“Party Rings” (20,000 +)

On the eve of November 15, 1983, Princess Clara had the following for breakfast:

One Thimble-full – Italian Wedding Soup

One Pecan Nut, Japanese Crabapples (Not Pictured)

A Sore Throat.

my little tree of letters
next to my piss-pot
when it rains,

so it is fifty percent myself,
and the rest is
weather-water -

when an insect licks the back
of The Queen’s head,
on a stamp.

Tell my true love,
“I love you”;
a reader,
who unfolds the leaves
with less than
half a thumb.

with the hare the buffalo and giraffe and remember we kissed at sunset.

the king.

flowers 09/08

16-bit helium timeclock doodle.

anteckningsbok from sweden (by peter and his brother).

FOUND POEMS AFTER READING THIS

I.

The Orchard is still white,
the President is seven.

It was absurd for a man
of his standing,
sitting down,

to be the subject of
such spite
behind green shutters.

Even George Douglas Brown
would gossip with Countesses,

before mixing a great cocktail

of his jealousy,
for the Provost.

II.

Anchored one end of
the great slaughter,

the Dinwiddie Colored Quartet
asked what precisely
a Dinwiddie was,

for they had never seen one.

III.

A doughy man from Saxony
avoids the sun
like Edison.

A grim mystic from Danzig,
sleeps the Empire
through his head.

He has an elaborate toothache,
and spits three times,
on his left.

They talk through an interpreter;
he says

his grandfather never existed.

IV.

Okay,
that’s quite enough of this nonsense.

But do read the article.

Sally Cruikshank’s youtube
funonmars

SCOREBOARD
Rate the following:

(+20 = unreserved approval, 0 = utter indifference, -20 = total abomination)

Irrationality +14
Humour +20
Civilisation +17
Desire +19
Honesty +20
Religion +0
Madness -16
Logic -10
Happiness +20
Weakness-6

Vanity +20

“I have often thought about the role of ego in art and come to no satisfactory conclusions.”

he said while unknowingly unwrapping the secret kinder egg that the gift of anonymity had afforded him, and could no longer step in photo booths and spend a full 10 minutes adjusting the seat. There are better galleries to attend than the gallery of me, he thought, but then perhaps not. There are after all a sea of images out there, and I suppose there are a lot worse A certain filmmaker whom I greatly admire has been known to speak of “an illness of images” as the malady of our times – an influx, an excess of, “dishonest” images. Just some more images for the Internet. Could it really hurt? I doubt that they depict anyone in particular. They are entirely peculiar to me, you understand. I’m not sure who this is – perhaps it was my space in the self of a passing minute.

will I change? If so, how? and when will this happen? I want time to learn my lines…

(It is with some regret that I share this generation’s fondness for the obsessive production and storage of self-portraits.)

the first part
of the national anthem
is:

“What a State we’re in!”

“O! Dear Land!
O! Dear!”

When the small prince
percieved

at his feet,
a sinking feeling,

because after all
he was in the kitchen…

the butt of all jokes,
he dare not enter the taverns,

he was,
at least,
everything but

only a prince.

II.
at which point,
a deer passed through his poem
with a look of disinterest

and an Adult Zebra Finch.

(oh, deer.)

Pic Source

In fact, he wore that same pink cloak,

and chose certain paints that would discolour his nose,

and folded his castle,
as if it were cloth,
into egg shapes,

before running away with the gypsy…