Dispatches from Heuristic Halo Press #4

Today’s dispatch includes a contribution from new author Maung Pyae, whose attribution is P, below, collaborating with Marshall (M) on “Mysterious Pines.” Another guest author is a former student at Heuristic Halo, Marshall’s school in Mandalay, who goes by Eric (E) in collaboration with Marshall on the poem which begins ‘Cold shower bleak weather blizzard. . .’

            Language is like a conquest of information.

NeverAttemptShitYouNeverTried and DareDevilMotherfuckinDickhead watched a documentary named HowToSuckBallsLickPubicHairStubs&SellBullshitOnline and have a brainstorm section afterwards and come up with an innovative idea named “ButtStuckInFrontOfDeviceAndFartAerodynamicProducts.” They then asked FamousPlushYoutuber called BallJuiceSipSickPrick for feedback on their idea and the CelebratedBallsyYoutuber said: Don’t go out and get you ass dry or you’ll waste shit to sell.

M.

On Speaking with my Buddy Marshall after the Video-phone

A laugh can settle the
disturbances of bygone years
Shaking up joy from the belly,
my old friend;
Overhead the hum of war-crafts,
the gasoline scent of mown grass,
the stillness of centuries-long enforced
domination;
Though I still have my laugh with you
and my soul is settled,—
The hopefulness of being humans
who do not sacrifice truth,
even when the weight of corruption is
heaving its great mass,
            smooshing like a glorious wildflower
the People’s Head,
Smashing the people down,
robbing the soul of its humanity;—
No, for a moment we laugh,
but do not forget our duties to future generations;
Our soul-words like a banner,
our laughs like a weapon
which we shall wield in vigorous honor
to the end of Incarnations.

A.

JollyGiraffeBond, GenerousCatSally and FabulousChimpJenny talked about how to fish in a pond and MightyBruteAlligator suggested them to go deeper into the water.

PurchasedTwistedMedia shouts in the sea afloat when it sees SlyFoxPickBucksBags on a nearby island and asks for help. All of a sudden Kim’sTestedNuke just annihilates both including the island. 

M.

Mysterious Pines

Faint flight voice up high the night when insects delight: dark yet bright, plain sight— blithe

Night light bring the life into being, feeling the dull side of life

Lulled by nature, walked I onto the grass scattered with leaves and gazed up: misty, moonlit sky of foggy texture

Fulfill the mind with light ciggies, seating on the cozy iron, musing the peaceful gift underneath velvet sheet

Kites of streamed thoughts drifted with the humid breeze yet wondered the beast beneath the tree smokin’, see nothin’ but life’s miraculous blessed beings sounding obscure in the vicinity of stark dark illuminated by yellow bulbs

Track through the windows of eyes: haul the deep thread of sophisticated minds, found the descend of painful asphyxiated lines.

Brine contemplation sought outta timed compilation— fine revelation seeps into the ears of kind personification under the pines’ chilled decor. . . behind hill hectares. . bind ill scepter.  A fine spilled factor made of ancient lacquer. . . bittersweet nectar.

M & P

FakeNewsMedia and FuckedUpInternet talked to MindlessProleDumbShitsPublic about how the world should be and everybody went nuts.

PervertedGoatInBeachPants asks BeautifulSheepInSwimsuit while they’re relaxing at the beach, “How do you choose a sexy bikini?” and she reply, “Why don’t you Go Ogle it?”

M.

Garbging Trhgi

Search birth certificates online at

the mark with blue “f”

Sagged lives with brag rights pass

gas of sad pike swinging rich flat

plight on websites

Everyone’s on a heist for attention

Anxiety rises the web delighted

Beg the kite of hope for an

optimistic dive

Yet it hit the little high tree

destroying the home of bees

Hive lost

Yet the resilient insects still find

ways not halt :::::::: the narcissistic

show, not stop.

M.

Cold shower bleak weather blizzard
Discarded dreams still stream at heart
Fire of youth is all but ash
Yet from the cinder lies change
Fame clouded while young, life’s blurry
Flame youthfulness built families named
uncertainties
Youthfulness paved way for rushness
Dreams built upon emotions, heard only void
Sight not in void, dive lost in divide
Kites fought in flights yet slight thoughts in
might
            of a young child’s mind in delight
With every fights reward a scar
Each scars disclose signs aiming for the
stars
            so very close, yet so far away
Bay and the ocean touch yet there’s a
shoreline
Define, “far away,” asked the bay to blue
water from ashore
            & the water said, “Ask the ocean floor.”

M & E

Is it evil,

            Literature,

in the best

            sense of the word;

Aye, when it

            resists!

It’s not about immortality

or nothingness

but merely

the will

to carry through

what you can’t

give up on anyways.

Never trust anyone with a profit

motive, I always say!

Yeh the Romantic is simply one

who sees in the Satanic

rebellion against God

the affirmation of the

            original sanctity

            of Nature.

God is an illusion

of the reality of Power. 

See the creation of God

            like Ideology

is the accumulation of Power

behind a veil

            of secrecy.

The modern World

is shaped by the Philosopher’s

            Will; civilization

or the State is the Power

            of ideology.

This is the World of the Philosophers

conceived during the Renaissance

like in ancient Egypt,

a creation that echoes

like the Godhead of the future

from our distant

            past,—for

            Time is a place.

(Suns)

Hierarchies are

the establishment

of systems through time

that preserve a transformation

            of space.

Ancient history

as the far distant future

            of another race.

Though to separate the human

from inhuman is to make

a hierarchy of life.

Creating shadows to fear

out of a flame

that binds us all the same.

            29 March 2021.

A.


Contribute to Heuristic Halo Press, send ideas, expressions of all kinds, poems or prose, to ascottbuch@yahoo.com; the project of Investigative Poetry is that of all citizens of the World.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *