parts in verse with verse parts,
in bits.
Or really, the parts produce plays, that is,
A part of me produces verse and
in part, the verse produces the play.
This inverse play produces parts
these parts, inverse, produce a play,
this play, in part, produces (reproduces) me.

The work is a play on words.
The play is a work in verse.
The work is an inverse play.
But not really.

My love
refers to me
as an artist
I maintain
that I just paint
as this
color slinger
simply reproduces
the masterpiece
her love
creates

i give you my permission
to give into this transmission
ease your laughter im not kiddin
slip into a deep remission
my commanding requisition
blend into your mental waves
relax with every word i say
an breathe cool steel
don't close your eyes just stay awake
im deeper a6nd deeper inside the mind
eight6y percent you
twenty percen6t fluid
connectin juices reproduces
haters clueless
mass confusion
listehn to. the. sound of.
voices who aren't homaies
telilin you
you are so homelly
princess joy and clevers spider
shiney clowns and apaple cider
crafty witchtes at my parties
bloated tube skates mister sarry
give me your one-foldnn
42-faceted joker
blanket faces and strip poker
Pony G you are so crafty.

I am the mountain man.
I am the shifting sands.
I am the laughter through gritted teeth,
I am the squint of concentration,
I am the missing piece and the stone that won't roll.
I am the Zeit Ghost.
I am the Underwerewolf.
I am the Pseudonami.
I am not what you say I am, until I say: "I Am."
I am the Red Sun Samurai.
I am the Locomotive Provocateur.
I am the bones of kings and slaves.
I am the breath of the wind in the trees.
I am the Electrocuted Interlocutor.
I am the whip of the matador.
I am sunken cities in the swamp.

I am Firestarter.
         Spark Guarder.
I am the assembly line whereby the machine reproduces.
I am capitulated capitalism.
I am the captain of the sky ship to
                                                        Ghost Country.

I am a natural amphetamine
         a synthetic homeopathic
         a cure for the sad
            curation for the lost
            death for the solid and unchanging.

I am the mask of roots.
I am a treehouse full of books.
I am the sword in the daytime.
I am the Day Waker, the Cloud Shaker
the Continent Unmaker, the Deep Laker
the childhood of broken dreams and unbreakable boulders.

Half-slumbering in your living room.
One eye on your joy, the other searching
for answers to the unanswerable question of:

where did it go?

Fully alive, pacing the gravestones
kisses to flowers in the new moon
and a pocketful of reality checks.

Helping you let go of everything
                                        Holding you back.

Hoping you'll hold onto me.

History doesn’t repeat, it reproduces,

It ***** us well

into the darkest hour; we hold it so holy as

it wholly condenses, contracts, cracks, grasps and

Moans. It’s a venereal haunting,

ghosts of a ruthless world that doesn’t give

a **** and only cares about ******* **** up and *******

to be the fittest, survival of the wittiest.



You all want to reproduce your kind

but with the reproduction of your kin

your kind comes out sludge—

the soggy excuse of an abandoned mind

rotting away into “we’re not the first—

it’s always happened, all the time, is that a crime?”



Wreaking havoc amongst a species of your kind?

****! Me! Yes! It’s serious!

To trudge the earth for proof

that birth of war was something

of divine? Is it fine that people die

and never know of the privileged life—the life



We ******* live, ******* for Capitalism

But still getting ****** the same—

Like parents—if you won’t ******* take the time

to ******* notice what’s there and what’s right

what’s not and what is, sometimes—

what is sometimes more than one or two times;



The world is your baby, you can’t just decide

When to care and when to pretend you do

It’s true, getting ******, we all have—just a few

everyone is getting ****** in the entire ******* world

***** ******* with their ******* only want control

Hypocritical ***** in the government—they’re the ones creating ******

We the people, America the ******, swallowing what’s ******* from stores

Money’s flashy in that aspect it can buy whatever fetish

It can satisfy and pleasure

It can torture it can ruin it

It can break a nation’s soul;



Does Earth seem like a hole?

It gets ****** objectively, free of sentiment or affection,

It gets pillaged, ripped and hurled. It fights back

Vulnerable and totally ordinary—rare for our kind.

