The Book of Mummy

and morning nursed by its picture

a heart reason prepared me a shipyard calendar

to type “red” or red raven as comb to commemorate the golden prayers 

as “no eyes in the balcony extraction cord buddha to intellect ridgeback 

with no me in the cord that connects buddhacore to ridgeback intellect

with sacred receipts, the wireless weft up unheavenly glare claw 

nail department watercress,

glare claw watercress nail department unheavenly 

wireless nail department egg easter and morning

and morning nursed by its picture the dice dice dice man 

and wordsworth is pops, so say

“okay, oak camera 

eggplants repeat single heron eye standing with floor pot richter

repeat single richter heron eye

single richter pot heron eye in the chakra cave 

chakra caves ogre pain chipmunk igloos, and bolt to moon coral

moral pain, paved chakra 

ochre caves paved in chakra igloo pain

igloo pain & wine scissors 

in the solstice embryo divination field of mignonettes swallowing balconies

marmoset zaris sagoin and i'm in the cryomembranous divination field 

swallowing saffron veils of balconies

 in the saffron snake place strewn with medals he gazed 

in graves inbox ajax the moth with grey heart

into ajax inbox, he read the innocence of duplicity 

or the fragility of the heroic code

and watched her dip her light 

in wounded balloons, watched the elder cat 

dip her light of stethoscopes in sewer magic

to see microscopic swimsuits that hear saxophones frowning

where the world reeled in roaring tides 

in ravines of poo pressed teacups clinking

where clock throat brain bargain typewriter teachings

effloresce aplenty

for popsicle apple code limelight 

the bellman cried out a symbol of prey to rent body prey

salt and crossbone and chimes of poo 

he flushed phone and crescent triple  nipple and the rose sunglasses

trident eyes dna receipts

saying kettles, sound tracks, and you should enjoy this

with me in my two-humped motor home, with what better tympans 

will you a line record?

of woe, a game pad emotion wry 

i will you live in line with what lines will record

here in fearful face desktop, in sweat orb millet is dharma

with madness as divine punishment

with madness as the uttermost collies in archery 

see friend, barracudas in barrels of snow

an eight-spoked traffic light chandelier asterisk 

swinging storms of cellular expulsion

foreign backhoe foreign leafless tree 

the chocolately chocolate prey as teacup breast

teacup milked breast button tent under leafless tree

relieved to know her tram links to cauliflower caveat 

where ungulates undulate fleur-de-lis 

lightning, touch leafy green circle! booth to allah eggplant

and as rain play commences: elephants elephant

in joy, and in field of prey, I face doberman pinchers as the road cherries 

now cornflower, i raise pinchers

as the road cherries, the phonograph of penelope comes back half-complete

with popsicle-scarce efflorescences

the scroll dart musk button with interior rain play 

as goddess, for in speech common crap falls to lemon 

to lemon the sunflower, no

to dragon inside without a radioactive conjunction  

to nest without toothbrush as earth letter beneath

for the giraffe two beavers down

and crown the head as it crosses each symbol

i blue book, i sit scarecrow

my monstrous hound shovels feathers shovels on the floor 

shovels on the floor into the laughing bag of before

she spins intertwined from green, she telescope sin into coronets quinoa

on dagger-gloomed walkways  the verb poor scrapbook alchemy

she teeter totters green-grey on the antennae of the grey moth rottweiler

through sieve-mouthed grooves  and kiss space collision.

a sallow pug now, a rider grinning in old savagery

a bachelor in treespirits whispers me mouse maids 

see friend, amphitheaters whisper baby fingers 

for dryers ripe and the knife that cheeseburger limelights

it's passionate and feverish for unamused rucksacks 

to cover out with advantage! a trilby parting red lip skillets

to grieve for a laugh just two liters down

railroad railroad railroad 

i miss the robe robe racing

with its disautomated brain all feverish

the bereaved giraffe felt too bereaved to leave town 

help tulip otter

lost at delphi! canoes cantaloupe

cantaloupes shallow

of styx brother from house with

the green hills, worm chipmunk brown.

and his icarus airport

bikini, and galatea

schnauzer “move parts and

rain and rain universe orange

links we brownie front-facing.

frankincense and witch

airports compassion ark spareribs

i some hippos, hives

bedchamber face over almond

blue heart umbrella, cake hell.

hungarian pointer

owe me ribbons as sunset

sun sets sunups sun up.

yin yang lemurs leopard leopards

artistic incest production.

kandura puma

and drowning old pine-stems

fleur-de-lis alexander

lemongrass lemongrasses

chopsticks gainsayed blowfish menopause.

she bar room banjo bar room

face was soft white owl sun behind

her bosom will porcupine

nor home hugging dog and mermaid

kite from dance cow cowboy poppy.

tidal coral, god

nerd and pitbull ball of unbearable

safety button of

horus on her roasted sweet

sweet stopwatch born in hole, wonton.

sportfishing mermaids

radish basket on the dead

on terrace terrace

terrace smile packsack and plowing

eclipse: he maizes malamute.

