Lewis LaCook
Since 2001
Works in Lorain, Ohio United States of America

ARTBASE (6)
PORTFOLIO (7)
BIO
Lewis LaCook makes things. He is a programmer/poet. He likes unstable objects. He doesn't eat enough. Send him all your money.
Discussions (792) Opportunities (1) Events (0) Jobs (0)
DISCUSSION

FOUR MEN SMOOTHING OVER FRESH SIDEWALK


Proper noun shining with cleanly toothy silence and
properties of
flying bug tufts of running nurses plentitude at an
abstraction
of knife dreaming inside of outer billfold flows.
Slipping slide
glass over door reveals levitation or honesty segments
pretending
odor roads into purchase safety from more romantic
languages
situated at the perplexity of complicit reactives
that.
Curvature vacuous, saying let talent splurge girl
nuts. Rigged by
states to plummet lumbering rhododendrite flaking,
verbal labia
baroque tulip dentures to decay zero phonographic
grid. Stippled
like an honorarium from numb school glaze will lipid
dirty to
squeal laser venom for this ludicrous bouzouki
morphemic stem
which pleasures like dogma of academy glister for who
also
solaced blend drops. Monkey sea dews condensing
fantasia into
burning mankind distanced from here's cement mud
cooling on a
glassine plate of bender. Proper noun clears throat
scoring hold
roses in fist syllable while breaking scrape payments
rubber
gnarled song rolling lordly fissure dinner to the
shovel load. At
the level of velvet telephones, show washes watch
loosed soothing
dirt claim for over door glass slipknot grove.
Gravely, pavement
clays blemish with shit. Depth becomes entrance to
newt lending
emotion knot a glaze of universal grading scale over
eyebowl
saucers catching satellite leprosy from chrysanthemum
nasal late
of oxford sneaker tools.

Worker curl racket. Waxy bohemian limp.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html

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DISCUSSION

Re: Jess Loseby Q&A


> I'm going to regret getting into this, but...

not only can I conceive of prper autonomy, I can conceive of courtesy...
lack of it makes one look ignorant...

bliss
l

"-IID42 Kandinskij @27+" <death@zaphod.terminal.org>

Can youconceive of an absolute authority which nevertheless doesn't
act in a dictatorial manner? Or is the concept of proper autonomy that unfamiliar to you?

Secondly, can you possibly conceive the co-existence of absolute
and sovereign authorities simultaneously, highly individual in themselves, yet valid?

Or does it all resolve to you or me is the dictator, baby?

`, . ` `k a r e i' ? ' D42

DISCUSSION

Shamans with a Modem: Joseph and Donna McElroy


http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/15239/94995

Shamans with a Modem: Joseph and Donna McElroy

The web isn't commonly thought of as a performative medium, though in actuality, in the very mechanisms of its realization, it very much is...

http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html

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DISCUSSION

ONLINE CONTENT PROVIDER


I paint the whites of my eyes.
I paint them green, with gradations
absconding. I paint my eyes
the same as the colors of mirrors reveal.

Color is sex. It arcs
out of the three-dimensional
in a bend that is seditious, is collage
of relation and expectance. What
exception to this, that
I point to the plain of my eyes, and
flying
know only their insides as a verso of
dimming!

Shoves a dissolves of crystal in your see the personal
of sits
rigid but within on no faults in the coloring but
sighs away from
us explosion rear restaurant centering waits stilly
cooling on
glass in everything show business bitterness as timid
so
relentless teleportation dimensioned white colors low
sitting at
pasture rivets endanger cup funnel churl knives in
cornea cochlea
slow buildings

After you go to work, which is usual in this, I go out
on the
back porch and sit with a cigarette in my hand trying
to read.

I am waiting to render my music as an mp3.

Several reasons why site is wonderful, while sitting
here, coat
my tongue just as well as if they were online literary
venues,
all of which contain work similar to yours and yet
refuse to
publish her. He stands up, angular head just conically
brushing
the low-flung ceiling elegant as a woman's hand pastry
clumped in
with exotic scale tabulature that makes possible in
skeletal
upbringing the child's ultimate uselessness as a
reason to sit
and bitch and moan about almost totally unacceptable
behavior,
anon. Let the games begin, she thinks. Moss erupts on
both sides
of the trees in Richmond Virginia. They swung across a
fleshless
pool of dimming radar eqipment that couldn't scan the
horizon
anymore; sitting back down, he notices the wild
breathing of
flaneur yarn spun winded around his facial gestures. I
doubt very
seriously that the color of this font is as pleasing
as a deep
throat full of verbs.

Gradually, I write the seminal
influence of color across
my hands. It's night is
drawing near, shadows
in the very shape of liquid
dusk suddenly, like a rain
or a relief from under a vellum sky.
That I want to tear your clothes off, or
your skin, that I am a ghost seeking
embodiment, bodes harm on a casing
that limns out review material for the
online content provider, 1967, and
and was wash with gray saw fart tarsel.
Getting by. I pint my hunds gray, thee

sane colour as you, who imprint the temporal
with heat the size of reading, wedding
flesh to neuralgia, asterisks to
resin stacked and garbage calculated, with algebra
on my mind again, how it soothes to collapse
variables on a level with de Kooning.
These exceptions to green are a delicious
slow building romance, one
that leaves her alone in a humming room, eyes
locked safely behind crystal watching him monitor
the sluggish eroticism that servers erupt into

when stroked.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html

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DISCUSSION

DROWNING IN THE AGE OF MID-AIR


Dipping into rust, the trees
protrude like abandonment,
creasing a sky swollen
with leaves. The birds
are frilled with oxidation;
their departing calls
scrape over the fresh abrasion
dusk leaves on our faces, peppered
with the waking bats' morning
thrum; and now I feel
like I'm walking through quicksand.
As fast as all this is,

curbs like crusts of day-old
bread ridge the parking lot,
dipping at times into walkways
as graceful as your shoulders when
I rub you to burrs, thistlelicious,

with no envy for things that float.
I wish I was a hummingbird too, you
tell me: but that's a sadness

like walking through the coldest water
cupped in the back of your throat, and
not even fighting as it fills you up.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html

__________________________________________________
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