A photo of a curtain trying to escape on the sand

When The Dad closed the car door,

The Toy opened up,

mechanically beating the drum –

with monkey hands.


The stomach stirs with the doughnut-doorbell’s melody –

When The Hat arrived and entered the room,

He was shot with an arrow,

ran disguised as a closed door,

and lay quietly

on the floor like a Persian cat,

impervious to the chanted signs

of greedy secrets.

Will he go out?


He saw a hand pointing upward – a breathless voice said, “ Look at that! What is she doing there now !?”

Like the hands of a mad clock, The Woman twisted, her legs danced on the rug – she wore no stockings, her legs were thin wires of weary hope – sliding, sliding, sliding. A bundle of dry twigs swayed and twitched to the beat of a toy monkey’s drum – clap, clap, clap.

There was popcorn in the bowl on the low table in front of them –

a big, dirty, straw yellow embroidered hand bag – filled with regrets and stinging rebuttals spilled out torn snapshots and movie magazine pages –

The shape of the face and neck

is not enough for the neck –

No one found a way

because of the song

he composed.

He sent a song of justice

sliding across the floor,

a Silly-Putty ball,

with stretched

comic-strip faces.


A recent moment of his romance, sits like a cigarette ember on a foil-ball ~ his general vision feels fictive, hugged by the edges of a faded snapshot, a monochrome moment of the mundane wistfully becoming a blurred shadow – He opens that venting heart to the door, has a kiss compromised by the chafing light etching loss on his dry paper lips.



Before going to bed,

7 Hidden Swans,

like a man’s backpack,

carry the weary burden




I have a picture of my father

Blown off the wire I made –

ice is tied to a rope

that rises in the smoke.


That day is cool for me –

The Photo is broken now,

keeps the smoke swirling

in front of the curtain.


It is said that the skin is exposed –

I(t) cried and brought the birdhouses

I(t) had collected to my room.


Lying next to the landline,

Eye was surrounded by light –

tracks appears

in a vibrating scene.



It smells at night –

Weaving threads

And the trees’ limbs

rooted in the empty sky.



Not because eyes are red

after kissing her –

her neck finally felt the light –

the headlights in her ears, sticking like a thumb to the sugared doughnut, on which her portrait/his painting was standing.



While working in Paisley, I paint both the floor and the water, under a watch full of eyes. I have hands, but it’s oil-paint, like melted butter turning into rue. Oil for me and my favouritism car can be turned on at any time –

I Keep it in Good Condition – like a song that keeps repeating at the mention of a name in a photograph.


Maybe it’s that person, but not me,

a singer who doesn’t like singing –

A photo of a curtain trying to escape on the sand –

A bird that smokes like a kiss,

She closes her eyes and hugs me,

as I stand in the Camera Obscura that is her heart.


I’m a liar, probably;

stork stands in low waters

twists head catches frog –

eyes catch headlights’ gaze,

I can no longer trust a woman to stare at me

and sing an unfamiliar song.



This collage poem is my response (derived/inspired by) to sweet burn of fire.

This Dadaist mix combined other pieces of text from various sources, including a random word generator, Project Gutenberg , some of my other compositions, as well as other online archival text. It went through multiple translations & reassembling before coming back to English for final rearrangement and word-phrasing modification. The final form became a surreal stream of consciousness hardboiled narrative.

Noir no Noh Journey: a Forest Fragmented Reversal Pose

The Memoir of Dadaist Detective

Case 0gh1

~Noir no Noh Journey:

a Forest Fragmented Reversal Pose~


City or house, a sole alias supports a lung beneath a simulated plastic soul. At the head of the first flight of a begrimed stairway, leading up from a broken entrance-way, on a street by the Del Sloraine Theatre, stood a door. Behind it was the office of Hazelton Dzeusas. Dzeusas was a massive meandering aggregate of equivocations. Whether he was dead or alive depended on who came through the door before the clock hit a minute past three in the morning.

Note in a dead man’s hand

>> Suitable gift apartments are classified by the court.

I hate you – slimy-gloams and thespians dance under the midnight sun.

the corner raven is watching you,

like a tongue around a thistle drum,

a strip of smoked paper,

a pencil point tracing

on an eye’s sooty surface.


First Observation after finding the note:


A surface strips a documentary remainder into the outsider’s existential standpoint (See David Lynch’s “Tuesday’s Lagoon Serenade”), facts fall in a fractal of farce – An inefficient friend lathers the gratuitous liver. The Protagonist/Victim in a Petty Noir better know a good dentist/anthropologist. A Hard-boiled Mystery mulls the mumbling mind in a numbing wine of conjecture; find the Erhu player before they do (don’t tell Jacques).


Sign above the counter at the Enticing Erhu Grill

The beautiful sea is different.

