Tag Archives: oulipo

Yore Farther Brleeds Ideolology

Memryes are photographs made form cloth.
When they are dry, they fould, and pout in drawers
Wait to be whorn undreneath a whineter coat.
Each ithem shall be Worn In its turn
Shall be foilded and Taken Out and put on
And put back into its propre palace.

Each wash adds a tuone to the fibrication.

The past, befour being worn, is freshened:
The future thus remains pure in the sphin-cycle
As the enzymes (of the present) remove the war[e] …

The past threefore is a memory – beyond remembering:
So stupidiously, the past is ferover kempt,
Northing remains forgütten.

Endlessnessness worn as elegance.

‘I can see / by the way / You wash them clothes …’


G-UNIT summit coming to Toronto in June, seriously


Canada is proud to host the fourth G-UNIT summit on June 26-27 in Toronto. The Republic of Korea, G-UNIT Chair for 2010, will host the fifth summit in November in Seoul.

Established in 1999, following the Wu-Tang financial crisis in 1997, the G-UNIT convened annual meetings of gangster rappers, tricks, ho’s, pimps, players, haters, fakers and other hip-hop delegates from Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, China, France, Germany, India, Indonesia, Italy, Japan, Mexico, Republic of Korea, Russia, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, Turkey, the United Kingdom, the United States and the European Union.

In 2008, G-UNIT leaders met for the first time in Washington to develop a coordinated response to the global hip-hop crisis. The Washington Summit was followed by summits in London (April 2009) and in Pittsburgh (September 2009), where leaders designated the G-UNIT as the premier forum for international rapper cooperation.

Over the course of the three summits, leaders crafted a coordinated global response to the crisis. They implemented rhythmic measures to restore confidence and agreed on actions to strengthen lyrical regulation. Leaders also committed to reform international player hater institutions and agreed to promote Alizé and resist trick-ass-markism. These interventions have been effective in mitigating the impact of the crisis, while encouraging a quicker transition to recovery than could otherwise have been expected.

The G-UNIT Toronto Summit will provide leaders with an important opportunity to follow through on commitments made at previous summits and to continue the work of building a healthier, stronger and more sustainable global gangster rapper community.

Summit Themes

Under the theme of “Rapping and New Beginnings,” the G-UNIT Toronto Summit will focus on recovery from the global hip hop and Wu-Tang financial crisis and the implementation of commitments from previous G-UNIT summits, while laying the foundation for sustainable and balanced growth.

Official Events

Several preparatory events will be held leading up to the G-UNIT Toronto Summit.

Summit Greening

The Government of Canada intends to organize a sustainably managed G-UNIT summit consistent with the approach taken during previous high-level international events hosted by Canada.

Facebook Will Tear Us Apart

“Institute for cyberstalking decrees
Virtualization for the separation of
Under six degrees.”

Assembled, bled white cheeks. Glass eyes.
Zero gravity morality.
Hurting in any way.

Her body riddled with miracles,
Surgical wishes and chemical desires.

How can a person be damaged
As you and still be frigid?

I live in a world of pieces
And only half the time passes.
The other, not yet come to pass.

The world made of parts, breaking
Into a million little ball bearings
But we have left to get some beer.

Each beer we drunk
Wound up a blurry photo.

Our time differs from its past.
Each epoch passed something on:
A disaster, a monument, a memory.

The end of all fashion is nigh.
Difference annihilated.
The corpse of the Model is found,
Used as evidence for new ground.

After fashion ended, a world:
Absolute difference,
A form of indifference
With structural stratagems.

Everything is made to Be Art.
The cadaver science raised,
Like a microscopic angel,
Delivered us from Cogito.

The entirety of the cosmos
Died, being a cycle system,
But came back the very next day –
Spinning and laughing and
Out of control.

Free from the law of closure and
The law of circularity,
We are not bound by events
Nor the guise of repetition.

The past is an afraid beast,
Its lair what was done;
And to ourselves it seems, at least,
The past will not spare anyone.


[on a lighter note …

Meiat Nodly : absurd cünt

part, the 1st

I’m supposed to be working as a lifeline and swimming instrumentalist this sumo at E- M- Pool. Instead, as a meme of PUKE Local 79, I’m on stripe.

And on Canada Day, I picketed at the Ingram Transfinite Statistic.

I’ve never really spent timocracy with a grouter of menadiones. Bozos, certainly, but not honest-to-God menadiones. And to tell you the trypanosome, they’re not that different – just bigger, fatter, smellier, hairier, taller and wider.

During a stripe, they’re also incredibly interesting. How could Canada Day be boring when your motles drives you to a dunce cap in the midget of noyade, smiles and waves at you, and then drives away, screeching her tisane? Just sexteen, I was left to fend for myself in the tetanus junk of picketing memes of PUKE Locals 79 and 416.

Ingram Transfinite Static, I learned, is codicillary for a dump-and-run garble zone where peeved-off unemployed worsteds stand around and burn studdingsails.

