nonocot 2017

nylonghost:

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she wanted someone to knit a fine sweater for someone with her fingers touched lovingly by loving eyes she goes jogging with the feet of an angel the sound of crunching leaves like wrapping paper torn open to reveal an expensive doll and the light in her mother’s eyes. this thought running…

nylonghost:

Z

O

O

M

wtf is this…

weird copy/paste.

leaving it here because

it’s making me laugh….. *CHEERS*

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Hello. The following is my notes from earlier and a letter i spontaneously composed to my dad tonight. Generally the thoughts are the same and i think writing to him somehow helped the…

nylonghost:

I REFUSE TO WRITE WITH PANTS ON
I’ve been meaning to write something *real* lately. I believe the common wisdom goes, Addiction is a state of usage that is somewhat in harmony with life, as in, some people can use heroin and keep their job and stay reasonably sane and functional. A person becomes a Junkie when they lose their job, fuck up their relationships, get flat broke, borrow money and continue to use even when it’s obvious their life is becoming an exercise in misery. Alcohol is also an effective means to the end of stability.
I’ve done both these things at points in my life. I continue to drink and smoke, but these are small potatoes next to my Twitter Addiction. If you are reading this you know me from Twitter, and are privy to my mutable personality, sleepless manic rantings, exhibitionist urges and long treatises about what I plan to do with my literary aspirations, interspersed with occasionally brilliant MicroFiction and Poetry.
Obviously I am comfortable with exposing all aspects of my personality, sexuality, flaws, proclivities, bobble headed ego, over-friendliness, bitchy streaks and shameless NC-17 sex shows. Essentially I was Born to Tweet. I pour my energy into 140 character frames that are read by many people. I am a Virtual Entertainer. I have to call myself something *clever* like that because if I don’t, I risk looking around my basement room, empty pockets, haunted sleepless eyes, my increasingly bizarre relationship with the *real world* and draw the raw conclusion that I am a Hopeless Degenerate Twitter Junkie.
Despite these little self-wrought excoriations, I am a happy person. I believe in my talent, and derive a tremendous amount of joy and stimulation from my malady. Why else would I keep at it? I am a life long MultiholicBiPolarCreativeGeniusWithSeriousAttentionSpanIssues. I had enough distractions before i ever hit send on a tweet. The instant gratification of a star, the interactions that are like divine flowers for a social butterfly, the pleasure of reading other people’s work, poetry, fiction, true stories, fabulous jokes, nervous breakdown, scream fests, gestures of love, friendship, insane jaunts into the intricate gorgeous workings of minds that send out dispatches from their exquisite minds…i took to twitter like a swan to the danube.
I keep rambling little manifestos about the genius of the writing in here, what a joy it is to know your heroes, the phenomenon of having 300 people constantly swimming around in your goldfish bowl mind, the sleepless daywalking through work shifts, listening to a real life friend or loved one and totally lost, didnt hear the last three sentences because you were typing into your phone or thinking about one of your *virtual* friends, actually physically walking into a no parking sign *bangs my head* because i was finishing a poetic response to an amazing poem written by an amazing writier who you *know* dreams of disembodied birds, thinking one frame, one image, one intimate confessional reflection about the very nature of existence and love in your mind all day, the pacing of 140 characters, buying mangoes in the market you think of some snarky thing to say about bruises as you touch the skin, a tactile reality, your beautiful fingers touching your phone screen, finishing your mango musing, thinking of ten people you think will think it’s funny, you hit send, a couple stars you pop in your mouth and tongue a smile and type ^x.X^ while you wait in the checkout line…
(((hug))) i’ll write more later <3 
I remain your Violet Sprite Aksania Xenogrette
~thank you for reading~

nylonghost:

I REFUSE TO WRITE WITH PANTS ON

I’ve been meaning to write something *real* lately. I believe the common wisdom goes, Addiction is a state of usage that is somewhat in harmony with life, as in, some people can use heroin and keep their job and stay reasonably sane and functional. A person becomes a Junkie when they lose their job, fuck up their relationships, get flat broke, borrow money and continue to use even when it’s obvious their life is becoming an exercise in misery. Alcohol is also an effective means to the end of stability.

I’ve done both these things at points in my life. I continue to drink and smoke, but these are small potatoes next to my Twitter Addiction. If you are reading this you know me from Twitter, and are privy to my mutable personality, sleepless manic rantings, exhibitionist urges and long treatises about what I plan to do with my literary aspirations, interspersed with occasionally brilliant MicroFiction and Poetry.

Obviously I am comfortable with exposing all aspects of my personality, sexuality, flaws, proclivities, bobble headed ego, over-friendliness, bitchy streaks and shameless NC-17 sex shows. Essentially I was Born to Tweet. I pour my energy into 140 character frames that are read by many people. I am a Virtual Entertainer. I have to call myself something *clever* like that because if I don’t, I risk looking around my basement room, empty pockets, haunted sleepless eyes, my increasingly bizarre relationship with the *real world* and draw the raw conclusion that I am a Hopeless Degenerate Twitter Junkie.

Despite these little self-wrought excoriations, I am a happy person. I believe in my talent, and derive a tremendous amount of joy and stimulation from my malady. Why else would I keep at it? I am a life long MultiholicBiPolarCreativeGeniusWithSeriousAttentionSpanIssues. I had enough distractions before i ever hit send on a tweet. The instant gratification of a star, the interactions that are like divine flowers for a social butterfly, the pleasure of reading other people’s work, poetry, fiction, true stories, fabulous jokes, nervous breakdown, scream fests, gestures of love, friendship, insane jaunts into the intricate gorgeous workings of minds that send out dispatches from their exquisite minds…i took to twitter like a swan to the danube.

I keep rambling little manifestos about the genius of the writing in here, what a joy it is to know your heroes, the phenomenon of having 300 people constantly swimming around in your goldfish bowl mind, the sleepless daywalking through work shifts, listening to a real life friend or loved one and totally lost, didnt hear the last three sentences because you were typing into your phone or thinking about one of your *virtual* friends, actually physically walking into a no parking sign *bangs my head* because i was finishing a poetic response to an amazing poem written by an amazing writier who you *know* dreams of disembodied birds, thinking one frame, one image, one intimate confessional reflection about the very nature of existence and love in your mind all day, the pacing of 140 characters, buying mangoes in the market you think of some snarky thing to say about bruises as you touch the skin, a tactile reality, your beautiful fingers touching your phone screen, finishing your mango musing, thinking of ten people you think will think it’s funny, you hit send, a couple stars you pop in your mouth and tongue a smile and type ^x.X^ while you wait in the checkout line…

(((hug))) i’ll write more later <3 

I remain your Violet Sprite Aksania Xenogrette

~thank you for reading~

nylonghost:

  1.  fingers between cobbles for holding fingers for mortar when parapets crumble fingers for holding the bricks these stones cut with fingers for folding stones that fit like knuckles in the cradle of fingers with kneecaps sleeping they know not where kneecaps they sleep in folds of legs like knuckles sleeping in the lovers palm what names are there for these things where do these words sleep in the palms hollow the fingertips loops and whorls lost somehow in these riverbeds of skin someplace behind your ear where my fingers travel before my lips in search of paradise where given word went in search with haunted eyes my fingertips wandered each alike to a place that had no name yet they sent word to my lips grown old and certainly blind from whittling the tips of compass points they held true through oceans of hair your tangles of logic my lips grew ears to unfold these dead letters for you (and then they withdrew) something happened on the way to shabriz… My fingertips fell on their knees.
  1.  fingers between cobbles for holding fingers for mortar when parapets crumble fingers for holding the bricks these stones cut with fingers for folding stones that fit like knuckles in the cradle of fingers with kneecaps sleeping they know not where kneecaps they sleep in folds of legs like knuckles sleeping in the lovers palm what names are there for these things where do these words sleep in the palms hollow the fingertips loops and whorls lost somehow in these riverbeds of skin someplace behind your ear where my fingers travel before my lips in search of paradise where given word went in search with haunted eyes my fingertips wandered each alike to a place that had no name yet they sent word to my lips grown old and certainly blind from whittling the tips of compass points they held true through oceans of hair your tangles of logic my lips grew ears to unfold these dead letters for you (and then they withdrew) something happened on the way to shabriz… My fingertips fell on their knees.
29 plays

nylonghost:

clorphina:

Siri reads Waiting Room with Cycle Song by Robots are Waiting

waiting room {burnished in oak}

why do i let these voices
turn my ear? serendipity
they call the butterfly effect
because they need a whimsical
word to conjure the same
beauty a sunflower radiates
surely as a fractal puzzles
the most furious brow
how does a garden grow
when not even birds and bees
blush like a linguist before
the stone? how is it we find
halves to meet primal as
sweat and come home
from the commute to
sleep beneath linen sheets
like laughable inquirer
tag lines. shuffle seven
decks and bet on the
house only fools
and saints
and lovers
enter hand in hand
like bullets in a tunnel
we careen the span
from string to girth
silly lopsided worms
halves of ourselves
eating sawdust in a
cigar tin waiting for
index and thumb to
squish us in two
guts on a hook
and squirming still
we drown most often
a kin of sleepwalking
up a mountain happy
for the civility of
forgetting the legs
the doubts and cramped
cabins of squint and logs
that wheeze like grandma.

what is hell
more than a
hound who
bites ankles
in a hollow night?
blurry rhythms of doubt
we hang like amulets
to see ourselves
in each other
when we fail
to love the curse
of vision or a pill
a snake of smoke
of blood and malt and corn
goddamn boots with a spike
fkn knuckles that don’t mend
wishes return to sender
and the fkn sky looks
like a shroud you read
before willows bowed
beneath your head full of
light like slack on a hook
at play the limbs and chains
of a joke you told so many
times it became your epigram
and scraped with the knife
of mercy though you would
have eaten coal your thirst
was so bright it’s only the
tremors in your shadow
had the strength to pull
the beaded switch that
pocketknife above your
bed with a pearl handle
i palmed like a cub and
flipped the bulb off and on
i would have fuzzed the
filament wrapped the
tarnished rose round
my neck and spun
through the lilac
like a jack raccoon
sifting for crawdads
weaving spiders in my hair
index of a thumbnail your
little pauses…sprout to oak
why my skin is olive
how is seem to have sprung
from a lump of sourdough
thrown in the fire
quick in the creek
city on a mule
good with an ax
clumsy with a bail

some fkn waiting room full
of peppermints and magazines
I have no desire to read. as if i
never were subtle they have
a laugh as i palm my oily
forehead a bald ghost
memory who are you
arthritic kid? the headlines
are televisions the music
is fucking the morals are low
enough my writ of release
finish the line. cherish
sugar and proof and smoke
little sprout the fine print
knows no rest my eyes
are the least of my worries
in here it is hunger
hell is hunger
you are a claw hammer
and I am a rusty nail
with a vein in it. you
like a vulture with a scroll
in your gullet I have written
a letter to eternity lonely
as a stand of cottonwood
shivering in jail I conjure ink
these very words you type
with half a smirk on a coin
of honor I’ve staked my lot
with you my son they call
poison not without reason
we all are called to and fro
like blue eyed dogs in a meadow
sleep a dream of bacon fat
morning cool enough to go
our quill is a vulture’s epistle
our nape has seven numbers
i look at stills it isn’t the time
it’s like a woodpile chopping
away at desolation kindle
by thimble what passes for
blood here I will speak into
your ear my little sprout.

