The January Novelist

Refined height

Wed, 03 Apr 2013 15:05:56 -0400

Three cowboys eating denial for dinner.
Nine business men praying on old women for supper.
Five vampire children reading dickens to a bone grave.
Twenty one angels waiting to exist.
Thirteen lepers making love to school children.
11 apostles waiting for the last breakfast.
Fifteen blocks between hell and the west village.
Seven odd reasons to find the front of a taxi and fall.

Only the unwanted thoughts are awake these days…

Wed, 03 Apr 2013 10:08:11 -0400

Only the unwanted thoughts are awake these days…

Artifact

Fri, 08 Mar 2013 11:26:11 -0500

The ground bleeds Judas
As cities scream Venus
Rough hands pull her by the neck
I wept for you my sister
I’d fight for them (our mothers)
Though indifference divides
While Complexities confide
Congruent extensions of faith
Was a laughing cloud
Dissipating in the wind
“There is no god to save us now.”

Yesteryear

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 00:02:49 -0500

Begot me green leaves
Tell me tales
beneath the wales
Of child birds with tiny ails
Clean my feet
when I have lost
Clear this thought
when I am not
“We are all Heroes to nobody,
But we were once lovers in some body…”

berlinimkopf: Irina WerningBack to the Future,...

Fri, 08 Feb 2013 13:07:50 -0500

Tommy, 1977 and 2010, Buenos Aires

Mechi, 1990 and 2010, Buenos Aires

Daphne, 1986 and 2011, Paris

Patrick B., 1982 and 2011, Berlin

Johanes, 1994 and 2011, Hamburg

Sander, 1983 and 2011, Rotterdam

Violeta, 1981 and 2011, Buenos Aires

Devoto, 1990 and 2011, Buenos Aires

Marita y Coty, 1977 and 2010, Buenos Aires

Nico, 1986 and 2010, Buenos Aires

berlinimkopf:

Irina Werning
Back to the Future, 1957-present

das ist so wunderschön.

Cool!

the astronaut proxy 2nd draft

Mon, 26 Nov 2012 14:22:08 -0500

The Astronaut Proxy

By Nicholas Duff

You never heard of the astronaut proxy? Then read and become rich with knowledge my sisters and my brothers. If they ask who told you, tell em from the mouth of old man GRACE ROY JONES (All sixty eight years and two hundred and twenty pounds of me). I am the voice from Coney Island to the belt, from the bridge to Nassau, I am Brooklyn. Hear it in my GOT’ DAMN VOICE when I speak to you, when I address you, and when I give you the words of the father himself. When you hear these words see my land, my people, and from them will you really see through the eyes of the father. But you can’t have the father and not have the son. Light years in a distant hemisphere he speaks through his heir, and from this voice alone a proxy is born.

Now you say:” EH ROY! Uhhh, so I got Proxy, but I ain’t got no astronaut?” Well dummy child sit and be ripened like the fruit of the land. It starts in the sky, on a night when the moon is at peak and Orion had made presence overhead. A babe cried naked in the back of a cab car. I had been driving loonies around all night, and I turned around to find this little baby boy lying on a brown paper bag howling at me like I owed him money. So I thought I would take the little guy home and raise em like my own blood (you know to start a family for the ol’ man Gracie). From the brightest star on Orion’s belt bloomed a light that had shown through the window to dawn his brow with a mysterious glow. This was when I had witnessed the birth of the son himself.

I would not have been a believer but these three gypsy looking broads wrapped in fancy looking bathrobes appeared in my rearview. If I had not been parked I would have run them over, but they raised their hands and cried “Halt. This child of Carmel skin and dark teal eyes is the son the most exulted. Hear our prayer and make his life your own. The house of Sagittarius shines in your favor.” Then as if taken back through time itself they burst into a billion small rays of light, and streamed away into opposite directions dissipating into thin air. It was the sign of Argon3949 or known before the neo Common Era as “Heaven,” (but at the time I knew nothing about any of this.)

From a babe to a child he lived his life behind the backdrop of Manhattan. His love for the circuit made his hands rough with the rigors of life. He fixed em though, every day he fixed em, computer after computer, and then robot after robot. I come from a time when there were no robots, but right out of the womb he was an architect for the digital age. His love of the craft made him a prodigy in science. He was a got damn genius. Yet, he would always come back to good ol’ Gracie Roy when he had the good questions.” Where is the nearest planet with breathable air, and what is a dirty water dog?” And me being the prophetic word of the astrological plain and the streets I answered. I answered like the day I was born to speak against his word.

He became the youngest scientist at the age of 11, and a doctor at 13. His dissertation about reality distortion through post cognate radiation at Cambridge redefined the field of physics. He trained almost a life time, and at the age of 18 he became an astronaut. His first fledgling mission was to colonize mars. The boy had heart, and got in that rocket to bring life to place no one ever dreamed of setting foot on.

He went there and developed a type of colony housing, but he was the only one building. 6 years he lived there. A lone astronaut working on a task that called for one hundred. From the things he reported on mission control started to think he was losing his mind. On several different occasions he had spoken of speaking to his real father “7154.” Saying he had seen light years into the future, and through him peace will come back to the land. He had been given a gift he had told me( or maybe it was really a curse.) From his mouth he had the power to touch and give blessing to save our troubled minds and deliver us from ourselves (But who would save us from him?)

