Monday, May 27, 2013

More BBQ drafts...

...again this works with diagonal links across pages which may be variously several pages apart and for want of a better term, collage narrative,  allowing narrative to emerge and thinking of getting rid of sentences as much as possible leaving clause chains...

a computer encrypted plastic
magnetic card opening door
the code being correct lets
       us in we may enter now
            every floor in this domestic
                  affair into matters of fact

burning ships sink in harbour
sailing does not have any faith
in a boat pitching and bending
       and men overboard are wrapped
             in arm's tender care hauled up
                   with lines to a rescue helicopter


a crack in time on every floor
of this palace a home cold drafts
get in through ice winter nights

running men naked doing things
follow like dogs on a short leash
and targets of weakness sent away

sweet fruits butter mock cream
between layers of a sponge cake    
and after fresh butcher red meat

eyes behind dark sun glasses
do not give away heavy stares
of lust for naked male forms

a palace of lust is icy cold
like the lower ranks of hell
and keeping warm is a delight

body against body against body
multiple sexual partners' place
in drawing rooms with cigars

males pull in close together
and contact is made lip to lip
boys have cake and eat it too

proteins artificially made food
for a growing boy created flavours
to make it nice to eat face pulled

not nice is this artificial stuff
one must protest let there be food
one may swallow without distaste

your heart of gold cannot fight you
are better known then your manifest
so may one recreate your fool's gold

yet again again and there is more
with a hot metaphysical being innate
nature crossing real states of affairs

and a purple head slips inside warmth
a strange hollow and empty feeling now
can we be friends again with benefits

how many comes can you do in one night
soft fluffy warm wool on naked flesh
and cold into wilderness an exile

being some kid without any talent
a strong discipline is needed in reply
knocking us off our feet before we flee

are there more tricks up your sleeves
hidden secrets known to be in there
can it be said looking for a way out

and stretch the skin around his balls
hanging loose in hot tropical days
sweat pours from his leaky body

should my kiss for him be shared
my slim waist soft skin teen body
is not so alien and strange as what

what can I say a mystery is made
in these days of my immature youth
my loves letting me down betrayed

Sunday, May 26, 2013

... and 36 more lines for BBQ

These 36 lines felt difficult to write and in the main, very difficult to revise and even after this there will be, of course, more revision and rewriting. The only way I can see into writing this long poem, now over 50 pages, is with fragments like this.

I  like the way a blog can be an archeology. What is now appearing is a formal queer structure as diagonal connections across and between lines of text often pages apart. The etymology of queer is a diagonal move across the flow, also a rival.

he erupts in my mouth
    sweet fructose semen
         a volcano shattering earth's crust
        as if a felony for sucking dick
        and non-reporting misdemeanours
        it was pot        no victim this crime
with a magistrate's word        and no way out
slowly seeping through cracks
    between local area courts
    an arrest warrant is made
    Ignore the illness & treatment
    attack those with diagnosis
    heinous serious crime
    cannot go unpunished
    prosecute misconduct
is there any relief from legal abuse
        justice miscarries
        a trope of pregnancy
        law breaking
        being aborted
        feminine failure
    child birth images of filial inference
    rule lives no matter the pain
    legal with patriarch law
    present search warrant        & raid
    homophobia is better        for pain
    the fallacy of right
    advert opportunity        can fit here
    make money with            illicit drugs
        play on words         come hard
        go to hole like     gay hole
        gaol etymology
        from old french

Saturday, May 18, 2013

More for the Barbecue book and note on narrative


Transitive theories of narrative that are based on a-priori structuralist story and written form, as a theory of narrative or narratology, are unable to provide a pragmatic poetics for collage narrative as immanent to itself. Such narrative practices are not transitive productions in the way the formal story/discourse is set out by structuralist narratology.

Despite claims to the contrary, structuralist narratology cannot account for the immanent appearance of narratives and those narratives which can be said to be experimental and modernist, in a way that allows a pragmatics and poetic practices. This inability is so since lyric and narrative are already given as separate categories. How the difference is made and how lyric and narrative can be a-priori given as different cannot be accounted for. It is as if god has already proscribed for each what cannot be said in lyric or in narrative. (Deleuze's conceptual problem of difference in itself may be of use, here.)