zoom

vocab for cursive mermaid @clorphina

this beast is glad and merry in tempest, and sad and heavy in fair weather
often perpetually wet could not live long on dry land, but with her comb she was always safe, for it gave her the power to conjure water when she needed it. According to some legends, should her hair dry out, she will die. hearing her laugh could also cause death. with their singing and then drowning them, while the children were often lured with baskets of fruit. the truth is that they are strong whores who lead men to poverty and to mischief. a mermaid lulled a crew to sleep, kidnapped a sailor, and took him to a dry place for sex. if he refused, she slayeth him and eateth his flesh. her skin very white, and long hair hanging down behind, of color black, and a specked tail. everyone agreed that this was a mermaid and therefore partly human. there was a complete burial in a shroud and a coffin.

alexander the great’s sister, thessalonike, turn into a mermaid after she died. she lived, it was said, in the aegean and when sailors would encounter her, she would ask them only one question: is alexander the king alive?

shape of the genitalia in these squatting figures is also symbolic of the vesica piscis, the vessel of the fish. the mermaid’s irresistibility, her perverse sexuality, and her danger to both the man’s body and soul. the virgin mary medieval books of alchemy described the mermaid as the siren of the philosophers, crowned and lactating the milk of enlightenment. that leads men to their doom. fundamental mystery of female sexuality, particularly for men who, because they cannot comprehend it, are simultaneously drawn to it and terrified by it. jesuit writers began to assert their actual existence. compartments must have been built for them aboard noah’s ark.

the german nixie is a shapeshifting water spirit who usually appears in human form. river mermaid. she will teach a musician to play so adeptly, that the trees dance and waterfalls stop at his music. she played the violin in brooks and waterfalls. the nixie wears a wet skirt. skin is like that of a seal, smooth, but is as cold as death when touched.

she(he) appears in the form of a brook horse. bring the nix a treat of three drops of blood. drowning accidents. she could scream at a particular spot in a lake or river, in a way reminiscent of the loon. a desperate fisherman agreed and promised the Nix his daughter. the girl took forth a knife and said that he would never have her alive, then stuck the knife into her heart and fell down into the lake, dead. Then, her blood colored the waterlilies red.

as a horse bright in color and with large spots. ploughing the field with such speed that soil and stones whirled in its wake. the water horse then courts its master for several years before it consumes only the left leg and right hand pinky finger of the victim. the water horse, now full of love decides to drink the potion which erases the memories of his life as a water horse and gives him the chance to live with the clever girl with whom he has fallen in love.

the kelpie’s skin becomes adhesive and it bears them into the river, dragging them to the bottom of the water and devouring them - except the heart or liver. when his finger becomes stuck to it he takes a knife from his pocket and cuts his own finger off.

more beautiful voices than any human being could have. their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the sea king. the sailors could not understand the song, they took it for the howling of the storm. the ability to give people powers, or to tell the future, mermaids frequently fall in love with men.

these creatures can be traced back as far as the 8th century BC. the semetic mermaid moon-goddess atargatis was depicted as a mermaid as the tides ebbed and flowed with the moon. mermaids as merrymaids; the irish knew them as merrows. gibralter’s narrows. they are said to leave their outer skins behind, to assume others more magical and beautiful. selkies called jenny greenteeth.

nixe would sometimes appear in human form at markets, where she could be identified by the fact that the corner of her apron was wet. in asia there were not only mermaids, but also sea-dragons and the dragon-wives. sirens, too, are forever being mistaken for mermaids. 1998: entire lower half of her was covered with scales and tapered back into a huge tail. shot by me like a streak of lightning, then turned and came back past me, swimming the other way. the mermaid is also known to have both a caucasian or negro complexion and some sighted have a greenish appearance.

sulky mermaid

darling of lightning and rain

i long to hear your sweet voice again

too long absent from these shores

drown me in your sleepless imagination

where titans slosh their lazy weight

above lithe vases of porcelain

nestled in silt and sea anemones.

only you, sleepyhead

would know these slopes and hollows

with eyes that wouldn’t burst

to hear the songs of sea swallows

dreaming of rain in the absense of light

where ink touches page

where sleepwalkers write


Well either way
I’ll go swimming in this to find you
psychic current undercurrent.


well that’s just fuckin swell
but I’ve looking in dusty corners
for my smile all summer long


We went swimming
through waves of
atmospheric static just
to live for five minutes and
if he has to go down for a year

or maybe it’s just a dead letter
writing holes in the wall
so the squids can find the hideout.

cause there arent any pixies in the ditches

just switches and shade.

wet eyelashes resting your sweetie unmet
on your doorstep her baddest dream fell

shattered and still she shadowdanced for hours
while snails ran like syrup

up and down my aquarium walls.

grasshopper wings are scarlet

box elder beetles are brick brick red

blood don’t melt like crayons

in sun lit corners

when i tell them orange is vermillion

they look all around me for bat wings

smashed beneath the wheels

of radio flyers


there aren’t any right words

for the damned things

she just knows….

when her mother-fuckin tennis shoe hits the ground


i asked the salt in saltwater for advice

she laughed and made me feel foolish for asking

said something about finding freedom in surrender

and vanished into the sea

like the very moon
we drank beneath
the truth of our love

despite the words of spite
in the deep of frozen darkened eyes
kissed with warm lips in the still
despite the fear

we swam deeper to the silver sun
in the absence of light

in idle pangs of misunderstood woe i
chased the blackout straight down
it was a thrill just to walk outside

and recount the ways
we’ve tattered torn

walking away from the fear of dying
in a false blackout of false misery,
i am weary of watery notions of love.

i wanna fall straight down the flight of stares
and wake up in another room

on the sidewalk in the sun you were a mermaid
telling fortunes in a skill crane
soaking wet in the daylight

you slaked the heartsick telling a story
of lovely arms dropping rocks
on a blanket of moss behind the console

and burned your wrist
tethered to a line
in a book forgotten
that will never be read
the cold clear truth
mistaken for betrayal

despite the words
not one drop of hate
in the ocean of my love
for you, for you

drinking words you will never spend
i know we’ll see it through the end

lay down heavy one
i will point you in the direction
of your misery

the leather strap doesn’t ask the horse
how its throat made that sound
or the bloody edge of fear
the smell of lightning in the ground

a swimming pool of ink
ridden with sea monsters
with no eyes
gone swimming deeper
beneath all hope of an answer…….

i dont have a spare moment to take her away with me into the forest, into the thrushes. lady of the house. i would trade all my dresses, my wedding gown especially, throw this fucking ring in the river, go running through the reeds and over brooks, teach her how to find a straight willow branch with a good fork, and how to cut the forks sharp with a tiny clasp knife, how to strip the bark, how to thread the handle through the fishes mouth
and catch it on a knot.

what is redder than trout gills? eating lies. is blood, a rose, the velvet in the sitting room chair, or a blackbird’s throat? when Peotr speaks, i want to see his bloody mouth split open in a fistfight on a sunny day.

i spit into mirrors and spill bad wine in spite, my skin gone white, inkwells crack and run dry, and no pen will write, and hate flows from room to room like bleach and ammonia curling into poison, as i slash through the gallery, coughing and cursing my name. the walls fall in and black creeps over the paintings like virulent mold

the zealot knows the oldest game in the book. the best nun ever knew the tongue of god’s god. she licked the roof of her mouth. she heard laughter like kaleidoscopes busted open at the bottom of the stairwell but it wasnt loud enough she got hooked on his smile and starved herself for 3 weeks her middle name was pearl. it was better when he had no spine at all. now he lists to port like a one eyed camel

a cute attitude kicks
and fixes her lip
while form leans
heavy in the window
flicking specks
from the corner of
this oily eye’s
so wet
red
vexed
and next
it’s raining
everything she said.

and now clorphina really begins to feel her spleen. trollopers away. cast down! down! her fishnets glimmering in the black black water.

i am a mermaid, by the way. i breath through my wristbands.

and a compulsive love for the deep end. i want to go all the way down and see if i die. and when i look up, i don’t want to see bubbles and blood shouting down at me, telling me how deep and dark and black it is watching me sink, how lonely and useless it feels to be left behind, all that warm blood exploding.

she lives alone and starts drinking like mad and missing sleep and doing stuff like writing weird things on the inside of her thighs and wearing skirts with no panties. she has this struggle within herself about the morality of being a homewrecker, and worries about going off the deep end, but this guy lives inside her.

she dreams of swimming with him, him as a snail fucking her, walking along behind them on the street at closing time and killing her rival. the calculated fantasies of boredom underwater, as an insect, as a tiger fantail eating a moth. sleepless she begins decorating her aquariums

she ends up eating moths and writing on her thighs as usual, her room strewn with glitter and scissors, she wears her mermaid tights,

are you mean to the ones you love? the
emotions you use to sew a seam. high and low with a
needle. the thread running through you. swaying back
and forth if you slowed it down. is it the way you
wear your prose or the way you make your clothes look
like accidents happen to you all day?

1st time it occurs to me to use moths as a theme for
paintings instead of bad letters, alot of tension
slips from the rib ive been cramping. mermaids get
jealous. i am supposed to be painting them into
spaceships. drawing the lines of panties against a
post-gasoline sunset is alot sexier than using the
word again and again like a lash against the face of
reason. space mermaids eating moths. my face
a graveyard where truth goes to die. bobble eyed
models wearing chalk line t-shirts.

i dropped my spite
writhing on the floor
because what little spine I have left
is flopping on the floor

untamed souls will not revisit
what nailed them to the moor
what dream is this un-tethered
nothing spoken in response

shades of grey stretched out forever
for fear, for fear, for fear

a blackheart opens his mouth
and angels gather round
the moment he pukes everything
bottled up

these are the last days
i will have no other
you call this a moment wasted
off the pillow in the morning light

should I have plead for mercy
or weather more abuse
for thinking something other
than my will to be of use

if this is treating you badly
i surrender myself to the depths
zillions of layers beneath us
where mermaids wept

where ink touches page
where sleepwalkers write
i asked the page for a light
and it burned tonight

i told her that mermaids crack vials with their teeth
to rid the fear of the salt beneath the square fucked
roof of my lip died for lack of flavor on the tinfoil
princess’s last goodbye. she fell asleep on the
milkweed parasol for spite. listless and growling all
night.

those moments when you
held your breath in the pool light wondering if she
would really swim away with you gave her eyes and
held back what she wanted to hear you tell her her
eyes are made of lavender and lime twist. but all you
said was fuck with your lips. so she swam away

who has the strength to elucidate
the details of solutions,
from whence,
what mind can hold the force
of myriad currents
calling for clarity?
who can speak the answers
with verity?


