Archive for July, 2007

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just watch this / see
what happens / i can’t
look away

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work online

some new things by me out there in the latest issue of cordite. some poems, &, an article on michael dransfield. read the whole issue – it’s cool.

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blue smells perky

a recycled closeness this wafts. finite stages

set & none taken to, postmarked patterns filing

themselves under symbols, highly strung.

alien dots. glyphs fandangle a strange dance,

bingo we have seen the movie previous to a marriage,

a purchase on sleepy cliffs – like one vicious fingerprint

trailing the neck of mum’s champagne bottle,

dusted whorls & semi-spirals, now not so cute.

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i’ll tell you later

(a) snow falling passionately. plane trees ignoring it.

other things originate. jay leno writes the pre-eminent

book on ‘the doofus’, guiding himself through a lemon-

scented publishing process. a boy licks his fingers to

cut pages, across the globe. imprisoned by frozen

toyota plexiglass he says something.

(b) a stanza equals a postcard saying ‘enjoy christmas

in july at macpherson’s lodge!’ the upper left corner’s

logo failing to erase a glint of car, anti-sleigh. a pool

of coins collects beneath the texta of ‘$2 each’ & a slot.

hidden fortunes shift & clink under the earth. drug

money. paper bills once delivered by stage-coach.

(c) six disparate families milling sans postcard. one

gift wrapped in black subject to glances, remarks. four

kids don’t get the logic. looking up ‘fuck’ on a warm

laptop. the book is a callow present. glazed food.

(d) how do you confuse a doofus?

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face the book

a while back i joined a facebook group called ‘don dellilo fan club’.

this morning a message informed all members a group has sprung to life called ‘don dellilo is an idiot’. we are asked to vent our fire on the small minded members of the group.

the other day i joined a group called ‘I Will Go Out of My Way To Step On a Leaf That Looks Particularly Crunchy’.

i see that astrid joined the group ‘I like to imagine myself giving people haircuts’, which is i think, way weirder.

it took me about 5 minutes to write this stuff.

i just requested to join the group ‘Incorporating Facebook into your PhD thesis’. it’s not an open group – i will have to wait & see if i meet their standards. me thinks yes.

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dinosaur

looking at canberra uni bar the most stodgy architect’s midday-

movie. we perceive innumerable oblong ducts, smirking through

bit-parts. goose-bump concrete amplifies monumental presences:

2000 watts of guitar riff & said little monsters of pre / post / oft

grunge. did we mention a guitar riff? it’s always dark we are always

driving the hours of lines of road to see a band (no pressure for

poetic experiences & times, but we get tense, invert reasons). modern

life it amounts to a sad commentary on how fat, how tired, how tie-

dyed j mascis looks – singing of rabbits as a response – because we

are visual reporters all of us. people touch our backs meaning move,

they want to see the next guitar-riff but all they see is a stupid

canberra pre-frost settling atop buildings & greenspace. time knits.

why write about the inaudible we wonder (we put it to you only tightly

glimpsed through this timespace). all’s left to do is drink & we do & in

cubicle number 2 there’s poetry ranting on the door: a mass of frustrated

drives it concludes being just really tired of pokemon. beautiful in here,

pissing to the sound of a muted guitar riff. we urge you to plan a trip.

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oblong thinking while

some interesting differences in the methods i’m using to write this month. i call it tinker (as opposed to last month’s splatter). the main thing i noted was the way the piece (if she wasn’t your girlfriend…) moved from revolving around a certain idea. it moved away from this idea with successive edits, but then strangely it moved back toward this idea later, with only perhaps a difference in register & tone. i have a few more ‘tinkers’ to so – we’ll see what more comes of it. generally i dislike too much editing. it’s like working clay – too much fiddling will destroy a piece. but i guess it need not always be so…

other news sees me becoming anthologist again. i have a box of paper about 3 ft deep. awesome.

going to see dinosaur jr tonight. who said bands need to develop, change?

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link

loved this poem by mark young.

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if she wasn’t your girlfriend…

well… you know what i mean. you know

what all this means. & you know i

dreamt you said that. why you even followed it

with ‘no, rather than coming to terms with myself,

i (for one) consciously try to move

in the opposite direction’.

a sentiment quite like you

but the grin, perverse. then

i remember: we don’t dream at all.

not now. amongst other things

i’m constantly busy fearing the present

will chase us down, will end up out there looming

toying with people. bodies

i used to call friends. just to get me.

an appealing regressive logic. whisper

in my ear ‘how melodramatic’.

how ‘made up’.

oh shoot. once done twisting the time

like some twenty dollar ious

from a tracksuit, we always leave.

why ponder. all possible worlds are

getting tearful. tracksuits dance

while alone, giggling

under an arched window’s blood moon,

cracking off the layers

like russian dolls. it is good

for all concerned we miss

some things.

our driving is unromantic.

haggling goes on nonetheless,

firstly & usually over split pineapples / principles

& then beer, why not. the dealer

round every corner

— he’s a jovial type, we scout him

& play at wit, while we watch

like death & bet farcically

on household bottle brand names.

the granules within will sit simply. secreted

from pockets. it’s automatic.

when you’ve done this

in several different towns,

you’re purpled

love waiting but not for you,

chewing in another bright hotel,

you learn the generalisations that hold.

maybe the tourist signs

that underestimate population;

always the town motto scarcely provable.

all is fun i guess & secondly

i’m coming to terms with my anaesthesia,

even if it is you coming to terms, with this.

i wave to people driving

while you sleep, but only in cars

the same make & model as ours. going

in opposite directions, lights swelling,

they look like her. behind us & static: you.

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pop people

i was reading my review section of the australian yesterday, & perused with interest an article on the current state of aus. poetry (apparently it’s bad, but, some have hope, & some don’t). anyway it was good at least to see some names i know: michael crane was in there talking about one of his newer upcoming projects (poetry idol); also nicholas manning got a mention for continental review.

but i think i just wanted a more thorough engagement with the subject, which you’re not going to get in a newspaper. couldn’t there at least be links to the online sites though, along with prompts to readers to check out what’s happening for themselves?

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