»RE:«, 1960′s by Vito Acconci.

Ghost Write Series (excerpt) (1996-1999), by Candice Breitz

Language Is Not Transparent (1969), by Mel Bochner

I don't remember who exactly cast that spell:

Andy Warhol or John Cage,

-heinz Stockhausen or -bert Indiana,

G. Klimt or Erik Satie - it was: 

repeat the thing until it loses every piece of sense it ever beared

on this "Long and Winding..." "...Hard Road out of hell".

But what happened i can only presume.

So -  

here they is.  The Sentence. Good and clean-cut. It states something and it stands for it to the end. 

Look closer - just like when you tease the beauty to show the other - look closer - 

First it seems to be moving,

then it seems to be trembling - 

and in the end it's just the crowd of letters waiting for the miracle

it's just the crowd of letters who demand :

- something to be broken

- something to be mirrored

- something to be marooned

- something to be tortured

- something to be controled

- something to lie aside

- something to be ordered

- something to be cracked

- something to be fucked

- something to drill a hole in the wall which is actually a centuries-old tree

- all for approving itselft as the coherent whole.

And as it usualy happens - 

then they go -

in every direction you can ever imagine

there, there, there and there and even there and also there - 

just like the big bang - and the universe happened,

shit also happens

for a start - and there's a bigger need to measure all this jazz

But it lies over the top of the threshold of the unmeasurable and unbearable treasures of mankind 

that survived a certain kind of suffering only to achieve the title which hints on obvious fact of self-explication and self-reimagining in depend for the glory of the not bright line which will be never reached.

I wonder what that means. Somekind of repent for the wasted time.
And lots of Oh No No, No No No (is that a Transformers guy punchline? oh, forget about it).

So this crowd does what can be called "get lost"

they run away

and they hate it

'cause who loves the breakups?

they want to disappear

they want to cease to exist

their forms are getting tighter

 their senses getting thin

and don't forget about the flies flying all over them

althrough they still move - there are colonies of them around and that sound

and it seems that their movement is just the dream

They're still

They stand still

Thats what happened, 

I presume - they dissolved

to wander where no word had gone before

but 

Nothing actually happened.

Poésie de mots inconnus (1949), by Pablo Picasso

It's all right. Every is going fine. Swim until you feel the terror caused by pleasure just to realise you're in the box where you're up to know yourself more than you are used to know yourself.

It's just someone mean

had morphed into the kangaroo

and started to punch you

using it's powerful legs

You hear from him

- you gotta fly away, man, 

you got to do what i say to you, this time it's getting lost by raving without a clue because spellbounding discovery

The purpose is to write off something

and drop it off

To blow the head off

as many times as it's possible -

it coaxes the one who's top you're blowing.

or is it better to tear off all the upper the part of body - all at once 

for sure

So

Let's do it
On the corner 

In a silent way

of the missionary position

of the Da Da Da

Put it on your back

- it'll break up anyway in the near future

There - on your future back - your shadow gonna kick it

First it'll kick the knee

Then it'll punch the stomach

Then you understand - you can't bear it anymore 

but you  can handle it

And drop it

And the thing you've dropped falls and kicks it's chin against the land of the fee.

How pitiful is it?

There was nothing of it - but you thought there was - but there was none

But here come the lack

and because you're used to care - "things have changed" - 

The only thing there was now - was the problem

- the problem coming from the both sides now

only to be shot

and then it jacks off the wounded knee and rubs them against its chest

then it takes it to mouth and holds it there 

so long you can make a statue during the take.

Hair can grow and hair can go during that take

and still - knee in the mouth

"a worried man with a worried mind

no one front, no one behind"

Will you drink from your lap or you're just fibbing?

poem-roulette (1962), by Robert Filliou

Let's put this thing straight

now one ever gets satisfied by the result

especially when you're not the creator but the one who perceives.

That's why there's not much mr.Gaudi around

That's why there's nothing left of comrade El.

But here, in poetry - this very strange and somewhat obscure reaction is turned up the eleven.

It's almost inevitable.

And so it goes

in not very complex size.

'cause no one loves the waltz - 

so every move is marching with the wittery and cough.

But for the moment - let's imagine the world - where nothing's made and there's nothing to expect.

Pyles of constructing materials all around - do what you want - but do it so that nobody will ever impressed by it but only notified of it's existence. Doesn't it remind you something? Oh, that's the world we live in. Here are the words. Combine them every way you want. Here are the arrows - they'all ease your quest for this so-to-say unforgive-gettable fire. And wait a minute - that's table was the wheel - where does go? Bring it back, if possible in the plate, bring back as you brought that Leroy Brown, bring in back...

You can almost hear
this poems says to you
"it's your fault, motherfucker, it's your fault -
you're wrong, every time and you're so free -
you're vicious and you're so wrong that
"world expects a man to buckle down and to shovel shit".
And this all happens because you wanted to "feel" and "only wanted to be loved".
'cause you're bland, dull, boring nothing of the void. Zilch and Zero - Double Z.
Marvelous Ultimate Vacuum. Move over Beat Hove When World Weary is in the house.
No one understands, nobody cares.
But still everybody's thinking that some "strange kind of love" makes the world go "round and round". "World in motion", voice of the being from the "Higher Ground"s says: "...keep on leanin', ...keep on warrin', ...keep on turnin'...it won't be too long".
But the reaction is - "go take a shower, boy".
And the answer is "pray to the Holy Ghost when you suck your host."
(by Voss Felvarg)

Man Ray

 a poem for dummies.

There was a text. 

But no one 

payed attention to it. 

Nobody cared for the another text.

The face of the type 

turned heavier and heavier 

time after time 

and still 

no one payed attention to it - 

until the text 

had made the

null and void.

"Now that's what i call fucking" says imaginary Warren Beatty from Shampoo here.

(by Voss Felvarg)

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