//vain poetry//

leviathan and behemoth
dredged,
wilting
in the sunlight.
the salt in saltwater threw a curse
at the end of time,
they are first in line,
in reverse.


no dam could slake my to drink
the molecules fallen from weteyelashes
i write like a blackheart, like evil adorning the
walls of the only drop of fresh air
this damned beast will ever know.

angels never deign slow their wings
whyfore when we always are hovering
sped or fled from material eye, done recovering

yeah, other times i just wanna nix it all
the thought, not the deed.
transformative metaphors.
all the crazy violent intellectualisms,
blunt and sharp.

an end to enmity, within yourself
the pool of ink, the dragon, scorn,
power, secrets, history.
evil, enmity, attrition,
the pool of ink,
leviathan.

the fathomlessness of your mermaid heart
knows no script, no want of reason
no minutes mispent, fear itself,

a truely dangerous life of trains, dreams, numbers,
walls, animals, wind, eyes, words, works, sudden
moments when you turn corner.

well sweet life, my muse, my mother, what can i offer
you these endless pages, space, the gift of space
feather light… for me? deliver me from strife
that i may know the clarity of life,
and the candle of love burning,
burn this black heart.
turn it deepest colors unseen,
a bubble of protection.
your love surrounding us


so i pruned all
these trees and vines and shrubberies and cut them up
with a hedge trimmer and the blackberry brambles would
snag on my jeans. i think im allergic to them. they
raised welts on my skin like a spiderbite.

i read this book of chineese writings. it had
this neat idea that maybe we are just dreaming this
life and death is like waking up. i know i am a
mermaid dreaming i’m a boy.
so i’m looking at you in this dress and you tell
me you’re a space-mermaid, but what i wanna know is,
do i get to call you nancy on the rocks?

clorphina bites her ring finger. coughs. smiles like
smarch weather. wipes some snot on her hands. turns
the bracelets on her shooting arm two or three times.
leans her fine ass in three slips over the pool table

i am the curve
of lips parted
bare never saying
a word.

i am eyelids half opened
dusk in between blind strips
you remember me like shadow
when sunlight falls
on your hand.

pearls
falling from a woman’s hand
a small gasp inaudible
to all else

does each rain drop hold a
thousand voices? when do they disappear… in the moment it
begins to fall or the moment just before it hits the
pavement or latches onto a railing to dangle?

though life means to suffer pain
we have to surrender ourselves to it
the one who doesn’t experience pain
doesn’t live life.

the language of our love, squares and clicks in contrast
to the smoothness of your skin, the angelic curves of your
body. a snail cutting waves of legos, your ivory breasts
welcoming the future, my mermaid on the bowspirit, our
flesh magic, the soft vessel of our love sailing tides
of plastic shards, false jerks and fear fuckers,
fathomless our tongues on the knife’s edge, this sea
of broken glass we sail upon, the sheer tons below,
ours the only ones that come close, glistening nudes
listening, the angels whetting our course. i bought
you a cuttlefish bone. so your teeth would stay in
one place. and we will never wash our hair again.


you just said fuck with your lips so she swam away. the mermaids larynx operates equally well using water or air. her skeleton is light and pliable like those of a bird. the song of sea swallows. able to hear on a different level to humans. the salt in saltwater for advice. sea babies sucking on my tears. mermaid babies are born live. mostly eats fish, but has been known to subsist on other meats, fruits and vegetables. There are some species of mermaid that may feed solely on human flesh.

if even one of these hairs is plucked, the wila will die, or be forced to change back to her true shape. wail. one who hears them loses all thoughts of food, drink or sleep, sometimes for days. fairy rings of deep thick grass are left where they have danced which should never be trod upon. ribbons, fresh fruits and vegetables or flowers left at sacred trees. they could not satisfy their passion for dancing especially in town squares naked.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare.

Once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
That the rude sea grew civil at her song
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid’s music.


1. predatory oceanic beasts who can shed their skin revealing a human-like being inside;

2. they are like fairy-folk who magically transform into human form;

3. they come with a necklace which enables you to also live underwater;

4. they come with a sea-being that you put around your neck that merges with you symbiotically and enables you to breathe underwater;

5. they sing a siren song that can lure entire ships to destruction;

6. they sing a siren song of love that only their chosen beloved can hear and survive;

7. they sing a siren song that only the beloved is able to hear, no one else can hear it;

8. they sing a song to their beloved, a human that they are destined by Fate to mate with and marry;

9. they are monstrous to look upon, but the song makes them appear beautiful;

10. they are like genie that can change into beautiful forms;

11. they are beautiful and portrayed as black-haired or golden-haired with sea-green-eyes.

12. the human usually has to be with the Mer-person to first enter the water, or lose the chance to live underwater forever. They live forever if they do go with the Mer-person.

13. The cities of the Merpeople are at the bottom of the ocean and are vast.

14. they taught entire nations of humans mathematics and astronomy and the arts of civilization! (Oannes, Annedotti, Musaeus).

15. Merwomen will leave human husbands and return to the ocean. Human men usually follow them, or try to.

16. Merwomen will not stay with human men unless they are forced to, or captured.

17. Mermen are successful lovers among human women and father children with them.

18. They love once, and mate for life.

19. They are very fickle.

20 They appear as human and can walk on land


Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.’
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes we sealed to the holy book!
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Down to the depths of the sea!
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark, what she sings: ‘O joy, O joy,
For the humming street, and the child with its toy!
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well;
For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessed light of the sun!’
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully,
Till the shuttle drops from her hand,
And the whizzing wheel stands still.
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh;
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair
Singing: ‘Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she!
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea.’

sets wavelets to prancing.
Bowels of the deep that lie black and forsaken
In fathomless sleep. My dreams now awaken!
Strange looking sea-creatures of phosphoric hue,
In darkness they pass in spectral review;
Coursing, cavorting, then gracefully hover
In ghostly repose, and glow to each other.
Oh! Sea of Faith - the dryland is weighted
With billions of forms who struggle unsated.
That you cast their forms, they do not remember,
Nor when they first crawled, and cast off your splendor.
Were you to reveal all that you have hidden,
What treasures untold would awe the unbidden
Of depths far below, where teeming life started?
What happened to those who stayed when we parted?
Where are they now, my lost kin of old?
What are they now? What shape? What mold?
Cast forth from the sea, to change and to wander,
But what of the ones the seas did not squander?

Drifting in dreams, I then wake in your presence.
For eons you’ve dreamt, asleep in my essence.
I gaze at your sight. I move through your places.
I see through your eyes. I look on your faces.

Beckoned, I move on through mystic directions
Where color and form are fluid inflections,
Blending, unwinding, in whirling confusion,
Emotion a hue and thought an illusion;
Dream-landscape view of sights all ashimmer,
And light that refracts: now brighter, now dimmer;
Ether of green where all sound seems to flow,
Where mood alters tone: now high, now low;
Afloat in a dome where all vision is wider;
The World is a sphere and life moves inside Her.

love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Who renders vain their deep desire?
A god, a god their severance ruled!
And bade betwixt their shores to be
The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.

And if I should carol aloud, from aloft
All things that are forked, and horned, and soft
Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,
All looking down for the love of me.

All the wild world have I searched for my darling,
Scoured the far deserts and sailed distant seas.
Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,
Flashed a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

23


There are an infinite number of prime numbers and it is hypothesized, but not yet proven by any mathematician that there are also an infinite number of twin primes. Prime numbers are not all that easy to find.

23 is the 9th prime number. It is also the only prime number that has digits (2 and 3) right next to each other (keep in mind there are an infinite number of them!). 9 is the Pythagorean number of The Deity. It is also the number of the Muse, for there are 9 Muses that give divine inspiration

23 is the first prime that stands alone without a twin prime. The primes above and below 23 are twins: 17 and 19 are twin primes, and 29 and 31 are twin primes. All the primes below 23 are twins.

Keeping in mind how 23 stands alone, 23 is above the number 22, the number of the Master Magi. The Old Ones stand alone, unique, undimensioned

The first prime is 2, the second prime is 3, and the third prime is 5. We can count down 3, 2, and 1 and multiply. (3 x 5) + (2 x 3) + (1 x 2) = 23.

23 is the smallest prime number that is equal to the product plus sum of twin primes. 3 and 5 are twin primes. If you multiply 3 times 5 and add that to 3 plus 5, like this: (3 x 5) + (3 + 5) = 23.

23 is the smallest prime equal to the sum of three primes in two ways: 5+7+11 = 23 and 3+7+13 = 23. Note the proliferation of Magical numbers in all of this.

hanna, mother of mary

Hanna conceived our Lady
Mary, on the day that God blessed. Blessed is he who
shall clothe the naked. Blessed is he who shall feed the hungry
Blessed is he who shall set free him that is in
prison. Blessed is he who shall visit the sick on that
day, for he shall obtain a portion in the kingdom of
heaven (Fol. 68a) with Joachim, and with Hanna, and
with Mary the Virgin, for ever and ever. Amen.

O Hanna, mother of Mary, let me ask thee one
thing : How long, O my Lady, shall I live together
with those who hate men and peace and love?
O Hanna, mother
of Mary, the mother of Christ, Who is the Firstfruit
of grace, let the tongue of mine enemy be tied in the
time of temptation and trial with a strong chain, and
with a rough shackle. Salutation to the burial of thy body
in purple in- destructible.

O Hanna,
mother of Mary, the mother of Christ the Redeemer,
let no one send me to my death in this world [suddenly],
but let me wait a while until I repent, not, I say, with
the multiplying of words and much speech, and let me
sing thy praise a little longer and not keep silence con-
cerning it. O Hanna, make my heart to please Him.
If mine enemy put forth branches, and if he increase
in his stature, then let the sword of death cut down his
trunk. Praise, and worship, and the singing of psalms
are meet for Mary and for Hanna

Salutation to thee, whose name is sweet, whose
memorial is salted with the salt of the Godhead,
Hanna, thou holy woman, thou mother of Mary whose
King is in the heights.

Salutation to thee, O Hanna, thou who art the
morning, and to thee, O Mary, who art the heaven
that gave birth unto Christ, the Sun, Who burneth up
the thorns of error.

Salutation to thee, O thou stone of chalcedony,
Hanna, thou brilliant pearl, wherefrom went forth
Mary the Virgin, who gave birth to the Flame.

mouths of men and angels, and from the tongue of
every created being, and thing, both on the earth and
in the heavens, without silence and without ceasing, for
ever and ever ! Amen.

the doors of my tongue, open the doors of the tongue
of Ezra so that he might declare Thy greatness, and
the greatness of our father Adam, whom Thou didst
create in Thine own image and likeness, and didst bring
into the Garden which Thy right hand did plant, (Fol.
12a) when as yet the earth had not been established.
Now I have the desire to declare the majesty of that
Garden, and of the earth, the earth because of Hanna

A good tree bringeth forth good
fruit, and a tree shall be known by its fruit. “^ And
how shall a good tree be distinguished from a bad one?
Of the good tree there is hope, even after it hath be-
come withered and decayed, for if rain fall upon it,
(Fol. 1 6b) and the winds blow upon it, that tree will
clothe itself with bark, and will send forth shoots that
will bear fruit from its branches and from the top
thereof ; and of its branches some will bear fruit thirty-
fold, some sixtyfold, and some an hundredfold.

