snapper missives

no, i really will.

i have to hand it to me - i've managed to fuck up most things good since this day in 1975.  ahh, the memories.  the tears and the years, the various holes i've put my body into, what more?  world shall show us, no?

i'm channelling the giant squid in my heart to show himself

the giant squid will lick the sky and explode his perfect jelly

for all i know the giant squid has been banging his pot against these bars for years

O giant squid you have left your calling card.  You've left a list of to do's

you big hearted dumb squid you cannot keep those arms from flapping around your giant tube head

what songs do your bomb sized eyes know     those ink black eyes you bring me the message

banging yourself against the crevasse of time you subduct the currents of your heart wave

you beast you enamorous suffocating beast you stretch the length of me, O!

you fill the glass jar of me with your life jelly and in the shadowy corner you crouch

I'm channelling your giant head now and your hoary arms to grapple with this i beg

Rush me to your deep dark crag world and show me the pop song of your mind you giant squid

i have a ray gun of love for you if you can show me how to move in the dark   how to eat

;;;

snpr

in the dream

i lay down in the street in the quiet empty street
a sensation of burning down there by my legs and underneath
some music from behind a building tho i couldn't turn my head
soft hair fell across my face like feathers
i knew i was not alone tho i don't think i could see
someone hovered by my face i could feel their breath
the burning down there moved up my legs
my legs were crossed or i tried to cross my legs
someone's hair covered my face and i liked it

dunno, that's all i can remember. 

Twice the Fun,

i don't know about all that.  or what.  but sure, i'll put some books in the mail to you this week i really will.  i am so slow right now.  stoned. sure.

walking in cicles walking in circles.  in the circular air.

i don't agree with dude about prepositions.  guess it depends how badly you want to position objects or ideas or if you want to just list your nouns and metaphrase your images.  why not cut to the chase and say what you mean.  one can get creative with the prepostions, meaning, spin the words, i don't see how preps can ever be lost.  even if it is not still, and what should be still, dunno.

grammar schmammer.

looking at grad schools because i am that bored.  naropa maybe.  for the mountains.  no real drive just need an excuse for change.

yardbird
snpr

wow, you're feeling pretty schmooooth aren't you.  you.  enjoy this.  feels goood, no?  so goooood.  you got a girlfriend now mang?  you enjoy this for me too mang.  i feeel good you feel goood, feeel me?  doood?   

purty poem you got dripping off the side of your face.   

yodle, ydl. yd.l.

okay so
snbr

sometimes when i don't want to write longish emails i wrap it up with

"off to a meeting"
"gotta go see a man about an ebola monkey"
"sorry, my butt is on fire"
"i'm late for my suicide"
"hold on, a psychokiller just came in"
"my dick is missing"
"time to work mass graveyard shift"
"i'd love to write more but i fucking hate you"
"i've lost the will to lift my hands"
"if i don't stop writing now someone will cry"
"someone with tits is IM'ing me"
"I'd write more here if you would only die for me"
"writing to you is like shitting a desert rose"
"I really didn't mean to write back to you I just thought you were someone else"
"My chinese stars need polishing"

hilarious does sound good.

killed by lil puppy dog kisses.
drowned by a magician's bubbles.
suffocated from fartsmell.
laughed so hard the face is blown out.
orgasmed.
exhaustion from doing "the worm".
rubbed out.
tickled to pieces.
upon meeting shania twain.
death by waffle.
shin disease.
smothered in labia.
spiked ambrosia.
nutsack in quicksand.
the perfect word.
keeled over from kind bud.
sex by clown.
haircut.
jelly.
ping pong elbow.
death by laffy taffy.
punched by a head of collard greens.
sucked out.
death by garrison keilor.
kite crash.
strangled by justin's faux vine.
death by button fly.
powdered wig syndrome.
snail.
death by wet dream.

more? 

squidman,

our culture is not one to embrace death, or even to look at it with curious eyes.  at age 30 most of us have not seen much of it and it scares the shit out of us.  we see wounds on the body and we wince and we shake and go into shock.  death and pain is kept from us a good distance.  i think more die than are born each day?  but i don't know what that looks like.  i guess we prefer that.  but like dude says, we all die.  how interesting tho, is at what point in our lives do we realize this fact of facts and at what point do we become intrigued/obsessed/afraid of how it will be for us when we go.  and then at what point do we relax, if we do at all.   