Who gives a ****, Earth doesn’t have a gender,

It’s not going to tell anyone,

You had a lot to drink,

It was social influence:



It was the way of human kind,

******* for any kind of benefit,

Privilege, artificial sentiment

******* to keep going

Like everyone else

Maybe one day we’ll have a family until,

Until,

they too, will die.

i found a new word let’s talk about it
I read somewhere that an empire of dirt needs a caretaker
the word means a contemplation of dust. The idea that dust was once something that it came from somewhere that it could be any number of things or all things or nothing.
in the same reading it says it’s an understanding not of what’s been lost, or the transience of things, but of how the past persists in the present.
how does the past persist in the present?through literature? art? at some point everything returns to what it once was. dust. things blown in the wind, travel between places like money used over and over and over again until its value is no longer in its face and itself turns into dust.
we’re all dust aren’t we? we are dust  that talks, shares, creates, reproduces, kills, loves, hates.
the contemplation of dust reminds me of this obsession with the past that comes with ignorance in the present. thinking too hard about the dust that we will become clouds your mind from experiencing the dust that we are right now.
in some kind of conclusion, I will collect things before they come to dust, I will be the caretaker for the empire of it. I will cherish it, talk about it, share it, make something new out of it, so that it has a longer life than it once did.

Empirical is not only causal as the experience is not only causal. We experience not only causal connections and we think and know the world not only by causal thought method. Experience is topological though - experience is in a place and with relations.
A causal connection is not a relation, it is a function; a topological connection is not. A causal connection has a direction, a topological doesn’t.
Oh, I wonder if the causal direction emerges as the direction towards more connectivity?
The causal thought method differs from a topological thought technique. Causal structure is ordered, causal thought is ordered and ordering. Directed and functional. Ordering the world into ordered, functional structure. Causal thought is a method of the reason and explanation as goal and effect. Causal thought is, well, causal and so it itself has its causes and effects. It is set and it has rules and order. If it strays from them it will only force what it found into the rules and order calling anything it sees and makes - causality. Like non-linear causality, or circular causality, or retro causality, or complex causality. Or ambiguous causality.
It simplifies, explains, flattens the complex. Forces the indeterminable and ambiguous to unfreedom. Systematically orders. Oh, does causality emerge as the default structure when information is actually limited by limited focused attention and thought based on simple rules?
A causal connection is a function, it has a direction. In this sense a causal connection is an intentional connection. A cause produces an effect as an outcome, a result, a goal. This functionality and  intentionality of the causal thought method make it a method of production. A cause is a source, a producer, an effect is a result, a product. It’s intentionality produces the subject with the object. Causal method produces production and reproduces itself. It is how there is no possibility for pure freedom within the causal method. Where rules and order are, where intention and functionality are, where determination is, pure freedom is not.
Causal method is temporal but it is also ordering time into linearity of succession steps, reducing the time to the concept that it itself is. Claiming the authority over acts and freedom. By determining something as the cause of something, it makes a universal claim not only about actual, but also about possible. Totalizing the world into a system that acts according to a set of rules and within a set of possible possibilities.
Causality is not the fundamental concept that we use to build the worldview. Use isn’t. Build isn’t. Concept isn’t. We are in the world as body.  
A topological technique differs from the causal method. A topological technique is a technique of dreamthought. Without set rules and order, it thinks the world freely with ambiguity and emergence. Emergence is topological in the sense that it is not causally explainable, but is from relations. Without rules and order, without determined causes, emergence is how a new is. In this way a body is - a nothing as where and how-with the dream thought acts, seeing and making relations that are there by absence, as always not yet and always not already. Never all yet and never already all. Nothing determining itself with. As a body. A body with relations and place and time, from a dream sensing, seeing and making. Subject and object are nothing, but a dream sensing, seeing and making. Acting. There is no subject and object outside of this act. Outside of this place and time. Outside of body. This is how we can think that time is emergent. In this sense a now is a body. A body is how a now is always a new. This is how time moments, moves, not in causal ordered steps, but in a dance emerging as it wills. Free. With body. As multiplicity and multiplacity. This is how we can think that time is sense. With dreamthought. But what is this dream thought? It is an encounter with nothing. And it is an encounter of nothing. As it is an encounter of nothing with itself.