Blog Desiremachine Links

Desire_ blogs connects, burrows, _ rhizome to other spaces. Tunnels, _ runnels loggin' other words, image, poem, text

hole 'n whole

not found
or made


of shoes , and lovers, there is no end.
of hoes, and hearts. no end.
nor start to finish.
glueing, gulping the page.

its heart stop lent to end .



over at


Human nodes
a reaL poeM proVokes the RIOT

Jazz t.v.

Poetry State

Cyber état poétique
L'état poétique au coeur du numérique- cyber art- liberté freedom-


got something thing
between yer teeth
Lady Lanyer,
hang yer lanyard on thee


verse it into porpoise, prose machine along the littles of edge. snap hedge shine it glitter o'er to a shaped metric. not so it peeled back its coign and come along bridge. this capers to the untimely of theE body. of what is that compose,d, you wish wish your molecule to fade.


lover sounds like your name's beenspoken too many timesover this night of hash and ruinsits star speckled banners 've hurtyou are a walk that doesn't beginbegging its ending isn't the placeof loads and freight choosing smileswhich don't fit shy a predatory workerwaitin for her shanks to startle inhoping the brigade'll keep back the enemyis this the word we were hopingforyou were so tired in the tentpassing in the sirocco biting its desert painspassing trucks and cars in the windhave you retired to nightas its spoken word ended its song?____________

_imagine each nickel & dime of time's needits shady deal stalking the aira cheap rain coat for furriers to carry onmothers who keep the kempt rainin pockets bulging out at the skirts or hipswhich lock in the night, children,the night children of a gangster's rapcheap solitude makes their mapand its hysterical jibeor jobbers booting on the far end of thug snarlsa finger ducked in the pairssomeone said this was its cadenzaa catch of mermaid & sea food or misty hambugers on the dog of townShit, is that how a rainbow works?Come over here, the stairs are lookingtake off this slip, these clothesthese hoofs, these hoops,yer narrator's balking his handsdo quiverat the popped seeds of elbowsyour elbows that quiver in the bedroomlike a darkened pillow narcoticin the high huff of its editionmarking things you can't hearnor see being upside down in your feet.This dog won't speak .Pardon me? was it up to the kitchen again,her young body smashing yours against the ruins.the other day she had the runs. compared to sparerhymes that's nothing its a creepy place to do thisin , you know that. right. I do, but don't say. I didntwarn you. What? is that french again, yer saying?Comment ca va mon ami, je suis the lover,le lover de tout le monde etandthe demimonde too. Monde Monde le mondequi plueur au bout de temps. and thats notFrench-Canadian, it's the evocative spelling ofthe world.Same small thing again.Your shyness hides a spell,casts a work on its hiddeness.__Queen Victoria knows what I mean.In her hem and gown and my guitarthat I sing.


not closer

not closer to the fifth regiment of your big willy nilly
its time for the credit company to wrack its gut
asking courage to take its place
gamey as a ward monkey
camembert of its roughage
the crackers spoon fed
winners take all bet
best comes last


dido you _ cousin the whore|Salamacis et Hermaphroditus.

A partir de ce jour, le contenue des jours sera verse dans la dame-jeanne de la nuit. Le desespor prendra les formes gaies de la fin du temps des pommes et roulera commme une grele de tambours fraichment decharges sur l'ombre humide qui nous sert de manteau. Tzara Grains et Issues 1.

Tousjours tu verras devant toi l'image degradee d'une poupee qui te represente, mais qui a passe par le feu. ibid. 145

"do you really believe, all that?" no I dont really believe all that. do you really no I dont unreally.

A theorem is not to be belie'd but tested

I believe you are a monkey.

Does one believe a poem, ? no,
one reads and is read by it,
Is it real?
Since when isa poem real or not real
believable or incredible?
I suspect you shake your breasts
before me.

Of such gods and goddesses powers that
be I believe in the air beating. down its. strong wings.
thud of power. darkness. ( a little Satanic thud
here Milton)
(les paradis perdus ne sont pas
or other gambols. a read text of breast
abound his head, wishes the dearth
of stampeding chains. must signifies late their wish?
or this heart plexis , of hymen and
her ham strung ache. yearns he yearns
for a face escaped,
body speaks.
its symphonic lust
over his coming into her,
a rush,
a hurricane
flood of fly
flakes flutter a rush into her
hind-quarters. is this the goddess,
greeks the night of loves ?

beast breast .
Of then the hand reaches into the sex of the woman.
she handles this vase , as if it were an aquarium,
a handle to witches. or calibrated flusters.
or some tango we clock. going down the veins.
and rippled berry sweat mouths,
cusses on kisses, of cities and hates,
castles and their ever more wish,
or babies glued to window
washers bending to river watch gallow
glance the game.