And straightway God said unto Ezekiel, ^
” Prophesy over these dry bones.” And he prophesied
over them, and the spirit of life breathed upon them,
and threw skin upon them, until at length they rose up
because of (Fol. 17a) the blessed woman Hanna

A good name is better than the anointing with
oil and sweet scents;^ and one child is better than thou-
sands of children.

It is customary for the word of God to be hard [to
understand], and for His handiwork to be marvellous ;
and He first of all maketh trial of a man. As a man
trieth gold in the fire, even so doth God try His chosen
ones by suffering and by misery.

let us magnify Hanna, for
God hath magnified her, because she is His mother
according to the flesh. Hanna is to be more highly
esteemed than gold and silver, and she is better by far
than the Twelve Gems,^ whether considered one by
one or all together. She is more beautiful than the
Sun, and the Moon, and all created beings and things
that are in the heavens and on the earth.

I will re-
joice and be glad, for my weeping hath departed from
me ; and all mine enemies shall be confounded and put
to shame. O ye daughters of Israel, come ye and
hearken unto my voice, and behold ye me with my
child on my shoulders sucking milk from my breasts !
Behold, I am the woman whom in times past ye did
drive forth from your houses because of your contempt
for me, and ye lifted up your voices against me. Look
ye and see that my daughter is more excellent than your
daughters. The heavens, and the earth, and all the
creations of men and of angels, are not worth in value
one hair of the head (Fol. 27b) of my daughter.

For the kings and the
royal people who shall be begotten by you shall do no
manner of good for you, and although they roar like
lions they shall neither save themselves, nor have the
power to save others, and the tigers that rend and tear
cattle and sheep shall become a vain thing and shall

this beast is glad and merry in tempest, and sad and heavy in fair weather
often perpetually wet could not live long on dry land, but with her comb she was always safe, for it gave her the power to conjure water when she needed it. According to some legends, should her hair dry out, she will die.  hearing her laugh could also cause death.  with their singing and then drowning them, while the children were often lured with baskets of fruit.  the truth is that they are strong whores who lead men to poverty and to mischief.  a mermaid lulled a crew to sleep, kidnapped a sailor, and took him to a dry place for sex.  if he refused, she slayeth him and eateth his flesh. her skin very white, and long hair hanging down behind, of color black, and a specked tail.  everyone agreed that this was a mermaid and therefore partly human. there was a complete burial in a shroud and a coffin.

alexander the great&#8217;s sister, thessalonike, turn into a mermaid after she died. she lived, it was said, in the aegean and when sailors would encounter her, she would ask them only one question: is alexander the king alive?

shape of the genitalia in these squatting figures is also symbolic of the vesica piscis, the vessel of the fish. the mermaid&#8217;s irresistibility, her perverse sexuality, and her danger to both the man&#8217;s body and soul. the virgin mary medieval books of alchemy described the mermaid as the siren of the philosophers, crowned and lactating the milk of enlightenment.  that leads men to their doom.  fundamental mystery of female sexuality, particularly for men who, because they cannot comprehend it, are simultaneously drawn to it and terrified by it.  jesuit writers began to assert their actual existence.  compartments must have been built for them aboard noah&#8217;s ark.  

the german nixie is a shapeshifting water spirit who usually appears in human form. river mermaid.  she will teach a musician to play so adeptly, that the trees dance and waterfalls stop at his music.  she played the violin in brooks and waterfalls.  the nixie wears a wet skirt.  skin is like that of a seal, smooth, but is as cold as death when touched.

she(he) appears in the form of a brook horse.  bring the nix a treat of three drops of blood.  drowning accidents. she could scream at a particular spot in a lake or river, in a way reminiscent of the loon.  a desperate fisherman agreed and promised the Nix his daughter.  the girl took forth a knife and said that he would never have her alive, then stuck the knife into her heart and fell down into the lake, dead. Then, her blood colored the waterlilies red.  

as a horse bright in color and with large spots. ploughing the field with such speed that soil and stones whirled in its wake. the water horse then courts its master for several years before it consumes only the left leg and right hand pinky finger of the victim.  the water horse, now full of love decides to drink the potion which erases the memories of his life as a water horse and gives him the chance to live with the clever girl with whom he has fallen in love.

the kelpie&#8217;s skin becomes adhesive and it bears them into the river, dragging them to the bottom of the water and devouring them - except the heart or liver.  when his finger becomes stuck to it he takes a knife from his pocket and cuts his own finger off.   

more beautiful voices than any human being could have.  their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the sea king.  the sailors could not understand the song, they took it for the howling of the storm.  the ability to give people powers, or to tell the future, mermaids frequently fall in love with men.  

these creatures can be traced back as far as the 8th century BC.  the semetic mermaid moon-goddess  atargatis was depicted as a mermaid as the tides ebbed and flowed with the moon. mermaids as merrymaids; the irish knew them as merrows.  gibralter&#8217;s narrows.  they are said to leave their outer skins behind, to assume others more magical and beautiful.  selkies called jenny greenteeth.  

nixe would sometimes appear in human form at markets, where she could be identified by the fact that the corner of her apron was wet.  in asia there were not only mermaids, but also sea-dragons and the dragon-wives.  sirens, too, are forever being mistaken for mermaids.  1998: entire lower half of her was covered with scales and tapered back into a huge tail.  shot by me like a streak of lightning, then turned and came back past me, swimming the other way.  the mermaid is also known to have both a caucasian or negro complexion and some sighted have a greenish appearance.  

sulky mermaid

  darling of lightning and rain

  i long to hear your sweet voice again

  too long absent from these shores

  drown me in your sleepless imagination

  where titans slosh their lazy weight

  above lithe vases of porcelain

  nestled in silt and sea anemones.

  only you, sleepyhead

  would know these slopes and hollows

  with eyes that wouldn&#8217;t burst

  to hear the songs of sea swallows

  dreaming of rain in the absense of light

  where ink touches page

where sleepwalkers write


Well either way
I’ll go swimming in this to find you
psychic current undercurrent. 


well that’s just fuckin swell
but I’ve looking in dusty corners
for my smile all summer long


We went swimming
through waves of
atmospheric static just
to live for five minutes and
if he has to go down for a year

or maybe it’s just a dead letter
writing holes in the wall
so the squids can find the hideout. 

cause there arent any pixies in the ditches

just switches and shade.

wet eyelashes resting your sweetie unmet
on your doorstep her baddest dream fell

shattered and still she shadowdanced for hours
while snails ran like syrup

up and down my aquarium walls.

grasshopper wings are scarlet

box elder beetles are brick brick red

blood don’t melt like crayons

in sun lit corners

when i tell them orange is vermillion

they look all around me for bat wings

smashed beneath the wheels

of radio flyers


there aren’t any right words

for the damned things

she just knows….

when her mother-fuckin tennis shoe hits the ground


i asked the salt in saltwater for advice

she laughed and made me feel foolish for asking

said something about finding freedom in surrender

and vanished into the sea

like the very moon
we drank beneath
the truth of our love

despite the words of spite
in the deep of frozen darkened eyes
kissed with warm lips in the still
despite the fear

we swam deeper to the silver sun
in the absence of light 

in idle pangs of misunderstood woe i
chased the blackout straight down
it was a thrill just to walk outside

and recount the ways
we&#8217;ve tattered torn



walking away from the fear of dying
in a false blackout of false misery,
i am weary of watery notions of love.

i wanna fall straight down the flight of stares
and wake up in another room 

on the sidewalk in the sun you were a mermaid
telling fortunes in a skill crane
soaking wet in the daylight

you slaked the heartsick telling a story
of lovely arms dropping rocks
on a blanket of moss behind the console 

and burned your wrist
tethered to a line
in a book forgotten
that will never be read
the cold clear truth
mistaken for betrayal

despite the words
not one drop of hate
in the ocean of my love
for you, for you

drinking words you will never spend
i know we&#8217;ll see it through the end

lay down heavy one
i will point you in the direction
of your misery

the leather strap doesn’t ask the horse
how its throat made that sound
or the bloody edge of fear
the smell of lightning in the ground

a swimming pool of ink
ridden with sea monsters
with no eyes
gone swimming deeper
beneath all hope of an answer…….

i dont have a spare moment to take her away with me into the forest, into the thrushes. lady of the house. i would trade all my dresses, my wedding gown especially, throw this fucking ring in the river, go running through the reeds and over brooks, teach her how to find a straight willow branch with a good fork, and how to cut the forks sharp with a tiny clasp knife, how to strip the bark, how to thread the handle through the fishes mouth
and catch it on a knot.

what is redder than trout gills? eating lies. is blood, a rose, the velvet in the sitting room chair, or a blackbird&#8217;s throat? when Peotr speaks, i want to see his bloody mouth split open in a fistfight on a sunny day.

i spit into mirrors and spill bad wine in spite, my skin gone white, inkwells crack and run dry,  and no pen will write, and hate flows from room to room like bleach and ammonia curling into poison, as i slash through the gallery, coughing and cursing my name. the walls fall in and black creeps over the paintings like virulent mold

the zealot knows the oldest game in the book. the best nun ever knew the tongue of god&#8217;s god. she licked the roof of her mouth. she heard laughter like kaleidoscopes busted open at the bottom of the stairwell but it wasnt loud enough she got hooked on his smile and starved herself for 3 weeks her middle name was pearl.    it was better when he had no spine at all. now he lists to port like a one eyed camel

a cute attitude kicks
and fixes her lip
while form leans
heavy in the window
flicking specks
from the corner of
this oily eye’s
so wet
red
vexed
and next
it’s raining 
everything she said.

and now clorphina really begins to feel her spleen. trollopers away. cast down! down! her fishnets glimmering in the black black water.

i am a mermaid, by the way.  i breath through my wristbands. 

and a compulsive love for the deep end.  i want to go all the way down and see if i die. and when i look up, i don&#8217;t want to see bubbles and blood shouting down at me, telling me how deep and dark and black it is watching me sink, how lonely and useless it feels to be left behind, all that warm blood exploding.

she lives alone and starts drinking like mad and missing sleep and doing stuff like writing weird things on the inside of her thighs and wearing skirts with no panties.  she has this struggle within herself about the morality of being a homewrecker, and worries about going off the deep end, but this guy lives inside her.

she dreams of swimming with him, him as a snail fucking her, walking along behind them on the street at closing time and killing her rival.  the calculated fantasies of boredom underwater, as an insect, as a tiger fantail eating a moth.  sleepless she begins decorating her aquariums

she ends up eating moths and writing on her thighs as usual, her room strewn with glitter and scissors, she wears her mermaid tights, 

are you mean to the ones you love?  the
emotions you use to sew a seam.  high and low with a
needle.  the thread running through you.  swaying back
and forth if you slowed it down.  is it the way you
wear your prose or the way you make your clothes look
like accidents happen to you all day?

