Dead Planet LVII



Dead Planet LVII
___________________________


Big Oil Planet—
History of the BP Tokugawa Shogunate
________________________________


“Utopia has always been a
political issue, an unusual
destiny for a literary form.”
—Frederic Jameson, Archaeologies of
the Future: The Desire Called Utopia
and Other Science Fictions

louisiana—
a satellite takes a pic
the gulf coast is toast

the same with libya—
as well as the japanese
archipelago

It’s really pretty simple. All you gotta do is look around—and pay attention to contemporary events. Like the Gulf of Mexico oil spill or Japanese meltdown—worse than Valdez or Katrina. Chernobyl and Three Mile Island?

somewhere in the gulf—
big oil brain-slug abruptly
loses its $$$ grip

Anybody who still thinks the BP oil spill was an accident—is a fuckin’ fool. Big Oil is Big Brother now—and these guyz don’t fuck around. Look at Iraq. Afghanistan. Japan. Libya is next.

garbage pit planet—
solyent green processing plant
buying up lost souls

BP and the other Big Oil Barons—they make all the Steel Barons, the Railroad Barons, the Wall Street Barons look like a bunch of old whores—all dressed up & nobody to blow.

night of the dead—
the long distance phone call to
our unborn children

Dick Cheney—masked “Darth Vader” himself. Gives it all away back when he says—“Never before has Big Oil been totally in control of foreign policy, international war and the destiny of the planet. That was then—but this is now.”

polluted sunset—
streaks of crude cruddy petrol
de-evolution

That’s how Late Capitalism works—it’s the Death Star incarnate. It’s gonna getcha—all of us you betcha. It’s happened before—it’ll happen again.

giedi prime disco—
count vladimir harkonnen
the floating fatman

Take heart though—it’s not gonna be like Orwell’s “1984” or Huxley’s “Brave New World.” Nor is it gonna be like Stanislaw Lem’s “Solaris” or even Yevgeny Zamyatin’s “We.” If anything’s it’s gonna be more like—“Lord of the Flies.”

the sci-fi monster—
creature from the black lagoon
it’s really us

SF writers today—need to wise up. And study a little Japanese economic history. What we see now—has already happened before. The idea is to conceptualize Western future shock—like it’s already happened in the East.

nagasaki boom—
hiroshima mon amour
apocalypse now

Actually it’s pretty simple—it’s called dystopian déjà vu. And here’s the kicker, kiddies—Big Oil is the Tokugawa Shogunate of the twenty-first century.

big oil history—
tokugawa shogun
they were big brother

“I have felt that a plot of this kind is to be grasped as what I will call a historical ideologeme: a specific narrative unit which in and of itself—in its own formal language—transmits
a historical message or meaning.”—Frederic Jameson, Archaeologies of the Future: The Desire Called Utopia
and Other Science Fictions

how many planets—
don’t quite make it outta late
capitalism?

The BP Tokugawa shogunate, also known as the BP bakufu and the Edo bakufu, was a feudal Japanese interplanetary energy company established by Tokugawa Ieyasu and ruled by the shoguns of the Tokugawa family.

sunday afternoon—
sleek fast skyships drift above
a blue saturn sea

This period is known as the Edo period and gets its name from the capital city, Edo, which now is called Tōkōyo. The Tokugawa BP shogunate ruled from Edo Castel on Titan from 2010 until 2068, when it was abolished during the Neo-Meiji Restoration.

hydroponic moons—
and slimy android slug tracks
across porthole glass

First as multinational oil company (“oil major”) and then later as interplanetary energy corporation (“solar major”— the BP Tokugawa shogunate was Japan’s largest space corporation, with its BP Japan headquarters in two offices in Roppongi Hills and Gate City Ohsaki. The Osaki office was the headquarters of Terran businesses. The planetary business offered products and services such as metalworking fluids and performance lubricants to manufacturing industries such as automotive, machineries, metals and fabricated metals and electronics.

titan bay mid-spring—
anticipating human
cloning robotics

The interplanetary sales offices were located in Sendai, Nagoya, Osaka, Hiroshima and Fukuoka covering entire Honshu and Kyushu Island with its super-technology center located on Titan serving mining interests developing Saturn’s rings and offshore exploration missions assigned to the Asteroid Belt, Neptune and Uranus.

emerging from the—
the first android revolution
cryogenic wars

Asia Pacific countries founded New Japan colonies on Venus and Mercury—where rich liquid deposits of gold and other precious heavy metals are discovered once BP develops protective magneto-shielding technology to permit safe habitation for lucrative gold and silver business ventures.

