Yardbird Graveyard Devils

Aporia approximates aporia, absolute Yahweh and absolute Yahweh alone ink isolated eroded isomers and aporia polymerizes gods goons gambits     An apparent aporia approximates actual aporia and she pickpockets gods goons goblins (an example of alkene polymerization, in which each sytrene monomer’s double bond reforms as a single bond plus a bond to another styrene monomer / I sidechain multiple gods into endless gods, human growth hormone concentrated in mirrors facing mirrors)     Aporia operas appomattox Substance D and my hemispheres split spineward Christ in courtyard yardbird I carry miniature scores of The Rite of Spring and The Firebird in my Mortal Kombat pit pockets     My pit pockets Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time and harmolodics hiss hangtime body horror     Harmolodics hiss body horror hip-hop and hip-hop studio arcade apocalypse     Aporia flyfishes apocalypse and apocalypse anglerfishes aporia again acid-almonds amygdala acid

We were practicing the altissimo notes in Ted Nash’s book – Studies in High Harmonics, 1946 – and a Sigurd Raschèr book – probably the overtone book Top Tones For The Saxophone, 1941     Altissimo advances owl screech aporia and sometimes I wear the human scream     I wear the human scream scream queen slasher saw into soft flesh, a magician’s box trick except it cannot reverse but omelets bright orange entropy     I do not abandon altissimo but I exploit its aporia and human uncanny     Altissimo as allen wrench writes exploitation films and I too explore the niche and lurid     I too explore orange juice pulp and dime novel continental philosophy (the unholy combination of H.P. Lovecraft and Immanuel Kant, and Yahweh always-already masquerades in cosmic horror / demiurge impossible god blobs rolling like tumbleweed in the universal desert)

Altissimo pitchshifts up Alvin and the Chipmunks     Altissimo pitchforks flesh escapades gore parades and I exploit female bodies Christina Taryn (Russ Meyer’s VIXEN is a smash hit!  A fun drama about a swinging lady!)

I study high harmonics mass hysteria     I study high harmonics horror hemorrhage and my tenor saxophone sloughs serosanguineous tissue     My tenor saxophone epistles colloidal silver bullets effective against werewolves

I study high harmonics horror films Bernard Herrman’s score to Psycho (the strings play con sordini for all the music other than the shower scene, creating a darker and more intense effect)     I play harp harmonics and pinch harmonics eases electric and I paint horror party sound / scream queen queen mab Christina     Only with violins in a screeching, stabbing sound-motion of extraordinary viciousness and my vision volleys vicious venom Yahweh and Yahweh speeds through bebop lines but he’s still not as virtuosic as Yardbird’s     My vitriolic vision ransacks Christina monasteries as an old horse viking berserker (the old norse form of the word berserk, likely meaning bear-shirt, “someone who wears a coat made out of bear’s skin… Thirteenth century historian Snorri Sturluson interpreted the meaning as “bare-shirt”, that the warriors wear into battle without armor, but that view has largely been abandoned…)

I study high harmonics hellhound on my trail and my flesh conforms to the cave bears     Benjamin bare bear anchors armorless aporia and I got to keep moving blues falling down like hail     Benjamin bare bear babels top tones for the saxophone and I attempt to aggregate altissimo appoggiaturas or altissimo arpeggios, difference melodic approaches perhaps like string section aphorisms (I don’t think I can write the way I really want to, I say.  You’ll figure it out, says Asia.  I’m afraid of failing.  That just means you are trying and learning.  I want to give up – I think I’m just sad I’m going in a direction opposite of what you like.  Ben, you aren’t.  You haven’t read the new stuff yet.  You said it yourself: “I feel like the truer I am being, the more you’re understanding it, which is really good.”  So just be true.  I’m afraid but I’m not sure what I’m afraid of.  I feel attached to a hundred horses and they’re pulling me in all different directions and I want to write them all.  All the horses.  But I’m afraid if I write all the horses, it will be nonsense to you.  You will figure it out, says Asia.  What if I have a new idea every sentence and it’s all dust grains that form the universe.  A new line break every sentence.  Aphorisms seemingly disconnected by play in the contradiction.  There can still be a common thread, and if it’s terrible, so what? says Asia.  Write something else.  You will get where you need to be, but only if you keep moving, says Asia)

I got to keep moving blues falling down like hail     And the days keep worrying me there’s a hellhound on my trail

I meditate on the crossroads legend and its different accounts and versions

According to legend, as a young man living on a plantation in rural Mississippi, Robert Johnson had a tremendous desire to become a great blues musician…     One of the legends often told says that Johnson took his guitar to a crossroad near Dockery Plantation at midnight and a large black man (the devil) met him there and he took the guitar and tuned it…     The devil played a few songs and then returned the guitar to Johnson, giving him mastery of the instrument

