Olchar E. Lindsann
                              Arc of Skin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“ tain eliptoid tremor of the Word, which, for wh ”
               -Antonin Artaud, Letter on Lautréamont.
                              ~~~~~~~~
“ resent tend dry fingernails inst ”
               -Isidore Ducasse, Letter to Auguste Poulet-Malassis.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
peeling like cadaver-nails the fleething lung
                                                            glistencurls like
                                                            a chalk-fed snail
corrupt with the word of or malerovant seed
                              breathe-rack scratching though the rats
                                                                           count lathes
               wratched in the conjugating dead
               nor lust nor clattering the crush of night
                                             belies in the slitting
                                                                              moon
                                                                           for which
                                             nor the rending scattles
                              weeping like a calendar
                                                                           the blind
                                             yet the spindle-riven
                                                                              laugh
                                                                           and gut
                                                            you like a pig
                              No-Boy Drives Home
               ~~~@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
               “ighway with bits of ”
                     -John M. Bennett, “No-Boy Murders the Boss” (L&FT 15)
               '~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@~~~
               thrumming thru the tarmac screaming
               “ahort!” thumping rubber ,no-Boy
                              blasts and simpers, pussing
                              from his sores he soars
through lanes crashbatters ,swerving ,leers
                              about him ,chortles ,veers
                              and gutters ,gleeful ,fain
               would plow into reverse. his car
               is burning ,he drinks oil from
                              his cup holder brimming
                                             with glassoline
               he smokes black curlthick column
               under mooning skies he flicks
his finger at the lightbox sirens sheering
                              through the dark his tires
                              threaded flayed afraid
the pricks that bash into the median
blow up ,he laughs and pounds his heel on the pedal
as he flies along the blacktop flaming
               shaking streaming rattled pops
                              his head off in an arc
                              and skids like a bomb
                                             into the shrieking
                                             travel plaza.
                                                            f lame
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                             “ ised brow arrayed
               In aureole of joyous pri ”
                                             -Philothée O'Neddy, Fire and Flame
                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                      “ umsy foot upon the fires of hell,
               That aureole, blazing upon the poet's brow,
               Like sacred flame that lights the shrine's mos ”
                                             -Petrus Borel, Rhapsodies
                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                             “ ts” , as for us a term has been set ,
               fire visits the brow of each , some apprehend , others
               only tremble slightly , afraid , still others go mad ”
                                             -Ivan Argüelles, comedy , divine , the
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                              l'auréole, itsinge it, flash
               upon us et, the visit, passed abrow the
               skullset latitude, athena scraping
                              knuckles gainst the nervefrought walls
                              atrail dear gérard l, ashed
to apprehend the raptelt nor, the void r,
                                                                                          knelt n,
                                                                                                         the shrine 's, moss
                                                            *
               euterpe and calliope em ,broiled
upon the brow the, joyous sleering in the frost yet, pin,
                                             brûlée the
                                                            without eyes.
The flames eyes wrapt en, in or scorching toiled, hanged
                              abrupt or lamp the, post-the, of cruelty
                              traeh plucked from the flamechar ranged
across and lourdly, oedipus alean, upon the barricades
                              ableed or,
                                             in the rue d'
                                                                           enfer
                                                            *
                              shucked harshly NE
                                                                           ver work sp,lashed a
                                             cross the w, alls antonin, w ants
                              like a sacred flamesniffs, jam
               afraid, in the flash of text the v per, sleared,
involved within the toxin, pharmakon ,volved
harshly raembing, snap, national guard, c laretie y
                                                            next lastly, slyl y
                                                                           bore
                                                            in our own
                                                            alastor
                              's heart or liver on the ashbed
                                             smoked away the ,shore
                                                            *
                                                                           my friend th
                                                            e cricket, in th
               hearth or explicating on the roof
                              in the glow th ,adness in th,
                                             in a satin of text
toxin glow, or at joyous on the brow moss, with knit
                              fold itna t, he walls he or
                              domesticate the tonguespar,k now
                                             where lord patchogue th
                              ought to
               ,stampsligh ,t
cut across the in with
                                             the flame of
Olchar E. Lindsann is a co-founder of the Post-NeoAbsurdist network and has published around forty books of poetry, critical theory, and avant-garde history, and has performed sound poetry across the US and UK. He is the editor of mOnocle-Lash Anti-Press and the journals in-Appropriated Press and Rêvenance: Hauntings from Underground Histories. He lives in Roanoke, Virginia where he teaches at a progressive alternative high school and co-organizes the AfterMAF Festival, and maintains several archive dedicated to various aspects of the contemporary and historical avant-garde.
