Evocations: Cyclical Wordplay

by Mister E. Menachem

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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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Mister E. Menachem 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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Track Name: Improbability in Upswing
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
Track Name: When No Stars Appear
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
Track Name: Caveless
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
Track Name: Mangrove
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
Track Name: Repeated Dance of the Fluid Earth
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.