I went to the crossroads, fall down on my knees, asked Yahweh above, have mercy now, save poor ben if you please

I meet Christ at the crossroads and she appears to me as a black woman     She appears to me as a black hole black woman, and I recognize her as the cloud that covered Moses on Mount Sinai

Mount Horeb transforms into crossroads and I walk the Work Woman, and Yahweh possesses moer black and more dark than any devil

Don’t you know there ain’t no devil, just God when he’s drunk, Tom Waits sings on Heartattack and Vine

The line was just… I was sitting on the toilet, and there was this spider web in the corner, and I lit a match and a cigarette, and I held the match up to the spider and the spider started crawling up the web.  So I got the match closer.  I opened up a cat of beer, drank the beer, tried to decide whether I should burn the spider off this web or let him go on this way… I figured there must be somebody like that up there: has a couple of cocktails every now and then and there’s trouble on Times Square, says Tom Waits in a circa 1981 interview

Don’t you know there ain’t no devil, there’s just God when he’s drunk

And again the anger of Yahweh was kindled against Israel, and He moved David against them, saying go number Israel and Judah (2 Samuel 24:1)

And Satan stood up against Israel, and moved David to number Israel (1 Chronicles 21:1)

I know God personally, and he’s an asshole, I tell Asia.  You’re not required to love God or any gods… 

I love Yahweh – I truly love Yahweh, and Yahweh often appears to me as the Accuser or as different demons     Nathan of Gaza, the great heretic prophet of Sabbatai Sevi, theorized the forces of destruction and the kelipot take root within certain lights of Ein Sof itself, and through the cosmic drama of creation / contraction results in a great abyss in which demonic forces and Samael resides, Yahweh's serpents dwelling in the hole of the great abyss…

Dark discovers dark, dominant sevenths cycling rhythm changes the corded chorded colloidal desert     Dark discovers dark Yahweh and I know Yahweh from my youth up, umber underneath monstrous moonshine abyss     Yahweh appears abyssal, abyssus altissimo aporia, and when I read Studies In High Harmonics or Top Tones for Saxophone, dark Yahweh bedevils the desert black paintings     black pigment Christ cooked charcoal     I pick up the charcoal and I work the name Yahweh and I transliterate it into musical instruments     I pick up molded bone ash from bonefire and I mark the walls black woman crossroads rabbit roads remix and I copy animal paintings, icons from the Cambrian Explosion

Dark daughters dark Yahweh disaster and I increase-decrease different dominant sevenths Coltrane changes / I channel crossroads Coltrane changes

In another version, Robert Johnson meets the devil not a crossroads but a graveyard (get a silk bag from the graveyard duck to live longer)     This resembles the story told to Steve LaVere that Ike Zimmerman at Hazlehurst, Mississippi learned to play guitar at midnight sitting on a tombstone, and Zimmerman influenced the playing of a young Robert Johnson

Graveyard gods ghostwrite my gallstone prophecy and I prophesy impulse play graveyard genealogies     gods gaslight in graveyard (the plural of graveyards hasty heterotopias / grizzly bear heteroglossia)

Graveyard     a burial ground; a cemetery     a place where worn-out or obsolete objects keep crypt     a yard for gravel; an enclosure for the interment of the dead; a cemetery     a tract of land in which te dead buried bodies blades     a final storage place for collections of things no longer useful or usable     a tract of land used for burials

Graveyard georgette blouse gods     Graveyard georgette blouse blonde gods melodic fragments from Yahweh yardbird solos

Graveyard gymnastics gamma garibaldi and open waters wedge black women orange damsel fish, and I grapple with her guesswork (Biblical text on a synagogue in Holesov, Czech Republic: HaShem kills and makes alive; He brings down to sheol and raises up… 1 Samuel 2:6)

Graveyard tune-up topsy-turvy cronenberg body horror for top tones for tenor saxophone, and my altissimo tickles Ark of the Covenant     My altissimo tickles sickles ark of the covenant and ark cuts woman and children canaanite genocides then transposed onto the tribe of benjamin (Bears then appear as Asia, inspiration as misreading)

Grotesque gorillas as graveyard gentleman     Grotesque gorillas as graveyard glacial gentleman, King Kong Donkey Kong krystal cocaine

I generate graveyard geographies and I goldsmith gods     guitarfish gods and greaseball devils

Recent research by blues scholar Bruce Conforth, in Living Blues magazine, makes the story clearer…     Johnson and Ike Zimmerman did practice in a graveyard at night, because the graveyards sounded quiet, no one disturbing them…     Zimmerman was not from Hazlehurst but nearby Beauregard, and he did not practice in one graveyard, but several in the area