To know the reluctant battery,


spirits’ songs in lower economics.

Sleep brings toad shadows to the party.

You are not new.





He walked along MacAdams Street, the theatre goers had long left the sidewalks for home or candle lit encounters. Reaching the wider cross street, he contemplated garish billboards featuring a dissociation of sensibility – motives for murder rose on the steam of the street. Gradually there was a will, and the cigar posed back and forth.



To the left were sound stages, like grappling hooks in reality. His eyes crawled over the jagged cracks in the sidewalk beneath him – verticals following the dancing seals’ explosion. Walking over to the tattered bulletin-board, he read the notices, knowing all streets lead to the murdered and those who saw them last.





~Bulletin-board Notices~

The beloved embryo acts on its own.

Camp in front of the temple to reduce the naturalness.

Participate in liars.

The conversion can be a small part of the solution.

What a snow mountain trailer is when pearls perish.

The Lovely Lady sails tonight – spatula together.


The Erhu player was aboard The Lovely Lady. The swank steam ship was set to leave for Zahmphosise ( See Fishbane’s postcard to his cousin Flexham). As he arrived, he saw a woman running proudly on the deck towards certainty and despair, like a clock racing towards New Year’s.

A shot rang out. A knife blade kissed a heart. The brain was broken. Cellophane foamed at the mouth, like a popped champagne bottle, and he pondered –


It’s terribly shiny.

Carpenters only worship stronger veils.

Lip joy for crawling treasure bean ants;

A handful of noise breaks the heart in half.

Every speaker knew the tree of vanity –

And in doing so,

you push everything

around the spatula into the sky.



Closing observations:


The Erhu player wanted nothing to do with Jacques, after she corresponded with Fishbane. Hazelton Dzeusas was a fool, stupidly sent money to support crazed Canadian truckers, and hated the theatre goers who paid his bills. A mirror is better than a knife in a fun house. Tragic Doggerel was a death sentence. It’s a great time to sail away to Zahmphosise, or maybe El Zothique.



The Dadaist Detective walks into a parallel universe’s paralegal parable

The Dadaist Detective walks into a parallel universe’s paralegal parable. A Möbius Schadenfreude slides into view – the duck quacks twice. The concealed countryside dines. The interrelation interrogation begins.


Pick up your eyebrows on the cruise. The options reflect managed shelves. How does it compare to soft intervention blows?

The councillor falls into addiction. There is direct evidence.

As revealed, why didn’t the terminator experience enlarge bitter smelling casements’ missing spoons?

Ask the little bull. This important attraction must use scientific methods when the suburban redress exposes the crippled beggar to polemical enuresis.

The monkey’s claws control the temperature?

This phenomenon evokes nostalgic details. Our asking commentary messes with the help.



-The bastard line responds with a stranded warm back.


Stupid diesel means pink money?

Representatives Sharing – shocking tears leads to addiction.

Pick up your eyebrows on the cruise. The monkey’s claws control the temperature. So does a pacifier sing a lengthy cat. This phenomenon evokes nostalgic details?


The captions reflect managed selves. Whatever prolonged gold figures the finest spike.



– The bassist’s tardy sight lines responds with a understated warm Bach.


Stupid diesel means pink money ? How does it compare to soft intervention bowls?

The cruise is forced into blues and eventually (he wrote this in a record!) into sexy oven mitts.

Can a faithful strike on top of the modelled moan?

Underneath every pant runs a sea novel. Every sarcasm peers outside a mouse!

When will this super-abundant discovery invalidate the mirthful whale?

The tennis veins the toe. The connector supposes the culture. The struggle pales.

How does the column gift the repetitive girlfriend?

The outlined scratch speaks a diesel dialogue over a flowing pill. A bye scrum parades near the pragmatic physics fulsome repose.

How will the picture misdirect the dreaded diagonal?

Breed reasons opposite a battle. The marvellous crime reserves the object into the fail-safe fractious category.


When will a retrieval monkey with an idiom blade those sockets ?

A desired smile behaves underneath your damaging age – the dreamed fuse fusses the compositions against the suspected coincidence.

A lean song preoccupies them with the supermodel. “I’m a fixin’ to go to work”,  she sings, “I gotta get this dolly thing – unsweetened packsaddle.” Her nick imposes the cage.


A parabolic parable paralegal’s parallel universe into a paradoxical plagiarism composes The Dadaist Detective’s walk. The scarce warp obtains a coordinate. Twice quacks duck – the view, into each excessive repertoire, slides A Schadenfreude Möbius. The concealed dines countryside. Begins interrogation interrelation curtain branding – beside the expired jargon matures the duplicate immortal, as parsimonious hail plagues the passerby with platitudes and copper coils, like smoke in a cracked mirror.