Chris Stephenson
Kaleidoscope
Peter Barlow
EX-BOOKMAKER (being an extract from my re-working of Charles Olson’s Maximus Poems. PB)
I, Peter, to You 1. seeks a person half the time knowing not what is the what of that for which they look maybe left at the kabin or, right at the pub (o fischer, max heed yr own advice / / / o’er terraced rows receding back goes my gaze >>>on satellite dishes pigeons sit >>>>>>survey the scene>>> where slates are missed a roof’s integrity questioned (do so always roofers, minted 2. love is the law, and enshrined in law incorrectly, the law is an ass married twice is twice married, yes no problem, say i even if married simultaneous ly (to my lady the florist and my other lady, the rovers barmaid shelley delicate delicate like
barbecue aroma, on a saturday night late summer
3. maybe sex explains everything I mean, when harry met sally did you see that? have you got any cash? take me to the coast. to liverpool eh? or dover. then onwards. to amsterdam and . . . he said. well, he tailed off . . . a disappeared thought. like, like everything disappears buried beneath watching keith from boyzone ex able seaman kieran, answer general knowledge questions ineptly. where will this get us? submitting meekly with gratitude even all you do is tweet then the next day publicly apologise i’m sorry. for erotics of city singing it out is – well, please don’t the new studio – landlocked though evidencing efficacy of industrial revolution canals that is the water calms media city is well, whatever it is it’s not granada land 4. this is ‘open-field’ because my command of form isn’t good
we lay in a field once yellow grass; straw-like carla, maybe we kissed we didn’t make love. not here in Manchester wetherfield, rather there are no fields here sometimes love, neither 5. love is . . . a mail on sunday cartoon plus other stuff. you know i love this place these trams. the tram timetable checking next sunday night the time of the last tram to crumpsall. last night i love you . . . Male Role Model hum. and sing make music when you’re bored tho, what was the last cd you bought? foster & allen? they don’t count as they’re shit and I shit on them and much else besides my own taste in music? well not biffy clyro kill kill kill kill and out 6. sorry in! i know when to go to america I know when to come back – between that door and this there are 11 steps. no that’s wrong! let me count again one –two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-teneleven. oh! I was right! 11 it is. watch me now – i’m walking – step one two – three et cetera
i say to you i’ll learn the business from the bottom packing in other words (with kirk) i’ll carry iced fancies back from roys pick up material the material supplied by our wholesaler carla i’ll do that for you i’ll stay off the booze
Scott Thurston
Tom Jenks
This is a selection from a numerical repression of John Stuart Mill’s 1869 work On Liberty. The method used is based on grids. Words beginning with any of the letters comprising the title (o, n, l etc.) are sequentially and programmatically arranged into 10 x 10 grids. From these grids, columns corresponding to the year of initial publication, in this case 1, 8, 6 and 9 are kept, and all other columns are removed, resulting in a series of panels, each containing forty words, which are used to compose the final text. At least one word from each column must be used. No more than one word from each row can be used. Non-selected words are erased. No further editing is permitted.
the
buried
introduction
idle
literary
rose
thirteen
Irish
in
office
the
year
of
expression
tender
irradiated
intellectual
this
infallible
infatuation
roebuck
reminiscences
on
that
life
is
loving
others
equality
enables
the
light
of
thoughts
The dodecahedronic method creates oblique, synaesthesiac, number driven portraits using a 12 sided die. Firstly, the die is cast three times to select the palate for the portrait, with the numbers 1 to 12 being mapped to one of the three primary, three secondary, or six tertiary colours. The subject of the portrait should be, if not actually present, either be held in mind or represented. The die is then cast a further twenty-seven times and these numbers are used to populate a 9 x 9 grid with colour. The portrait always begins at the centre of the grid. Each number is mapped to a colour and to a direction: north, south, east, or west. The next available square in the given direction is filled with the correct colour. Wrapping around the grid edge is allowed. Changing the colour of a square is not.
Ann Widdecombe MP
Kim Jong-un
Jose Mourinho
Amy Childs
John Douglas, 9th Marquess of Queensberry
Andrew Spragg Objects
Lit fireworks array constellations on the senses and vanish. Shamble you along in the sense of it. Fixed point on which it is described on the retina wanted it detected and watched as it was indeed detected. Something along but above the grip high in the space above the body. Something comprised not in the light but of the light itself.
Set up to sustain that object that object of constant changing in spite of the season. Remember the stretches there are several of them. Things by uninvited exception ice acquired about them and a life scrapped together. Believe an aspect of the miniature becoming many more and the many more miniature. From Schรถckl to Kaite Rinne flown the scale of the earth collapsed under a blaze angle and the used light. Between step normal and grating normal an object is discerned fixed in a system of relations. When talked it is the towers and a model village it is the earth it is the body below growing .
On the common where these things were for watching the spectacle of a blinking aerial trace. Change from the toll jangling flocks of heads obtusely arranged to the above and trace objects igniting. The object that terminates in a rocket trail and becoming not-being a remembering remembering. And at Moscow Circus the light shows two planes of lasers at an acute angle gymnasts rotate. But this too is in the light and not of the light. Which way is it growing. There are in that two elements collapsed and an unscrappable faith.
Withheld in the air tilting to the horizon and a destination. This is the letter posted and slingshot through from Schรถckl to Kaite Rinne flown. The light given and received and intermediate there the object is seated. Crystals or droplets ringed around. One angle and another known from the following: its place its time by which it is found.
Brave to sing about all those top hats flock squall and bump. Only the gaps of which let the light in. Call you soon or over it the weekend believed in swift always swift now crazier than advance. Terminal for the light.