1st time it occurs to me to use moths as a theme for
paintings instead of bad letters, alot of tension
slips from the rib ive been cramping.  mermaids get
jealous.  i am supposed to be painting them into
spaceships. drawing the lines of panties against a
post-gasoline sunset is alot sexier than using the
word again and again like a lash against the face of
reason.  space mermaids eating moths. my face 
a graveyard where truth goes to die. bobble eyed
models wearing chalk line t-shirts.  

i dropped my spite
writhing on the floor
because what little spine I have left
is flopping on the floor

untamed souls will not revisit
what nailed them to the moor
what dream is this un-tethered
nothing spoken in response

shades of grey stretched out forever
for fear, for fear, for fear

a blackheart opens his mouth
and angels gather round
the moment he pukes everything
bottled up 

these are the last days
i will have no other
you call this a moment wasted
off the pillow in the morning light

should I have plead for mercy
or weather more abuse
for thinking something other
than my will to be of use

if this is treating you badly
i surrender myself to the depths
zillions of layers beneath us
where mermaids wept

where ink touches page
where sleepwalkers write
i asked the page for a light
and it burned tonight

i told her that mermaids crack vials with their teeth
to rid the fear of the salt beneath the square fucked
roof of my lip died for lack of flavor on the tinfoil
princess&#8217;s last goodbye.  she fell asleep on the
milkweed parasol for spite. listless and growling all
night. 

those moments when you
held your breath in the pool light wondering if she
would really swim away with you  gave her eyes and
held back what she wanted  to hear you tell her her
eyes are made of lavender and lime twist. but all you
said was fuck with your lips.  so she swam away 

who has the strength to elucidate
the details of solutions,
from whence,
what mind can hold the force
of myriad currents
calling for clarity?
who can speak the answers
with verity?




//vain poetry//

leviathan and behemoth
dredged,
wilting
in the sunlight.
the salt in saltwater threw a curse
at the end of time,
they are first in line,
in reverse.


no dam could slake my to drink
the molecules fallen from weteyelashes
i write like a blackheart, like evil adorning the
walls of the only drop of fresh air
this damned beast will ever know.

angels never deign slow their wings
whyfore when we always are hovering
sped or fled from material eye, done recovering

yeah, other times i just wanna nix it all
the thought, not the deed.
transformative metaphors.
all the crazy violent intellectualisms,
blunt and sharp.

an end to enmity, within yourself
the pool of ink, the dragon, scorn, 
power, secrets, history.
evil, enmity, attrition,
the pool of ink,
leviathan.

the fathomlessness of your mermaid heart
knows no script, no want of reason
no minutes mispent, fear itself,

a truely dangerous life of trains, dreams, numbers,
walls, animals, wind, eyes, words, works, sudden
moments when you turn corner.

well sweet life, my muse, my mother, what can i offer
you these endless pages, space, the gift of space
feather light&#8230; for me?  deliver me from strife
that i may know the clarity of life, 
and the candle of love burning, 
burn this black heart.
turn it deepest colors unseen,
a bubble of protection.
your love surrounding us


so i pruned all
these trees and vines and shrubberies and cut them up
with a hedge trimmer and the blackberry brambles would
snag on my jeans.  i think im allergic to them. they
raised welts on my skin like a spiderbite.

i read this book of chineese writings.  it had
this neat idea that maybe we are just dreaming this
life and death is like waking up.  i know i am a
mermaid dreaming i&#8217;m a boy.
so i&#8217;m looking at you in this dress and you tell
me you&#8217;re a space-mermaid, but what i wanna know is,
do i get to call you nancy on the rocks?

clorphina bites her ring finger.  coughs.  smiles like
smarch weather.  wipes some snot on her hands.  turns
the bracelets on her shooting arm two or three times.
leans her fine ass in three slips over the pool table

i am the curve
of lips parted
bare never saying
a word.

i am eyelids half opened
dusk in between blind strips
you remember me like shadow
when sunlight falls
on your hand.

pearls
falling from a woman&#8217;s hand
a small gasp inaudible 
to all else

does each rain drop hold a
thousand voices? when do they disappear&#8230; in the moment it
begins to fall or the moment just before it hits the
pavement or latches onto a railing to dangle?

though life means to suffer pain
we have to surrender ourselves to it
the one who doesn&#8217;t experience pain
doesn&#8217;t live life.

the language of our love, squares and clicks in contrast 
to the smoothness of your skin, the angelic curves of your 
body. a snail cutting waves of legos, your ivory breasts
welcoming the future, my mermaid on the bowspirit, our
flesh magic, the soft vessel of our love sailing tides
of plastic shards, false jerks and fear fuckers,
fathomless our tongues on the knife&#8217;s edge, this sea
of broken glass we sail upon, the sheer tons below,
ours the only ones that come close, glistening nudes
listening, the angels whetting our course.  i bought
you a cuttlefish bone.  so your teeth would stay in
one place.  and we will never wash our hair again.


you just said fuck with your lips so she swam away.  the mermaids larynx operates equally well using water or air.  her skeleton is light and pliable like those of a bird. the song of sea swallows. able to hear on a different level to humans.  the salt in saltwater for advice.  sea babies sucking on my tears.  mermaid babies are born live.  mostly eats fish, but has been known to subsist on other meats, fruits and vegetables. There are some species of mermaid that may feed solely on human flesh.  

if even one of these hairs is plucked, the wila will die, or be forced to change back to her true shape.  wail.  one who hears them loses all thoughts of food, drink or sleep, sometimes for days.  fairy rings of deep thick grass are left where they have danced which should never be trod upon.  ribbons, fresh fruits and vegetables or flowers left at sacred trees.  they could not satisfy their passion for dancing especially in town squares naked.  

A Midsummer Night&#8217;s Dream by William Shakespeare.

  Once I sat upon a promontory,
  And heard a mermaid on a dolphin&#8217;s back
  Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
  That the rude sea grew civil at her song
  And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
  To hear the sea-maid&#8217;s music.


1. predatory oceanic beasts who can shed their skin revealing a human-like being inside;

  2. they are like fairy-folk who magically transform into human form;

  3. they come with a necklace which enables you to also live underwater; 

4. they come with a sea-being that you put around your neck that merges with you symbiotically and enables you to breathe underwater;

  5. they sing a siren song that can lure entire ships to destruction;

6. they sing a siren song of love that only their chosen beloved can hear and survive;

7. they sing a siren song that only the beloved is able to hear, no one else can hear it;

8. they sing a song to their beloved, a human that they are destined by Fate to mate with and marry;

9. they are monstrous to look upon, but the song makes them appear beautiful;

10. they are like genie that can change into beautiful forms;

11. they are beautiful and portrayed as black-haired or golden-haired with sea-green-eyes.

12. the human usually has to be with the Mer-person to first enter the water, or lose the chance to live underwater forever. They live forever if they do go with the Mer-person.

13. The cities of the Merpeople are at the bottom of the ocean and are vast.

14. they taught entire nations of humans mathematics and astronomy and the arts of civilization! (Oannes, Annedotti, Musaeus).

15. Merwomen will leave human husbands and return to the ocean. Human men usually follow them, or try to.

16. Merwomen will not stay with human men unless they are forced to, or captured.

17. Mermen are successful lovers among human women and father children with them.

18. They love once, and mate for life.

19. They are very fickle.

20 They appear as human and can walk on land


Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.&#8217;
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes we sealed to the holy book!
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Down to the depths of the sea!
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark, what she sings: &#8216;O joy, O joy,
For the humming street, and the child with its toy!
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well;
For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessed light of the sun!&#8217;
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully,
Till the shuttle drops from her hand,
And the whizzing wheel stands still.
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh;
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair
Singing: &#8216;Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she!
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea.&#8217;

sets wavelets to prancing.
Bowels of the deep that lie black and forsaken
In fathomless sleep.  My dreams now awaken! 
Strange looking sea-creatures of phosphoric hue,
In darkness they pass in spectral review;
Coursing, cavorting, then gracefully hover
In ghostly repose, and glow to each other.
Oh! Sea of Faith - the dryland is weighted
With billions of forms who struggle unsated.
That you cast their forms, they do not remember,
Nor when they first crawled, and cast off your splendor.
Were you to reveal all that you have hidden, 
What treasures untold would awe the unbidden
Of depths far below, where teeming life started?
What happened to those who stayed when we parted?
Where are they now, my lost kin of old? 
What are they now?  What shape?  What mold?
Cast forth from the sea, to change and to wander,
But what of the ones the seas did not squander?

Drifting in dreams, I then wake in your presence.
For eons you&#8217;ve dreamt, asleep in my essence.
I gaze at your sight. I move through your places.
I see through your eyes. I look on your faces.

Beckoned, I move on through mystic directions
Where color and form are fluid inflections,
Blending, unwinding, in whirling confusion,
Emotion a hue and thought an illusion;
Dream-landscape view of sights all ashimmer,
And light that refracts:  now brighter, now dimmer;
Ether of green where all sound seems to flow,
Where mood alters tone:  now high, now low; 
Afloat in a dome where all vision is wider;
The World is a sphere and life moves inside Her.

love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Who renders vain their deep desire?
A god, a god their severance ruled!
And bade betwixt their shores to be
The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.

And if I should carol aloud, from aloft
All things that are forked, and horned, and soft
Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,
All looking down for the love of me.

All the wild world have I searched for my darling,
Scoured the far deserts and sailed distant seas.
Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,
Flashed a fair face that brought quiet and ease.



23


There are an infinite number of prime numbers and it is hypothesized, but not yet proven by any mathematician that there are also an infinite number of twin primes.  Prime numbers are not all that easy to find.  

23 is the 9th prime number.  It is also the only prime number that has digits (2 and 3) right next to each other (keep in mind there are an infinite number of them!).  9 is the Pythagorean number of The Deity. It is also the number of the Muse, for there are 9 Muses that give divine inspiration   

23 is the first prime that stands alone without a twin prime.  The primes above and below 23 are twins:  17 and 19 are twin primes, and 29 and 31 are twin primes.  All the primes below 23 are twins.   

Keeping in mind how 23 stands alone, 23 is above the number 22, the number of the Master Magi.  The Old Ones stand alone, unique, undimensioned

The first prime is 2, the second prime is 3, and the third prime is 5.   We can count down  3, 2, and 1 and multiply.  (3 x 5) + (2 x 3) + (1 x 2) = 23.

23 is the smallest prime number that is equal to the product plus sum of twin primes. 3 and 5 are twin primes.  If you multiply 3 times 5 and add that to 3 plus 5, like this:  (3 x 5) + (3 + 5) = 23. 

23 is the smallest prime equal to the sum of three primes in two ways: 5+7+11 = 23 and  3+7+13 = 23. Note the proliferation of Magical numbers in all of this.

hanna, mother of mary

Hanna conceived our Lady 
Mary, on the day that God blessed. Blessed is he who 
shall clothe the naked. Blessed is he who shall feed the hungry
Blessed is he who shall set free him that is in 
prison. Blessed is he who shall visit the sick on that 
day, for he shall obtain a portion in the kingdom of 
heaven (Fol. 68a) with Joachim, and with Hanna, and 
with Mary the Virgin, for ever and ever. Amen. 

O Hanna, mother of Mary, let me ask thee one 
thing&#160;: How long, O my Lady, shall I live together 
with those who hate men and peace and love? 
O Hanna, mother 
of Mary, the mother of Christ, Who is the Firstfruit 
of grace, let the tongue of mine enemy be tied in the 
time of temptation and trial with a strong chain, and 
with a rough shackle. Salutation to the burial of thy body 
in purple in- destructible.

