Full-Time 50/50s by Stephen Bett

 

 

 

 It was a Duch farewell to painting 50 years earlier

                                                                              Tu m’emmeredes (1918)

“You annoy me”         More bluntly: “You piss me off”

 

All painting and sculpture exhibitions    make.    me.    sick.

 

                                                                (ditto fave Fug guy    Fuck You/

                                                                A Magazine of the Arts)

 

No more…      Retinal Paradigm           Eye Candy           Pretty Pictures

 

Scoop de Scoop:       Duchamp Turns Art on Head           Take that

Pablo         Take that oh too twenties Paree         picture-factories

(mercenaries & slaves, says D!)

 

                           & Please, No More Poetry while you’re at it       Newsflash:

                           century farther on       cute lil’ storytime death-poem       Ditch!

                           them narrators curators ID-venting careerists       phony

                           obligatory scarves, dreaded fraudster Po’ voice

 

Some kind of trickery?     

                                Glorified one hand clapper?     (said surrealist Pope)

                                                                             

 

Dee Duch don’t shy from inner rebuttal∙hood      

                                                                         Get your 50/50s here:

You should wait 50 years for your public…       

                          After 40 or 50 years a picture dies…         (Do the math pls!)

    

Dee atheist anti-painter           respirateur know-how           loquacious

or mum…           precision, knowingness & charm

 

Marcel Duchamp hits       the limit of the unaesthetic, the useless

& the unjustifiable…

 

This:       Pablo antithesis            He rocks, he mocks, he reigns

(no prawns surrounding the chessboard)

 

The King is dead, long live the King…

 

Avant-garde à outrance

                                          Outrageously hit or miss!

The eyes of the truth by Rus Khomutoff

 

Poem by Rus Khomutoff

 

Three Poems by Daniel J Flosi

machine operating lLuddite
throwing stones
into and ouyt of loom
crosswind tailspin
luring too loose to solve
the appealing appeal
of mixing after quaalude
limited liability gospel
mostly exposed

I won’t
tell you
not to
want to
suck the
face dry
sycophantic
influence
junky
murmur
seeks to
seek more
filler

we who descend from
the Mayflower

puritan goodness
likelihoof to delight
w/ tempatation
towards then
dances tightly exposed
copies of a graft and burn/
algo railroaded
hostages
fundamentally speaking
feverishly humored
like walking backwords

fond of the fondled
man as relative stripped
of any real potency

a life of its own

KAOS KARMA (revised edition) by Rus Khomutoff

open to distortions, fractures, and jumps by Joshua Martin

 

what functions across shallow rAdAr jackets

              [scanning spLEEnS puzzle over earlobes

                assured of conduct unprovoked by

                anthill conspiracies of combative gestures]:

/ : heath, sullen conquering wisps

     gloomy in all dwindling castles

     pouring ribboned pubic lice

     onto warped textbook innuendo = / => => =>

                                                       oUt oF wOrK

                                                       cAdAvEr

                                                       shopping beneath

                                                             errands jointly

                                                             combustible (as

tones reek of out of state dioramas

pulled ALONG coastal jump rope Romeos

disinclined to speculations or specifics) =>

                             \ ;

            ‘didn’t this orb of lessons

             simulate an earthquake

             teasing a thermometer?’

                       the question was asked

                       with an ear to the lightbulb

                       affidavit = / dressed as

                                              a swooning

                                              avalanche

                                              basking in

                                              the blinding

                                              RaYs oF

                                              incognito

                                              insecticide       /

: : : : [dense

                   ly ascertained sheets

                   the envy of toilet

                                            WATER

                                             shiver

                                                      ing

                                                            SPURS] : : : :

. . . . .

        leased wavelengths fear travel

                                                         . . . . .

               )backwards echoing

                         AFFECTATIONS(

                                     . . . / - - - BoLd^ly

                                       & severe^ly 

                   misshaped

, as a worrisome ankle monitor

  adjusted fanciful orifices , , , , , , , , , , =>

                                                           dUsT

                                                           tO

                                                           BeNt

                                                           hippie

                                                           fissures <=

]daunted (sensed?) the formulaic

 tonsils (motions?) regarding eras

 as worthless distinctions without a

             SYSTEM

                             [

 

Between stormthunders twelve and thirteen by Jim Meirose

 

Stormthunder twelve sounds, then.

