Shadowboxing Caligari

8/4/2019 Shadowboxing Caligari

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SHADOWBOXING CALIGARI

Pieces by Alex S. Johnson(2009-2011)

The Shwibly Press 2011


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KRISPY POPZ!

I. Not Exactly the Satyricon.

And they shall eatKrispy Pops with lances long as appetite; andThey shall dream oh see them dreamingStillParked in Vesuvius carsGray and ashen, fissures of menHunched as they were, stillFondling the wheel, which never

Their ribs are withered and their jawsStopped long ago, like an old clock.

Crossed the Acheron in dragHuffing from a plastic bag.

And in their dry andRattling brains the withered whorls shake once

It was over before it happened. And it never was as goodas we anticipated (though we could feel it baking in our bellies) thoseMany lifetimes ago. Like suns on our tongues.

Cheer up.Think of Trimalchios feast,those lush and lavish eats, thosefast. Violent. Dreams. Centerplace of a skeleton. Flesh removed.Camera motors long gone.

Still rolling, rock it to the web inVortices of spin, rollingQuick as pluck. Faster than mending. Faster than theseConstant mirrors.

No.


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We are what we eat. No. Cant let go. Ever

Even now the Popz areSinking down. (Some call it Hell I call it Hades) It isntMindmovies eyelid cinema FelliniIt isnt

Nothing clothed as something with thePerfume from a mummy whore.Husks, dragged away theKernel before our time.

Raw, gave it the last, bestShot. Oh dim, giving it the final

Barrel.

Past the gums and down it comes.

Faster than fame faster than fame.No.

Slick like Jerry McGuirePlacating the air

No.

Not there anymore.

Fast as(Torn as)Lovely as(Dead as)Taut asThe body

The bodyThe body machine. EventuallyPales. Dessicate and dry. No Paschal lambs toMake a sacrifice. Its cold as.

No honor in our time. And shelved,Archived with the rest. And in some


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Time (unpeel, roll back, unspin, yield, make it prettyAs it was or might have been) NO. The wheels clatter downStrict parallel lines and weWho hung here like winter sticks, gave up.

II. The Church of Suburban Krispy Popz

They shallspring withantic vigor down the chute, and roll tight as bullets andTwist up likespirals of root and

DEVOUR KRISPY O DEVOUR KRISPY POPZ.

Lets visit Camp Empty.The Popz are no longer krispy.And I cannot amendThose turns, I am not faster thanRecoil. I cannotoutstrip theDoppler effect.I cannot eat theseRuins.I cannot breath thisIron. I cannot steel myself.Away.

Oh empty.Head over heels recycling long lost lips andArtificial cherries.

Children go and eat their long lost krispies. If only in your right mind, do the

dream yoga: peeling off slippers in velvet houses, riding horsesmade of cloud. Riding horses thatswallowed your head.

In a land of dripping poppy seeds, light on light, and smoking candlesDoused to scare theHorses and


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The hunger (so thick it fed upon itself)Growled for worthy food.

In some magical suburban groveWhere lurid foodsstood worthy stewards

Before the grouches bit your head offBefore the grouches bit your head offThe head were still removingAnd its gone.

And the TV set was never wrongAnd the TV set was never wrong

And the TV set was always on.

And it was always warm and there were tinyElves upon the shelves and unicorns shivered into bowls, elaboratedIn milk and formed for our tongues, for our tongues we haveDemolished them, weve changed our chemistry.

NO more Krispy Popz brew in the dark of our skies now so helpless.We invent them now the strained light of old churches.

And these are the people. And this is some kind of dried host.

Though we are notWorthy to receive them, theyre here alreadyPounding at the portals, shoving at the gatesThreatening mutiny unless we let them in.

And who could look theseWee folk in the eye and say, youre done already, go home, theres nothing

left hereBut black walls and sagging furniture and empty sockets and scutteringinsects. Whod tell the childrens hope to abandon itself? Our ships not losteven in thisVile weather and our hands are ready even when theyre shaking so letshaveThe biggest party youve ever


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Imagined because

Krispy Popz are readyA breakfast of sheer magic.Krispy Popz never let me downEven if I want toEven when I need toEven though Id like toJust leave them alone.

III. New Foods, Post Krispy.

Energized beyond belief, beyond accounting: Cant you hear me calling?These are the new conditions. Not necessarily art, were far beyond those

frail shells. Outside the ruins, we camp in silver spotlights where archangelshowers gently fall and covert laughter forms elaborate patterns, frostedglass knitting up the insides.