low thunder...his wife—
whispers hypnotic commands
to his dreaming id

BP America's headquarters had been located in the Two Westlake Park complex in the Energy Corridor area of Houston, Texas. But WWIII (known as the Great Dystopian Apocalypse) had all but turned that part of the planet Earth into a radioactive wasteland.

crypto-coding fails—
inside turns inside-out
earth incognito

The BP Tokugawa shogunate was among the largest space sector energy corporations in the solar system, and one of the six “supermajors” (vertically integrated private sector zero-energy exploration, heavy metal and anti-gravity drive product marketing companies).

humans hiding out—
in ice-cold cryo-chambers
radium sunsets

Following the Sengoku Period of WWIII, the central Terran government had been largely reestablished by Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi to the offshore Titan Castel during the Azuchi-Momoyama period.

the super-nova—
drowns out all terra screams
in oceans of light

After the Battle of Saturn’s Rings in 2012, central authority fell to Tokugawa Ieyasu who completed this process and received the title of Solar shogun in 2013. In order to become Solar shogun, one traditionally was a descendant of the ancient Exxon clan.

over the wastelands—
on the vid-screens we can see
there’s nothing down there

Society in the Tokugawa BP solar shogun period, unlike the Terran shogunates before it, was supposedly based on the strict class hierarchy originally established by Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The Titan daimyo, or space lords, were at the top, followed by the warrior-caste of space samurai, with the farmers, artisans, and traders ranking below.

when I go to sleep—
the modem dials on its own
nano-fingertips

In some parts of the solar system, particularly remote regions, Titan daimyo and space samurai were more or less identical, since daimyo might be trained as samurai, and samurai might act as local space lords.

solar samurai—
warlords on distant planets
moons beneath the sword

Otherwise, the largely inflexible nature of this outer space social stratification system unleashed disruptive forces over time. Taxes on the planetary peasantry were set at fixed amounts which did not account for inflation or other changes in monetary value.

rashhomon planet—
akira kurosawa’s
different perspectives

As a result, the tax revenues collected by the space samurai landowners were worth less and less over time. This often led to numerous confrontations on Mars, Titan & other Saturn satellites, between noble but impoverished space samurai and well-to-do planetary peasants who’d become wealthy planet-owners.

terra birth defects—
mutant creepazoidal dreams
in through the backdoor

These interplanetary conflicts ranged from simple local disturbances to much bigger interplanetary rebellions. None, however, proved compelling enough to seriously challenge the established order until the arrival of the Alien foreign powers…

edo-aerobots—
began noticing something
scanning the empire

Immigration policies were strained when the Aliens demanded Titan bases and employment in the mining colonies populating the rich Rings of Saturn.

folding out of space—
sleek sirius sloops of war
fins slithering scales

Toward the end of the 21st century, an alliance of several of the more powerful Titan daimyo, along with the titular Earth Emperor, finally succeeded in the overthrow of the BP Tokugawa shogunate after the tragic Battle of Triton.

breaking the strict rules—
I cloned a new sexy wife
perhaps I'll keep her

But rebels with the assistance of the Aliens took over Triton, one of Neptune's largest fortified moons, and the resulting atomic warfare damaged the gravity of Triton, slowing it down and making it drop closer and closer to the planet. Millions of lives were lost as Triton finally came close enough for gravitational forces to break it apart.

many felt it bad—
the disturbance in the force
something phasing out

The beautiful Saturn-like rings that formed around Neptune was bright enough to be seen from Earth. The rebel alliance was crushed—yet the Aliens somehow escaped through a rogue orbiting black hole that appeared and then disappeared into nowhere.

midway between moons—
the abandoned aliens
fled to earth bunkers

The rogue Alien taskforce was rumored to be hiding underground beneath ancient Poughkeepsie. None dared enter the contaminated Earth-space in pursuit however—because of the heavy radioactivity still polluting the once beautiful homebase of mankind.

thin air & twilight—
mildew remains the one sign
human android rot

The Neo-Meiji Restoration prevailed. The BP Tokugawa Shogunate came to an official end in 2068, with the resignation of the 15th BP Tokugawa Shogun, Tokugawa Yoshinobu, and the "restoration" (Osei fukko) of Imperial Rule.

See “Late Tokugawa BP shogunate” for details.

