Showing posts with label The City Body. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The City Body. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Seneciō Stretgi's Gynecomastia

                 





                        

So Silly: “Of Course”—] the Discourse or/-es [is] the Repetition of Hands Covering Your Mouth || or:-------àSomething about Littering-You in and All those Anxious Holdings of the Heart—

Thus:-----àIf I am to be Committed, to the Next Movement of----------àThis]…|—Demands: All that You are Against, All that is Apart, from What, is the Absolute Seminal Part of This-------------------------à40 Year Joke of “Coming Apart”

Therefore: end in Rest and the Idea of This [Never] Comes to this.





"Armand Capanna"

"Armand F. Capanna II"

"Armand F. Capanna"

Armand Capanna

"Armand Capanna" Chicago


"Armand F. Capanna II" ChicagoArmand Capanna"
"Armand F. Capanna II"
"Armand F. Capanna"
Armand Capanna
"Armand Capanna" Chicago
"Armand F. Capanna II" Chicago

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

The Pigeon in Brusque Befuddlement (The Amen Hour)






ahemahemahemahemahem


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And the Amen Hour.  Today, I Feel that I should Shove-In and then Combust (in) some Baudrillardian Cool System of Production, or: Develop a more Fecund Method of Advice: Desire can be Rerouted to Produce the Avoidance of Settling-In-On Pleasure.  howrel (this) in to. And Let it be Known: that IF a City is a hoax, a Handshake, with Fingers behind the Back Crossed, it is still but a City Still.  A Man Eating in the Kitchen, in the Dark, at 3AM, is as Lonely as He’ll Ever Be, Ever Was: Exposing the Historical Toll of Romance. How goofy to think that I Might eventually Attain a Level of Self-Control. A Pigeon Criminally in Brusque Befuddlement. Jumping Rope to Pinpoint my Body’s Shame. That N. is the very Sole which Stabilizes my Walk.  And as it is Occurring: the Anxiety of My Health’s Anticipated Demise.  As If:  that Object, could be a Body Sprawled across my Lawn.  When in Doubt: Always take the Spill.  in other words: “Foot the Bill, you Hick~!”  The Remnants of my Memories are getting Cold.  This, I Think, Hardly Matters. What Does Matter: I am Trying to Make this (all) as Clear as a Lisp to Lionel Logue.  I Mean: it was the Muggiest of Julys without a Hint of Reprieve, until those Winds came up from the Lake and Burst through, Manhandling those Hospital Shades, and that Little Bambino was Stretched-Forth into this City, as Cold and Hard as the Steel Bars that Rolled out of the Mills of Wisconsin Steel, 1980.  In the End: it was the Beginning of a Matter of Taste, like Chicago, Succumbing to this Date.  By Who Ever, Intends to Spoil~?  The Appearance of the Back of the Hand: Sluggish, Cold and gloomy in Temperament.  The Quiet Dignity, which Constructs one (into) Self-Withdrawal. That’s a Big and Terrific Issue, My Friend: keeping Myself from Crushing You.  Ah, but the Rule of Thumb for (in) Some: Never Touch, Never (in) Mind (as) Mine. And I kept telling Her: Things Don’t, they just fucking Don’t.  And Although: I am not a Pigeon, just like the Journey we Never intended This to Be, What I Now See, Turns the Tables (right) on Me.  The First Time that I Came, was to Whitney, the Wonder Years, 4PM on some Weekday and that Shit be Clear.  The Subject is so increasingly Obsolete.  The First Time that I Witnessed another Man Coming, was a Tutorial, in a Sock, The Ramones: Road to Ruin, his Mother, (up) on the Door, And Banging.  Skittle when I Spoken is (in) to.  A Rope Shoved up the ass, as a Lifeline, will just Never Do.  Aschewed and sore, to a Default.  IF However, this Products like a Hymn (in). in other words: I Got’Sa too much Time, (on) Myself.  Taking a Grounder to the Groin to Attain its Hold. This is Becoming the Story of Witnessing Myself Meeting Myself.  notice: A Period Oddly Coagulates a History.  And Baby-Blue, let the Motherfucking Crowds Snore. 

