The Angel of Death with mouth agape and breath of flash-scraping bacteria
swoops past and grasps all you had and fast – you just gasp
and wonder whether all this is caused by some horrid blunder
or just the everyday way the world splits itself asunder

In recognition that many of the things that I write herein are hardly understood by many (including myself), I’ve decided to preface this poem with a definition:

in・ef・fa・ble [in-ef-uh-buhl]
adjective
1. incapable of being expressed or described in words; inexpressible: ineffable joy.
2. not to be spoken because of its sacredness; unutterable: the ineffable name of the deity.


I think I’m stuck in an ineffabubble…
fuck, what luck to get stuck in an ineffabubble!
I can’t even manage the prununciation of my situation
much less hold in my mind the meaning of this kind of passing the (or doing?!?) time.
So I guess while one’s in an ineffabubble
it’s best not to stress as if in trouble –
I’ll just relax and roll along, maybe strike up a wordless song,
since this weird world that whirls and twirls and exasperates my grasp
seems to pass fast… and in the lapse of this gasp
could easily stop and pop my dear ineffabubble.

Break the voting machines
awake the people’s dreams
the stakes are way too high
to trust mechanical populi

painted with kate michalske, buenos aires.

I sit like sunlight
in cypress-cool shade
while the river lies still as dirt
swallows look up at me
from the depths of their current
to the heights of my bravado
I plunge
calloused feet first
wondering when this air will end
and water and earth begin

Tengo la sensación
(o es que mis sentidos me dicen? no soy dueño de ellos)
que todo lo que toco se deshace
(sin metáforas, hablo literalmente)
lo que toco se rompe, se descompone
como si yo fuera algún Midas de mierda
y ya que todos mis sentidos son
de alguna forma tocar
(rozando con chocando contra uniendo a)
tengo miedo que destruya el mundo…
pero ya que veo el mundo
(toda creación)
como pura destrucción
¡no pasa nada!

I had a bike you could ride it if you like
it had a thing to make me sing, so just steal it,
sell it for crack, yeah, don’t bring it back,
I’ve got a stack of bikes in my kitchen.
I’m hitchin’ for trouble or bust yes trust I must
the rust on your wagon.
Taggin’ along don’t know what went wrong
must’ve hitched your wagon to a dragon…

Me fundo, derretido por este mundo de manía caliente,
ahora puro ente mando las gotitas de lo que era yo
para que vayan a cazar pasiones con ametralladora
pero lo que les (me) digo no les (me) importa…
ya escuchan la locura
la locura me adora
y su amor-sutura me hiere con su picadura-aguja moral
pero no hay cura en la agora
que me convence que su dios vence mi malaise
je suis mal à la aise
queasy as what’shisface’s disciple drinking cool-aid
entering a new phase
too tired to graze
too wired to stay unphased
wordplay is all I can neigh
wish you Word here
and wish your Word were not so queer
and wish the swishy-gishy-sloshy way of the World were not such a brain-smear

chequéa el blog que describe la exposición que estoy armando. que vengan a la inauguración!

pantallasentransmision.blogspot.com

presenta


. . . t r a n s m i s i ó n . . .
una muestra del colectivo pantallas
17 al 25 de octubre 2008
galería encontré
cochabamba 580
BsAs

Shadow, fog, and vision’s blur
attract and repulse
subtract and replace
hide and make me seek
treasure in the deep

so
I breathe before I leap,
retract to reassess,
and re-attack
my fear of lack
by smearing back
the borders that begin
to hedge me in

sharp edges soften
like oft-worn smiles
and I let go of knowing

Movimiento
catarata en viento
fuego de terremoto
espíritu que siento

Mi mano se extiende
- alcance y influencia -
con el butoh de la montaña

Mi aliento canaliza aire
- concentra energía -
con el tai chi del cactus

El mundo se mueve
y no me puedo quedar quieto.