The succour
of the objects
of the infinite thought. There is an alphabet formed of indentations in a clay tablet; it is read in the shadows cast by the characters. Depending on the time of day there are different readings to be made, according to the qualities and angle of the shadows and light, and where the reader might be situated. In the morning it should read “speaking”, in the twilight “sought”, and at night not at all.
Rendering it back on frame and measure its lack. I am saving for you one hundred and two pieces of mail. On faithful not-being. This is the structure flown over and the genesis of its launching bundled too in the light. This is the cause of all illumination slung in the sky and unctuous with burning. Contemplated in loss each instance it sheds. What is true for every object in general. A corona on each. Tell it again about the blaze grating. Which way could it be growing. And under the water ninety per cent of creatures give off a light.
Consigned to one of the following: the object as genteel dappling the object lit by genteel dappling
the object is genteel dappling. Iterate. Sung up on the charter ship constructive dismissaland how is it brought to be a grand day. How is the camera defence against the light. A slight gasp away made to cry bat it back and into the thrown count-out. The saintly object a gored and haloed forehead eyes made from and for the dozing squander. Bulbs pop film registered the object. Later on the results to be looked to and this is not the thing itself nor replica nor representative. It shows an angle of the gaze only. A flat dull thing encrusted with jewelled qualities. Not sleeping object look this one is a boxer this one a singer in a bloodied tuxedo this one a painter. There will be tears before bedtime set into the sky.
Toll as it is a bell and in a little drudge the complete all set. Heart rendered to oceanic fat. Light floods the chamber of the eye. Looked as a future but in time it became.
Lit up every object that could be construed as a kindness by virtue it was kept a length away. Do not designate it touch if it will be kind to you. Do not fall for that old injunction. Kept set. Dreamt up a regent object washed out of the lock-up this is the return to it.
As all the objects appear on the map rightfully relative to one another there’s only so long of it left let me tell you. But then you were nearly everyone. As operative as opting to be as you slept the object kept up its resemblances scratch that similitudes applying itself and filling poor-lit rooms with its multiplying presence. Be as direct as and as viscous as may be fitting. The objects began to clog your mouth there’s only so long of it left let me tell you they restrict the passages double bound in. Connect with your friends.
This is the designated to not-being, the not like anything. Able and a flooddamaged portal as ache. Got nothing. Got some thing. Poor sucker. A tongue so fat it grazes against the teeth in interior. Walking to Peckham was a category error. Known. Falling in love was a category error. Also known. Not falling in love was a category error. Also known. We are learning to speak of the objects like they were in Atlantis. The next station is Wapping. Wheezing, barely coping with a happy meal, in slim fit shorts and a painted face. Ducked fare. Having taken every position of love until there is an immunity accumulated to it. What there was left to hurl. Walked on through the barrier and burst into flame.
Walking the flood. A super-accumulated category error.
A comic caper that moves to uneven territory found right back at it again. Stood ground that only in time forgives. Sketched haste a breeze as it came put up your template and uneven hiatus. From up on this hill one comes to see innumerable hills close-packed and shuffled. As we thieved longed for a brought thing. From up on it we sang.
a suggestion from several talking to winch fat the strand that greased mechanism objects brought ashore upon the vagrant tides heaved first then fitted into hat boxes walked down the way slipped into the fat or fact fixations of tape and glue. What this season is meeting drinking in the evening. looming these spectres ghost hotels over the way and right from their foundation reflections on glass. Myriad futures appointed never knew how and who each saleable object came as lit mystery. A counter and change all upon it. How much how much to make it register askew. Not always done asking. As when it came an atmosphere under which askance was given. so but so it came up to it dreaming in our tiny parlour or of an element just like it sunk foundations of askance check back with me within the week or close enough to it carrying breezeblocks out of the ocean tied about the waist here is a series of sensed obliterations. A boy fires his cap gun into the ground repeats the action no-one stops him and imagine today if we truly did something heroic like found all the lost dogs in south London. Oh hell I miss you. Kept low and snuffing in the scent of the earth we went the ragged furlong given to thingness love all for their lunar properties.
There are only some things we imagined that ceased. Boats
pushed from the jetty, jangling accoutrements in the lilt of the waves. How it feels to be without a place in the world, each object with the capacity for thought might eventually surmise. A gaze to go on blinking, and each time the object encounters its temporary cessation. To combat these winking annihilations, a variety of bodies make up its composition. Vanishing and returning from one’s eyes to an other’s. So the problem is not simply solved by staring, but maybe the thought can fix itself in place of the presence. Who knows if that is eventually love, the blinking overtaken by the thought. The detail committed to memory, a shape to the breath mutually acquired.
diving down to a carriage submerged obscured by coral this also is to be heaved onto the sand. Slickers for when we are out in the season I do not know which season this is. To the numerous pissy
angels clear down clear down there is a sweet one needing. Who recently has thought about longing our attention devoted these townships are strewn with our objects and we are given to scraping a kettle caulked like a diving bell.
sl mendoza
Ruth has red hair
slmendoza
Ruth has red hair
Exploring the lines from the corners of mouths. Mutters and drifts. The marks at first appear
A symmetrical. B Love, which laughs
and carries my light green coat.
C her Kohl
rimmed eyes. The same eyes. The same eyes. I laugh inappropriately.
My oma goes to the
markets to get remnants of material. She makes a coat of a blanket which keeps me as warm. She knits gloves and socks; trees, talons, bees, the sun. 2. The difference between. We identify birdsong.
“What birds are these that sing in his hands?� A man is reading a newspaper. My oma on the back step. Tobacco in the pouch. Fish assemblages in the pool of a stream