FOOD is necessary for our kingdom.BEER brought by foamy maidens.DELICATE MEAT that cant be gainsayed.Wall to wall of CHOCODROIDSBALLS OF EVAPORATED MENAFFECTION BALMY OR CARNIVORE MISTTapestries of old science and maps and plots you ate this ThursdayREARGUARD OFFERINGS OF TORQUELAMPS BREWING ON THE HILLSSHATTERED BY IMPRESSIVE SILENCE

Why do you dive behind these walls? When all I want is a short, convivialrainbow, all I want is cold cuts, all I want is ice cream, all I want is fish fishfish, all I want is a slide down the slippery slab of you, the arty chokedhearts of you. When I hear the sirens calling each to each and all whorled

into a trumpet announcing:

A future of sauces and butters!A rain of soft organic engines; Im calling out,Im wonder-dosing all withDrops of synthetic laughter. Tinkling on what stoves, tinkling on whatglass,


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Ladled with what spoons, drooping paralytic heads, a caution woven fromThe terribly dark soup-surround that fogged us many years ago, past the

point ofNo recollection and no time for tea.

Painful memories that blast us from the easy chair, the comfy table and thebruised blue auditorium, thick with the faces of ruined children, palpated aswe eat in silence.

Krispy Popz never wanted us here. Krispy Popz are dialectical. Krispy Popzmake good pets. Krispy Popz are artificial, cold, benedictions to all theanimals. Writhed in familiar forms. Wrenched in artificial ways. Gloweringat our pretense. Laughing at our vanities. Relaxed enough to tell the truthabout the meat. Shower.

And so can you with syrupy megaphones and candelabras pluckedMethodically as scalpels, grunting helplessly in the dark in a shower ofPutrid organs.

Gone sour gone sour, all the days we sat in the bower, romance churning,Lights that flickered only forYour radiant inner thigh and golden globes(Lit and loud and so can you with sculptured meatsVying for truth with Aristophanes)

And have you tried them lately?

Dark, benighted, necromanticLanced and futile, wounded, rejectednever takingIn their morning splendor, crunchySpoonfuls made of wonderpile a load of Krispy Popz fromThe box to the bowl, from the bowl to the mouth, from the

Mouth to the head, to theSea to themouthof the sea.


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Rattling Freakazoids

and there were rattling freakazoids in those days and theysaid

come bork with us on carpet garfcome flayed parades of cinnamon dogscome THE esoteric vegetable headcome barking flowers and their siblingscome poets with quantum guns and berserk conundrumscome flavah-minded hipsters heavy with the Shwiblycome jesters and art dogs of all sizescome hierophants of the monster eclipsecome undulating seismic whores to end all whores

come soft detectives with gummy bear devicescome awe-struck calibrators of the superunknowncome oh come ye gutter snarks!come decaying photographs of shoeshine poeticscome winsome Lolas and bring the chocolatecome submarine cinema and architects of total ruin!come verdant pastures of the atomiccome bearers of the ersatz stigmata!come crank the noise with us, summoners without bodiescome sit a spell with the stirred grounds of philosophy

come elevate your mood with the special cookies!come horrific grapefruits on stilts and the citric manifest!come calcified puppets of the voidcome vs. not comingcome dance with us in forests of forestscome to the mountain where the cucumbers residecome to the mountain of satisfied women and bring fresh cukes!come typewriters that dance the savage ballet once only and disintegrate in

peals of

laughtercome ornamental tree frogs that really got the knowledgecome experimental prototypes for dog whistlescome experimental dogscome athletes of the random calculuscome Pythagoras and bring the holy beans!


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come whimsy and Whizzbang (in perpetual copyright by DominiqueLowell)come out come out wherever you arecome sup with us on naughty fruitsfinally, don't come(you're missing out)

and please Christ Peanut bless usbecause we all need blessing. for Xst Peanut is with youalways.

Yrs., Shwibly.


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Romeo and Draculette

"Shall I compare thee to a mournful fog?" asked Romeo of hisDraculette.

"Bite me," said Draculette.

"Do you mean that literally?" asked Romeo, suddenly shy.

"A bit slow. That's okay, you're a handsome boy. About here," she

said, gesturing to a precise spot below her jawline.

"Tasty," said Romeo, who had never savored undead blood before.

"Now for a recharge," said Draculette, finding a large purple vein in

Romeo's cock and sucking him dry.