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ahemahemahemahemahem





Friday, September 14, 2012

Bringing the Load (in) Through




“Chicago: has, as is, Collapsed….and Now: we’re bringing the Load (in) through”
-Boris Izsus 2012




Thursday, March 22, 2012

TRANSIENT VICTIMOLOGY


____

____

____

Preface

____

____

I was to tell you not to worry; the things someone did to you on the freeway were done as instances of platonic overdose. You were finished regulating your finer follicles, finishing up for the camera in front of you; you were auditing your lipstick like scatological scrawl; munching in 11 instances of tedious bondage. You say you do this to yourself, you say all the time, but you’re the one who pressed ‘record’ in the first place. Boys shouldn’t play with saucy feelings; nor are they meant to play victims. They are meant to create fear, punched from purses; they are meant to create sanitary meat culled from the prospectus of a mannequin saying yes from queer angles of neglect; they are meant to create victims out of the blossoms of their wounded nightmares, created by their own wish to spread, legs wide, a kind of sloppy octopus, suffocating anything, anyone, that might eventually rue the acquaintance someday.

_____

_____

_____

Indoctrinational Collapse

_____

_____

You stood on the train platform and

silence escaped from your eyes in the

heat and holding a pigeon plucked fresh

and hurting, spun her diameter into tricks

that kept those around you entertained – enough

so as to make you miss two trains, as others

did also, acting like petulant gawkers in

luck, refusing to turn their eyes even while you

blushed and the bird railed its weak wing in your

face, felt then more like a tickle than an attack.

_____

Finally, already late for your appointment, you

threw the bird down on the tracks as another train

approached. She howled at the crunch, then was

silent, riding along underneath, expelling herself

until expiring to pulp, somewhere in Evanston.

_____

_____

_____

At the Clinic (A): Male Operational Vectors

____

____

Was your fibrosis caused by stumping? by egalitarian fuselage?

____

(He garners the gamut of so-called ‘hot to trot’ through ‘sinner (or slut)’.)

____

Did you spell out the necessity of the beating appropriately? Did you smile while you spoke the words while still keeping your tone abundantly serious, like bran flakes?

____

(He squatted over the face and shat out a placenta of grief, which she misinterpreted to mean ‘I’m sorry’.)

____

Do you spend evenings washing yourself of the previous day’s hydro-collateral damage diaper?

____

(He denies collecting a drop; spends minutes staring at the floor.)

____

Why do you think you are here? What do you believe caused your symptoms to return so acutely?

____

(He specializes in off-putting maneuvers of passive-aggressive retaliation: you tell me.)

____

Can you tell me how you laugh? cry? pee the bed, when you do?

____

(A half-hearted cry of laughter causes him to wet himself, itself an elongated display of defiance.)

____

When you imagine touching another, where does that desire stem from, initially?

____

(He puts out his hand, ‘out of politeness’ he replies.)

____

And when that offer is declined, as it was last week according to your chart?

____

(He explains that there are many ways around it, through charm or remedial redress – offering up a single finger will often do the trick.)

_____

A refusal to charm eats at your tail – how do you keep your balance in bed?

____

(Through intimidation and a sappy love song.)

____

Pretend for a moment that no one loves you: how do you feel upon waking up each morning?

____

(He turns to a poster of male anatomy on the wall: raising a single eyebrow calmly states ‘optimistic’.)

____

Now pretend for a moment that no one likes you: how do you feel when going to sleep each night?

_____

(_________________________<_____________+++++++++++++++++++++_____)


______

At the Clinic (B): Female Operational Vectors

____

____

He would tell you things you enamored like love, and yet would forge fissures in your flesh like so much forgetting. How do you respond?

____

(She would stop puckering so much – evolving like lasting instead.)

____

Do you use him like a mirror? Like a wanting image of your best?

_____

(She does not see how this is relevant, but the answer is no, not always.)

_____

Do you feel he uses you as a mirror, in similar fashion?

______

(She looks down at her waist: not unless he hates himself.)

_____

Do you express joy as a form of attrition? Of absolution?

_____

(Yes, no, only sometimes.)

_____

As claimed by others, you are a menstrual sack of ugly bonanzas. Do you claim offense at such a statement? How would you counter such a claim?

_____

(She would.)

_____

Would you continue to offer up your body to such a charge?

_____

(She would, but only as a counter-charge, as a soggy defense to the contrary.)

_____

Do you feel yourself to be the victim in any given situation? One where an attack is pointed, needling towards you like so many snakes?

_____

(Only when properly attacked, she states. And then, only sometimes.)

_____

Do you split the addendum of your body like a drum?

_____

(No comment.)

_____

How would you characterize any instance of insertion of a foreign body intent on illustrating the male need to infect another body, regardless of the end result?

______

(No comment, eyes closed.)

______

When someone calls out for your gender to kiss and fuck until rigor mortis sets in, blasting in a frothy combination of tears and vaginal treacle, do you find yourself slick like a Southern disaster?

______

(No comment, initially – and then a small addendum of yes, but only sometimes, when I want to be.)

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