Evil Busted Through Some Series Forward Into Progress (an exquisite corpse)

  Portrait of   Bryan Keith Martin


Here is an exquisite corpse that Bryan Keith Martin and I created past March.  This is actually the second one we have composed.  The first one was lost in cryptic hieroglyphics due to failed outdated technological compatibility.  For those who don't an exquisite corpse is a writing technique made well known by the "surrealists."  I'm sure the technique dates back to DaDa and before.  Basically one writes something a sentence or three or four sentences then the next person writes a sentence or three or four sentences etc. without seeing what the other person wrote.  Oddly, Martin and I's collaboration often creates stories and narratives that almost happen.  A psychic encounter occurs on some dimensional plane.  All errors have been kept in take.

Bryan Keith Martin creates solo music under Wipe Hour.  He has a new release tape called time canceller.  He also is in the trans dimensional harsh noise project Hollow Bush with Rodger Stella (Macronympha notoriety).


 EVIL BUSTED THROUGH SOME SERIES FORWARD INTO PROGRESS

tha wind rippled tha moonlight and sought thelost wolf howling in tha tornado.
patinaed elbow room knockin glares drenched in tudoresque plop-glaze - i see nothing wrong with this.  Thus struck the harpoon upon tha man;s throat
boooting a hummingbird back to register a flown complaint busted yoke anterior headspace lisped
 the spoke got caught deeply in dat mud awful mud encrusted casket
where the Lincoln plagued by a hole in his head matvhed nightshades in two color folderol
you can tellit on tha mountain when tha mountain falls in your goddamn valley.  locust got loose and drove you paddywack to tha cave.
within the constraint of bullshit and ambitionless house-grokking diaorrhea john and the mouth that never finishes feeding
.  The immigration of fractions will cost you dearly when that war council reconvenes in the years disordered by your daughter;s father.
ye-ar kung fu in the corner for a quarter rhymes with horrible unresourcefulnes- no lie this time just some mint stealin
 The solidarity of forththought got us into the jaguar limousine grafted to the skin of a scram.
where he puked no stone - thrust upon like blade to stone thrust through in steps to shadow lake of blood foam mist yule tide
Moonlight has reversed into the womb
gallows rendition caught slime & cascade above all powered garish bowels steeped tremulously
flotsam upon the jetstream. who will tell shipwrecked brother in the mason jar exploded by figmented lightning.
when moonlike ore the hazure seas, busted infantile wiper gale
 i dug with aa shovel to find the sstolen buried shovrl
pppppprowler head-stand night watch frequent snarl & bittervest mantowel
 Johnny is in the field with a sack of potatos.  he is crying for father the dinosaur luckless typhoid upon stone calculators
in our bizarre realm a house shivers tight yonder effluvia grandiose like some balked lottery wallop but, if it knew
i heard a car engine down in tommy's swamp.  who shall tale the tell of those lost myths cuz our damn homestead is waiting to burn down in the varnish of afterthouught glistening with venom of made up spiders.  friends countrymen i beseech Calabus has returned to his native solstice landscape
raised a weapon in peace heralded news-stake young shoot aproblematic & besides, gold is shorn a quote
 who will tell us now about the crimean woa--war--bobby is angry at tommy the cop.  I have seen the calander angry at one single day.  who gonna tell your momma off at tha carwash.  i aint no hooligan
smell my robot SMELL MY ROBOT breakdown in fluid relations angled garbled textion souped-out fawn break nose cauldron air
burst the poppy where tha penicillin leaks, neath the wound of hospitality
give garden tips / brown alloysius fallow mistake lost lied / growth yanked but never some readable
iam a sailor lost in the forest of elegies.  he had a stroke before any good fortune could burst outta that concrete fortufortune cookie.
problem problem dredged maniacl qbert if you made one spitoon it has potential to sproing upon the page asunder
 grimace the orgy all is unfinished spoke thus alike tommy's the sheriff.
"he will never work again until he gets a job", said Daily Hands himself, comin in outta the evil rain
B.B gun struck with the violence of coagulated fire ants.  i will stare out the window and dream of staring out a window where i siop slipping breaths .  Golden dawn you have absconded into cleveland rust.  i do not play chess cause i have too much patience.
it was jazz what set them all aprt - put a loud maintenance grind pallets value fat to steak
.  Wash the wound where the blackberries sprout.  the moon was a silver cataract when mother was murdered in her shiny cadillac late friday night.
auld wyfe eggs threnody nest
.  I don;t need no yarn upon my pillow drenched with blood and sweat.  kill the mountain when you hear the cannon belch rawhided industrial solvent.
thankful colonists chore their cabbage but it's the life that makes a meal, want of nutrition or salinity
He owns a gun and we shall not tell you where he divulged the hiding process.