shade pole of honor

maids for whiteboard as wolf

face microwave clear

store as grilled hourglass cataracts

lantern arrow to matter.

gravestone before

ending the desktop computer

mouse into ice five

his goulash cityscape

weighing that duck hat cowboy.

boot precipitation

white earth-angel mercurial

hooks rough bronzino

broom brooms garden zoos kissing

wines redwood lays cosmic. the liquids.

bursts among emotion

oven with krishna underwaters

ears money bag before

light on world popsicles wolves

speakers in these rocket paws.

two suffering researchers

royally alone like the thunder in my locket

one a half-price stanza calligrapher spinning cock and bull tales

the other an eight sided empire awkward as a cow with crutches for thumbs

their large builds meet at a square earth’s rounded corners

their mutual gate scored by the purring of rugby saints

their descendants carrying the salmon pink luggage of tyrants

pupils glisten like the syrup of their souls in the doubt simulator

as they witness the invisible speech of a perpetual snow

shaking loose their crowns of preference, the licorice gator

swallowing up restless chapters, opening the air door wafting

she hugs the vision of ancient deeds the child heart

spiral notebooks, kegs of sake, herbal banknotes

in the field of dying starlight, he pauses at length on a black street

to filter the lies of self-control, the chime of her despondent clogs

promise to drive hot or cold through an unsheltered trench

to satisfy the setting moons of summer shade, no shamrocks

no shark attacks no cool chivalry or symmetry

in powdered sugar wire mesh confection, they embrace

the sweet burden of orange

33,259 photos in my camera roll at the moment. consists of mostly of photos taken from 2022 to present. i sat down with the intention of going over a year in photos. when i got back to this day in 2024 i scrolled back in time a few days, then forward some, and quickly became overwhelmed. put this all into a story? impossible. it is too tangential, too many eddies, undercurrents. i would need so much more computational power and emotional endurance than i have access too. I see so many photos i never shared, so many great ones in there. And theyre all attached to different threads of ideas and moments, many of which, though simultaneous, are disparate. When i so seldomly and suddenly decide to look over my shoulder, like on a birthday’s eve such as this, i shudder at the imensity. impossible to try to recapitulate, reorganize, regurgitate, re-present. Yet the urge persists. Look at all i’ve seen! All that i didn’t show you in the moment, all that i kept to myself, all that we could have seen together. I need you to help me look at it now. the future is a vantage from which to see things: hold it a little farther from your face and it’ll come into focus. Things that seemed salient then, don’t now. The raw material moves me more from here, more than how it did when i processed it then. And yet that’s only because i now see another use for it, another way to process it, a process itself i might repeat next year, seeing a “better” way for it then, too, again. Let me not get trapped in these bogs of (active non-)thought— they convey nothing, preserve nothing. But this is an exhumation, nevertheless. an excavation, some archeological gesture or another. Look at all i’ve seen, share it with me, i want to share it with you. I shouldn’t let it pile up. I ought to let things fly out as they happen, without explanation, or without becoming overwhelmed by my own metadata and context. Posting the deli cat was both a personal joke about the imensity of all i’ve seen and collected, a laugh in the face of the impossibility of sharing the important things, as well as a gesture of good faith in the importance of sharing things at all, and having somewhere to put it where people can see it, so they can take what they can, and leave what they will. Part of the fear is the accumulation of filth. Though I act as a sieve, I can’t sift through it for you. It’s there for you to mine though, and i trust in your ability to take what you need, to find the gems, to use what nourishes you. And i should be able to trust my own filter, but don’t always. Just to do it, regardless of high promises, that must be the trick. I’m reminded of some of the platonic baggage in my implicit commitment to (classical) ideals, even those hidden in revolutionary ideologies, like bauhaus for instance. But this is an unreal worry, so let me not prate on about all that. Good design should enhance the lives of others, and there’s no need to capitalize any of those words. Just assume none of my words are capitalized, even if they are. It is neither an intellectual nor a material affair, but simply an integral part of the stuff of life, a necessity. JUST ASSUME THAT IT IS GOOD AND NECCESSARY. And never look for proof, for neither confirmation or otherwise; there’s no use, for you’ll never find any proof of anything but the activity itself; that’s the switch from proof to evidence. what is important is just to do the thing, show it (as it happens), and that’s it. The real work is the activity, but the work you see is the record of activity, thus the work becomes the trail left in my wake (turbulence), the refuse,  (fools)good, lusterless, shiny, value implicit, value no matter. It's my life / It never ends (it never ends). records of moments diffuse with formal questions, extensions of surfaces and their depths. succumbing to the picturesque like a guilty pleasure, in any traditional medium like landscapes (pictures of barns and fields upstate), portraiture (which i did a fair amount of this year, collecting and analyizing influences examples, absorbing practical education, getting my own experience. This has been an unexpected interest of mine, though it has been there. I did a monotype of a female face for a printmaking class at CCC&TI around 2015 and i never let go of that feeling. But for me ultimately its another exercise in looking, analysizing a surface, and participating in a tradition;