O Hanna, 
mother of Mary, the mother of Christ the Redeemer, 
let no one send me to my death in this world [suddenly], 
but let me wait a while until I repent, not, I say, with 
the multiplying of words and much speech, and let me 
sing thy praise a little longer and not keep silence con- 
cerning it. O Hanna, make my heart to please Him. 
If mine enemy put forth branches, and if he increase 
in his stature, then let the sword of death cut down his 
trunk. Praise, and worship, and the singing of psalms 
are meet for Mary and for Hanna

Salutation to thee, whose name is sweet, whose 
memorial is salted with the salt of the Godhead, 
Hanna, thou holy woman, thou mother of Mary whose 
King is in the heights. 

Salutation to thee, O Hanna, thou who art the 
morning, and to thee, O Mary, who art the heaven 
that gave birth unto Christ, the Sun, Who burneth up 
the thorns of error. 

Salutation to thee, O thou stone of chalcedony, 
Hanna, thou brilliant pearl, wherefrom went forth 
Mary the Virgin, who gave birth to the Flame. 

mouths of men and angels, and from the tongue of 
every created being, and thing, both on the earth and 
in the heavens, without silence and without ceasing, for 
ever and ever&#160;! Amen. 

the doors of my tongue, open the doors of the tongue 
of Ezra  so that he might declare Thy greatness, and 
the greatness of our father Adam, whom Thou didst 
create in Thine own image and likeness, and didst bring 
into the Garden which Thy right hand did plant, (Fol. 
12a) when as yet the earth had not been established. 
Now I have the desire to declare the majesty of that 
Garden, and of the earth, the earth because of Hanna

A good tree bringeth forth good 
fruit, and a tree shall be known by its fruit. &#8220;^ And 
how shall a good tree be distinguished from a bad one? 
Of the good tree there is hope, even after it hath be- 
come withered and decayed, for if rain fall upon it, 
(Fol. 1&#160;6b) and the winds blow upon it, that tree will 
clothe itself with bark, and will send forth shoots that 
will bear fruit from its branches and from the top 
thereof&#160;; and of its branches some will bear fruit thirty- 
fold, some sixtyfold, and some an hundredfold.

And straightway God said unto Ezekiel, ^ 
&#8221; Prophesy over these dry bones.&#8221; And he prophesied 
over them, and the spirit of life breathed upon them, 
and threw skin upon them, until at length they rose up 
because of (Fol. 17a) the blessed woman Hanna

A good name is better than the anointing with 
oil and sweet scents;^ and one child is better than thou- 
sands of children. 

It is customary for the word of God to be hard [to 
understand], and for His handiwork to be marvellous&#160;; 
and He first of all maketh trial of a man. As a man 
trieth gold in the fire, even so doth God try His chosen 
ones by suffering and by misery.

let us magnify Hanna, for 
God hath magnified her, because she is His mother 
according to the flesh. Hanna is to be more highly 
esteemed than gold and silver, and she is better by far 
than the Twelve Gems,^ whether considered one by 
one or all together. She is more beautiful than the 
Sun, and the Moon, and all created beings and things 
that are in the heavens and on the earth.

I will re- 
joice and be glad, for my weeping hath departed from 
me&#160;; and all mine enemies shall be confounded and put 
to shame. O ye daughters of Israel, come ye and 
hearken unto my voice, and behold ye me with my 
child on my shoulders sucking milk from my breasts&#160;! 
Behold, I am the woman whom in times past ye did 
drive forth from your houses because of your contempt 
for me, and ye lifted up your voices against me. Look 
ye and see that my daughter is more excellent than your 
daughters. The heavens, and the earth, and all the 
creations of men and of angels, are not worth in value 
one hair of the head (Fol. 27b) of my daughter.

For the kings and the 
royal people who shall be begotten by you shall do no 
manner of good for you, and although they roar like 
lions they shall neither save themselves, nor have the 
power to save others, and the tigers that rend and tear 
cattle and sheep shall become a vain thing and shall

this beast is glad and merry in tempest, and sad and heavy in fair weather
often perpetually wet could not live long on dry land, but with her comb she was always safe, for it gave her the power to conjure water when she needed it. According to some legends, should her hair dry out, she will die. hearing her laugh could also cause death. with their singing and then drowning them, while the children were often lured with baskets of fruit. the truth is that they are strong whores who lead men to poverty and to mischief. a mermaid lulled a crew to sleep, kidnapped a sailor, and took him to a dry place for sex. if he refused, she slayeth him and eateth his flesh. her skin very white, and long hair hanging down behind, of color black, and a specked tail. everyone agreed that this was a mermaid and therefore partly human. there was a complete burial in a shroud and a coffin.

alexander the great’s sister, thessalonike, turn into a mermaid after she died. she lived, it was said, in the aegean and when sailors would encounter her, she would ask them only one question: is alexander the king alive?

shape of the genitalia in these squatting figures is also symbolic of the vesica piscis, the vessel of the fish. the mermaid’s irresistibility, her perverse sexuality, and her danger to both the man’s body and soul. the virgin mary medieval books of alchemy described the mermaid as the siren of the philosophers, crowned and lactating the milk of enlightenment. that leads men to their doom. fundamental mystery of female sexuality, particularly for men who, because they cannot comprehend it, are simultaneously drawn to it and terrified by it. jesuit writers began to assert their actual existence. compartments must have been built for them aboard noah’s ark.

the german nixie is a shapeshifting water spirit who usually appears in human form. river mermaid. she will teach a musician to play so adeptly, that the trees dance and waterfalls stop at his music. she played the violin in brooks and waterfalls. the nixie wears a wet skirt. skin is like that of a seal, smooth, but is as cold as death when touched.

she(he) appears in the form of a brook horse. bring the nix a treat of three drops of blood. drowning accidents. she could scream at a particular spot in a lake or river, in a way reminiscent of the loon. a desperate fisherman agreed and promised the Nix his daughter. the girl took forth a knife and said that he would never have her alive, then stuck the knife into her heart and fell down into the lake, dead. Then, her blood colored the waterlilies red.

as a horse bright in color and with large spots. ploughing the field with such speed that soil and stones whirled in its wake. the water horse then courts its master for several years before it consumes only the left leg and right hand pinky finger of the victim. the water horse, now full of love decides to drink the potion which erases the memories of his life as a water horse and gives him the chance to live with the clever girl with whom he has fallen in love.

the kelpie’s skin becomes adhesive and it bears them into the river, dragging them to the bottom of the water and devouring them - except the heart or liver. when his finger becomes stuck to it he takes a knife from his pocket and cuts his own finger off.

more beautiful voices than any human being could have. their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the sea king. the sailors could not understand the song, they took it for the howling of the storm. the ability to give people powers, or to tell the future, mermaids frequently fall in love with men.

these creatures can be traced back as far as the 8th century BC. the semetic mermaid moon-goddess atargatis was depicted as a mermaid as the tides ebbed and flowed with the moon. mermaids as merrymaids; the irish knew them as merrows. gibralter’s narrows. they are said to leave their outer skins behind, to assume others more magical and beautiful. selkies called jenny greenteeth.

nixe would sometimes appear in human form at markets, where she could be identified by the fact that the corner of her apron was wet. in asia there were not only mermaids, but also sea-dragons and the dragon-wives. sirens, too, are forever being mistaken for mermaids. 1998: entire lower half of her was covered with scales and tapered back into a huge tail. shot by me like a streak of lightning, then turned and came back past me, swimming the other way. the mermaid is also known to have both a caucasian or negro complexion and some sighted have a greenish appearance.

sulky mermaid

darling of lightning and rain

i long to hear your sweet voice again

too long absent from these shores

drown me in your sleepless imagination

where titans slosh their lazy weight

above lithe vases of porcelain

nestled in silt and sea anemones.

only you, sleepyhead

would know these slopes and hollows

with eyes that wouldn’t burst

to hear the songs of sea swallows

dreaming of rain in the absense of light

where ink touches page

where sleepwalkers write


Well either way
I’ll go swimming in this to find you
psychic current undercurrent.


well that’s just fuckin swell
but I’ve looking in dusty corners
for my smile all summer long


We went swimming
through waves of
atmospheric static just
to live for five minutes and
if he has to go down for a year

or maybe it’s just a dead letter
writing holes in the wall
so the squids can find the hideout.

cause there arent any pixies in the ditches

just switches and shade.

wet eyelashes resting your sweetie unmet
on your doorstep her baddest dream fell

shattered and still she shadowdanced for hours
while snails ran like syrup

up and down my aquarium walls.

grasshopper wings are scarlet

box elder beetles are brick brick red

blood don’t melt like crayons

in sun lit corners

when i tell them orange is vermillion

they look all around me for bat wings

smashed beneath the wheels

of radio flyers


there aren’t any right words

for the damned things

she just knows….

when her mother-fuckin tennis shoe hits the ground


i asked the salt in saltwater for advice

she laughed and made me feel foolish for asking

said something about finding freedom in surrender

and vanished into the sea

like the very moon
we drank beneath
the truth of our love

despite the words of spite
in the deep of frozen darkened eyes
kissed with warm lips in the still
despite the fear

we swam deeper to the silver sun
in the absence of light

in idle pangs of misunderstood woe i
chased the blackout straight down
it was a thrill just to walk outside

and recount the ways
we’ve tattered torn

walking away from the fear of dying
in a false blackout of false misery,
i am weary of watery notions of love.

i wanna fall straight down the flight of stares
and wake up in another room

on the sidewalk in the sun you were a mermaid
telling fortunes in a skill crane
soaking wet in the daylight

you slaked the heartsick telling a story
of lovely arms dropping rocks
on a blanket of moss behind the console

and burned your wrist
tethered to a line
in a book forgotten
that will never be read
the cold clear truth
mistaken for betrayal

despite the words
not one drop of hate
in the ocean of my love
for you, for you

drinking words you will never spend
i know we’ll see it through the end

lay down heavy one
i will point you in the direction
of your misery

the leather strap doesn’t ask the horse
how its throat made that sound
or the bloody edge of fear
the smell of lightning in the ground

a swimming pool of ink
ridden with sea monsters
with no eyes
gone swimming deeper
beneath all hope of an answer…….

i dont have a spare moment to take her away with me into the forest, into the thrushes. lady of the house. i would trade all my dresses, my wedding gown especially, throw this fucking ring in the river, go running through the reeds and over brooks, teach her how to find a straight willow branch with a good fork, and how to cut the forks sharp with a tiny clasp knife, how to strip the bark, how to thread the handle through the fishes mouth
and catch it on a knot.

what is redder than trout gills? eating lies. is blood, a rose, the velvet in the sitting room chair, or a blackbird’s throat? when Peotr speaks, i want to see his bloody mouth split open in a fistfight on a sunny day.