By Bryan Keith Martin and Matthew doyal Pony Payroll Bones Proctor

Climbing Jacob's Ladder  April 2013 M doya ponY Proctor


Writing is a vision.  Climbing into the divine and experiencing the flesh of imagination.

Duskhouse To Duskhouse manuscript news and excerpts

Duskhouse to Duskhouse is a poetry prose collection that deals with nihilstic mysteries of the south experienced through childhood and family. The book follows the circular path of death from dusk to dusk where the ideal of home is shown to be always just out of reach.  The book is an allegory without an allegory.  The poems and prose sure do lead down lost roads, yet this lost in the nullification mystery of the Southern United States acts as a slow baptism upon the grotesque purgatorial account towards shamanistic healing.  One deals with the Southern mythos in past present and future cataclysm like slowly drowning in a slow muddy river.

 I finished this collection mid summer 2012.  I consider this a companion piece to the much more fathoming of Anathema Blues.

A version of this book will be bookbinded in late summer through a good hearted and supportive medicine man in Maine.  At least two different covers are proposed to be used.  Below are two proposed cover illustrations as well as a few excerpts from the book.

Childhood at play among playmates (childhood passioN pLaY)

TheY were brave.  Two boYs and the girl.  Breakin sticks gainst tha hollowed dry rot petrifactions Oak tree.  Kickin this solemn totem---
            Hornets congealed out
The YoLK of dark spirits cavalcading out.
    Someone     is     always     someone         else’s death.

Sunlight splashed upon the darkly shaded mule clod creek--cows moo moo and shit passively inside the sun drenched distance--cows shit out moos this hoT drY summer--Northwest, Georgia---sugar ValleY-----

Playtime is all the time and sure can taunT meaNess---and whO giTs tha meaN taunts and churls turns---goes all in passive order.    And Is shaLt bE fair.

All three goT throwin rocks at tha creeK wheN old testament suffering tooK manifestation-----
        ---rocK stone smashes the head rooted to the 13 yeaR old body---
    ShouTs of drenching bursting redness--ThE prettY 11 yeaR old scrawnY MarY scrawnY    is fatly with sobbing droplets---hot red guilT

    ---thE boY feels a new experience of expenditure    childhood fading is concocting ---        childhood is a death inside imaginary    pastures

        He understands the sensation of the nervous system--He is poultry meaT disorganized violently from whaT once was a whole chicken independently alive--

(end)



Experiences and Expenditures
           

I left town---without any shoes---
   
        I had hard cash wadded in my left pocket, though theY took my I.D.

So goes the going                Upside the shadow like a mountain, not a hill--never a hill--never never a hill--
   
    No one hears ya when ya shout down from a mountain, whilst the valleY lustres extravagant with mirth.
       
GREEN EMERALD growling  FIRES INSIDE AQUA BLUE FIRES.    IS this magic or violence?

Provoking a Confederate Roll call inside a volatile aura vile Yankee house will reap the fruits of the diabolical and biblical wraith.

                In the torn faded green coat at the ruby door demanding the till toll.  He must be on the payroll and official.

                   



           

Perdition

        Tribulation made a petition and won favor

Permanence Echo        Bells

        Cascading    cacodemon
    Crashing

The gashed darkness
Sticky and slicK with blood        slick with blood    slicken with blooood
Slick        with bloooood
       
            My 8 year old son drunk in thee cornstalks of oblivion-----Hot wind Hot whipping wind gainst and forth whirling twirling portents---whirly Gurley

        Tha riff raff have arrived with rifles
Tha God damN Riff Raff have done arrived with rifles
        Finger bone on tha trigger--eyes on tha hoG

           

DUTY
   
    He wears a coat made of shadows--Blood squared earth FEVERISh
        We        is                ferried             across
by the shroud---offering us to tragedy---

        Clack Shackled with heavy iron chains goes the lone spirit into a deeper fathom
            Oh Lord loneliness---  Lonely jusT goT LonesomE---

     Solvency summer rains, ghost in kerosene rags finds the body-- drift deep ravine  thicket briars brambles---Be wary friend--tha revenue man lurks!
           
Daughter on the forest edge--drawling wet pale growling-------
   
    IN the shadow of what once was hillbilly Orpheus--now shattered by the long ago flapping thunderbird

Childhood was ruled by the spectral shadows of dogs--down dark green rolling hills
     we were
        We were chased
We are chased over and over by each other---Where is Mary Mauldin now??

        Dragging left leg limp inside the road, that bum---Variance carnage of fairy tales.

    Alabaster yonder eve broke the innuendo---

    That stranger walking tha road? 
            He is always fostering desperate obligations. 
                   
Something bout an honest way to live. 


           








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