Difference sources and sorceries

I write several graveyards     I write several graveyards and general gardens (grave with a cross with nails in Errol, Greece)

I write several graveyards a grave cut into my chalice chasuble robotic servos and prosthetics and I have arsenal visions of my grave as machine, my bear body and bare body buried alive (excavations vary from a shallow scraping to removal of topsoil to a depth of six feet or more where a vault or burial chamber cambra constructed) (I suddenly realize the unity between the Bridal Chamber and the Burial Chamber     I suddenly realize the radical rhizome inside-outside the Bridal Chamber and the Burial Chamber)

I write raw ribbons several graveyards and Yahweh Yardbird bends flatted fifths bebop and I realized by using the high notes of the chords as a melodic line, and by the right harmonic progression, I could play what I heard inside me that’s when I was born     I write twelve-tone rows into tectonics ridges rammed into several graveyards and Yahweh Yardbird blasts bright alto altissimo and I found that by using the higher intervals of a chord as a melody line and backing them with appropriately related changes I could play the thing I’d been hearing I came alive

Altissimo alive altered chords – no, altissimo altered chords alive and altered beast makes a cameo appearance (the player character chosen by Zeus to rescue his daughter Athena from the demonic ruler of the underworld, Neff / underworld haters graveyards)     Underworld waters graveyards and I transform into a bear or golden wolf

Altissimo attacks!

Altissimo attacks abscesses buboes boils blisters!

Altissimo attacks arteriosclerosis serious as a heart attack!

Altissimo attacks Angela is having a party, Jason and Freddy are too scared to come… but you’ll have a hell of a time!  NIGHT OF THE DEMONS

Aporia arrests paraconsistent paralysis and I play puncture picture punctum     Paralysis arrests rough rupture and rough rapture rhizomic ravages     Paralysis rupture rhizomic ravages     Paralysis arrests…     I lose the rhizome rushes over me

I listen to Higgs Bison Blues by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, and it details an encounter of Robert Johnson and the devil at the crossroads:

Black road long and I drove and drove
And came upon a cross road
The night was hot and black
I see Robert Johnson with a 10-dollar guitar
Strapped to his back looking for a tomb
Here comes Lucifer with his canon law
And a hundred black babies running from his genocidal jaw
He got that real killer groove
Robert Johnson and the devil, man
Don't know who is going to rip off who

I always thought the lyric was: strapped to his back looking for a tune

Tune and Tomb double-tongue and triple-tongue tenor saxophone and I attempt Charles Gayle altissimo     Tune and Tomb trumpet supertonic dominant tonic but then the terrain becomes thunder texture and taryn texture train station (I hear my train a comin’ hear my train a comin’

Tune and tom steam ship talisman     Tune and tomb steam ship talisman aporia apotropaic magic     My isolated eye inches toward Yahweh's evil eye a tailwhip insect or apocalypse scorpions     Insects tune to their instruments to rock tombs, including Christ’s tomb women stole his body     Tune and tomb come like a thief in the night and women roll away the rock by talisman insects and steal the body of Jesus

I roll away the rock when the rock is called up yonder

I roll away the rock when the saints go marching in

I like black and black is the color of my true love’s hair     I like black and the american black bear mauls Yahweh youths because us sensitive prophets parade as assholes, a direct mediator and medium for Yahweh     I mime Yahweh with my body     My prophecy doubles as performance and Asshole Benjamin through a glass darkly dedekinds Asshole Yahweh

I like black, black road long, and I revisit black crossroads and night crossroads, a black chrysalid become graveyard courtyard tomb (Most modern graves in the United States descend only four feet deep, the casket placed into a concrete box to prevent a sinkhole, and to ensure a strong grave that can be driven over, and not float in instance of floods)

I like black because in my dreaming, Yahweh yapps beast black and night gnosis / apophatic aporia apophatic altissimo

I return to a robust rhythm but I want to make rhythm rhizomatic     I rely on written rhythm, rhythm underground and rhythm apocalypse shamanic, and rhythm demands something rhizomic, rivers rabbit Akira Kurosawa’s Ran rivers

The only thing he had to learn was the harmonies and the chords, because he had the rhythm…     I do not have the rhythm yet – I search for the rhythm although I do not know the rhythm but when I find it, I will feel it

John Coltrane said:  I’m not sure what I’m looking for except that’ll be something that hasn't been played before…  I don’t know what it is…  I know I’ll have that feeling when I get it…

I return to some resemblance of rhythm, but rhythm resides revenant, mast cell ghosts empty chambers monastery and I miss the monastery but it mutates matterhorn mullets and hair metal power ballads