Dead Planet LVI



Dead Planet LVI
___________________________

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9p6GUECHLg0&feature=related

japanese earthquake

buzz rumble pop zap—
time for free energy tech
it’s here to use now

end the atomics—
no more hiroshima inc.
nagasaki co.

fleeing tokyo—
tainted jet-stream creeping east
this island earth now



Dead Planet LV



Dead Planet LV
___________________________

scifaiku poets—
have a long history &
yet we are still new

we renew ourselves—
like a snake shedding its skin
time slithers, you know.

tell your species—
it's time to morph their genie
words & images.

time is serpentine—
coiling uncoiling wordplay
these alien words.

what if i told you—
in the beginning angel
wrestling-time?

jacob & angel—
a man & an alien
wrestling with wordplay?

living dead undead—
all happening at the same
planetary time.

multi-subjective—
intertextually one
just an illusion?

seemingly unseemly—
your alien gone brother(s)
returning to you?

tricky business—
writing it down quickly since
time gets elusive.

gone, done/redone—
redoing what’s been unsaid
saying it all new.

one’s thigh & one’s tongue—
spraining, unspraining the words
angel in your tent?

not just here on earth—
but all its doppelgangers
telepathic now…

we the aliens—
wrestling with your dark double
dreamtime scifaiku.



Dead Planet LIV



Dead Planet LIV
_______________________


Notes on Scifaiku

“haiku moments can occur
in the distant past or in
distant, imaginary places.
In fact, one of Buson's great
accomplishments was his
ability to create other worlds.”
—Haruo Shirane, “Beyond the Haiku
Moment: Basho, Buson and Modern
Haiku myths,” Modern Haiku, XXXI:
1 (winter-spring 2000)
___________________________

“the Korean ship—
not stopping passes back
into the mist”
—Buson

the Martian ship—
not stopping passes backwards
into sub-space
___________________

“lightning—
girdled by waves
islands of Japan”
—Buson

Saturn in eclipse—
ringed by icy-cold thin rings
Titan gliding by
_____________________
“Have the summer rains
come and gone, sparing
the Hall of Light?”
—Basho

have the meteor—
showers come & gone sparing
the sky of night?”
___________________________

“The apparition—
of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on wet, black bough”
—Ezra Pound

the apparition—
of all these orbs orbiting
worlds I’ll never know
__________________________

“summer grasses—
traces of dreams
of ancient warriors”
—Basho

pyramid ruins—
the ancient face on Mars
what happened back then?
__________________________

“Equally important, travel
was a means of entering
into the past, of meeting
the spirits of the dead, of
experiencing what his poetic
and spiritual predecessors
had experienced. In other
words, there were two key
axes: one horizontal, the
present, the contemporary
world; and the other vertical,
leading back into the past,
to history, to other poems.”
—Haruo Shirane
_____________________________

“gazing intently
at the white chrysanthemums—
not a speck of dust”
—Basho

gazing intensely—
thru the telescope at all
that moonlight & dust
___________________________

“from deep within
the peony pistils—withdrawing
regretfully the bee”
—Basho

deep inside my brain—
there’s a worm gnawing away
inside a chestnut
______________________________

“fallen willow leaves—
the clear stream gone dry,
stones here and there”
—Buson

cydonia plains—
all the seas & rivers gone
rubble everywhere
___________________________

“by the side of the road
alongside a stream of clear water
in the shade of a willow tree
I paused for what I thought
would be just a moment”
—Saigyo

“a whole field of
rice seedlings planted—I part
from the willow”
—Basho

déjà vu flashback—
vandals of the void cruising
outta the ort cloud
______________________________

“frog pond...
a leaf falls in
without a sound’
—Bernard Einbond

“…a haikai twist on Basho's
famous frog poem, wittily
replacing the frog with the
leaf and the sound of the
frog jumping in with no
sound. Einbond's haiku
has a sense of immediacy,
but at the same time it
speaks to the past; it enters
into dialogue with Basho's
poem. In other words, this
haiku goes beyond "the
haiku moment", beyond
the here and now, to speak
across time. To compose
such haiku is difficult. But
it is the kind of poetry that
can break into the mainstream
and can become part of a
poetic heritage.”—Haruo Shirane

outer space—
a planet incinerated
not a single scream
_________________________________

“jumping in
and washing off an old poem—
a frog”—Buson

“Fan-piece, for Her Imperial Lord
O fan of white silk,
Clear as frost on a grass-blade,
You are also laid aside.”
—Ezra Pound

jumping into time—
washing off like an old queen
scifaiku poet



Dead Planet LIII



Dead Planet LIII

Scifaiku version—
Japanese emaki scroll
The Tale of Titan.

A part of Genji—
Monogatari time-jump
Emaki pic-scroll.

By Fujiwara—
Takayoshi dating
From 1130

Scifaiku tale by—
Murasaki Shikibu
11th century.

Nagoya, Japan—
Tokugawa Museum
Earth time 2011.