i spit into mirrors and spill bad wine in spite, my skin gone white, inkwells crack and run dry, and no pen will write, and hate flows from room to room like bleach and ammonia curling into poison, as i slash through the gallery, coughing and cursing my name. the walls fall in and black creeps over the paintings like virulent mold

the zealot knows the oldest game in the book. the best nun ever knew the tongue of god’s god. she licked the roof of her mouth. she heard laughter like kaleidoscopes busted open at the bottom of the stairwell but it wasnt loud enough she got hooked on his smile and starved herself for 3 weeks her middle name was pearl. it was better when he had no spine at all. now he lists to port like a one eyed camel

a cute attitude kicks
and fixes her lip
while form leans
heavy in the window
flicking specks
from the corner of
this oily eye’s
so wet
red
vexed
and next
it’s raining
everything she said.

and now clorphina really begins to feel her spleen. trollopers away. cast down! down! her fishnets glimmering in the black black water.

i am a mermaid, by the way. i breath through my wristbands.

and a compulsive love for the deep end. i want to go all the way down and see if i die. and when i look up, i don’t want to see bubbles and blood shouting down at me, telling me how deep and dark and black it is watching me sink, how lonely and useless it feels to be left behind, all that warm blood exploding.

she lives alone and starts drinking like mad and missing sleep and doing stuff like writing weird things on the inside of her thighs and wearing skirts with no panties. she has this struggle within herself about the morality of being a homewrecker, and worries about going off the deep end, but this guy lives inside her.

she dreams of swimming with him, him as a snail fucking her, walking along behind them on the street at closing time and killing her rival. the calculated fantasies of boredom underwater, as an insect, as a tiger fantail eating a moth. sleepless she begins decorating her aquariums

she ends up eating moths and writing on her thighs as usual, her room strewn with glitter and scissors, she wears her mermaid tights,

are you mean to the ones you love? the
emotions you use to sew a seam. high and low with a
needle. the thread running through you. swaying back
and forth if you slowed it down. is it the way you
wear your prose or the way you make your clothes look
like accidents happen to you all day?

1st time it occurs to me to use moths as a theme for
paintings instead of bad letters, alot of tension
slips from the rib ive been cramping. mermaids get
jealous. i am supposed to be painting them into
spaceships. drawing the lines of panties against a
post-gasoline sunset is alot sexier than using the
word again and again like a lash against the face of
reason. space mermaids eating moths. my face
a graveyard where truth goes to die. bobble eyed
models wearing chalk line t-shirts.

i dropped my spite
writhing on the floor
because what little spine I have left
is flopping on the floor

untamed souls will not revisit
what nailed them to the moor
what dream is this un-tethered
nothing spoken in response

shades of grey stretched out forever
for fear, for fear, for fear

a blackheart opens his mouth
and angels gather round
the moment he pukes everything
bottled up

these are the last days
i will have no other
you call this a moment wasted
off the pillow in the morning light

should I have plead for mercy
or weather more abuse
for thinking something other
than my will to be of use

if this is treating you badly
i surrender myself to the depths
zillions of layers beneath us
where mermaids wept

where ink touches page
where sleepwalkers write
i asked the page for a light
and it burned tonight

i told her that mermaids crack vials with their teeth
to rid the fear of the salt beneath the square fucked
roof of my lip died for lack of flavor on the tinfoil
princess’s last goodbye. she fell asleep on the
milkweed parasol for spite. listless and growling all
night.

those moments when you
held your breath in the pool light wondering if she
would really swim away with you gave her eyes and
held back what she wanted to hear you tell her her
eyes are made of lavender and lime twist. but all you
said was fuck with your lips. so she swam away

who has the strength to elucidate
the details of solutions,
from whence,
what mind can hold the force
of myriad currents
calling for clarity?
who can speak the answers
with verity?


//vain poetry//

leviathan and behemoth
dredged,
wilting
in the sunlight.
the salt in saltwater threw a curse
at the end of time,
they are first in line,
in reverse.


no dam could slake my to drink
the molecules fallen from weteyelashes
i write like a blackheart, like evil adorning the
walls of the only drop of fresh air
this damned beast will ever know.

angels never deign slow their wings
whyfore when we always are hovering
sped or fled from material eye, done recovering

yeah, other times i just wanna nix it all
the thought, not the deed.
transformative metaphors.
all the crazy violent intellectualisms,
blunt and sharp.

an end to enmity, within yourself
the pool of ink, the dragon, scorn,
power, secrets, history.
evil, enmity, attrition,
the pool of ink,
leviathan.

the fathomlessness of your mermaid heart
knows no script, no want of reason
no minutes mispent, fear itself,

a truely dangerous life of trains, dreams, numbers,
walls, animals, wind, eyes, words, works, sudden
moments when you turn corner.

well sweet life, my muse, my mother, what can i offer
you these endless pages, space, the gift of space
feather light… for me? deliver me from strife
that i may know the clarity of life,
and the candle of love burning,
burn this black heart.
turn it deepest colors unseen,
a bubble of protection.
your love surrounding us


so i pruned all
these trees and vines and shrubberies and cut them up
with a hedge trimmer and the blackberry brambles would
snag on my jeans. i think im allergic to them. they
raised welts on my skin like a spiderbite.

i read this book of chineese writings. it had
this neat idea that maybe we are just dreaming this
life and death is like waking up. i know i am a
mermaid dreaming i’m a boy.
so i’m looking at you in this dress and you tell
me you’re a space-mermaid, but what i wanna know is,
do i get to call you nancy on the rocks?

clorphina bites her ring finger. coughs. smiles like
smarch weather. wipes some snot on her hands. turns
the bracelets on her shooting arm two or three times.
leans her fine ass in three slips over the pool table

i am the curve
of lips parted
bare never saying
a word.

i am eyelids half opened
dusk in between blind strips
you remember me like shadow
when sunlight falls
on your hand.

pearls
falling from a woman’s hand
a small gasp inaudible
to all else

does each rain drop hold a
thousand voices? when do they disappear… in the moment it
begins to fall or the moment just before it hits the
pavement or latches onto a railing to dangle?

though life means to suffer pain
we have to surrender ourselves to it
the one who doesn’t experience pain
doesn’t live life.

the language of our love, squares and clicks in contrast
to the smoothness of your skin, the angelic curves of your
body. a snail cutting waves of legos, your ivory breasts
welcoming the future, my mermaid on the bowspirit, our
flesh magic, the soft vessel of our love sailing tides
of plastic shards, false jerks and fear fuckers,
fathomless our tongues on the knife’s edge, this sea
of broken glass we sail upon, the sheer tons below,
ours the only ones that come close, glistening nudes
listening, the angels whetting our course. i bought
you a cuttlefish bone. so your teeth would stay in
one place. and we will never wash our hair again.


you just said fuck with your lips so she swam away. the mermaids larynx operates equally well using water or air. her skeleton is light and pliable like those of a bird. the song of sea swallows. able to hear on a different level to humans. the salt in saltwater for advice. sea babies sucking on my tears. mermaid babies are born live. mostly eats fish, but has been known to subsist on other meats, fruits and vegetables. There are some species of mermaid that may feed solely on human flesh.

if even one of these hairs is plucked, the wila will die, or be forced to change back to her true shape. wail. one who hears them loses all thoughts of food, drink or sleep, sometimes for days. fairy rings of deep thick grass are left where they have danced which should never be trod upon. ribbons, fresh fruits and vegetables or flowers left at sacred trees. they could not satisfy their passion for dancing especially in town squares naked.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare.

Once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath
That the rude sea grew civil at her song
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid’s music.


1. predatory oceanic beasts who can shed their skin revealing a human-like being inside;

2. they are like fairy-folk who magically transform into human form;

3. they come with a necklace which enables you to also live underwater;

4. they come with a sea-being that you put around your neck that merges with you symbiotically and enables you to breathe underwater;

5. they sing a siren song that can lure entire ships to destruction;

6. they sing a siren song of love that only their chosen beloved can hear and survive;

7. they sing a siren song that only the beloved is able to hear, no one else can hear it;

8. they sing a song to their beloved, a human that they are destined by Fate to mate with and marry;

9. they are monstrous to look upon, but the song makes them appear beautiful;

10. they are like genie that can change into beautiful forms;

11. they are beautiful and portrayed as black-haired or golden-haired with sea-green-eyes.

12. the human usually has to be with the Mer-person to first enter the water, or lose the chance to live underwater forever. They live forever if they do go with the Mer-person.

13. The cities of the Merpeople are at the bottom of the ocean and are vast.

14. they taught entire nations of humans mathematics and astronomy and the arts of civilization! (Oannes, Annedotti, Musaeus).

15. Merwomen will leave human husbands and return to the ocean. Human men usually follow them, or try to.

16. Merwomen will not stay with human men unless they are forced to, or captured.

17. Mermen are successful lovers among human women and father children with them.

18. They love once, and mate for life.

19. They are very fickle.

20 They appear as human and can walk on land


Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.’
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes we sealed to the holy book!
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Down to the depths of the sea!
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark, what she sings: ‘O joy, O joy,
For the humming street, and the child with its toy!
For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well;
For the wheel where I spun,
And the blessed light of the sun!’
And so she sings her fill,
Singing most joyfully,
Till the shuttle drops from her hand,
And the whizzing wheel stands still.
She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,
And over the sand at the sea;
And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,
A long, long sigh;
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,
And the gleam of her golden hair
Singing: ‘Here came a mortal,
But faithless was she!
And alone dwell for ever
The kings of the sea.’

sets wavelets to prancing.
Bowels of the deep that lie black and forsaken
In fathomless sleep. My dreams now awaken!
Strange looking sea-creatures of phosphoric hue,
In darkness they pass in spectral review;
Coursing, cavorting, then gracefully hover
In ghostly repose, and glow to each other.
Oh! Sea of Faith - the dryland is weighted
With billions of forms who struggle unsated.
That you cast their forms, they do not remember,
Nor when they first crawled, and cast off your splendor.
Were you to reveal all that you have hidden,
What treasures untold would awe the unbidden
Of depths far below, where teeming life started?
What happened to those who stayed when we parted?
Where are they now, my lost kin of old?
What are they now? What shape? What mold?
Cast forth from the sea, to change and to wander,
But what of the ones the seas did not squander?

Drifting in dreams, I then wake in your presence.
For eons you’ve dreamt, asleep in my essence.
I gaze at your sight. I move through your places.
I see through your eyes. I look on your faces.

Beckoned, I move on through mystic directions
Where color and form are fluid inflections,
Blending, unwinding, in whirling confusion,
Emotion a hue and thought an illusion;
Dream-landscape view of sights all ashimmer,
And light that refracts: now brighter, now dimmer;
Ether of green where all sound seems to flow,
Where mood alters tone: now high, now low;
Afloat in a dome where all vision is wider;
The World is a sphere and life moves inside Her.

love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Who renders vain their deep desire?
A god, a god their severance ruled!
And bade betwixt their shores to be
The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.

And if I should carol aloud, from aloft
All things that are forked, and horned, and soft
Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea,
All looking down for the love of me.

All the wild world have I searched for my darling,
Scoured the far deserts and sailed distant seas.
Once on the wave while the tempest was snarling,
Flashed a fair face that brought quiet and ease.

23


There are an infinite number of prime numbers and it is hypothesized, but not yet proven by any mathematician that there are also an infinite number of twin primes. Prime numbers are not all that easy to find.