It seems we can only get so far with Aristotle and run into problems that do not allow us to get to making and thinking narrative in the first place, so to speak. So, as if from a new beginning narrative needs a new thinking. A novel discourse and the collisions of collaged images may be one way, following suggestions taken from Mikhail Bakhtin's dialogic novel discourse and polyvocal or multi-verse ways of writing.

Barbecue is being written as a novel, more so using accidental collage then any set out plan, which is to say the narrative emerges as a narrative image. The images and verse are often written as an encounter with other media forms and technologies. Encounters may be critical and what Barthes may say is a writerly text. Narrative is a circumstance as an occasion and encounter.

(WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, working title to delete)

    ...and where have you been; he demands
                    this is no country, for those
                                       your phobia, your fear, will not let near.

And it was such an easy day dreaming lost in the clouds, idle
and a plot to make oneself a fool's many secrets and is this
what you want. You are wanton; say this again, repeats, yes in
sexy wet dreams where I lay your body bare and command your hand

in a day; and multiple orgasms when we meet in dark moonless air
so the mystery is? Perhaps a thing that is not to be spoken yet,
written; even that is proscribed, etymology is a prevention here
enough to demand silence as a trickster's opening on the babble;

too many words fall and slide over each other, like another trick
walking and drifting into disassociation, skipping over the horrors
and you piss in your pants; that's the fright. Command your feet
they will walk. Sharp teeth, love bite neck to blood metal taste.

On a lover's tongue. A word forbidden and outlaw to write, so
what can be said. Not much it seems. Proscription, lots of noise.
Changes not registering on any meter, that as much can be said
carry a cold dead skin as an absolute leaky container, let it bleed.

Earth quakes and big sea waves wash the borders clean away, so go
far inland to dry dead desert sand and return this sewage to sea.
Big wild fires burn fast across dry forests dying with drought
wild late afternoon storms pelting ice block rain melting in flames.

With his boy tied to his torso by hard rope he jumps into the sea
hoping to save his boyfriend with himself, love is not lost, hope
day after day after day they cling together, sea soaked skins,
take on sweet tastes and out of the hard acid sea, sweet smells.

Monday, May 6, 2013

...and some more dramatic monolog for BBQ

(working title-- horse&buggy)

        like        riding a horse and buggy
        to a gay bar         like last year
   well I did             ride a horse
        took him              home with me

            a double articulated horse
   sucking me           a red lobster
   this guy                 who could not
   quite believe             what I was

   quit sucking my cock like a girl
   guys know        how sucking dick's done
   and I like          to stand        straight
   you want         so much         to suck my dick

   getting there too late          sharing
   say goodbye             I always told you
   be an internet         porn star
   get beat up               and get raped

   your cherry        for another dick
   is focus             greasy fingers open
   get ready         &           enter this
   life claim          deep in the butt

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

2 more sonnets for Barbecue

These two sonnets are some leftovers from the daze induced by being immersed in realist internet writings about gay teens and young college gay males in North America. (If one wishes to understand a society, study the educational institutions; comment attributed to Lacan.)

A sort of collage of colliding images in apparent collapse, is one suggestion;  another being always a happy ending and boy falls eternally in love with boy. And the pop music and media soup in which these characters are immersed. Internal rhyme takes up here, also. (and The Eternal Return)

echoes in capacious rooms he feels
deals an inverted claustrophobia
deserted and lost in booms of heavy
artillery fire which then inspire

surrenders without any pretenders
that may turn the weather black
concerning fictions invented rented out
with no copyright claims on vented anger

frizzle hot in drizzle face shape chisel
not even the rain comes down with frowning
crowning a clown in pain not even you will
blame drowning at sea and main frame failure

let it be for now not a cow or bull
computation comes later; a lame game

what does your surname mean; did you ask?
what way, would say an adventure tale
of clan rivals taming these names, fleeing
aristocrats from liberty, revolution

abhors abrupt mere doormats, no dentures
no teeth for the poor, being oppressed
swarming boys exceed limit line equals
mobbing one with feeling, the great unwashed

a daily bath in water for a ruling class
and a path of wrath; without polished,
clout; who has it. A convoy of people march
getting hotter, ballot rigged against hope

selling as dope civil basket religiosity
bracelets on wrists bracket this claim