chip the glasses

poetry, words, pictures, sounds

hallo welt

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david lynch's my little pony

I dreamt that A_______ and I went to a movie. it was after hours, but since we had friends who worked at the theatre they let us in. they couldn't run the projectors, but offered to let us watch some movie they had on a television at the front row of one of the theatres.

we settled in and sat through a long credit sequence with illegible, small white characters on black. it went on for a long time. all that was clear was that this was a david lynch adaptation of some children's cartoon; possibly carebears or my little pony.

the intro scene: gloomy music, a camera pointed at the ground dips low and back up while moving forward. The ground is green and brown and grey; the angle of the camera slowly lifts up to reveal rainbows and clouds in the distance.

the audience member sees the film through the eyes of different character, but also experiences emotion, taste, smell. we're introduced to a happy-go-lucky rainbow pony. she lives on a chicken farm. her parents are very powerful and she lives in a world of privilege and comfort.

an awful cretinous creature shambles up the hill to the farm. he is ashen and decaying, wearing tatters and covered in filth. crumpled, sad, broken. he is unlike anything else around--he has no rainbows, sunshine, or shooting stars.

the pony knows of this creature and has been told of its evil, so it taunts it and tries to shoo it away. it insists it's hungry and needs chickens. or eggs. the pony refuses and threatens to get her father. finally, she throws heavy things (rocks?) at the creature and he's knocked back down the hill and away from the farm.

the audience member is now seeing things from the point of view of the creature. he is overcome with hunger. he can feel himself dying. he knows his only chance is to get eggs from the farm. he starts back up the hill.

he reaches the halfway point and hears a commotion above. little eggs start rolling down the hill to him. ecstasy; jubilation. he frantically scrapes them up into his withered claws and stuffs them in his mouth.

instead of being crunchy normal eggs, they're soft and yielding, like gushers. the audience member can taste them, feel them in their mouth. both the eggs and the mouth shrink and grow and seem far from the body, but soon they pop and the distinct taste of blood fills the mouth.

the creature is completely satisfied and wanders blissfully away.

the audience member is back in the perspective of the pony. while the creature feasted, some kind of official starburst pegasus came to visit the pony's parents.

Some law had been broken; the farm would be taken by the state and the family rendered homeless. The final scene is the gut wrenching fear of the pony as she watches her father hand the land deed over to the official pegasus.

A_______ and I leave to find food.

2011-09-13 09:12

bone feather

a gruesome local case which accident  
    had made dramatic;  
no record existed.  
I was beyond all coherent thought.  
what had found him?  
  
This was always the case of late.  
And the organs never would work again.  
A month, you say, without food?  
  
My quest had come to something at last!  
in some obscure Eastern temple,  
I closed my eyes.  

an ugly sun

we turned our eyes to the moon and  
the clouds stopped,  
the moon an ugly sun obscured.  
  
our eyes are dead, all seeing  
the dream that repeats and will  
one day replay not over green  
but gray when us and them  
are cavities, open to space.  
  
linked to me and back,  
my spine is drawn and we  
don't know yet gray from green  
or one from another.  
  
the blue blanket drawn lazily  
moves on: slipping, falling,  
crumpling from the bed.  
  

press haiku

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK  
A FIGHT WITH TWO WILDCATS  
No, he was all right!  

the legless crowd

Harry's son nodded.
Three columns and two arches.
GLORY MAY NOT LAST.

SEXT.

a besieged hot aqueduct  
died soon after  
the failed conquest of _the Celibate_  
  
_sex will be slaughtered_  
condemned  
  
Yet  
it is  
still to be unraveled.  
  

thick liver

"thick-skinned, liver, believers  
  
very social  
blesssssing",  
  
estranged mock  
crapshoot.  
   
Inevitably, concedes,  
Tinnitus.

depressive effectiveness

frenetic fame  
    children.  
  
pregnent. motioning  
    continues,  
  
blurted  
    speechless.  
  
Sluggishness, distored  
    production,  
  
depressive effectiveness.  

flower haiku

when words will not do
undermine my suffering
with just a flower

through steam

a brown constellation 
among black night-hairs

leads not to undiscovered lands
but rather the same 

shit-smell &
sweat-curls.

I've come to expect.

cacophony

Hamilton, Richard. Journal Fragment. c. 1912. Miskatonic University.

"I have stolen a few moments for reflection in my quarters at a countryside inn. I will take this chance to record some thoughts so as not to lose any detail of the day's events in a future recounting.

Today, the true nature of my curious benefactor was revealed. It is one month after entering into residence with Prof. Pope and, this evening, I could no longer suppress my interest in the sounds emanating once again from the underground levels of his mansion.

The sounds were simultaneously mechanical and animal in nature. I had questioned the servants numerous times, but they dismissed it as a mysterious quirk of the house's antiquated heating system.

'Steam and gears,' they'd say. 'Nothing more.' This explanation did not sit well with me. The sounds were the root of many sleepless nights and I soon took to pacing the hallways when their volume was at an apex.

