tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34977662011-04-21T15:03:37.326-07:00charlie don't surf reality ...nyc's surf reality and those who dip in ...j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.comBlogger71100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3497766.post-765196582002-05-13T19:15:00.000-07:002002-05-13T19:15:16.690-07:00charlie don't surf reality: part 7. jamie rocks
jamie rocks her sister from frontier to frontier, eye to eye, breast to breast, snickers in synch on the reverb, webcams flashing in strobe on the tivo, subliminal digital messages shadowing the horizontal interplay of reruns, reruns, reruns, all family dramas, affairs of the couch, rooted in upscale dreams of unlimited credit and spotlights of j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3497766.post-765193552002-05-13T19:08:00.000-07:002002-05-13T19:08:04.683-07:00charlie don't surf reality: part 6. simone
“Do I have blood on my underwear?”
“Does the moon secrete oranges from the Sea of Equality?”
“Does a negative transference resolve itself under black light?”
“Do light fingers shop in shady shops?
“Do danger workers get dancer pay?”
“Does milk bone swell when pregnant?”
“Does my ass shine like phosphorous brazilian wax?”
“Do sidewalks ever run?”
“Do j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3497766.post-762856172002-05-07T18:32:00.000-07:002002-05-07T18:32:45.696-07:00charlie don't surf reality: part 5. holly
the story is a typical romantic intrigue of paranoid proportions that begins here, with her, somewhere in FLA, and a code transmitted by the tap shoes of a 12-year-old ingenue in a musical rendition of “benny, fetch your lighter.” in the audience, fingers snap and necks crack. she dances like a pawn on the 50-yard line of a board divided into six j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3497766.post-762821892002-05-07T16:57:00.000-07:002002-05-07T16:57:37.553-07:00charlie don't surf reality: part 4. m. david
Hornbuckle blue. In confederate gray. The late night gel diffuses the harshness of what’s at hand. The late evening semiotics turn soft, as signifiers melt into puddles of afterwards and signifieds hold out for better offers.
Hornbuckle, tonight’s ambiguous semantics loosen your strings and threaten the chords, but your glare sharpens the j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3497766.post-762821422002-05-07T16:56:00.000-07:002002-05-07T16:56:13.116-07:00charlie don't surf reality: part 3. melpomene w.
picking up pieces of sustained deferment. eyes raging, blindered. farther from home than the city blocks of cinder pulverized through the will to pulver.
the dusts of september no match for the ashes of may.
j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3497766.post-762731182002-05-07T12:45:00.000-07:002002-05-07T18:44:25.000-07:00charlie don't surf reality: part 2. the mayor ....
I am not the man for you, am not the pigeon that hunts for crumbs beneath your chair. I am not the fixture, the comforter, the smile that sends little children into apoplectic seizures. I am not the man who barks, who flings, who waits by the curb for uptown buses to send puddles my way. I am not the man who dies, who leaves, who holds onto j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3497766.post-762730312002-05-07T12:42:00.000-07:002002-05-07T12:42:54.470-07:00charlie don't surf reality: part 1. girlbomb ...
Girlbomb triggers at an ironic distance, the distance from the eye of the storm to the 1001 eyelashes tearing the beautiful scene to shreds. Her smile is a true mirror that fascinates, but remains unrecognizable, the image too calm to be contextualized amidst the projectile invectives and the swallowed conceits.
Girlbomb's selfless deprecation j b sclisizzihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06898197742025992724noreply@blogger.com0