LumpenSchtickle PantZip, master of keys and ZornSchnuckler the Moon-Man Quasi-Big-Boy, are the chief culprits today spout our supersneaky spies. Tannenbaum, oh Tannenbaum, how germanesqui is thy root-ball. Only the sweetest peas can roll the distance.  Carrots sliced thusly have no hope at all. Rent the attic now, kind servant; the need for quick money is dire. No painting please the thick mud will render it useless. Shrink us immediately, God—the need to appear as small as possible has finally arrived. We’ll risk the last wish my young Genie. Let us enunciate it as clearly as we know; but first we must rub our lamps some you know. Bodily functions yah yah bodily functions, yes we know—there now we are ready. Throw us some towels please first, though. Thanks a lot boy; yah man yo’ welcome. Oh we often tell ourselves this that and the other. God made us suchwise you know. He went to school is over twenty-one and reads and writes quite deftly—he’s been with James Brown and other groups, and he knows. Never trust a fully-grown man. Less so even when they’rer seventy. Feeling wildly sane yet brother? You don’t look so bad. Here’s another.

Stormthunder thirteen sounds, then.

essays by donovan reyes

2 Poems by Rus Khomutoff

 

“Bud Haefner” by Jim Meirose

 

...but, HEY! [Bud’t Haefner “Bud Haefner” Bud buddy-buddy-buddy “Bud Haefner” the Barber /an so ere’s Nan Dipmortment’s m’porterent story bomb//and so, ya see—[pay some damned himtention eh you may learn something !!!  J. (which one’s snot ‘mportant) ee was getting a “haircut” from “Bud Haefner” in buzz-curley style (‘e hoped as damned loved those ‘toogies, those damned-downed silly ‘toogies) and it was maybe “33”% oops! Sorry! No, WAIT!

                        Yes     WAIT!

Hear out the following complaint against you:

That number up there should have been written this way = “33%” see now the meaning’s very very clear – but you know ‘e really got to get to the bottom of this. Did you deliberately separate the “33” from the “%” and thereby deprive both items of all meaningful identity? Did you—deliberately manipulate that text to distract the reader’s attention, and waste as much as possible of the reader’s time? If so, did  you do this to prevent the reader from proceeding on and reading something whose content would point back to you and your secret history of even more terrible crimes?   ---  never mind   sorry    back to the intended agenda “whatever that is” [dear God shut up already okay? Okay!!

                                                               Done!

                        So!                                   but report back to here at the end of your story to be taken for further investigation and possible punishment for that “33%” infraction which is the name under which this casee will be docketed      okay?                                      Yes!     so proceed on out own recognizance   . . .

Thank you judge

     So, anyway—that percentage of the “Bud Haefner” haircut only got done, when, dear God no a big far-off horn shot-blared all superloud, and “Bud Haefner” ran off to do some-kind’s “Vulontraleerienne Fyre-Frighting” (of which ‘e ‘lso ‘ppened to be the Chief, oh, whap, and so ‘e sat there, nearly half done in the chair only, and, Whap! the unknown blank cipher-cutter over next-chair said, “well, kid, Ey I will finish you.” but but but NO! “Bud Haefner” is my barber!

                                  I will have no barber but “Bud”!

            Hokay                                                                             hokeydoke!

And, so, ‘e sat hour, after hour, //   As “Bud Haefner” + force fought a fire to the finish elsewhere, // ones ‘n’ others came/went and came/went and came and came and came and went and went o’ hour after hour until—here came back “Bud Haefner” stenching of smoke, and, when ‘e saw, e’ flung up, and flipped down, flung down ‘is hat ‘ard as humanly possible!!!    . And what happened then J. really don’t know, won’t know, don’t wanna know, no don’t    ,kdnnme  dk,s  e4nbu     /// so anyway—I do not think I can say I have ever been o’er sides this spot off the neighborhood                            can you?

                                           no-most probably not,                                          but

so that’s the whole story not much, hey-la pupa

                                     Okay judge, I’m done here I am --                             

                                                                           do what you will with me I am all yours   

 

Whip! by Jim Meirose

Whip!

