on C.L.P.A.C. or

(bed when taipei)

"In what concerns you much, do not think that you have companions: know that you are alone in the world."
-Henry David Thoreau

A disappointing aspect about the art I conceive is that it remains
overly cryptic to those who mustn't be me. The stutter, the words, the
muted stories I write; the with the the with is that it comes from a
distant and egocentrically absolute perspective, a lone view of the
world that cannot be shared with others.

Say pal, I will notice/choose exhibit-A, trying to describe the various purposes and attributes,
physical traits relatedunrelated, perhaps phonetics, say whimsy, or possibly
curious reverse meanings or static opposites of. And then I
will think exhibit-A to B to 1-2- which reminds me of you back to the
newA3. I would be fool to expect understanding when my use of language
is specific, personal and 4/5ths internally modified. So I don't
expect understanding, but I will not lie, I wish understanding.

The beauty of art, poetry being no exception, is the
beyond-linguistic-truth that it reveals, the essential character and
universality of infallible, precise symbolism, or paradoxically,
reality. But my poetry/conceptions are the opposite of universal and
while they might reveal a certain natural simplicity and revelation to
my own mind, a cathartic clarification, they are not the type of revelations
that are often shared, felt. The color and life that surrounds,
baffles me. I can describe size and strength but I can only use the
referential tool of personal experience to relatively decode or encode
it.

With this selfish mind I create. and with that overwhelmingly
intimate perspective I ruin and puzzle those who attempt to consider,
or less likely, appreciate, my egocentrism. I want to reveal what I
think and feel, not merely what we our us mudsensually reiterate.

NatS pontificates to a spellbound Popiko 

Sonia pontificates 

Popiko 

Nickel with freshly ripped pants 

A.L.H. WIllow

'off' crop like the next two, kept the accident

Bruin Willow

accidentally off crop, no fix

Grizzle Willow

(a naturally 'off' crop that I like)

Bruin and Alyssa @ Willow, Griz way in back 

the best flamingos

the best flamingos
that best flap broken flap
these inside and doze outside
eaten near the lake by monkeys
smothered far the mall paparazzi
warm prance fills
and through the crook
that pink shrimp dip
of the bill
flamingos still
through their stance
aching prophecies
unto tech-pink stares
kids that can'’t care
pressed to glass
and carotene shrink
that the hit of the beak
makes feathers fill
with her color soft sting
bleed out greedy eyes
at a glance

CLEANLI ADVICE

That underarm deodorant can be spoilt by a sorry arm pit and will in turn spoil every armpit it comes in contact with. You can wash your arm pits with a blue bar of soap and be fresh but the previously spoiled deodorant stick will sabotage your cleanli. I suggest shaving a 2 millimetre layer( I said, throw this hue-techy peel in the garbage can) off of the deodorant meat and then you should be fine. Or throw it all away forever.

That medicated or moisturizing lip stuff, Blistex being the worst, can, through repeated usage, suppress the natural production of sebum, until such a point that your lips will be badcrackle without the balmsy simulato--- dependant even. My advice is never use this shit. Instead, I suggest you use Aveeno moisturing lotion or plain ol’ Vaseline. Use the latter sparingly because after a while it too will suck you out.

That sex lube is sticky after a while but works better and smells better than spit. I suggest you use it sparingly as one will become increasingly more prone to grabbing it and putting a dab on the cock-head thrombose or labia-minora swellinterii, thereby undermining that crucial element of love making, foreplay-- which naturally heartpumping sops yonder orifice. I suggest more time be spent pickling the pussy and dillying the ass. Theme pussies and assholes should always be minty-clean.

Winter from Kitchen Window 

Snowy Deck 

Bruin /kitchen window/ snowy. 

Premature and Delayed Entry: Back to Alberta

(Feb.05)
I got back yesterday. Earlier than expected. Financial burdens, you see. In Taiwan, I just didn’t want to work as much as I needed to, I said, “no, I think I can make it without that shit”—I was wrong. I flew into Alberta from the Rockies and the ground had hundreds of skewed polygons. The acres hectares hectares acres of albedo effected farmland were minimally populated by trees and shrubs, archaic hints, slivers of bush, representing a time when trees and wildness covered the prairies like snow. It’s ugly though, seeing each plot of land so thoroughly wasted by wheat dreams in the firm sterility of winter. I lament: “Oh progress you wicked beast”---HA! I think that’s where I was going… So yeah, I am back, ready to fucking kill and plunder in the name of success. I stepped outside the EDM INT Airport doors hoping to get felled by of a severe drop of cold air outside, I was a little disappointed, it was a blistering +6*C outside, I was hoping for a real jolt to my travel weary body, you know, maybe a good old Alberta - 25*C. But nope, not on this day. Instead I had a big black Chevy Truck complete with window tinting and Calvinpissford stickers blasting Metallica’s “Black Album” through the small 2 inch space of his partially-rolled down window. God! I really am back! I made a promise to kiss the ground if ‘Jesus the light’ could get me home safe, I broke my promise. But today, I will, I promise, I promise.