Why Did You Waste Your Time?

Created From Nothing, One Is Horrified In The Glass of A Compass, Exhausting Categories Of Change Or Inertia In A Whale’s Breath, Whose Fecund Utterance Wandered And Trailed, Speaking Of The Lunar Incubation And Reflexive Arc of Empirical Knowledge And Its Electric Signs--Of Which An Owl Without (Quotation Marks) Would Have Been Spitefully Perhapsed, In These New Depths Of Distractions. To The Roots Of Impenetrability, Ever Knowing Anything Of Inconceivable Scripts Of Sleeping And Waking Against The Calendar, Worms Walk Off, In Modern Light, On Those Grounds, In Freest Modus Operandi, And Swinging; Encounter These Bodies And Their Full Effects, All Their Wonders And Riots Of Living Phenomena Passing Afresh--A Call To Be Thinking.

Of A Meal : Through The Marketplace Massacres Of Capitalistic Flattened Time Perpetuated, I Saw (As One Who Looks Directly) It Burst, That Which Was Intolerable, In Its Nakedness, From A Cemetery Plot Of Raped Human Skin, As Deep As Sepulchres Trimmed With Armed Extinguishers, Who, At Risk From Banqueting, After The Starvation, Took All The More, Evening Over The Pavement--In Dante’s Time.

As Country X’s Growing Arrogance Became Manifestly Intransigent, Squads Of Soundless Lone Miners, Between Eras Of Opposing Continental Shores, Mastered Seismic Trawling Dilation; Losing Was A Forest That Spring (Of Blood Away), Wherewithall, A Language Digested--Making Coexistence Impossible. On The Earth Stood A Glass Coffer Inlaid With Sandstorm Membrane, Containing (Behind The Passions) A Rejection Letter From Was (Who Committed Suicides), Next To The Singer, Whose Exposed Throat Hovered In Paroxysm--Forming All Of The Unknown Derivatives Of :

Apotheosis! Apoplexy! Apogee!

--Outside The Library, Above An Open Book Of Chess, Archaeology, And Museums.

© Carol Maric
All Rights Reserved

© 2006 Carol Maric - Being: The Obsession, Continued . . . A Raging Epidemic !

Reviews

[Julian Gallo]

What I love about this is that it reminds me very much of William S. Burroughs and Bryon Gysin's experiments in cut-up poetry....although I am not sure if that was your intention here. But it really does remind me a lot of that kind of work...which is a compliment since I always felt they were taking the idea of "poetry" into different areas.

[R.leigh Mason]

i need o see more
before i give judgement

how conscious are your choices here?
my concern is, are you a genious or a raving madwoman (though oftentimes the two are one and the same, and part of my own madness has dulled in recent years).

in literary terms, i need to know if your choices are intentional. is what you're doing a matter of form? the end of this piece makes me want to beleive this, because the very end is brilliant. but i have to see more before i can give myself fully to this. as a piece that stands alone, i don't know if i've been sold just yet.

would you consider yourself a langauge poet, like the likes of leslie scallapino (sp?) and johh yau (sp?-- i'm such a horrible speller when it comes to names, sorry)

i will read more
in the mean time, post a couple more so i have a wider appreciation of your work

[End]

In answer to the title... I don't know... gave it a shot glass read and hiccuped out of it in less than two lines... sorry, just my two cents.

[Ms. M]

I am inclinded to agree with the commentor below me.

[Ms. M]

I am inclinded to agree with the commentor below me.

[Back To William]

see my response to your other new piece.

the reader gets the distinct impression that you are masturbating with words. ask yourself if there is a sincere and indespensible reason why your writing is totalized nebulousness. if there is, great and continue this style. if there isn't, and if infact it is somesort of morass for either what you want to say or people's interpretations, then consider f*****g around with s**t.

[Ilene M.W. Lush]

vous vous balancez