Dead Planet LII




Dead Planet LII

lost in scifaiku—
a Kokka illustration
100 years old

see how the screens—
are cutting-up & folding
back into themselves

this is how haiku—
folds in & out of time
entertaining poets


“The poet princess Saigu no Nyogo Yoshiko,” Kokka, February 1902

Dead Planet LI



Dead Planet LI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKXCuB0mwvw&feature=related

“SHE BELIEVES IN
TWO THINGS—
love and violence!”

scifaiku film noir—
can be a tasty genre
guns, sex, violence

male femmes fatales get—
downright douchebag addictive
what else is new tho?

gun crazy boyfriends—
can be big trouble for you
if you’re a whiner…

john dall’s a whiner—
whines all the time about it
this, that, his girlfriends

he’s the kinda guy—
gets taken advantage of
hook, line and sinker

it’s young sci-fi meat—
male femme fatale bottom
beneath the blue moon

i’m peggy cummins—
i be top for poor john dall
my whiny bottom

it makes you wonder—
about young couples in crime
like bonny and clyde

that pic of bonny—
propped up on the bent fender
their getaway ford…

bonny looks pretty—
damn butchy if you like ask me
refreshingly svelte

gangster molls as boss—
kunt crime for a fuckin’ change
bonny and peggy…
.
both my femmes fatales—
gangster ladies of the night
film noir skanky dames

it doesn’t help much—
that john doll’s so butt-ugly
like pretty boy floyd

there was this cute guy—
i like met in the ghost mall
he whined all the time

it got so bad that—
i slipped a big pillowcase
down over his head

he whined about sex—
like wanting it all the time
like twice in a row

he whined about love—
up early in the morning
and at night in bed

he whined about spice—
he whined about giedi prime
it got on my nerves

the only reason—
why i liked him was because
he had a big gun

a big ray-gun—
i was gun-crazy for it
his hot 12-inch rod

he was my gunsel—
i was a sucker for it
his sleek black luger

he packed a heater—
he was so well-endowed that
he limped bow-legged

gimme your ray-gun—
i’d say to the smirky kid
let’s shoot your brains out

i was a sucker—
for the kid’s android hot lead
his silver bullets

he was good at it—
good at shooting his brains out
all the way to mars

whined like a baby—
as i drained his ray-gun dry
dry to the droid bone

his former girlfriend—
took advantage of him bad
she was aggressive
.
she was like bonny—
she had a streak of s & m
she was just awful

she played in a band—
her favorite thing was to
get him good in bed

wearing her big dick—
her nice hot strap-on dildo
tying it on tight

she get him real good—
her electric vibrator
up against the wall

its neat sweet built-in—
deadly taser beam big head
zapping the kid good

he got off on it—
so she turned up the voltage
and fried him in bed!!!




Dead Planet L



Dead Planet L

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kuFvEV34fA0&feature=related

1

see how it unfolds—
the way the crab-writing crawls
sideways across the screen

we have our own way—
digital necromancers
writing scifaiku

2

even on terra—
if scifaiku poetry
would possibly die

what difference is it—
we’re already abandoned
beneath the old stars

3

the vast solar wind—
sleeping & dreaming stillness
lunar landscape dawn

the calm titan night—
the secret of saturn’s rings
vandals of the void

4

the red sands of mars—
so far from nagasaki
yet swords once fell there

the polar caps melt—
the pyramids rot away
total recall time

5

the neptune seas—
saturn’s swirling methane rings
white snows of fuji

gaze upon the moons—
triton in all its glory
not thinking a thing

6

tired of brooding—
I take my young android bride
for a honeymoon

niagara falls—
quaint chesley bonestell paintings
gushing worlds gone sour

7

love or ambition—
does my cute android boyfriend
have electric dreams?

should I feel jealous—
does droid sexuality
dish assimov’s rules?

8

am I a droid poet—
a thing of man-made temper
a star-child of pride?

i live by the sword—
my laser-taser escort
samurai warlords

9

I have no ideals—
destiny has its own rules
for robots like me

martian roses—
have more life inside than me
that’s why, I never weep

10

a cyborg baby—
born in a vat with others
glass curtain of night

now I’m a trooper—
a cold-blooded robocop
sleepless & twisted

11

my master once said—
I was a nexus model
the best ever made…

“look at you,” he said—
michelangelo’s david
brand-new android boy

12

I asked the droid muse—
surely the scifaiku lords
knew the true meaning

was I nothing but—
an android in the garden
eve’s nude young lover?

13

did I feel guilty—
hiding my android prick
behind a fig leaf?

did I feel ashamed—
that I killed many thousands
in the ort cloud war?

