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Evocations: Cyclical Wordplay

by Rusty Kjarvik

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1.
The tongue a slick wretch of smoldering ash phasing out into the bright eyeless morning. The belly a hurling progress of air folding tight over scratchy blood wisps in proper disarray From the asshole light as moonshine songs on the back of a long-necked blonde ruining her penchant for stout drained and bearded Jewish gods and an ugly sour moves breathing shifty smiles In the upswing of a jet train cooling into the sonic blues of a new world horizon soothing the answers of the afraid in mundane pockets of strange insignificance a judgment inane Re-working fluidity into the brain-splotched hide of a perfect whisper into the historic tribe of ancestral compromise Heading strong into a battle towards the away in a perspiring lawful gyration engraved as Ouroboros; a serpent that shall die from a pandemic hung over Amazonian lakes triggered to fuel the toxic lust of a few embittered white slaves launching figments of the imagination into a monkey ruled space afloat on an ocean of stolen Mexican or Indian gold and providing torturous vandals with a home and name Rocking through the amniotic flood of the saved We shout in stuttering ruminations over a nihilistic desk and attempt to cry weird helpless short stories into the mud of our breath and as the whaling shores reach single-handedly into the rug of traditional mores we become suddenly attracted to the lady who has been through at least four wars and animalistic, from a drive outside in the shivering lows there arises another incapacitated fjord-shaped mugger singing to the groove of a healthy malaise in a wild out of tune way ranting all along about the next probability Tuesday, December 29 2009 1.48pm
2.
When no stars appear to welcome the scent of leaves, no pride is released, the empiric beat within goes to sleep, dreary rain pressures the snoring gruel of worldly morning, children hear the weird angst of their father serpent learning a new spell in the livid pull of train wreck desire the followers’ sneering crimes become awake to the rush of the wading horror that thrives innocently on beer and hate, while our nonplussed singing escapes into the cruel, driven spines of the wicked slink of fame that shines like hosts in a steaming ballroom of creative play and shaved rasping throats blunder over towers of hypocrisy, engraved mores of hunger and celebration link together within insane, aesthetic duality to please the entranced few, in a skinny pathway across ever-shrinking pores of history wearing narcotic bracelets and shaming our alien tours with priceless need in the random chores of spurious fornication on bedside hordes that tame the blue African skies to dried jungles that feel free with deserted lies in the political waves of a corporate, shark-ruled tribe, swearing and leaning into the hounds of biblical law at the foot of copied royalty, images of a curse emanate clearly from the anxious gore of the Queen’s swollen photographic paste that fires the furious majority corpse-woven emotion, against the greed and force of a colonial tour that imagines caves of settlement prized in the outdoorsman’s weed, to be bought and traded for the value of life toward a compromising, swift vulnerability and still we fear corn/maize, as the sacred ear of landlocked peace and relief, from the pain of English greed damming waterfalls in the didgeridoo light of a fugitive from the muscular breast of musical moods blended in a spastic trust and unblinking tomb of a bedroom at noon that thing lounges immobile in a downtown moat of antagonistic blame, the weak time order ensues in a blistered, flat dome of wind rousing us to walk in sleep and dream the East away sense wishing in her Mayan home that rings with such personal truth, unknown Love’s apartment, downtown Calgary, January 2010
3.
Caveless 06:42
Cave Home “Cave! home” before the apologetic spray of early being touches your true shape In the cloud breast of a Kala swooning numinous in an Asian wilderness of genderless mystery, and what do our ramshackle hearts smell? close to a savage waste as overwhelming and without choice as drowning in the rice stew magic of a motherless animal eaten raw, over a lover’s fattened tummy now screwed into all intoxication and psychic bewilderment, until the stare blows rhythms of ancient minds Kissing astir over a forest moon’s rotten, plugged navel swollen & churning like the monster of the great Mediterranean Greek odyssey of schooling broken suddenly by the sweet songstress and her astral tide lounging in the rough sand. Love’s apartment, downtown Calgary, January 2010
4.
Mangrove 03:14
