Holding Forth » Poetics

My homework…

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 21:50:41 +0000

In meinem Auge…

…kommen die aufregenden Kinder
mit neue gekauften Emotionen,

…kommen die gut bezahlenden Paare
mit gekuehlten Fingeren,

…kommen die versuchende Kunstlers
mit fliegenden Fuesse,

…kommen die artbeitenden Arbeiter
mit noch warmes gebackenes Brot,

…kommt die frueh aufgestande Sonne
mit frisch gemachten Sekunde, Minuten, Stunden, und Tage.

~~~~~~~~~~

intoOnine

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 12:52:47 +0000

eeeep – kafka, flusser, and photos in my head.

excited futures

serving food to those who can afford it tonight.Â need the bucks to buck the f@#$s

(funny how we all make the same assumption, no? after all, we are one)

i am free at 11:30 to wander into the mess that forms at Brandenburg Gate

to drink cheap champagne,

dodge fireworks,

figure out what it all means in that moment!!

let me know how it goes.

happpppppy new year!!

we talk next in 2009.

na?!

tim — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 18:45:37 +0000

The Plants Are Upon Us

tim — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 03:15:46 +0000

And those with rooted feet and forked arms shall raise up before our eyes.

Movements imperceptable to our to timeframe.

“That can’t be possible.”

It is…it is.

Have fear, for our species has it coming, slaying millions for our gain.

Those cries may have been heard.

Who knows?

The plants do.

…

The video of the plant hunting is pretty damn awesome.

…ugh…

tim — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 04:03:18 +0000

wiping away the sweat,
drinking the stress until there is none left,
tearing through the tears,
waging war on the whines.

easy is no fun,
the struggle is WHY,
stumbles are style,
another step forward.

…

Mad, Mad World

tim — Thu, 07 Feb 2008 10:41:08 +0000

Things go buzz.

Like bugs pretending it is their wings, and not their lips making the sound.

An annoying assumption; misplaced fact.

This buzz is a joke.

Hostile Norms knocking at the door.

A wisk through water and oil.

Futile attempt? Stubborn delusion? Does it matter?

…

Lots of change is in my immediate future.

Hope you are well,

t
—————-
Now playing: Modest Mouse – Parting of the Sensory
via FoxyTunes

Rest In Peace, Mr. Vonnegut.

tim — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 11:47:11 +0000

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
â€œIt is done.â€
People did not like it here.

~ Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (1922 – 2007)

Thank you for the words, even if we don’t listen that well.

It only takes one timeâ€¦

tim — Mon, 05 Mar 2007 23:56:10 +0000

Here I was sitting,
On the computer piddly pitting,
With intentions to make something divine,
I rallied myself to do some web design,
Click and clack the mouse went back,
Watch the databases and scripts stack,
Things were going well, as far as I could tell,
Little did I know I was headed for a self-imposed hell,
An moment of delusional haze,
A second of wandering gaze,
What happened in that instant I do not know,
But the next question was: Where the hell did everything go?
Fucking hell, shit the bed, what in godâ€™s name did I do?!!
Lyrics of a verbal tirade were hurtled like poo,
In a moment of mental itch,
I accidentally deleted the son of a bitch,
â€œRantsâ€, my beloved blog,
Was kicked to the floor like a dog,
An explosion ripped through the internal scripture,
Leaving only skeleton and skin to the picture,
Luckily the angels of FTP sang on high for me,
For my 500+ individual files were still here, though a bit messy,
So now I sit intent to correct, breathing in a slim hope,
And crossing my fingers so as not to again be such a dope,
Though time will be consumed in amounts that are far from small,
And though the work-to-come is quite tall,
With a little luck and some devoted drive,
This blog will reincarnate, new and improved, and alive.â€¦soon.

…

What is the lesson here?

Practice safe sex.

…

I fucked up. BIG time. Now I pay with labor.

Midnight in a Perfect World ~ DJ Shadow, as the soundtrack…

tim — Sat, 03 Mar 2007 06:00:33 +0000

Walking a foreign city street,
iPod keeping the flowing beat,
a perfect world, it is definitely not,
but this moment is a Elysian spot,
camera bag swinging on the left side,
nothing disrupting my gliding stride,
the hours past have been of shared smiles,
but behind are many solitary miles,
invitations, placations, social modifications,
none of these considerations,
DJ Shadow the rhythmic light,
a perfect world at midnight,
it is an ethereal place I long to be,
no one calling my name…this moment and me.

Ascetic Epicurean Fucked At All Points

tim — Mon, 22 Jan 2007 02:30:43 +0000

*Head is going to explode,
But at least he has Van Morrison,
Up, down, around and around,
The sense of foundation shivers,
Like a life-sized Jello molded Tower of Babel.

A seat belt would be wise,
But nah, the ride is for him â€“ by him
You might want to click,
Or clichÃ©,
Leaving him to the exterior.

A bumbling idiot delirious with pleasure,
Dancing naked in the snow,
Canâ€™t feel his toes,
Skull warmed by the internal inferno,
Madness makes an enthusiastic blanket.

Memories of liberation twinkling,
Perhaps a hyperbolic thought whose time has passed,
Sensuality in it fullest gratification,
Someone Else lacing the ambience,
Vocalized clicks and beeps through a life-induced haze.

Reach for logic,
End up lost the Woods of Non-Woods,
The map is wrong because there is hereâ€¦what the hell?,
Pursuing Bacchus, but always finding the question â€œwhy?â€
(See * above)

…