[preface: if you turn this poem on its side it mirrors the sound wave of me saying the words ‘Sleeping Jaguar’]
Hello Jaguar Uprising.
I am sam pink, The Eyeless Spider.
This is me saying hello.
No this is me returning hello.
The Jaguar has invoked The Eyeless Spider.
Under penalty of Sleep, the Jaguar infracted.
I viewed your video at the library four days ago. Immediately I let all of my muscles slacken and I felt the slow moving currents of enemy gray blood. The Uprising.
I went to the bathroom and sat in a stall.
I did not blink. I looked at the floor. I said to myself, “it is not time to think anymore. The Jaguar is here. It is time to be an enemy.”
I whispered self-celebration.
I whispered many self-celebrations and eventually let the words blend to a hum, a hum that I sustained while rocking back and forth and touching my face.
I touched my chin and it was round smooth and made of bone and I touched my cheeks and the pore felt huge, they felt crowded, I touched my skull and paid extra attention to the fissures, I tested them they are hard and they are gray.
I hummed many self-celebrations and one and only one for the aggressor.
There is no uprising; there is only me. There is me and this me is molar. There is only me.
Molar contra Jaguar
Eyeless contra The Overseen.
Why did you dip your virgin hands into my germs?
Do you like to meet things that don’t want to meet you?
Did you dip them to clean yourselves?
Did you think it good for any mouth?
Did the Jaguar collapse into the water exhausted and half dead from weakness in the jungle?
The Jaguar then licks a body bent on self-infliction and the ambition to survive as its lowest self.
But I was still in the bathroom.
I sat there consumed by your challenge.
Consumed but not imbalanced.
And along the floor near the toilet, a skeleton legged spider stepped out and tackled a wandering beetle. It did so undaunted.
It tackled half killed and returned.
I am given my lessons.
But Jaguar, I speak them mine.
I left the bathroom and the library and I walked.
That is what I did Jaguar.
I walked.
No standing still, no diversion of person of product.
I walked to the woods. And beneath the bridge that connects towns, I sat in the dirt.
I have been walking Jaguar—
To excise everything unneeded and turn heavier within myself, no group
no uprising
no challenge
only the reforming of the softened self.
The gray blood formed coin sized flakes of ice. And moved to my groin. My dick is hard. I cannot fight any other way than with all immanent energies.
Jaguar, why do you divide blood and duty?
Come see my face each on his own. And I will close your eyes and you will meet The Sleep.
Molar contra Uprising.
One against The Same but Smaller.
Jaguar meets The Sleep.
While I walked, I was equipped by my god, me.
I found a pile of deer fur beneath the bridge, where the cold animal had gone to die—and within the fur: its skeleton all scattered and smeared with black meat.
Jaguar, there are no favors for the one against the group, only a perverse groping for control.
I will scratch my fingertips along the soft skin covering the veins in our neck. The Jaguar is many so The Jaguar is unstable.
A bag of marbles won’t roll.
And I won’t hate my work.
The group that hunts is scattered and feeble.
The match against the wind.
Jaguar against Selves.
The Sleep over The Tired.
The Match against The Wind.
The Jaguar contra The Eyeless Spider.
I brushed the hair off of each bone and took them home.
I boiled the bones in a large metallic pot, atop my stove.
I boiled them because of the blackened material.
When the black material boiled off the steam permeated my face.
I felt married to self-destruction.
I am the ‘is’ of your statement.
The Jaguar combs the burrs from my pubes off its ass and wipes its agonized face off with a fern leaf. The Jaguar’s mascara bleeds into its mouth and it vomits a smaller version of me and the smaller version coughs directly onto the ground and peels a segment, rolling The Jaguar up and setting it to Sleep.
The Sleep is now, Jaguar.
The bulb died when you used it.
The match is quieted by wind
Bones of the old, the bones of The Jaguar folding under the old tent of its skin. Skin. The Eyeless Spider leaves the skeleton.
I inhaled the steam of the black material and emptied the water into my sink. The steam floated out the gray window. I became intensely afraid and felt lost. My 3x3kitchen reduced me to hollow indecision and I stood blankly with the pot of steaming bones in my hands.
Spiders and beetles emerged from beneath the stove and beneath my fridge and beneath the sink. They watched me and taught me to be eyeless.
I will teach nothing and be nowhere beyond my control.
Contra You.
The Jaguar hunts with its neck forward?
But you learn nothing from me and I am gone.
When the spiders and beetles came, they taught.
They taught me to be happy in my apartment. They told me to love my taped-up and flimsy cardboard box apartment, buried in the ground under a cold stratum of dead leaves compressed by an afternoon of rain.
But I didn’t learn anything. I watched without thinking.
That’s how an enemy forms.
I am one minus infinite hugs.
I am glad to meet you.
Jaguar, you must have either over-judged or secretly despised your ability.
The pumping muscle in your chest is my eye skimming power from your veins and seeing all that is the barren skeleton of you—
You are the frown of a half-erect penis.
Jaguar, let me digress and tell you something about myself.
I was raised in a closet sealed off by a broken wooden door.
I was taught everything by the eyeless spider and a very dumb king.
The eyeless spider stood still for days unceasing, and the dumb king never stopped—he waved his shitty underwear around his head laughing.
Jaguar, I assure you that you are nowhere near sam pink because neither is he.
Eat the things that are weaker than you Jaguar—stay alive—
but I expect no critique or squirm for doing the same.
Jaguar, I am a mean face and green-lit infantile-violence.
You will connive, Jaguar.
And huddle around the same fire.
I will cut off your heads using the sharp ends of your smashed egos.
You are the leaning dead tree on the one undying.
You are on a leash, tied together with the long convolutions of your tirades.
You are at home with each other.
I was not ready to stay home; I was still afraid. I left and returned to the stream with the bones.
Jaguar, I threaded the clean verterbrae back together with a shoelace from my boot. And hung them on a tree branch. And night came. And I lay beneath the hanging bones. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop looking at them. Bronzed by the moon that entered through the tree-cover.
Jaguar, you are looking into a lens and you are talking to me.
I am right here and I am never seen. I am standing still for days.
If I swallowed your eye you’d see—
The bone marrow of a very old tree
If I swallowed your eye you’d see—
The attic light, one bulb opening up along the wood floor where the lesbians are kissing and there is nothing angry around.
If I swallowed your eye you’d see—
A very old lion with gray around his face, who no longer even wants to kill to eat
If I swallowed your eye you’d see—
A moth banging against the floodlight because the moth is cold and your ideas likewise, Jaguar, have ripped and dissolute wings and no warm blood outside the group.
If I swallowed your eye you’d see—
Only what is mine.
I eat only what is mine.
I cannot fear the Jaguar Uprising because nothing rises in a group.
I cannot fear a group.
When the Jaguar assembles I stand in the woods and masturbate on a tree; I laugh and watch them assemble and I make a sword out of a chipped rock. I throw rocks and pull pieces of The Jaguar from within itself; The Jaguar jettisons members quickly through individual crises.
Listen to The Jaguar; it sleeps it sleeps.
Listen to The Jaguar underneath a blanket— warm within the confines of its group.
Listen to the dryness between the bone connections in the Jaguar; it sleeps it sleeps.
Should I unfold The Jaguar or let it die in sleep?
Should I step soundless to its sleeping frame and fasten a ziplock bag over each head?
I am feeling like a horny amoral god.
I have been walking again, Jaguar. I am walking.
And I won’t go home.
And I won’t put my hands in my pockets because they are itchy.
And my hands won’t hate their work.
I have been walking and listening. I have been walking to remember the sickened fight of the one-strong.
Jaguar, The Sleep. The Sleep.
You know.
I tell of The Sleep.
It should ring even to lazy ears.
No uprising can stay horizontal.
The Sleep.
The Sleep
The Sleep
The Sleep
It is.
The Sleep is.
Jaguar, you are tired.
Make your bed where I shaved the earth for you.
You don’t have to thank me.
I am taking what I can and then calling it mine.
I make big steps and you sleep The Sleep in the marks of my steps. Step-marks.
Jaguar, you are my step-mark kids.
My step-kids.
This is where I tep on your face.
Me+Jaguar=The Sleep.
I am walking and hitting the bones together and hearing the sound.
I am hearing the sound. I shake my neck and my body and the vertebrae on the shoelace necklace clack together. They are the tempo that you won’t hear unless I allow.
And I won’t hate my work.
And I will trace the lines around me in the woods.
And disrupt none.
And hate no work.
I hit the bones against each other and against the rocks and trees. I piss on the tree roots and also the leaves of the prettiest plants. I kiss the flowers with a lipsticked mouth.
Because, The Jaguar hunts.
Which is a form of finding.
I strike reactive violence that making no claims—minding both sides of itself so no seam betrays a split.
The Jaguar is seamed.
I am the eyeless spider.
On my back is my home.
My teeth are shiny but they are black.
They are thorns and they are very sick, but strong to it themselves. They are very very sleepless.
Jaguar, The Sleep.
The Sleep is very close.
I am walking to you, walking into wind that wants me away.
But I am without intention of any kind;
I am answering only what I ask in private.
Tonight I walked between two streetlights. I watched my shadow move and align itself perfectly beneath me.
Jaguar, I am the latest version of myself.
I will tap The Jaguar teeth with my bones and dance by myself.
The sounds will make me want to dance.
The Jaguar is a piece of silly putty with a faded reproduction of newsprint on it.
The newsprint is an old ‘Blondie’ cartoon.
In the cartoon, ‘Dagwood’ is pouring boiling water on his inner thigh and fingering his asshole.
The Jaguar’s self-determined destination:
Aborted by the astringent mouth of the eyeless spider.
Molar contra Uprising.
The Jaguar contra The Eyeless Spider
The Sleep
The Jaguar is hunting.
The Jaguar is video.
The Jaguar is video hunting.
You are a movie of however many scared-looking skeletons.
And I spit at things that look so scared.