Romeo's charred bones rattled at Draculette's feet.

"Damn, I always drink too deep," said Draculette, adjusting her garter

belt. "This kingdom is getting light on hot, dumb boys with big...veins. I am

outta here."

Romeo's grateful bones spiral up to heaven in waves of orgasm.


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Sancho Panzer Division

"Are those applesauce kisses dotting your forehead, or are you just

happy to see me?" asked Sancho Panza of the Knight of the Mournful

Countenance.

"I have heard from the heraldic trumpet that Dr. Caligari is issuing

bloodstained doves from his bunker," said Don Quixote, up to his neck in

quicksand.

Sancho Panza applied a fuchsia mask to his master. "That will go with

the applesauce, revered Knight," said Sancho.

There issued burbling sounds from the quicksand and Don Quixote

was sucked under, just as a Panzer Division shrieked overhead, dropping the

heads of mechanical owls.

"Here we go again," said Sancho, never discouraged by the calumnies

nature disposed on his master. "I shall apply a complex series of fans to this

bog, discharging your bones, which I will preserve in applesauce and mourn

alongside my faithful blue dog, decorating myself with chips of gold paint."


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Om Shiva I

(just the blakelight to guide us mix)

A rope a goldenBraid saves time and$ entropy

We sucked whales into theMercedes engine, spoutsExpensive vapor

These monster viruses spin themselves out. You should have seenThem bleeding to death. Ebolas a bitch but the cleanup is worse.

The monsters of time paint the ceiling with worms.

SweetJesus did you hear that car alarm shake thethree worlds,Lucifer just hit the sidewalk kept on going like aTomcat with nuclear paws

Couldnt stop for Golgotha pantomime. Tridents barred the surface of theWater. Heraclitus got hardcore gatHis 9 spitting 9Black cats. Mutatis mutandis and all

That.

The spectacular fits of theseSilver eagles razed paradiseTo a thin parking strip.

Poseidons got elliptical fits mythworlds forged on aShoestring. Sprinkled my eggs with Lots wife.

the Devil got afilling

Station soup you up withFlies and gore. This is the vessel that made theVessel.

Electric are the saintsPainted with the darkest blue. They parked in the shade.Doors of worryCreak the light only makes


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I bit off the head that couldnt fight back.

I made electricity really shake this time.

I brought the imps AND the bottles.

Baby

Titration is the new jeopardy.

Wilting all the flowers that doomed in vain.

Murk of the golden fruit.

Sweet lances the veined juice.

Trance gyrations bring the chords.

Angels are imps and make bottles.

Portions of the system were furnished with elves.

Potions made from these golden machines pirouette on the silken palace.

Summers drain the energy of winter.

Solar sinks free raccoon bones.

Shaking trains die. Just die. There is no solace for the railroads.

Sordid are the fruits of shake rattle and roll.

A burning car in an abandoned lot.

A rain of shredded tires. Prometheus skipped bail.

Born free forever bound.

We made the Predator drone now you make some coffee.

Burn up the atmosphere with your silence.

I rest in your cool ruins.


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I take place in your emptiness.

I mask your heat.

I am pale and want sun.

I titrate your emotion got the tears lined up.

In bottles where you live I live in air too.

Sweet is the hemlock that takes you out.

Bitter is the hemlock that brings you in.

Hemlock guards the virgin gates.

Wings of madness pace Baudelaire pimped by gravitation

All sold out dont worry more on the way.

Infinite is the cold regard of capital.

Bad and good are twin elves on vacation from polarity.

Consequences thin out the closer you get to the empty.

Something crooked walks by on stilts. Beware the stars are evil tears.

Something has hemlock wings and nightshade eyes to see by

Something has datura skeleton

Something has pokemon windowpane.

Sometimes a heresy, not permitted.

Someday blue buckets will erupt from the sand.

Someday princes will not perjure themselves for all the forests in all the woods.

Some crimes are too sweet for punishment.

Some headgames make you smarter.

Somebodys been poking around in MY skull. White trash Goldilocks and the


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Trailer park bears.

Legions of shredded angels kept the good candy ALL to themselves.

Enormous pull of this

Weight

Enormous tug of theseHands

Enormous sums are grafted to mySkin

Enormous is the energyWithout

Thats fallingIn

Lexicographers of the future say XYZ is godhead.

Lexicographers of the future dont know Jack.

Meanwhile the broadsides keep shouting andYou are still a dark smear on the bed.