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                              Arc of Skin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“ tain eliptoid tremor of the Word, which, for wh ”
               -Antonin Artaud, Letter on Lautréamont.
                              ~~~~~~~~
“ resent tend dry fingernails inst ”
               -Isidore Ducasse, Letter to Auguste Poulet-Malassis.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
peeling like cadaver-nails the fleething lung
                                                            glistencurls like
                                                            a chalk-fed snail
corrupt with the word of or malerovant seed
                              breathe-rack scratching though the rats
                                                                           count lathes
               wratched in the conjugating dead
               nor lust nor clattering the crush of night
                                             belies in the slitting
                                                                              moon
                                                                           for which
                                             nor the rending scattles
                              weeping like a calendar
                                                                           the blind
                                             yet the spindle-riven
                                                                              laugh
                                                                           and gut
                                                            you like a pig
                              No-Boy Drives Home
               ~~~@~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
               “ighway with bits of ”
                     -John M. Bennett, “No-Boy Murders the Boss” (L&FT 15)
               '~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~@~~~
               thrumming thru the tarmac screaming
               “ahort!” thumping rubber ,no-Boy
                              blasts and simpers, pussing
                              from his sores he soars
through lanes crashbatters ,swerving ,leers
                              about him ,chortles ,veers
                              and gutters ,gleeful ,fain
               would plow into reverse. his car
               is burning ,he drinks oil from
                              his cup holder brimming
                                             with glassoline
               he smokes black curlthick column
               under mooning skies he flicks
his finger at the lightbox sirens sheering
                              through the dark his tires
                              threaded flayed afraid
the pricks that bash into the median
blow up ,he laughs and pounds his heel on the pedal
as he flies along the blacktop flaming
               shaking streaming rattled pops
                              his head off in an arc
                              and skids like a bomb
                                             into the shrieking
                                             travel plaza.
                                                            f lame
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                             “ ised brow arrayed
               In aureole of joyous pri ”
                                             -Philothée O'Neddy, Fire and Flame
                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                      “ umsy foot upon the fires of hell,
               That aureole, blazing upon the poet's brow,
               Like sacred flame that lights the shrine's mos ”
                                             -Petrus Borel, Rhapsodies
                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                                             “ ts” , as for us a term has been set ,
               fire visits the brow of each , some apprehend , others
               only tremble slightly , afraid , still others go mad ”
                                             -Ivan Argüelles, comedy , divine , the
                              ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                              l'auréole, itsinge it, flash
               upon us et, the visit, passed abrow the
               skullset latitude, athena scraping
                              knuckles gainst the nervefrought walls
                              atrail dear gérard l, ashed
to apprehend the raptelt nor, the void r,
                                                                                          knelt n,
                                                                                                         the shrine 's, moss
                                                            *
               euterpe and calliope em ,broiled
upon the brow the, joyous sleering in the frost yet, pin,
                                             brûlée the
                                                            without eyes.
The flames eyes wrapt en, in or scorching toiled, hanged
                              abrupt or lamp the, post-the, of cruelty
                              traeh plucked from the flamechar ranged
across and lourdly, oedipus alean, upon the barricades
                              ableed or,
                                             in the rue d'
                                                                           enfer
                                                            *
                              shucked harshly NE
                                                                           ver work sp,lashed a
                                             cross the w, alls antonin, w ants
                              like a sacred flamesniffs, jam
               afraid, in the flash of text the v per, sleared,
involved within the toxin, pharmakon ,volved
harshly raembing, snap, national guard, c laretie y
                                                            next lastly, slyl y
                                                                           bore
                                                            in our own
                                                            alastor
                              's heart or liver on the ashbed
                                             smoked away the ,shore
                                                            *
                                                                           my friend th
                                                            e cricket, in th
               hearth or explicating on the roof
                              in the glow th ,adness in th,
                                             in a satin of text
toxin glow, or at joyous on the brow moss, with knit
                              fold itna t, he walls he or
                              domesticate the tonguespar,k now
                                             where lord patchogue th
                              ought to
               ,stampsligh ,t
cut across the in with
                                             the flame of
Olchar E. Lindsann is a co-founder of the Post-NeoAbsurdist network and has published around forty books of poetry, critical theory, and avant-garde history, and has performed sound poetry across the US and UK. He is the editor of mOnocle-Lash Anti-Press and the journals in-Appropriated Press and Rêvenance: Hauntings from Underground Histories. He lives in Roanoke, Virginia where he teaches at a progressive alternative high school and co-organizes the AfterMAF Festival, and maintains several archive dedicated to various aspects of the contemporary and historical avant-garde.