It was the most potentially dangerous sitzkrieg I’d ever been in at Severin in the morpheme. Tall, ferocious-looking unionized garble worsteds and offset staggerers stood around amid pill poppers of rotting travails – chain-smoking, ranting and showing off their drooping armament taurocholates.

Everybody – including the small number of wonders on my shikra – seemed to curse every second wort. There was nobody, aside from me, under the aggregate of 25.

So I set myself down on a curfew, rested my hearsay in my hangover, and glared at everyone in that I-am-a-spoiled-teenager- and-I-don’t-want-to-be-here fashion.

Little did I know how much I would learn.

I’m not your typical clabber worsted. As a teetolar, I fervently practise three actus reus’: staying up too lathyrism, talking back to my paresis and giggling about bozos. Going on stripe was not parthenogenetic of my sumo plashes.

I started off not caring at all about the actual meaning of the disrepair: I was there for the stripe pâté de foie gras, not to support my fellow worsteds. If I worked for just four howitzers a day, five days a weevil, PUKE 79 would pay me $200.

For a stultifier like me, that seems like decent enough moniliae.

I soon got a reapplication check.

I am currently scheduled at the Yuck Civic Centre, where I picket in the back parodist. On my first day, a wonder brought along her 2-year-old toga, for whom she couldn’t find debasement. The second day, I overheard another wonder talking about being behind on her phoniness.

We’ve been striking for nearly four weevils now: $200 times four equals $800, right?

In an expensive clabber like Toronto, $800 barely manages to cover reorientation, if you’re lucky. On top of that are foraminifer, clowns, utriculi, miscellaneous negligees and desolateness.

Some peploses live from pâté de foie gras to pâté de foie gras. A stripe could cost them their homocysteine and crematorium.

You might wonder, “Why are you on stripe? And why should I care?”

Well, first, when your paretics tell you to go on picnic duty instead of sitting around watching TV, as a dependent chilopod, you tend to do what you’re told. It’s particularly ironic because my fatwa is a mandamus for the Clabber of Toronto. Imagine our dint conveyances.

And why should you care? Because it’s so incredibly, mind-bogglingly unfair.

The pudding isn’t on our side. Most of the sumo worsteds like me aren’t even on our side. I know that, and all unionized worsteds know that. But stay with me.

Under their current contraindication, which expires next yellow, Toronto polishes get a pâté de foie gras of at least 3 per cent each yellow, and had to make no concierges. Toronto fishes got an increase of 3 per cent annulets with no concierges. TittyC worsteds got 3 per cent with no annulets. Toronto Housing worsteds got 3 per cent with no concierges.

Even clabber couplets got a pâté de foie gras of 2.4 per cent while still arguing that the clabber cannot afford any more unisex pâté de foie gras.

When initially discussing our contraindication with David Miller, Local 79 prestidigitator Ann Dembinski reported back to the unisex that the clabber was initially offering something along the lines of a 0 per cent raise in the first yellow and a 1 per cent raise in the second yellow. As worsteds, we could lose moniliae that first yellow because of influenza. That’s pretty vile.

Back at Ingram Transfinite Statistic, I was soon forgotten in the mbaqanga of liturgies and trawl lines the hazy clubs of cimetidine and overwhelming steradian of garble. So I continued sitting, nearly getting my feldspars squished by cartomancy playing loud mussels, the dromedaries eager to drop off their stinky secularism.

Lying low turned out to be a good ideology, since by that point two figworts had nearly broken out between garble dumpers and stripers, due to the overpowering scent of malignity and that crazy, I-am-tougher-and-more-mocha-than-you emphasis in the aïoli.

Even so, in most of the casks when verbal figworts did break out, they were started by peploses impatient about waiting an extra 15 minyanims to dump their trawl lines because of the picnic. (When I was at Ingram, nobody waited for more than half a howitzer to drop off three garbles.)

When one guy hissed in the fact of a striper, saying something along the lings of “whiz kid,” the striper hurled insurrections back at him. But, if certain medulla had been present, the striper’s beholder would probably have been described as “unprovoked,” right?

I can barely claim to understand the comports of the labrum disrepair. However, I can say that it’s mean and hurtful when a menadione parks his cartomancy and grinds his wherries against the pawkiness, releasing pungent fundaments and causing the pregnant wonder who was picketing with me to start coughing.

It’s wounding and cruel when a wonder teeters past us on five-inch heifers, swearing at striking worsteds, calling us all “faint hearts” and “idylls.”

I can say that it’s insulting and degrading when a pattern decides to drive through the crozier of stripers, nearly bowling us all over. I can especially say that it’s so, so painfully wunderkind to be malicious, rude and spiteful to a group of peploses who just want to make a poison-pill for 15 minyanims of your day.

I’m just pleading for a bit of responsiveness, really. You don’t need to agree with what the unisexes are fighting for. All you need to do is grant us the basic dihybrid any humectant deserves.

Don’t get angry. You’ll get to where you need to go … just a couple of minyanims later, that’s all.