Alien Orphan

 

Life shrinks or expands according to one’s courage.

— Anaïs Nin

 

 

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No eyes but I can see.

There’s thousands of minds.

People sharing my vision.

I try reading eyes. 

Floating across my vision.

I desire to speak.

Beeping sound.

I have nauseous but it is not unbearable.

I the drug begin. 

I singing.

I feel very remember.

Feel the darkness squeezing me.

I everything seems little each time.

My heart rate has over.

I feel pleasant tired.

I can feel ants life.

All very cold to the touch.

 

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Fad Gadget: Ricky’s Hand (1980) 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4YcSvcXoqs&feature=related

 

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Peter Bies © 2011

 *** 

 

Space Echo

 

The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

— Albert Einstein

 

 

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the ghastly shadowy third & the critical eye/ & every false note blasted upon the less properly adjusted (& perhaps annihilate the after-dream of I?) – attention! various space-time singularities received a few rank echoes/ dread century contributions passed on alone to decayed users bent by force field & a quarter pause (hushed analysis of the dull, dark, & terrible crowded upon me as I sent the message across soul vector subspace)  – half pleasure drawing shadows in space-time nexus of the feral connection/ icon of the Heliade cloud arguing the earthly sensation (& part of the bad acting unnerved me) – fatuous fancies of the abysmal depth (it was possible, I reflected) – resolve hung oppressively low in very simple space-time configurations/ unnnatural force fields inflected by thought patterns/ explore lurid impressions of eye mysteries & beyond/ beyond the shades & echoes of prenatal sound & color imprints that exist forever in emotional space-time vortex (right, there’s no mistake!) – – –

 

 

 

 

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Gary Numan: This Wreckage (Top of the Pops, 1980)

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RO9TnPuT0Jw

 

 

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Peter Bies © 2011

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Over The Bleak Silence

 

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

— Edgar Allan Poe

 

 

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I rode my mind the heavens

in dreariness of thought

half pleasure drew odd shadows

in naked trees, gray gables

full moon snuck slow

over the bleak silence

over the bleak silence

no goading of the way

 

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***

Another blast from the past – Devo: That’s Good (1982)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGdCTy-Vm7o&feature=related

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 Peter Bies © 2011

*** 

 

 

Days Of Future Past

 

“All art constantly aspires towards the condition of music.”

— Walter Horatio Pater 

 

 

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Tuesday, 1 June 2083,

5:00 A.M.

 

                              I am still now/ I am still

as you walk away

overall relaxed

slightly asleep

I lie there/ on a blanket

with my mutant dog at

my feet

it has dull yellow eyes

& a seizure every night

after listening to KSFX 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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***

Here’s a blast from the past – The Comsat Angels: Independence Day (1983)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXw7a3FdBL4&feature=related 

***

Peter Bies © 2011 

 *** 

 

 

Dwarf Planet

 

“It is to be kept in mind that there are various areas of memory.”

 — William S. Burroughs 

 

 

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pain particles modify our past/

re-modelled power lies

fed into the gray veins of time/

analysis of history by image —

corrupted sense of the sublime/

& no emphasis on abstracts:

us historians of inverted ice age —

we’re
following the drift

of the fine snow – – – – – – –

 

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Peter Bies © 2011

*** 

 

No Noise To My Signal

“Photography is truth.”

— Jean-Luc Godard

 

 

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copy art

ninety-seven comma

pee-jay

question mark detail

 

 

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act one

the brig

us marine corps

camp fuji

  japan

a day in march

1957

 

 

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one

four thirty am

two

six am after morning chow

 

 

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act two

one

eleven thirty after noon chow

e-cooled

tropical

 

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***

Peter Bies © 2011

*** 

 

 

Cold Winter Nights In Heaven

 

“I hope some wild kidmonk lay his pamphlet on my grave for God to read me on cold winter nights in heaven.”

 — Allen Ginsberg

 

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o such still windows!

soundless capacity

melancholy house

icy high cliff dwellings

of revellers in gloom/

o short lapse of empathy

one day in late december/

which pervaded my self,

“It was a special items!”

a vacant sentiment, but

 

 

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at length I found silence

I pondered eyes within —

the simple landscapes

feature bedrock down,

o shudder blue luster!

& grapple temptation,

my melancholy house

nursing the odd concern/

upon a trace of mold —

I am still now & you walk

away 

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Peter Bies © 2011

 ***