23 is the 9th prime number. It is also the only prime number that has digits (2 and 3) right next to each other (keep in mind there are an infinite number of them!). 9 is the Pythagorean number of The Deity. It is also the number of the Muse, for there are 9 Muses that give divine inspiration

23 is the first prime that stands alone without a twin prime. The primes above and below 23 are twins: 17 and 19 are twin primes, and 29 and 31 are twin primes. All the primes below 23 are twins.

Keeping in mind how 23 stands alone, 23 is above the number 22, the number of the Master Magi. The Old Ones stand alone, unique, undimensioned

The first prime is 2, the second prime is 3, and the third prime is 5. We can count down 3, 2, and 1 and multiply. (3 x 5) + (2 x 3) + (1 x 2) = 23.

23 is the smallest prime number that is equal to the product plus sum of twin primes. 3 and 5 are twin primes. If you multiply 3 times 5 and add that to 3 plus 5, like this: (3 x 5) + (3 + 5) = 23.

23 is the smallest prime equal to the sum of three primes in two ways: 5+7+11 = 23 and 3+7+13 = 23. Note the proliferation of Magical numbers in all of this.

hanna, mother of mary

Hanna conceived our Lady
Mary, on the day that God blessed. Blessed is he who
shall clothe the naked. Blessed is he who shall feed the hungry
Blessed is he who shall set free him that is in
prison. Blessed is he who shall visit the sick on that
day, for he shall obtain a portion in the kingdom of
heaven (Fol. 68a) with Joachim, and with Hanna, and
with Mary the Virgin, for ever and ever. Amen.

O Hanna, mother of Mary, let me ask thee one
thing : How long, O my Lady, shall I live together
with those who hate men and peace and love?
O Hanna, mother
of Mary, the mother of Christ, Who is the Firstfruit
of grace, let the tongue of mine enemy be tied in the
time of temptation and trial with a strong chain, and
with a rough shackle. Salutation to the burial of thy body
in purple in- destructible.

O Hanna,
mother of Mary, the mother of Christ the Redeemer,
let no one send me to my death in this world [suddenly],
but let me wait a while until I repent, not, I say, with
the multiplying of words and much speech, and let me
sing thy praise a little longer and not keep silence con-
cerning it. O Hanna, make my heart to please Him.
If mine enemy put forth branches, and if he increase
in his stature, then let the sword of death cut down his
trunk. Praise, and worship, and the singing of psalms
are meet for Mary and for Hanna

Salutation to thee, whose name is sweet, whose
memorial is salted with the salt of the Godhead,
Hanna, thou holy woman, thou mother of Mary whose
King is in the heights.

Salutation to thee, O Hanna, thou who art the
morning, and to thee, O Mary, who art the heaven
that gave birth unto Christ, the Sun, Who burneth up
the thorns of error.

Salutation to thee, O thou stone of chalcedony,
Hanna, thou brilliant pearl, wherefrom went forth
Mary the Virgin, who gave birth to the Flame.

mouths of men and angels, and from the tongue of
every created being, and thing, both on the earth and
in the heavens, without silence and without ceasing, for
ever and ever ! Amen.

the doors of my tongue, open the doors of the tongue
of Ezra so that he might declare Thy greatness, and
the greatness of our father Adam, whom Thou didst
create in Thine own image and likeness, and didst bring
into the Garden which Thy right hand did plant, (Fol.
12a) when as yet the earth had not been established.
Now I have the desire to declare the majesty of that
Garden, and of the earth, the earth because of Hanna

A good tree bringeth forth good
fruit, and a tree shall be known by its fruit. “^ And
how shall a good tree be distinguished from a bad one?
Of the good tree there is hope, even after it hath be-
come withered and decayed, for if rain fall upon it,
(Fol. 1 6b) and the winds blow upon it, that tree will
clothe itself with bark, and will send forth shoots that
will bear fruit from its branches and from the top
thereof ; and of its branches some will bear fruit thirty-
fold, some sixtyfold, and some an hundredfold.

And straightway God said unto Ezekiel, ^
” Prophesy over these dry bones.” And he prophesied
over them, and the spirit of life breathed upon them,
and threw skin upon them, until at length they rose up
because of (Fol. 17a) the blessed woman Hanna

A good name is better than the anointing with
oil and sweet scents;^ and one child is better than thou-
sands of children.

It is customary for the word of God to be hard [to
understand], and for His handiwork to be marvellous ;
and He first of all maketh trial of a man. As a man
trieth gold in the fire, even so doth God try His chosen
ones by suffering and by misery.

let us magnify Hanna, for
God hath magnified her, because she is His mother
according to the flesh. Hanna is to be more highly
esteemed than gold and silver, and she is better by far
than the Twelve Gems,^ whether considered one by
one or all together. She is more beautiful than the
Sun, and the Moon, and all created beings and things
that are in the heavens and on the earth.

I will re-
joice and be glad, for my weeping hath departed from
me ; and all mine enemies shall be confounded and put
to shame. O ye daughters of Israel, come ye and
hearken unto my voice, and behold ye me with my
child on my shoulders sucking milk from my breasts !
Behold, I am the woman whom in times past ye did
drive forth from your houses because of your contempt
for me, and ye lifted up your voices against me. Look
ye and see that my daughter is more excellent than your
daughters. The heavens, and the earth, and all the
creations of men and of angels, are not worth in value
one hair of the head (Fol. 27b) of my daughter.

For the kings and the
royal people who shall be begotten by you shall do no
manner of good for you, and although they roar like
lions they shall neither save themselves, nor have the
power to save others, and the tigers that rend and tear
cattle and sheep shall become a vain thing and shall

29 plays

clorphina:

Siri reads Waiting Room with Cycle Song by Robots are Waiting

waiting room {burnished in oak}

why do i let these voices
turn my ear? serendipity
they call the butterfly effect
because they need a whimsical
word to conjure the same
beauty a sunflower radiates
surely as a fractal puzzles
the most furious brow
how does a garden grow
when not even birds and bees
blush like a linguist before
the stone? how is it we find
halves to meet primal as
sweat and come home
from the commute to
sleep beneath linen sheets
like laughable inquirer
tag lines. shuffle seven
decks and bet on the
house only fools
and saints
and lovers
enter hand in hand
like bullets in a tunnel
we careen the span
from string to girth
silly lopsided worms
halves of ourselves
eating sawdust in a
cigar tin waiting for
index and thumb to
squish us in two
guts on a hook
and squirming still
we drown most often
a kin of sleepwalking
up a mountain happy
for the civility of
forgetting the legs
the doubts and cramped
cabins of squint and logs
that wheeze like grandma.

what is hell
more than a
hound who
bites ankles
in a hollow night?
blurry rhythms of doubt
we hang like amulets
to see ourselves
in each other
when we fail
to love the curse
of vision or a pill
a snake of smoke
of blood and malt and corn
goddamn boots with a spike
fkn knuckles that don’t mend
wishes return to sender
and the fkn sky looks
like a shroud you read
before willows bowed
beneath your head full of
light like slack on a hook
at play the limbs and chains
of a joke you told so many
times it became your epigram
and scraped with the knife
of mercy though you would
have eaten coal your thirst
was so bright it’s only the
tremors in your shadow
had the strength to pull
the beaded switch that
pocketknife above your
bed with a pearl handle
i palmed like a cub and
flipped the bulb off and on
i would have fuzzed the
filament wrapped the
tarnished rose round
my neck and spun
through the lilac
like a jack raccoon
sifting for crawdads
weaving spiders in my hair
index of a thumbnail your
little pauses…sprout to oak
why my skin is olive
how is seem to have sprung
from a lump of sourdough
thrown in the fire
quick in the creek
city on a mule
good with an ax
clumsy with a bail

some fkn waiting room full
of peppermints and magazines
I have no desire to read. as if i
never were subtle they have
a laugh as i palm my oily
forehead a bald ghost
memory who are you
arthritic kid? the headlines
are televisions the music
is fucking the morals are low
enough my writ of release
finish the line. cherish
sugar and proof and smoke
little sprout the fine print
knows no rest my eyes
are the least of my worries
in here it is hunger
hell is hunger
you are a claw hammer
and I am a rusty nail
with a vein in it. you
like a vulture with a scroll
in your gullet I have written
a letter to eternity lonely
as a stand of cottonwood
shivering in jail I conjure ink
these very words you type
with half a smirk on a coin
of honor I’ve staked my lot
with you my son they call
poison not without reason
we all are called to and fro
like blue eyed dogs in a meadow
sleep a dream of bacon fat
morning cool enough to go
our quill is a vulture’s epistle
our nape has seven numbers
i look at stills it isn’t the time
it’s like a woodpile chopping
away at desolation kindle
by thimble what passes for
blood here I will speak into
your ear my little sprout.

zoom

clorphina:


batfish favorited your Tweets




3h: 
mistaken for a comet. nervous as a wren. tepid as a crane. till the lava. warm your veins. a dynamo. a cooling tower. swaying in a hurricane






4h: 
i thank every day my body keeps ticking smooth. i seem luckily to have a membrane that lets very little psyche pain cross over into my body.





4h: 
Where do I get my mirth from? I make up so many stories trying to explain it. I flip metaphors. I bleed fractured faerie tales. How else?





5h: 
earth. it’s like finishing a thesis.





4h: 
@batfishok an old line from a song… love is weird and scary there aren’t enough words she needs a burning dictionary





4h: 
@batfishok *praxis* thx for the new word.





4h: 
@batfishok I’m never happier than a summer day, a back dive off a big rock, into a deep pool, i flip stones, paws sifting for river mussels.





5h: 
@batfishok i will. lock by ladder even if it was a thousand times worse. if i see anything through to the end, it will be this life of mine.





5h: 
@batfishok thx and gills. the freshwater is making my lips dry. soft pebbles. diminishing belly. sways in a pool. chasing the moon upstream.





5h: 
no ambulance needed





5h: 
@batfishok home is this soul. my little ankle with a cannonball. slip whipping in a swell. clutching a limb. i let go before her eyes burst.




blur. don&#8217;t remember this. surprise.

clorphina:

 favorited your Tweets
3h
mistaken for a comet. nervous as a wren. tepid as a crane. till the lava. warm your veins. a dynamo. a cooling tower. swaying in a hurricane
4h
i thank every day my body keeps ticking smooth. i seem luckily to have a membrane that lets very little psyche pain cross over into my body.
4h
Where do I get my mirth from? I make up so many stories trying to explain it. I flip metaphors. I bleed fractured faerie tales. How else?
5h
earth. it’s like finishing a thesis.
4h
an old line from a song… love is weird and scary there aren’t enough words she needs a burning dictionary
4h
*praxis* thx for the new word.
4h
I’m never happier than a summer day, a back dive off a big rock, into a deep pool, i flip stones, paws sifting for river mussels.
5h
i will. lock by ladder even if it was a thousand times worse. if i see anything through to the end, it will be this life of mine.
5h
thx and gills. the freshwater is making my lips dry. soft pebbles. diminishing belly. sways in a pool. chasing the moon upstream.
5h
no ambulance needed
5h
home is this soul. my little ankle with a cannonball. slip whipping in a swell. clutching a limb. i let go before her eyes burst.

blur. don’t remember this. surprise.