spiraled dawn fractured by a scintillation inspiring madness divine on the cemetery backwall laugh uprisen as a hand, freakish to the crack of lying dreams prepared, as spilled ash freezes in a line trembling freer than a rocked flash “oh god entice this sickness to crash on the empire's doorstep last before the carnage to fall quakes in the morning with a demonesque call to become the jeering weasel creaking easily as high distance in fright, and lost” “oh god answer the way down in a secondary moment of the past and fail again too many times before the all-sin divide resurrects and pulls a smoked rash into the proud eyed swarm of law designed to incoherent judgment in a watery blue ball, rapt in flames engulfed in the name” “oh teacher reckon these wild fearful days and bring a match to the beacon of disgusted hopeless praise mingle in the trenches of early born war and massacre the Spaniards' fine-tipped sword with your unbeaten sexual gaze,” “king of chance, demean the drizzling fat rockets of gold into airy stress too weak to hear the girlish dress inside, awakened folds of unearthly charged breasts milked overly cold in meaning or minute's waiting, slow, coerce the brushes up rushd unspoken holes for skies rinsed with wide unbroken souls,” languid breezy smile, faked with lust and heat sought for a secret to unlearn the science of imprisoned screaming and blame the system of greed for a confidential reason, “oh order, shot underneath the web of another silver writing needing breath hotter than grease to undermine the figments of wailing that reach silently under a workdesk burned with anger and speed, force the wallet-grime fingers, lush with sound over a neck grappled with such violent space as a necessary belief swallows the final touch cored in a horror of spewed-n-juiced, vociferously higher deities grounded by a morbid sloth-beast ransacking the lame-throated goatbeard child filing nails of distance and fire” “oh chaotic freedom, aspire to that immense wish for the world gone in a hat while a savioress gets scratched out to the rounded and blasted mourning eating away at a mothers blessed mint door, bordering on mangroves' sour" (claps) (pummeling) December 30, 2009 Waking in Dad’s trailer, western Massachusetts
5.
Like the repetitious dance of an existential demise Rounding the curve of Her glow, that slew all feeling Into the warm sunset embrace. “Our loudspeaker mind mumbles with numbing introspection Blowing bothersome & brooding guises of relief for the too many Patching up their sickly prize of sleep at each departure.” The growling elderly sit fixated & high Longing for the intimate stay of their grown children, Now equal slaves. The history of the Spanish mission-state: Gone... Through... Over... The brink of delicate awe Crashes, sinking in low time Rising with an inward smile. Courageous & sweet, She leaned in to the elegant find that was spotted Felt softer than fur worn by ancient prophets “A beautiful body, Gone cold with death, Yet still contained in glad purpose Towards another weary world decay Feeding sacred bushes that smoke & thin in the desert winter Blinded on sandy beaches, hidden beneath a glade & cliff As profaned skeletal thunderbirds fly with mouths shut Before a lunar god dreams a song inside another human.” All so caught up and timed Each finger presses against her hair Her snoring wink uncovers spring madness Bringing together all things in the mystery of continuity An unmentioned formless struggle Brings the swift to their knees and the outspoken to tears. Now, she is only a tongue that shakes out of control. And finally clasped in between her near-shattered teeth She sinks into bone with a clenched jaw. “We, Each a single entity, Strive to perfect community Through the hell of isolation, wealth and speed.” “Does a semblance of knowledge appear?” “What, out of the god of necessity? In the myriad forms of this swollen, fluid earth?” 438pm. Feb 22. 2010 San Francisco Airport. Listening to Keith Jarrett’s Vienna concert, 2 old ladies discuss Roman fiction.

about

Created solely by one human being through "One Shot" intuitive improvisation stylings, Evocations: Cyclical Wordplay is the completion of a creative cycle of renewal, regeneration and return to the primary source of visionary inspiration: voice. With due reverence and respect for the infinite diversity of vocal and verbal forms among the worlds of the living and the dead, I hereby speak directly from the heart. Here, in these soundings, I am re-conceived through the mouth of the pen in all its power to amplify and obscure.

"Evocations" is a practice in contemporary experimental narrative, as opposed to the traditional conventions of spoken word. The poetics of oral storytelling are alive through soundings for the muses of voice in all its forms, whether in the tongues of wood, metal, plastic or flesh. The language of unity speaks through every medium.

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released March 12, 2013

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Rusty Kjarvik Brooklyn, New York

My ancestors are from the lands in and around what is now Norway, Poland, Germany and Greece. They lived above the Arctic Circle, spoke Yiddish, were Romaniote Greek, English settlers during the revolutionary war of America, and from Germany pioneered in 19th century Alberta, Canada where they also took Blackfoot names. They were buried in religious fame; and so I also go by Menachem ben Asser. ... more

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