It was during one of these nightly walks that I first noticed the ajar door of Prof. Pope's bedroom. Wondering if he, too, was disturbed by the sounds, I respectfully knocked on the door. Hearing no answer, I peeked inside. He was not there, and my subsequent exploration of the premises found him nowhere. His automobile, however, was firmly situated on the grounds and there were no signs of his departure.

Again and again I noted this correlation: on nights when the sounds could be heard throughout the mansion, Prof. Pope was nowhere to be found. I became determined to uncover the source of these nightly terrors and, tonight, finally mustered the courage to explore the Professor's study in the dead of night.

I discovered nothing unusual in Prof. Pope's papers and library–just books on electro-mechanical studies and drafts of academic publications. What I did notice was that, when I stood at his desk in front of his chair, the grating, shrill noises from below were slightly louder. I felt ridiculous doing it, but I put my head below the lip of his desk. There, I discovered with horror that the sounds seemed to be coming from directly below me.

I felt the floor with my fingers, seeking out seams or hinges. Indeed, I found an edge that I could only so slightly wedge my fingers under. Pulling upwards I was assaulted by the noise in a dimension hitherto unfelt as it poured forth from an opening in the floor. It sounded as though a dry, dead leaf was being dragged over broken glass in a stone basin, amplified one thousand fold. A low rumbling, which seemed to threaten the very foundations of the planet, resonated in my breast.

Somehow, I became aware of someone coming towards the study. A light was growing in the hallway outside the room. I knew that I would be promptly escorted away–or worse–for prying as I was, and in a panic I opened the panel the rest of the way to escape. A dark, grimy staircase awaited me, pitched in darkness. I plunged downwards, pulling the panel shut behind me, more terrified of the sounds enveloping me than I was of the pitch dark and smell of decay.

The sounds became deafening as I descended. I lost count of the steps as I walked and before long I could think of nothing but the noise. I felt as though I were but a vessel for the awful sound, suspended over a chasm of infinite depth. This image so distracted me I lost my footing, and tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs. Luckily, it wasn’t far, but I came crashing into a heavy wooden door at the foot of the steps.

In the room within which I came to rest, the noise was unbearable. I could pick out human screams, now, amongst the nightmarish racket I have already described. My eyes adjusted to the light and I could see the back of Prof. Pope, hunched over a large table. On it lay all manner of wires, machines, and devices, only the most basic of which I recognized from my studies. Beyond the table was a seething mass seeming to consist of nothing but jagged edges of light. It appeared to revolve in mid-air, and, when I looked about in panic, I realized it was surrounded in a semi-circle by human forms strapped onto tables. The poor souls trapped on the beds were writhing and screaming what sounded like glossolalia.

I could think of nothing now but ending the terrible sounds, which in my maddened state I could not disambiguate from the hideous mass in the center of the room. I picked up a heavy chair resting against the wall behind the professor–who was completely absorbed in his dials, knobs, and switches–and lobbed it with all my might at the heart of his bed of spidery wires.

Prof. Pope's equipment was torn apart and strewn across the floor. The seething, jagged orb began shaking violently. Before it dissipated completely, I could discern within the orb hundreds of iris-less eyes widening and staring with fury. They folded over themselves with a flash as the orb finally disappeared.

I did not wait to see the professor's reaction. I paused only long enough to retrieve a thick, lone manuscript from a table adjacent the workbench and then fled back up the stairs and out of the mansion, knocking past agitated servants.

This inn was the first establishment far enough away from the professor's mansion in which I felt safe. I made it there by luck after receiving a ride from some gracious folk headed towards the city. I could hardly believe what I read in Prof. Pope's manuscript, but the sights I had seen that evening compelled me to read on.

Apparently, his interest in telegraphy, electro-mechanical engineering, and radio had a singular purpose: to somehow invite an ancient being into our modern world. The professor refers to it in varying ways, but I have copied the most frequently used characters: Qb'ath'agu. It was unclear whether this name represented the dreadful noise that plagued Prof. Pope's mansion or the amorphous, jagged orb. Whichever, the effect such a being would have on the world around it was obvious: chaos, madness, and destruction.

As soon as I'm able to get through, I intend to alert the authorities to the professor's activities.

For now, I will try and rest."

a haiku

8am platform
pink blossoms and urine smell
better than a car.

in the shadow of lincoln cathedral: an elementary text-book

The bodily heat falls very rapidly.  
"It's my lungs I'm worried about," Mary said.  
Gabriel, why did you ever set your heart on me?  
You had charge of the funeral arrangements.  
   
There was no tribute but their tears.  
You had charge of the funeral arrangements.  
[Sidenote: Result of the contest.]  
He did not want to let Renovales go.  
   
But the contest irritated the king.  
That husky young boy was her son.  
"Did they tell you, Mariano?  
She must stay at home and work for others."
   

lajima

Symertoerton  
LOS ANGELEyajima  
abilityists  

marta haiku

dirty and screaming  
a metallic snake from hell  
marta train goes by  

filipino vinyl

Although the cargo was taken out,  
it was after it had been in the water.
more than one half months.
  
Updated editions will replace the previous one-  
the old editions will be renamed.  
  
The soliders were ordered not to allow him  
either bed, food, or drink.   

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