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Showing posts from June, 2007

don't believe that the weather is perfect the day that you die

from Hermit Kingdom


(July 10th, 2006)

Nachtbrot for the illusory agreement

the lengthy agreement

the fragrant agreement

exiled under the active

heel of the imagination

awake under invisible signs and impossible solutions riding that train from noon to night

typhoon on the way and sour thunder in the subway

herky-jerky apathy from one station to the next no imaginings but something personal in that sickly hued laugh

I await word from my friends in this desecrated house in this seventh month of my self-exile in Korea reading The Silent Scream &

dreaming of ants traveling through nostrils

to clean out the body

last section of Hermit Kingdom

the last 20 pages of Hermit Kingdom is a sequence. Here is part of the sequence:


leaving, you leave, leaving

the bags

shoved into compartments

restless legs on concrete

geese warping

time along the river

sijang sijang sijang

green cloud erodes the slug

the slug slimes the branches

branches I can’t keep track

of the branches

thoughts pinch and poke

pinch and poke

in the listless light

sijang sijang sijang

weatherchild be told

gravel occasionally in drains


sewers opening in monsoons

sijang sijang sijang

haul off the inheritance

in amenonia and dung

in ageless revolutions

of dirty little secrets


a burial with open eyes


at the ridge

of thumb and forefinger

to restore all the vitals

in the likely company

of life in the deathcell

tick tock tick tock

the microscopic brilliance

of passing into Jesus

frankly in folded notes

lights crisscross the sky

body in water

horizon that graces mercy

how can I reach this moment

after the sensory

it’s pleasant and understandable

short on prestige nibbl…

more from Hermit Kingdom

Shiva Shiva

(July 18th 2006)

trying to get around the generals of lyricism got my blinker on

but don’t know where to turn behind my tired immortal head is a deranged sentence fecund 14 songs and one unsolvable riddle a fat-cheeked policemen all choked-up cause the communists removed themselves and it’s

been raining monkeys

ever since drinkin and trying ain’t enough

& I sing Shiva Shiva

July dark skies Korea floods eight straight days and nights

alas my lost youth intervenes full tilt with a nightstick searching for a barn else someplace to get the rustic back in my bones

the ancient cabbage in the field

& the dark contemplative on the cliff

& the soggy newspapers full of squiggles

& dimes of commerce through my eyes

what testicles

vigor uterus

a great deal of thinking goes out

the other side bloody cotton

on my tepid tongue

from Hermit Kingdom

(July 17th 2006)

Heavily pitted and dragged by the varied failures of the father. Pounding with hammers and chisels at small iron implements. Working an alien camp with unnatural movements and mysterious chants. Face furnished with rugged simplicity.

& how to trans-


the hard


of despair?

I cannot


it but go on


for the light


coming back round again

ok ok ok. It's all ok. I finally wrote yesterday. Before yesterday I hadn't written for over a month and it was fucking me up. Yesterday was a 12 hour work day. But I wrote. And listened to punk music really loud. and realised what matters. my writing. and love. love matters. love/zest/curiousity.

I am aiming for Dublin at the beginning of next year. I gotta find a home/base in an English speaking country. I also need to find a community of English speaking poets and artists. Damn. how many times have i wrote that on this blog!!!

Today is a light teaching day. I am going back to my flat to shit and write.

I will have a new flat next month with a teacher from Canada named Todd.

I am almost finished with Godzeenie. My writing yesterday should wrap up my Polish manuscript.

Now I just need to work on getting a home for a while and sending out work. I should have internet in September again for a few months.

Yes. Writing is not a fucking hobby. It's a fucking addiction. I need the …

fucking great

I am writing on my flatmates laptop. He has a big screen. He is hooked up to the internet wirelessly at school. His laptop is not directly connected to the school. So I can write without someone over my shoulder. There is one computer at the school and everyone wants to use it.

I must reserve my spot at the table in the teacher's room in July. I want my flatmates spot. I want to connect wirelessly to the school's computer. Wouldn't it be fantastic if my new job allowed me a bit of time to write and send out work and read poetry?

It would be fucking great.

Shriveling zombies

I think my notebooks are not working well because it feels more permanent than writing in blog space. But in a pinch some quick scribbles are ok.

I like the sound of tapping keys more than the sound of the scratching pen.

I am composing more and more first drafts on the computer and less and less in the notebook.

But for the last month I haven't wrote much at all.

It felt like I was shriveling.

No. That's not quite right.

It felt like I was a zombie.

A shriveling zombie.

A hunchback zombie.

Shit, that's stupid.

But I don't care.

still looking for space . . .

Space is becoming more and more vital

Three more months without a sanctuary.

I negotiated my own flat for September

In September I hope to find a physical space.

Head space is also vital.

What is headspace?

Well, too much headspace=headcase.

Need to make myself social to avoid becoming a headcase.

But too much social=headcase.

I don't want to be a headcase.

Lack of writing makes me a headcase.

Lack of space makes me a headcase.

I am sensitive. over-sensitive to my surroundings.

I am not good at blocking out.

I notice too much.

Sticky eyes in a sweety shop.

I am still in a mass transition from my married life.

I need a big whirl

to get drunk on words again.

Andrew gave me a whirl.

I need another one soon.

Notebooks and pens are not working well.

indeed I need a big screen.

12 inches is too small.