14

was I still virgin—
an 18-year-old killer
a space trooper kid

I was a stranger—
no matter what weird planet
teleported to

15

I was one of them—
the proud, the few, the android
space marine corps dead

my dna build—
retro-engineered forward
into brave new welt

16

I’d been cloned for love—
with my evita brown eyes
and marlene lips

i had eva braun’s—
sad last dayz bunker beauty
i spoke fluent deutsch

17

my luftwaffe dad—
flew messerschmitt rocket ships
all the way to mars

long before orville—
and his brother on the beach
glided the fine waves…

18

planet earth you know—
was an old nazi planet
for a thousand years

birds of prey—
sleek gaunt stuka lizardly
pterodactyl planes

19

pretty hyacinths—
replaced by carnivorous
venusian fly traps

sickly war offspring—
were sent back into the night
post-organ transplants

20

baron harkonnen—
took over oil production
putrid petrol time

big oil planet—
giedi prime global warming
smog trails everywhere

21

my digital heart—
stirred like a feathered boa
a secret meeting

the screen was pale green—
eucalyptus leaves wilting
in japantown

22

pacific heights view—
golden gate bridge & the bay
the science fiction space port

abandoned outskirts—
rest of baghdad by the bay
beneath a huge dome

23

one can see him now—
coldness of the shining moon
against the glass doors

svelte schwarzenegger—
in a sleek helmet looking
distant as the alps

24

I learned the sadness—
eating ersatz fake
sardines from tin cans

with no more seagulls
flying high up overhead
no more ocean fish

25

the blue of the sky—
the deep blue of the deep sea
tainted by exxon

bread-basket midwest—
genetically modified
food plagues everywhere

26

there’s more life they say—
at the bottom of titan’s
deep blue methane seas

than what’s inside me—
my fine reverse engineered
cold corporate cock

27

I can’t remember—
the sight of my mother or
father either…

only test tube love—
slimy eyes & suction lips
dead lonely as stones

28

thru the dark night streets—
robot drones glide overhead
red beady slit-eyes

weary faces line—
the dirty sidewalks outside
the soylent green stores


Dead Planet XLIX



Dead Planet XLIX

“Over to the museum.
He said he wanted to
take in the exhibit of
Edvard Munch that’s
there now. It ends
tomorrow.”
—Philip K. Dick, “Do Androids
Dream of Electric Sheep?”

it was a silent—
scream but not like old silent
hollywood movies

the munch man screaming—
silently on the bleak bridge
was an android man

he covered his ears—
clapping his hands in horror
around his poor head

his mouth was open—
but it was a silent scream
the worst kind they say

it wasn’t a howl—
it wasn’t even human
it was humanoid

just enough human—
to flood the air around him
with a silent scream

it was an android—
with a bald pear-like pale skull
with horror-glazed eyes

the painting was grim—
he was overcome with the
shock of some horror

had the humanoid—
suddenly realized that he
was cybernetic?

had it realized—
suddenly the sheer horror
of not being human?

one can almost hear—
the dreadful scream of angst and
droid apocalypse…


Dead Planet XLVIII



Dead Planet XLVIII

humanoid androids—
were popular way back then
on tralfamadore

scifaiku poets—
like the wise young basho
wrote humanoid lit

krell stem cell research—
and reverse engineering
designed perfect toys

cute android boy toys—
genetically altered droids
built for your pleasure

simply flip a switch—
so long desperate housewives
douchedroid boyz so hot

humanoid boy toys—
a popular dark model
very well-endowed

across the universe—
from the sleek rings of saturn
to ganymede town

from red plains of mars—
to the slave pits of titan
douchedroid dildos ruled

multi-channel clips—
drifting in & out of time
droid soap-operas

down there on terra—
many spacewives so happy
morphed into droid love

terraformed timelines—
tralfamadorian scripts
zits on the zeitgeist

pick your own time-slot—
leave it to douchedroid high tech
total recall cheap!!!

that’s what basho did—
a little side-step in time
back to the sixties

embedding himself—
synchronicity schmoozing
new scenario

thanks to scifaiku—
swiping his memo-card clean
and starting again…

Dead Planet VLVII



Dead Planet XLVII

“it was the first of
Satsuki—the time-
traveling month”
—Basho, Narrow Road
to Triton Interior

in summer triton—
frozen methane waterfalls
begins long journey

a zeit zipper lock—
i couldn’t open it right
all the falling stars

even titan trolls—
leave it alone this fissure
splitting the known worlds

android boy pauses—
looks across neptune’s plains
feeling nothing new

scifaiku silence—
waiting for it to emerge
from the moon shadow

edo’s beginnings—
tokugawa shogunate
young handsome warlords

after victory—
the battle of saturn’s rings
solar daimyo reigns

the title shogun=
consolidated control
alliance system

power base strengthened—
mollifying one's rivals
triton stealth stronghold

tokugawa fleets—
solar system bakufu
space bureaucracy

feudal hierarchy—
fadai “house daimyo” droids
imperial bots

triton troops allowed—
but no galaxy-going ships
one castle per sun

closed planet edict—
interstellar trade outlawed
dejima only

earthboy-childhood’s end—
deep in the planet’s dark heart
exile-planning droids

almost no one sees—
nagasaki bloom thru time
it takes third eye sight

sword, ship, laser gun—
all proudly displayed
when boyhood’s end comes

Dead Planet XLVI



Dead Planet XLVI

“Much of the prose
in Dune started out
as haiku and then
was given minimal
additional word-
padding to make
it conform to
normal English
sentence structure.”
—Frank Herbert,
The Road to Dune

