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

Dirty Milk


She is a color. Behind all traffic, a blurt of
quietude in loading docks; men lift here, sweat, fill
their muscles with the air of her normalcy. Bach in a
G-string causals lacerating protrusions. Yes, you
mouth, I have your hand there.

A clarity of fog etches contrast on the city, which,
after days of cloudy pounding, was in danger of
wartime recession. Cesspool-hopping in clatter hoops
vents grooved ears back to fangful smile; cats could
be a type of music, a ribbon of melody tying your legs
so lightly together it helps you walk. In the morning
she thinks about the elderly, especially about the
rude old men who secrete disrespect begrudgingly;
predictably, dogwood strips white in the rain, hanging
behind your eyes long after slumber is done fumbling
at your zipper. What sleep sucks from you deeply is
not important. Only those institutions who as a matter
of policy suspirate gradient undulations may catch
wind of new styles of containment.

As much as you suspect her cleanliness is hot in the
center, fire in all its rude forms wrings essence from
quickly withering food. In my napalm closet, mist
courses through mopheads with a vapid rinse; cars,
peeling electricity from crudely fusion engines, rove
around volcanic corners with all the speed those old
barbershop towels save in shaving. Every night I wash
my face in the same dirty bowl; every evening she
stares back at me: surprised so many angles come
pristine.

I'm not picky about dreaming of car crash. Letting
this happen, along the sides of our sighs cerulean
patterns of sex. The wheels rattle, the hubcaps
wheeze, in your new job you do not matter. Most
importantly, it communicates emotion.

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NEW!! Alan Sondheim by Lewis LaCook: http://www.lewislacook.com/alanSondheim/

http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html

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DISCUSSION

Cat Pissing on a Snowy Page: Cubism and


http://www.sidereality.com/volume2issue2/reviewsv2n2/reviewofgo.htm

Cat Pissing on a Snowy Page: Cubism and Gregory Vincent St. Thomasino

The Go poems strike me as a carefully reconstructed mirror turned on language itself...

NEW!! Alan Sondheim by Lewis LaCook: http://www.lewislacook.com/alanSondheim/

http://www.lewislacook.com/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html

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DISCUSSION

Re: If We All Just Talk About How We Feel We'll All Feel The Same Way


Yes, you took elements of a mediated reality and you presented them as
> if
> they would lead to any level of greater understanding. You failed,
> because
> mediated reality has nothing to do with reality, and your opinions on
> mediated reality have even less to do with reality.

--where are you finding an unmediated reality, eryk? even your opinions are a form of mediated reality---as are mine.....

bliss
l

DISCUSSION

from Dirty Milk


This thrum musters in arcs piles of lips, tossing her
from one daub of semen'd kleenex to another usage in
production's placement and witness projection league.
I need you holografted onto my face these deadly
afternoons; one set of features will never be enough
to scald the hours between leaving and return pink
like a hot new pimple. So I rise and fall with your
voice just as the wind does? Watch me wrap it around
me--people love the softness of your greetings
scratching my nipples out like nightmare eyes.

It's true that I'm in the middle of moving across the
face of genders in the deep. Hot wax poured across her
ribcage furrowed like cultivating steppes in the deep.
When all the lights go out, silver curses she seals
in my core rotate granular fantasies, spilling salt on
a bird's tail in the deep. In the deep, everyone
flies: a slim Virginian with a belt-buckle as big as
my head.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
net art review: http://www.netartreview.net/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
furtherfield: http://www.furtherfield.org/home.html

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DISCUSSION

three more from Dirty Milk


I was standing in the feedback of hours, untouched by
any of the changes coursing through your skin, with
all the white falsity of digital networking caching
dead musics in my face. I was thinking kinship levels
of everything overslept; the birds hadn't gotten up
yet, the sun in her wraparound sunglasses and
tanningBooth smile still had to lend her cool sweet
body to the banks of sky's rhetoric suffused with
surgery; the hands moved within me, plucking from my
veins these intrinsic equations: mind: time shadows;
the slopes of tone. I was messing myself up with her
downsizing in those slick tunnels of usage. When I
woke that day, still coping with fatal latitudes, the
trees and their anatomies had separated for good.

Her voice notches birdsong to delicious flute. Lulls
in use have tamped all cursive stalks into noisy dirt.
Earnings hoisted , soon blond stir panned fruit until
full. Tools numbed by broods of tasks curl genre
around toys on alert.

As dumb luck would have it, trees are budding beyond
her control in the segment before sleep, as I dream
rows of alphabets frosted with silk. Am I awake, or do
all these hours shiver to pin-size, soliloquoy? True,
you do seem saddened by them, or is it the injection
you fear, slipshod membrane scored with razor snoring
but staring white-eyed at the ceiling of her dreams
until the canon wears off? I weather night thinly,
like a copse of braille.

=====

http://www.lewislacook.com/
net art review: http://www.netartreview.net/
tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html
furtherfield: http://www.furtherfield.org/home.html

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