i'll take the photon blaster.  poof.

car wrecks are especially gruesome and they disturb me to no end.  looking at some of the awful but real shit that i do on the web, i am positively paranoid about car wrecks.  i've dropped my average speed and practice stony vigilance.   

oh but it could come at any time can't it.

i sometimes hope for it.  but that is boredom talking, mostly.  in the same vein as how many people were hoping for a houston disaster this with hurricane.  only to have to spring into action if anything.

i don't wish for pain on anyone.
but i don't necessarily wish for peace either.

and i think i truly only wish for sex.

and to write a book that will make people want to have sex with me.

honesty talking or is that the brandy?  doesn't matter.

snpr loves ya

yucca countess,

no, never been to feast day in taos.  feels i've never been to taos though i know i have been to taos.  another girl in another photo in another album.  the colors fade.  i remember a plum, a grove of silver-leafed aspens, a bridge, a tin cross, dust, a bed.

i will send a book your way.

by knackered to do you mean drunk?  the brits around here use the word to mean tired.   

me, i am drunk most nights and most weekends.  i derive my vitamins from alcohol.  funny, i only lose weight.   

not so funny, i forget things.

i ask to forget things.  i retract that.  then i fall asleep and wake and forget things i'd already forgotten.

waiting to lick the bottom rung.

i spent the weekend arranging all my bodies of poetry most unfit.  6 bodies, clipped together.  and i have given them names.  the glass tree, exploder, elms and other arteries, the knife alarm, tornado warning, and taster.

now i type them out and suture the corpus collective.

do you know the Ride song 'paralyzed'?  that is my song.

thinking of a drive to new mexico but cannot find the coins/time.  thinking of a lot of things.

green chiles in my eye,

snpr

Southern Lady,

dreams hmmm, they are so fleeting sexy scary dark then suddenly bright, a finger in the mouth, someone makes language at me, i run away, meet someone in the corner, someone is always going away, and i am returning from somewhere or i am on my way to somewhere, i never know but i go to the corners.  warm, blind, nervous, sleepy, all hands or no hands, sometimes i just walk into them because i know it is a dream, sometimes i sit there and feel weird because i want things and cannot say them, not sure why, even when i know it's a dream i cannot say them but want to wake up and then wake up and want to sleep again to be different in the dream, to get or do, to do what i meant and what i shoulda...

still with me?

i'm watching the dreams right now like a rising tide.  know there's something in there to get from em but they are tricky little mo's, little professional dreams, little knife alarms.

it has been true with me that most dreams take the form of a chase, whether i am chasing or being chased.   [editor's note:  snpr has since learned that nicotine addiction for some people produces dreams of being chased. hmmm.]

what gets ambiguous is who is who and what i want from them or them from me.

there's no relaxation really, but pardigmal shifting, there is always something to mistrust yet something to throw oneself against wholeheartedly.  and i fly a lot.  and i love it.  mostly.

ghost world
a vertical one
with hands on the thigh
tightness, is that a breeze
or a copter blade and
where'd all this green come from?

---

kids books are the stuff.  and pop-up books are coming back.  i know of some indy kid book publishers in the event that you have a manuscript and illustrations and all that one day.  who doesn't love a zebra?

loves all that loafs,
snpr

clerk of christo,

Thanks for the note and the attempt to reach heathens like myself.  You've failed in vain of course but don't blame yourself, no.   I can get with the ideals behind your pastor's piece, I really can.  And it isn't hard to, really, when one strips away the vernacular and the motiff here and the message is not unfamiliar.  Humility *is* a good thing I'd say.  Pride can be destructive, etc.  However, I do see something else at play with rhetoric such as this, and it is embedded in the language, and that is one that calls people not only to be humble and less prideful, but to go to church more and to tithe more and basically be more involved not with God but with the institution itself.  It's soft marketing - I mean that is how I see it.  I don't believe in the ideal of sin.  So right off the bat I am fundementally at odds with this language, as subtle and strategically worded as it is.  But I'm a language man, I think language shapes our thoughts rather than the other way around.   

I can read this as words not as truths.  Not even mentioning facts here. I get my wisdom from art so what kind of fool am I - a decently sized one.  But of course I recognize and respect your sincerity and the sincerity of your pastor's notes.

Snprprprprprpr