My eyes cannot see this light must be polluted.My days cannot cleave through this night must be aborted.Mine sacraments are the perilous fruitOf9 days of woe10 days of suffering20 hours of freedom.

A minute of torture.

A blind ceremonyPerformed by owl headsMasked and muskyIn the cleverest ofMoonlight

Meanwhile the Chumash runnersAnd the nightside bladesTheir sorcery still movesThrough these new systems


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Their data has trance migratedAll the way toThe end ofMy spoon.

Momentum of the cosmosNever stops humming. Money is the germ.Freedom the foundation. Bones of capital the climax.And you my dearAlways and foreverPlanted.

I could not decipherYour epic woundsToday but the light is still good.Maybe by noon I will be able to see them aching

And pulsing likeWar!

And why all these chatteringMachinelike elves they are worse thanPredator drones.

A constant of survival hitches itself to my merrymad shoes.

A thing of wisdom is a precious.

A ring of fire serves two.

Seasonal specials.


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Shadowboxing Caligari

Wearing a conical hat designed precisely for this purpose, the

projectionist sprays the screen with photon bullets that coalesce into walking

shadows. From his fingers an invisible ray shoots out, connecting him with

everyone in the audience. He performs them like a vast hobbling marionette.

A blind violinist from the orchestra pit blunders onto the stage and upsets a

violet gel, which becomes uncontrollable, filling the already-wired crowd

with storms of psychic madness. Dictatorial and imperious, the projectionist

has assumed a robot controlling glove and stands in front of the fluttering

image of Dr. Caligari's machine, his mouth peeled back in hideous strain

from which bloodstained doves flood out, dazzling the audience into grey

pits of ashes.

The sounds of a klaxon mix with the demented laughter of a clown on

the jibbly fruit, his toes arrayed in a vile sequence. They play the clown like

a piano, reaching deep inside him for the bass notes. He giggles and sprays a

pineapple mist across the screen. Graves burst through the guts of a prepared

piano and Marlene Dietrich sits astride them from multiple angles, oblivious

to the cries of Professor Rath, caught in her insolent web. She is wearing

only French feathers and emerges nude from a black and white postcard into

stark realism, caressing the spokes of Rath's spine like a torture wheel found

only in his dreams.

The robotized audience descends on Professor Rath and tear him to

liquid drops, every drop uttering the same mournful phrase. Goodbye Herr

Doktor, we will prepare your orisons nightly, wrapped in Lola's knickers,

dunked in a special tank filled with secretions from shark hearts.


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poetry is my only real friend

you laugh and call me soft.

in the head i gather. this language is a prison you have

taken for a royal road. and yet.

there is no deep poison in its daily draught.

no venom lurking like some evil toad in the dregs.

no obligation curdling my guts, hands gripping my brain and cock at 3 and12 o' clock--

no more of that. i have only sweet dereliction for solace, and alphabets

that roar on impact, producing many more. words than there are things

to name: a honeyed liquor, buzzing the heavens, more tender than your

velvet breath. it cannot dissolve when hearts stray or the nerves are swayed.so i say

with reverence, these words through arcane channels to god alone. a pathlesstrack, never

lost, that you can never find.


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peace with glass viola

The way you move especially

clings to the edge of a rest:

dawns are aching to speak a word.

We are chastised by your solar energies, and

moons that came to call last night evaporate

like dew.


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symphony with smoke

A flagon of cool dreams knit from a moment's surrender.

A drizzle of gray doves that bring the rain.

A tight skirt with your solemn smile dancing all over it.

The heat of a scraped double-bass--symphony's smoke for my desolation.

The tiniest tricks of fire, and murder.

Planting a seed with a scapular belly.

Sawed-off heliotropes escape from the womb of the violin.

A possibly sinister gloss on any old collapsing dog.

My face trimmed in mirrors for the sake of xylophones.

Masques of the maddened sea.


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hurricane Alex (prelude)

Having carefully dusted the edges of solar systems, he pokes beneath

the hat. A blaze of shocking butterflies, torn from dreams, elaborates tiny

dances, each one more painful than the one preceding. At last, a storm of

flowers bound for the moon wave lavender handkerchiefs from a steam

trunk, the pretenders having burrowed beneath a final theater. Performing

the routine mambo on weird tips from gunfights and a jeweled clock

delicately embedded beneath the skin, he breathes the ticktock funeral of any

aging bad guy.


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Shadowboxing Caligari

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