1. |
Revisable Cities
07:18
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Every scrap of paper filled with the alarm
Of a false and incoherent geography
I was after portraits of a fake Milan
Forged by effete thieves
Whose hideout hides it well
The thing-in-itself: an empty shell,
A carapace it sloughs
Sticking like a strictly-limber string
The noumenal (moon) cuts a “c” into its skull
It holds the site eclipsed
I wanted to only behold
The city spread out like a palimpsest
We called it “crescent sequence”
When the lights aligned, the open door appeared into the Vault of Cataleptic Lapse
The crystal bridge collapsed into The Sphere of Aimless Architecture
An angled branch on a tomb
Secretly draws the room
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2. |
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This was the rub:
As I stepped outside of the silence,
A diagram so deftly drawn with lifeless, glowing symbols
These things were clear:
There was a sun
There was a sun, a metal tune
There was…something
A solar object?
And underneath a crypt marked “actual sphere”
And I stood rapt before it
Closed off in the likeness of a braille and brittle likeness of a labile light.
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3. |
A History Maker
04:32
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I was foolish to believe
I think, I think, sometimes I don’t repeat
I was foolish, I know that much
I was, I believe
I was the edge of a word
The spime
I was the tradition
The word from beginning to end
Oh.
What symbols have captured this night tonight?
Scurrilous, an opposition to the word
The word, the arc
The world arcology
The word imposed itself on us
The words, the patterns of abbreviations
A network of thinly-veiled conclusions
Words that suffice for endpoints
Gloria is a word
Word is a word
The network is a word cleverly disguised
The trick is the network
The network is a line that connects itself to itself
The connection is a line
The line is a word
The connection connects itself with a furrowed brow
The brow breaks
The word breaks
A crack appears in the break
The break believes in myth
The myth explains the words
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4. |
Catastrophe Classes
05:38
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The murazzi have paled
The terrain maps the last station
I sat alone waiting for the self-erasing man
Surrounded by essays on nature
Reeking of an antiquated notion of mind
“The mechanical are mere mirrors of an old and ancient taste for blood”
But the man never arrived
And I was left alone
To decipher the mercurial and pale elastic code
This symbolic mess
A bleak and brittle liquid silt
A night which hides the sediment
A map whose paths are malleable and point out the horizon
The lines that intersect to form the sun
And wouldn’t it be nice if we were marred by the sight
As the sun dissolves into a withered black disc?
A series of edits erases the extras from the scene
The lens is distorted
The film stock is for shit
I peeked at the regress
It was finite, so what are you still doing here?
It’s only tones that wreck your cacophony, darling
The noumenal moon patiently mentions
“Right on the side of a chora marked ‘destination’,
We need a few good men to generate steam out of light”
But the group would not allow it
And in twenty-seven years, the district’s overrun with panic
From the proof of the song
The cityscape’s a pale limp palimpsest
A “c”
A deleted wreck
And what rough beast speaks so suddenly of streaks of seemly light?
A silent caesura poised to fissure, fractures will rewrite
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5. |
Eumenidean Slack
04:38
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The arcade walk in its slanted gain
I am nonplussed by the praise
Of foreign dignitaries trapped beneath the weight
Of trophic levels in the state
Only, only, only
Oh how the hive mines the site
The octopus in your silken glance
I am not used to the gaze
Of forty pieces of oblique, eidetic shit that peek out from beneath the waves
Only, only, only
To reverse the mythic status of the Earth
To amortize the World-Age Colony
To alight the touch of analeptic beasts
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6. |
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I was an arc in the air that Poincaré could describe
I’ve let my device foreign
Duplicating idle patterns
I was thought to have found a metal tune
Solar snares embrace the quietly
Goldbug variations want to hold the hive
For tonight we dine on fickle things
Of glowing screens and quarantines
I will find a nascent structure to the star
And ignite the strange solarium
With quantum strings of carrion
So I bought the eye of my own atmosphere
And buried deep beneath its streets were analogues of Guinevere
Whose alleyways were suddenly complete
I went to pry the floorboards up
And underneath it drove a stream that contemplated idle dread
So I jumped in
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7. |
Unite the Clades
02:22
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Oh, your drink was poisoned
And oh, your dream was buried in the Tomb of Left Sailors and Lipograms
I retraced my steps
The Solar Agent quarantined the third floor room
Away from the all-too-clever consonance
And several times, I wondered what the cogent states eclipsed
The wire-frame mechanics mixing militant and occupied
The Greek-slate polis, blue-stained guise away
And I’m away
Away on photosynthetic machines
An arclength of light licks the air with a buzz
Like the theodicy of an Ethical Dust
And forest fights a false or pseudo penumbra
A farce that flies ahead into the crisis
Release spores that on sunset rose
And the saboteur’s skin scrawled in pellucid tomes
Containing the words of the Fiction Caste
Cycle back through the atmosphere last
Let’s pretend we’re in an article
Let’s pretend I’m not fucked
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8. |
The Elegant Universe
07:51
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Say there won’t be an unencumbered century
And the last time
And the last time’s last time
Won’t there be a last time?
And the totals
And the totalizing soldiers
And the solarizing
It’s over
It’s over time
It’s solar time
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