watching gulf news—
thinking about giedi prime
baron harkonnen

“One element of the construction of this book
...it’s all the way through there…”

scifiku poets—
know the giedi prime secret
the spice of dune

“that I wrote certain parts
of it in haiku and other poetical forms…”

those pulp sci-fi dayz—
back when i was a young Slan
telepathic kid

“and then expanded them to prose
to create a pace.”

Null-a can be taught—
at least that’s what van vogt said
do i still think so?

“I often use a Jungian mandala
in squaring off characters against each other,
assigning a dominant psychological role to each.”

herbert uses haiku—
like quick scifiku snapshots
then fleshes out the plots

“The implications of color, position,
word root and prosodic suggestion…”

delany and disch—
streamlining their prose ad lib
impromptu scifiku

“—all are taken into account when a scene
has to have a maximum impact.”

hugo nebula—
squeezed into ace paperback
pulp fiction haiku

“And what scene doesn’t if a book—
…is tightly written?”


Trouble on Triton



Trouble on Triton
—for Samuel R. Delany
.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqiWCFiBV14&feature=related

“Lay ordinate and abscissa
on the century. Now cut me
a quadrant. Third quadrant
if you please. I was born in
‘fifty. Here it’s 2010”
—Samuel R. Delany,
Time Considered as a Helix
Of Semi-Precious Stones

a toke of some weed—
helps to transform this journey
into smooth helix

a neat tight helix—
of semi-precious stones
from here to triton

spring passes—
deep water horizon blows
the birds & fish scream

ah—speechless back then
disco inferno bad boyz
blazing saddles time

we shave our heads bald—
my brokeback mountain boyfriend
we start the journey

stop awhile on mars—
by the pyramid ruins
our journey moving

jasper's the password—
throughout six worlds & worldlets
translation: “fuck off”

the hologram plate—
it gets cut in half again
same information

by analogy—
tralfamadorian time
bejewels the facets

bp, exxon, shell—
big time racketeer barons
crime big business

good witch of the west—
in her saucer overhead
speeds toward triton town

with this jewel i join—
the roguish fraternity
doorways dial open

here comes the hawk kid—
get me outta here he sayz
we barefoot it out

cute skanky hustler—
dirty black denim jacket
no shirt beneath it

hair pale like split pine—
a ripe pair of black bluejeans
“what else ya got, huh?”

on the waterfront—
by the flashing black hudson
down by the dark piers

i show him the jewels—
he paws thru them all knuckles
with chewed fingernails

they are worth plenty—
ten times more than i ever
hope to get that night

the kid sayz “hey, not bad—
am going to a party
later on tonight”

hell’s kitchen at ten—
regina abolafia
at the tower top

citycorp singers—
tokyo leads with seven
alex spinnel’s there

the word is changing—
tonight & young hawk is game
we slink towards times square

past fifty-seventh—
strolling down dark new york streets
then down in subway

doors hiss, grey floor hums—
dark patterns rush the windows
we lurch to a stop

above us a light rain—
the thousand sequined city
rushing overhead

the platform sign sayz—
twelve towers station with its
looming tall condos

luxury towers—
menacing the lower clouds
we go straight up there

sleek elevator—
wrapping us in gold foil petals
eighty stories zip

hawk calls me harvey—
cadwaliter-erickson
the tungsten magnate

the party is swank—
sarah palin is schmoozing
the planet potus

many wealthy guests—
senators, gay debutantes
golden charisma creeps

texaco heiress—
some university profs
movie stars rich riff-raff

the new word’s "agate”—
hawk the scifaiku poet
sayz over his drink

lumps of moonlight fall—
like lozenges thru the palms
arty the hawk smiles

i sell him the jewels—
some scarlet-banded beauties
sixty-thousand bucks

the helicopter—
blackens the moon above
crashing thru the ceiling

we make our escape—
hawk & me diving into
the elevator

infernal feet run—
the cloud alarms are sounding
the flames are roaring

the lobby fills up—
times square flows into the fray
brawlers, drunks, addicts

thieves, morphadine-heads—
douchedroid hustlers, some old drunks
then a brawl breaks out