When he returned he had claimed he had the spirit of the lord with him. He had left with teal eyes, and returned with ones that shined green in the heart of the darkened night. His pale caramel skin had been worn thin by the sleeping capsule, and his hair had grown shoulder length within the years that had come to pass. He had passed all quarantine tests, and deemed by the medical board for aeronautic exploration healthy. The first thing he did when coming back from that red rock was eat a dirty water dog and bite the president of the national socialist republic in the neck. Right on global television he watched the president bleed out as he smiled and laughed. He made him rich with the spirit of the father. 7 seconds after death the president returned with the black eyed spirit of the lord, and insisted on sharing it with everyone. 7 hours after the surrounding area felt empowered by the father and the joy he had to offer.

It only took one week before everyone had witnessed the miracle of the astronaut proxy. All around the globe everyone said his prayer: ”We no longer fear death for we are immortal. We no longer feel alone because the overlord is with us. We no longer live in separation because through him we are one. Though his voice we are his sword and shield. Never will we live without him again.”

This is my last will and testament. So if you are reading this I am already a disciple of the overlord Saturn. Let this digital testament be known as the “Peace war.” Tell em it was the last human voice you heard from ol’ GRACE ROY JONES (The voice of Brooklyn.)

youbringfire: via Carnovsky The design features overlapping...

Fri, 26 Oct 2012 15:16:49 -0400

youbringfire:

via Carnovsky

The design features overlapping illustrations with different elements that become revealed depending on whether a red, green, or blue light is shone upon them.

This is sick! I want this is my bedroom!

#America

Wed, 24 Oct 2012 21:36:35 -0400

#America

"Who cares? Not me."

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 00:28:14 -0400

“Who cares? Not me.”

I think I’m going to keep posting jams until I finish...

Sun, 21 Oct 2012 15:03:11 -0400

I think I’m going to keep posting jams until I finish writing this small three song E.p. I am working on. Enjoy

Working title (song)

Sat, 20 Oct 2012 17:24:42 -0400

Verse 1

The house came alive and I ran away

I have no time, and I will not sleep

meanwhile insides are spilled out,

but I’m still awake, just not feeling great

and a graveyard train runs through my head

it never stops, and Im always late

but I wish these corpses would get up and leave

or maybe dance, like an expired dream

chorus 1

In a little house

In a little town

everyone

begins to drown

and I’m not sad

I made it out

on a sinking ship

full of doubt

while all the faces

I used to know

start sinking deeper

beyond and below

I should be glad

but Im not happy

and deep inside

I really wish

it was me

drowning all along

*In progress*

The castle

Sun, 14 Oct 2012 11:36:33 -0400

Hysterical
Unbearable

The walls, the floors
The water, the mores

Surrounding
Confounding

The silence, the finance
The anguish,the ambivalence

“Im starving on a diet of anti-solidarity
And the throne room doors are locking you out.”

9:15 October 10th

Wed, 10 Oct 2012 09:18:51 -0400

Locking your keys in your car is not how you want to start off your 2 hour commute. I’m writing this so I remember how dumb I can be.

I’m a dirty slut! I sleep with a new book every night!

Sun, 07 Oct 2012 13:32:22 -0400

I’m a dirty slut! I sleep with a new book every night!

Photo

Mon, 01 Oct 2012 20:58:29 -0400

Keepsake

Sat, 29 Sep 2012 22:14:30 -0400

Speckled wounds
Pinhole bludgeons

Stone by stone
A personified blight

Beneath the timid timber lying
Engraved behind the tigers lie

A novice grieves a Goliath’s novella
And a lover sleeps just fine tonight

A true happy hour. I need something to get the creative juices...

Fri, 28 Sep 2012 16:29:30 -0400

A true happy hour. I need something to get the creative juices flowing!

iamvictoriaanne: “Introverts” by Grant Snider Who me???

Fri, 28 Sep 2012 08:56:43 -0400

iamvictoriaanne:

“Introverts” by Grant Snider

Who me???

My brother said I was a horrible poet. No more writing for this guy!

Thu, 27 Sep 2012 11:53:07 -0400

My brother said I was a horrible poet. No more writing for this guy!

poetrysince1912: —Suji Kwock Kim, Poetry, July 1994Suji Kwock...

Wed, 26 Sep 2012 20:16:47 -0400

poetrysince1912:

—Suji Kwock Kim, Poetry, July 1994

Suji Kwock Kim, Li-Young Lee, and D. Nurkse talk poetry and politics tomorrow night at the Poetry Foundation. The free event starts at 7pm and is moderated by Poetry Society of America executive director Alice Quinn.

The January Novelist

Refined height

Only the unwanted thoughts are awake these days…

Artifact

Yesteryear

berlinimkopf: Irina WerningBack to the Future,...

the astronaut proxy 2nd draft

youbringfire: via Carnovsky The design features overlapping...

#America

"Who cares? Not me."

I think I’m going to keep posting jams until I finish...

*Working title* (song)

The castle

9:15 October 10th

I’m a dirty slut! I sleep with a new book every night!

Photo

Keepsake

A true happy hour. I need something to get the creative juices...

iamvictoriaanne: “Introverts” by Grant Snider Who me???

My brother said I was a horrible poet. No more writing for this guy!

poetrysince1912: —Suji Kwock Kim, Poetry, July 1994Suji Kwock...

Working title (song)