 ((((Okay, hey you, you hijacked my time, I’m sitting in this car, with the motor {{{{{ Do not do dis 2 us Babbi! Do not do dis, do not DO!  }}}}} running and the gas level sinking, and, you were you supposed suck to you cork suck it until I Was Done, get off you suck you suck you suck you suck you suck, zap Babbi!  me to over there where you’er supposed to wait OKAY I got someone scripted to illegally board this “Massive Old-School All Steel Caddy”, claiming to be escaping from something, which, when described, proved—ridiculous. But, that’s not the point, point is, that, they’re waiting in the wings [under contract therefore costing lots of money] engines idling, all pressures hissing, temp gauge quivering l’il by l'il No not into possible this dialogue is the red essential. Thus, class, you see before you are the leaders of the future and must be nurtured, yes, must be meticulously trained, yes, because thousands of traffic jams like the kind you are portraying will come, and go, and ultimately be lost and forgotten while the most sublime countless breakthroughs and benefits which each and every student you see in this mass spread out all ‘cross here, will be completely felt by all future humans! Oh, yes. Oh, yes! Each ‘n every, yes, oh yes. each ‘n every ‘n each ‘n every, sighhhhhhhhhh, BRUISE hop, FLIP! )! THERE we slammed down your mutiplactlickular “visor” so fast, and so hard there, that, it will not be raisable again ‘till the swills meet the road ||||||WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING WHAT THE HELL, AFTER ALL ‘kay that Jai alai is an exciting fast moving game in which players bounce a ball off a walled-in space at incredible speeds using Hans-held wicker cestas ))))

YO!

Whip!

 

Thievery before an opaque misapprehension by Joshua Martin

 

dOwN changed a lOAf

       : condensed acne evaluation :

                 (of splendor, dripping,           [stevedore play^ing_ed

                   malfunctioning, barely              hide-and-go-seek,

                   audible in fiery auto-              vanishing bulbous

                   matic thistles) =>                             bar^stools

   dAnCe                                                         w/o thought=

          rapid cornea stability                                            ful

,         AT EASE / AT REVERSE / /           meandering forks]

. . . . .

cosmetic serial maladjustment              /                :                     /

fuming like a sprained ankle                         \                    \

rattling against stone age sewage  

systems arbitrarily dispensed                   :     , , , , ,

                         : RaGe (for?

                                        against?

                                        Both?) =>

          all between

          sullen nausea, COASTING            >sTeAdT As A RoCk^ing

=UN=                                                             shovel piercing

   EVENT=FUL                                             amorous knee^caps

                          dispositions of a                 , as wobbly as shut-in    

                          herded train^line =>             denominators< 

      sub=

      ATOMIC suspenders

      breathing lifeless warmth                 | ,  !  |  , => => => => =>

      into invisible leaping super^novas 

                      / [dRaFt, personified

                          ROMAN endeavors                (shadow,

                          coordinating gathering             shaded &

                          funereal wavelengths] \                  foaming

=> BeaMs eNcRuSt rIveRs                                         at the MoUtH)

       oF bAwDy whir^POOLS <= , , , , ,

                                revolt^ing_ed  

                                cyber^security     

                                BLACKHOLE

                                               [. . . . . . . . . .

 

Marzipan Divination Folly by Mark DuCharme

  for Joshua Martin

The crystallographer zeroed in on a treatise of snores

It was stuffy as a hummingbird’s livingroom

Oilcloth blowouts in chanticleer misery

An ancient way of telling flowers from bells

Wilted cargo, jaded vanity

Who put the lop in lopsided?

I’ve dug myself out of worse graves

The other way lies psoriasis

Loosen up now, down a pituitary bargain

The read road is often gone

Find a signal you could aim at vanishing

Threads won’t be threads in the harbor anymore

A case of hard, serpentine housing

Down whatever lawn you care to snore

Where spears an igloo of lancet doubling

Out the mirror, killing time

my own private Jonestown - Donovan Reyes

Dear GOD Do We Love ‘r Proddutalaccio by Jim Meirose

 

Paid Promotional Message by Jim Meirose

 

This is a paid promotional message (we couldn’t weasel out of it as it is an artifact of an early-on contractual agreement made prior to having ¹(NO) (Can you imagine where this project would be now, if the slick-shine pulling the wool down on whatever child signed this, had just a pulled back their drapes just inch more to the sun sharper?)  here it is:        ¹a brain.

**********************************************

Limbic  Cream                                     Oil for the Masses

             Available in many   Apply in the serious colors

 including “green”  moonlight      If not sooner      Tomorrow

                  Drifting                         {green cheese}

**********************************************

 

3 visuals by Sheila Murphy

 

 

Two prose pieces by Sheila Murphy

 

The Necropraxology of Xeno Stuxnet (spoken word)

This is a spoken word collaboration between Daniel Y. Harris and David A. Bishop.

Check it out here: The Necropraxology of Xeno Stuxnet 

A: Human Behavior by Jim Meirose (a short piece)