'I am Slav - in my contradictions, in my affinity to a black-and-white worldview, in my humour, and in the quick change of moods - as well as my understanding of history. I was born at this extremaly painful border between East and West.'

Ive met all the gods, so I dont believe in them. None intimidate me. I know these gods 'resie in the human breast' and we in
hers, the mother of gods
my sour Penelope.

so thereforest:

My wanton lines doe treate of
amorous loue, Such as would bow the hearts
of gods aboue:
Then Venus, thou great Citherean Queene,
That hourely tript on the Idalian greene,
Thou laughing Erycina, daygne to see
The verses wholly consecrate to thee;
Temper them so within thy Paphian shrine,
That euery Louers eye may melt a line;
Commaund the god of Loue that little
To giue each verse a sleight touch with his
That as I write, one line may draw the
And euery word skip nimbly o're another.
There was a louely boy the Nymphs had
That on the Idane mountains oft had slept,

Begot and borne by powers that dwelt aboue,
By learned Mercury of the Queene of

Francis Beaumont
So Anti sang or rang his moult,
of night's vase its
Of Frances and his gales the god,
Frances many Paris,
spoke pert and perks the
messy pottage of the bow'r begot
yearn brun & let up to the shoon
its meadow cracked his lip
Then venus cark shipping blogs
(remote of cheap,
receipt of cheat,
gogged orbs,
(bing bound
breasts round as bogs)
eyeball blossom
tufted hair blue bloom)
hamstrung letter rail sated
over my tunic bale
its feather fright

bitty wig,
of sloth and weil,
shes welfed
stead its panther praise
and buck shot rabbit
my tundra hand inside her,
and wheat her knave .
fan her tuppet to wake its cup.
she's loath to sup her boy,
of fiarce fairdom its lap .
Swan'd & swained her freak
boated midwife kaled her
behovelyof hand in this that
and there its intelligencer
warped its sooth
diced by the girl's trained greek
her stood was stay
pronouncing guff my debonairs
pilate hurts its each over arms of her
huzzah huzzah
bananna breast in huckstered feint.
helmet butt
was gaudy of her praise,
lover lover goosed her day.
Moor'd by cow
he bellowed
I fret its hearken'd chew
over orpheus' hat,
its bell bound stew rhymes
her metred pet
a red analogue hankered
its pout of hatted bath
her ass was bout!
giggled lesbic fathoms
a Dame in parry of
her hanky . I hiped
its lettered reek distant
its lettered
cheeky insousciant hale,
and sallied.

To the true patronesse of all Poetrie, C A L I O P E.
not the penny loafers of Herod's Salome this
ask of why its predatory spoon lifting veils
burquaed dames wander the lane
queued chin upright to the sun
girth gated hips
Antigone saw her name,
hugged under its veil
a double christian

as the coward kite huckered in his knight of sans organes beached his preparations narrative to the guilt of the chain of their song
it was switching that made no sense

hankered by pauses and jewel the missing S
which countered the Cea of its
big book willies, and her hem-down skirt,
her rapped up hair, sugaring off the booth of her magenta players.

as the coward kite huckered in his knight of sans organes beached his preparations narrative to the guilt of the chain of their song
it was switching that made no sense

hankered by pauses and jewel the missing S
which countered the Cea of its
big book willies, and her hem-down skirt,
her rapped up hair, sugaring off the booth of her magenta players.

and this




no nonsense before dawn 800 miles away
and aloft crofted
in the fiddle-faddle of lies and repent
the naming crowd of peevish pedlars
against sunset boulevard