we pass thru the guards—
all of them have been paid off
with precise finesse

we part company—
no blow-darts from passing cars
no alley deathrays

i reach the subway—
get the fuck outta there fast
nothing happens yet

agate gives way to—
malachite which turns into
tourmaline, beryl

then comes porphyry—
sapphire, cinnabar, turquoise
and then tiger’s eye

my new nom de plume—
h. calhoun eisenhower
triton ice cream queen

neptune mafia—
middle-class underworld hood
carefully legit

garnet takes over—
the basic rule be careful
imitate others

topaz i whisper—
trans-triton corporation
i wear a nice suit

touring frozen cliffs—
methane niagara falls
honeymoon romance

slick albino stud—
my new bride a droid princess
cybernetic girl

playing the deadpan game—
iapetus lux for lunch
bellona plaza

lovers come & go—
nonchalant mutant affairs
you get used to it

trianon hotel—
android ambiguities
humanoid failings

young spock bodyguards—
vast vats of vulcan jizzjuice
morphed badboy valets

spending my spare time—
au naturel android boyz
pink dilated eyes

gemütlichkeit boyz—
retro-engineered just right
grotesque genitals

great tourist gimmick—
johnny eck the cute half-boy
other half all-dick

another disguise—
my next flight to bellona
back to planet earth

the marigold suite—
aboard the platinum swan
johnny eck’s big smile


Dead Planet XLV



Night Visitor
—for Shikō Munakata

He’s surely not here—
He never was or will be…
Just a woodblock dream.

Shikō dreamed him up—
He’s just a strange Jomōn Man
Knocking at my door.

A night visitor—
Gone when I open the door
But the knock is real.

Mars is full of ghosts—
The landscape strewn with debris
Gears, clocks, skeletons.

There’s nothing much left—
Except for the sands of Mars
The cold stars above.

The expeditions—
Top secret to find out things
Why catastrophe?

Like the Lunar base—
On the dark side of the Moon
Lots of Nitrogen.

The Mars colony—
Led by Miss Eisenhower
Generalissimo.

And all the other—
Remote viewing personnel
Found out lots of things.

Delving back in time—
Zeitvernichtung technical
Archeologists.

Deimos & Phobos—
Ancient satellite drones
Monitoring Mars.

The deeper they got—
The double labyrinth grew
Translation of Texts.

Martian archives—
Were syntactically sealed
Krell mind-boost needed.

The old pyramids—
Aligned perfectly with Earth
Edo exacto.

Scifaiku mind-set—
Opened up the vast bank-vaults
Deep secrets inside.

The samurai class—
With laser-swords & haiku
Were used to such things.

And so the Space Force—
Did the same thing as Japan
Bashō back again.


Shikō Munakata, Night Visit (1938)

Dead Planet XLIV



Scifaiku and Martian Literature

“The creatures were friendly,
and they could see in four
dimensions. They pitied
Earthlings for being able
to see only three. They had
many wonderful things to
teach Earthlings about time”
—Kurt Vonnegut,
Slaughterhouse Five

1 Martians have the ability to read books in four dimensions, i.e. they have total recall and access to past, present and future writers.

2 They can perceive books from any genre, literary period or writerly oeuvre. They know the exact beginning, middle and end of every book in existence. Even books that haven’t been written yet by human beings.

3 Their response to a writer’s birth, life and death as well as their bibliography is—“So it goes.” They’re fatalistic about Literature—seeing the end of the universe as basically a factory world which remainders books into pulp fiction oblivion.

4 Martians gather together for a time-travel scifaiku literary convention yearly—on Titan, one of Saturn’s beautiful moons. There the ancient multi-dimensional beings meet to supposedly discuss the various scifaiku poems, novels and literary issues of a specific Zeitgeist in time—usually involving the grim social affairs and political aspects satirized by various Earthmen SF writers disgruntled with old dystopian Apocalypto storylines. New ones are always in demand.

5 Martians publish a 3-D SciFaiku poem yearly—which is usually rather pornographic and somewhat multi-dimensionally simultaneous with what’s happening in the linear Aristotelian narrative universe. Blips on the vidscreens usually confuse Earthmen lit critics—since synchronicity is seen as an annoying oxymoronic disjunctive distraction interfering with “normal” human space-time, cause-effect SF narratology. Japanese haiku writers apparently mastered the Martiian Effect back during the Edo Period—making time-travel junkets to confer with Martian intelligentsia on their home planet.

6 Mars is a cybernetic cosmopolitan android world that came from far away in the Small Magellanic Cloud. It’s the home planet to the Martians—the survivors of an even more ancient race of intelligent machines, the Nexroids.