The Golden Bear said...

Sam Pink.

The Golden Bear enjoyed your promo. A little long, but with some practice you might be pretty good. You Tube Jake "The Snake" Roberts. I think you both touch on similar themes and motifs.

TTB asked me to post a promo for him on my blog. He cant post it on his because he's just too fucking mystic for embedded video content.

Anyway, here it is. I think you pissed him off. He's usually pretty damn-mystic, but in this one he is like off-the-charts mystic.

I mean, come on! The fog? Where the hell did that come from?


TTB said...

Sam Pink,

Your promo was long.
You talked about sleep.
The sleeping Jaguar.
Sleeping is TTB's gimmick.
That is gimmick infringement.

You talk of how the Jaguar is a group and will falter in its numbers.
You know little of our power.
You know little of the string that binds all of us together.
We may be mystic, adorable and the industry but Sam Pink we are one.
We are like the power rangers when they get all their zords and put them all together once the evil bad guy grows bigger.
You are the evil growing bigger.
We are the assembled robot
made out of pieces of our own minds and hearts
that looks like a Jaguar.

Watch my promo.
I am coming for you.
I call upon the clouds.
The Jaguar never sleeps.
The Jaguar never falters.
We are the wave of the ocean that crashes without a sound.
You are coming down to the beach to search for your penis.
We are sneaking up on you and pulling you into the water.
You are inside the Jaguar.
And we do not let go.


daryl said...

wait.... who the fuck is sam pink?

freefun0616 said...