Once, there was eternity playing in my yard
against the pediment pavement of desire and lost
on the promenade walking again I am breath crossed
by the body's weird maniac
frilled by the spring lover of chance
I go to exile _ a little Ovid here
ladies and gentlemen _
as I pray past the tossed charm
of what once was
now no longer in the nosology
of birth and its streaming ride
near my fence
and you are the fun castle of my streams
and beams the only occident
sun of these instincts and suckers
up my breath
Honeyed lips I wanted walking
around the miracle tide
and desire in your legs
and eyes the way your face
tilted back
turned away

slightly ever so takes the little breath
I have away
and I would give it all to you
excitement enthusiasms rushes touches
feel spears alarm hunger
word smack and caress
around the sings
of your body giving me forever
the one thing
of the forgiven one
in the beast making two backs
how many looks and time
I turned off and away
to face your fire
and the mystery man
desire ramming
my way to the back and stayed still
till you passed
how many times of tunes



and this

Now this blog has this: interesting stuff below here like about eggs, & difference and stoic and this but then that, etc. and it's very innaresting indeed, as Branwin used to say, 'innaressing'

Deleuze & Kant

"The entire world is an egg." (Difference and Repetition, p 216) This apparently gnomic statement means nothing more than that the entire world moves from the virtual to the actual, from Ideas to cases, from transcendent to immanent, by means of a dynamism. By means of "spatio-temporal dynamisms." That is, before the embryo or the world can be thought of as divided into parts, into categories of differences that the understanding is capable of representing, there is a sub-representational, sub-understanding emergence of differences: "the agents of differenciation are the spatio-temporal dynamisms which act within or beneath [the understanding], like a hidden art." (D&R 218, emphasis mine)."


that Blog
is connected to another One: called


so its really a potatoe field of files laminated sheets, & niveau. a poetry of thought.

is also sort of burrowed over to

indeed it is

I remember / je me souviens

self-described as:
For those limbic bursts of nostalgia, invented by Proust, miniaturized by Nicholson Baker, and freeze-dried by Joe Brainard in his I remember and by Georges Perec in his Je me souviens.

So as always the world is chock a bloc of this that
the other.
The Other.
the others.
the otter.

the god


the god kisse d meshe was thebe'ing becoming of multitudinousterritoireoh this was a body beyond any forceof assentdeity of lives and letting lives the bridalchamber s of god goddeses....'all gods reside in the human breast'Here Jean Genet stood standing in thewhole voidhis Sister AntiOedipusHis Sister Wife Antigoneto the sweet char of maidens&Covered in the Gue of Hatred&WarShe Said EnuffEnuffIt VanishedKali endingthe show'give me your dirtiest filthiest sonnets'of this her ass so sweethis body into minewas the love night desert castleof anus and breastclitoris and plethora of beastflowered over the opulent sheet of its modesty.End WarShe swirlsher veils keepsaking the rod s of lightening.Squire box of firedesire's brotherits hot bridgeof tongueto this same.Come to my mouth.her godly.



god God, the great and only ,the onlymany oned, the two infinitebeast of ikon image,of spread - eagled her body _ crossof ingenius infinite pleasure,god the great many sexualed beast. the great homosexual created and be comingsthe we whirling you of ita Billion Sexual Sexuasions.Oh, her knees,copulating on the forestOuroborous.here into my palm shesits her bisexualmothers & sonsthis deity's baby's my assher son a tall critter of honeyhoming in our bodies, body's rope.ripe as the daywe was born.


Tiny Cameras a thous_and tiny cameras inCamera Cameo or bodies which __

|courtesy of Michael Hoppen Gallery |

what desire desists in spade

this t o go her __ eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee


'Tichý is truly one of the great ‘finds’ of an unknown artists who worked on the outside edges of the art world. Following the communist takeover Tichý spent some eight years in prison camps and jails for no particular reason other than he was ‘different’ and was considered subversive. Upon his release in the early 70’s, Tichý wandered his small town in rags, pursuing his obsession as an artist with the female form by photographing in the streets, shops and parks with cameras he made from tin cans, childrens spectacle lenses and other junk he found on the street. He would return home each day to make prints on equally primitive equipment, making only one print from the negatives he selected.'

'a melancholic and poetic quality' small objects a sort of RayMond Rousell of the EyE.

have I forgot to see

his hidden camera. ...
follow that
link up ta learn more of this
clandestine picture taker.

leman leaf of mouth
drouth of lio
nine lip to slip her lace
over her-ing and

O cam of leafman
Or d'or touch heliotrope
rift de temps aux murs d'etoile