since

unsure if i do
don’t i think with my ignorant skeleton too?

the living tradition of a refusal to admit the horrible reality that these proverbs rest on is concluded that the desert was perfect and there is nowhere to find a corridor back to it until the desert return and even life is pleasant anyway without resting on people’s skeletons in order to stand out as saying that particularly… yes it’s the particular that’s blameworthy… the particular with its arrogant name yes it’s the desert refusing that

lost those lines – it was three –
think of them by morning
it isn’t cold anymore
the depth of spaghetti in the death of every poem
think of them as mo(u)rning broken
to do this three by three
switch off any moment of this
luxurious enormity
i’m drunk & when i close my eyes a mass of black spots obscures my ability to see the light

les verbes ni existent, ni se vendront.

i abandoned a certain level of frenetic activity that used to make me write because i couldn’t feel the blood moving through my veins. now i can. all you need to do is lie in bed at 100s of kms per second. used to make me write “because”. post it on the internet…then…yes, a certain level of despair concerning the cutout, and it feels good–
mystical despair as icononclasm
no, mystical hope as iconoclasm towards culture. Erica said
but maybe we are just the shadows
of its hi-speed rotations.
Shadow of a jet on the ground,
a jet of shadow; jet crossing the (terrifying) blue sky triangulated
by a window and something. Contribute. Work. Lift.

if the wild light of this sleepy nightmare is true
pierce the dumbphone with wakefulness beams
meditating upon that sauce in the night
dead lines
8 weeks, 8 x 7 = 56

There’s always fuel for this weird pastime.
Feeling is what remains and what dies. Like mattresses and dust and collapsed buildings and faces and water fountain and school and architecture and the empty sadness of these grey lost streets disappearing into the disappearing act of the seasons…specifically, two NIL cigarettes in my leather jacket inside left pocket and gran’s scarf heavy on my neck will I naturally revisit this one day soon? Five years in this body that belongs to its landlord? To say that it’s happening today lets time decide – the knife that cuts the real in two and then we don’t know which half of two is one and real or maybe the real is two too.
Like milk cartons you dont want to know about that everyone does–
or the apparently limitless stream of chickens whirling through the kilometres of plucker chopper deboner machine of personality on the video looked up that projects you – skeleton element in the horizontal pieces

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psychic poems

an extract of psychic poems, in datableed issue ||||||||| , (whichever that is); which are

“… assumed to be [poems written down by one person as dictation] from a signal another person transmits to them telepathically. To facilitate this process, a method of starting to write at pre-stipulated times, with the conscious intention both to send and receive a signal, was adopted. Within reason, non-coincident actual writing times were considered relatively unimportant, given the regularity of a writing routine – two times a week – possibly establishing a more constant, yet fluctuating transmission. Transmission and reception took place at terrestrially significant distance (Melbourne – Berlin), with associated non-telepathic communication sparse (e-mail). The relevance of these factors, and the “psychic” character of the writing, in the sense of “characterised by psychic gifts” (which neither writer personally claims) could then be discerned by comparing the corresponding poems. Alternatively, the writing could be used as source material for compositions that would contain traces of telepathically-transmitted signals, as is the case here.”

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chapbook

2018-01-04 13.38.57

a new, untitled chapbook of a poem partly based on writing by Tom Allen, Antoine Hummel, Juan Diego Otero and Natalie Häusler.

Paper copies (A5, 28pp., colour cover) available for €6 (includes postage).

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Two poems in Datableed issue six.

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dumping: SPLAT! (2nd edition), Sam Langer % Jeroen Nieuwland, AFNHP9

SPLAT (2nd edition), Sam Langer, Jeroen Nieuwland, Berlin, A Firm Nigh Holistic Press, 2015 – 2016. 85pp. 5,- — a collaboration of  between Sam Langer and Jeroen Nieuwland * + + # ̵…

Source: dumping: SPLAT! (2nd edition), Sam Langer % Jeroen Nieuwland, AFNHP9

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FRISTZETTEL

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