Sunday, August 7, 2011

Endless Endless Night Night, by David Huberman

Today's poem:

Our guests:

Paula Cisweski's second book, Ghost Fargo, was selected by Franz Wright for the Nightboat Poetry Prize and released in 2010. She is also the author of Upon Arrival and of three chapbooks: How Birds Work, Or Else What Asked the Flame w/Mathias Svalina, and Two Museums. A Jerome Grant recipient and Pushcart nominee, her poems appear regularly in literary magazines such as A Handsome Journal; H_NGM_N; Forklift, OH; failbetter, and Poetry City, USA .

Sarah Fox was born in the year, month, and hour of the Horse. She lives in NE Minneapolis where, with John Colburn, she co-imagines the Center for Visionary Poetics (a future & futuristic collective) and hopes only & always to liberate her imagination from the snares of neoliberal imperialism. Her book Because Why was published by Coffee House Press, and recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Spout, Conduit, Tammy, ElevenEleven, Action Yes, Boo: A Journal of Terrific Things, and Rain Taxi. She contributes to the multi-author blog Montevidayo, teaches English and Creative Writing at the University of Minnesota, and serves as a doula. Her current manuscript project, Mother Substance, seeks to document the experiences of women exposed in utero to the synthetic estrogen Diethylstilbestrol (DES), and to subsequently suggest, by association, the multiple ways the bodies of women, children and all marginalized humans, as well as animals and nature, are contaminated by corporate greed and patriarchal institutions. She performs "poetry rituals" and other acts of intersubjective communion in public and private spaces whenever she can.

Ready, set, crossfire!

Paula Cisewski: At first I felt Huberman yelling at me. I was resistant. Then I focused on his hat's pin like a pendulum, and later on his pendulum fists. His pendulum fists! I know now Huberman yells through me. It's always been so. Vive le France!

Sarah Fox: My great-grandmother was a little called Pauline, but I don't know about a Little Sarah, or More Light! More Light! in this endless endless night night. Who's the host of "Poetry 88," he's like a world-is-too-much-with-him "Magnum P.I." (which Italians pronounce "manyum pie"), like he's so in-TENSE, don't you think? If I were a Jungian, I might say he's very "Tom Selleck Shadow Anima." John Colburn (below) made the claim that D's "doing all this at work," that is: dredging the web for obscure/occult-ish videos (etc) and really really this video is pretty fucking fucking amazing amazing! A little apple apple on his hat hat, a hanging dangling kinky appleness kinda "David Hubermeister" lovesexylovesexy but, "more than, to me [i.e. Manyum Manyum Pie Pie], about homosexuality or het-hero-sexuality… there is no one on the scene who writes quite like this Hollerman…I wish I could say something a little bit more interesting but…Mister David Hover-me." David √úberman's RimbaudRainbow Poetry King Poetry King, "cuz in the night anything can happen and in the morning that's when you find the bodies." Don't we don't we know it know it! evoke the demon spirit!! sperm sperm night porn night porn icky icky help help help. Help! I'm in the outerwebs going on 1 month & can't google David Hooverman or Madman Sigh, or the obscurish Adam Fell, Zach Savich, & Mark Leidner. Well, I could've, but I watched this video from my car in the (serial killer serial killer) parking lot of a gas station with wireless! gas station with wireless! where I recorded Endless Endless Night Night on GarageFeces! GarageFeces! and now, I get that the video's the thing, the thing the thing the thing the thing, which I've only watched once once, because the sun sun was blazing blazing through my windows windows on little little me-me, sweating sweating sweating sweating! I spent part one of this endless endless month month at an "artist retreat" in Red Wing, MN (Vive la France, Vive la France!), where I met Tom-Tom Virgin (Virgin Virgin) from Miami Miami who's making a book book of glass glass, and Tom Virgin told a story story about a "Sincere [sincere] Poet [poet]" named Zach Zach Schomberg Schomberg. I don't know what that means, "Sincere Pope"—perhaps it turned up in our dark basement dark basement during my webless webless retreat reheat repeat—or how ZaxZax sin-sin-sin-cerity goes down in Miami Miami one thousand Miamis, maybe it's a forebear to the Lazy LAZY Compartment Poet. I experience David Huberbro as neither a "Sincere Killer" nor lazy—lazy people can't yell through Paulines, or through anyone else. Furthermore this is the first time I've ever seen A Little Called Paula YellYellYell. But Flavor Flaveman appears appears sincere sincere, if not too too (choo-choo cukoo) sincere to really really be a poet poet king king. His hat—if I recall—is like an embellished, but possibly leather (S&M! S&M!), fishing cap, very "Gilligan meets Richard Brautigan," and might belong to a descriptive category coined by my daughter when she lived in Williamsburg (you FUCKING FUCKING BROOKLYN BROOKLYN) known as "the 'Ironic Ironic Mustache.'" I don't recall David Hubiquitous having a mustache, but Magpie certainly did, didn't he? Is David Hubrismen a serial serial killer killer (Ted Bundy Ted Bundy's sea of fatal sperm sperm) (I'm in Wisconsin nownow, all ¡Vive Wisconsin! ¡Vive Le Part-tay!) or is he part of a microgenre we might classify as Crazy Banishment (demons demons demons demons) Gnosisetry? Don't hurt her Don't hurt her, Dave David Daver-man man MAN, are my finalsexy finalsexy word-words: endless endless endless endless blood blood blood blood don't dont don't don't Don't.

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