7 Not much is known about the Nexroids—except that they were another race of intelligent machines who originally developed the Martians as super-being humanoid creatures and android boy-toys who were built to sexually entertain and give robotic meaning to their bored Nexroid existence. Unable to achieve this task, the precursor race used the Martians instead to extinguish themselves. The SM Vega supernova being the ancient awesome result.

8 Without masters to entertain—the Martians voyaged thru the known universe and finally adopted the human race as their new masters even tho humanoids were an extremely stupid and ignorant monkeybrains race bound for extinction as well.

9 The Martians are fatalistic about their new masters—usually describing the human condition as “So what?”

10 Bashō the eminent Terran scifaiku poet captured the Martian literary mission and subsequent pulp fiction scifaiku literary output—with his recently updated i-Pad Kindle Nook version of the classic "The Narrow Road to Titan" which features a translation by Ho-Hum-Hung and original 3-D kiri-e illustrations by Miyata Masayuki.







Dead Planet XLIII



Dead Planet XLIII

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9p6GUECHLg0&feature=related

“SciFaiku is haiku
and it is not haiku.
It deviates, expands,
and frees itself of haiku.”
—Tom Brinck,
The SciFaiku Manifesto

see how low he flies—
devil boy up in the sky
the darkness darkens

the devil boy lands—
out there in the moody moors
his beat-up saucer

rain washes away—
the smell of airship ozone
a radar blip fades

i’ll shut my eyes and—
pretend the robot is gone
but the thing’s still there

the flight staircase—
opens up in the cool night
crop circles ripple

devil boy from mars—
the light from his laser eyes
melts my skinny ass

his alien lips—
purse like sour persimmons
his black leather boots

he wears a skull cap—
black shiny plastic so sleek
his sharp vampire teeth

spilling down over
his scarlet cape in the breeze
again and again

again and again—
i ask the others to wake
their eyelids are dead

cocky young earthmen—
abducting them back to mars
that’s his big mission

sponge-gourd blossoms—
boy from mars deflowers them
he chokes on their phlegm

see how he hovers—
then he takes off back to mars
his captives inside

at the hot-spring moon—
earthboy clones get hatched nicely
their buzzing tight pubes

quite to their surprise—
some of their offspring are born
martian young men

i want to go home—
i’ve done everything he’s said
repeat it he says

in the distance hills—
a patch of martian light
the withered canals

cold polar caps—
still lingering even now
kilimanjaro

in the spring wind—
i admire his dying race
trying to survive

terraforming mars—
their last hope earthboyz in heat
they want all of me

scifaiku diary—
discovering something new
in old mars ruins

i suck the sour taste—
the tangerine sands of mars
once so bloody red

all day long now—
the martian pyramids
casting long shadows

i am not alone—
instant recall brings others
back into the now

against my helmet—
shower of meteorites
ort cloud monsoon rain

a spaceship soars—
over the red sands of mars
the last day has dawned

Dead Planet XLII


Dead Planet XLII

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xy7aZo639kA&feature=related

“My personal speculation is this: the
Earth is part of a gigantic cosmic
construct, and is being pulled along,
like on a conveyor belt, towards its
proper place in that construct. When
Earth is a perfectly sized sphere
meeting cosmic specs, it will blast
off from the Milky way launch pad
and snap into its proper place in
the ultimate structure.”—Kenzaburo
Oe, The Pinch Runner Memorandum

Or do we get it? What’s there to get? What’s there to understand? What’s there to somehow comprehend—other than that the Other is already you? Somebody as close as your wife or husband or lover or domestic other? Could there to be an alien Other any more alien than that—if the mysterious alien were already a part of you?

A sort of soul-brother or soul-sister waiting in the wings? Like Deckard's kid? A sort of narcissistic twin-paradox kind of thing? Like Heinlein’s “Time for the Stars” (1956)—with telepathic contact between twin brothers going on during faster-than-the-speed-of-light space travel. So that telepathic communication could be possible—between the various torchships and Earth. As the various complexities of faster-than-the-speed-of-light space travel and exploration of nearby star systems—is smoothed out for future higher Exo-tech possibilities?

Of course, Stanislaw Lem the author of the novel which led to both screenplay versions of “Solaris” (2002) and “Solyaris” (1972) has written his own reactions to these film treatments of the Other.

In one interview, Lem says that he thinks both movies are failures—that neither one could possibly portray the Other since the “Other” is just that. It’s pure, unadulterated “Otherness”—above and beyond human comprehension and understanding.

It makes one wonder if indeed Stanislaw Lem’s novels and short stories are any better at it—compared with the filmic versions? Is it possible for science fiction—to portray, narrate or explain Otherness? Other than the Golden Days of SF—with Astounding Science Fiction magazine and a heavy dose of “hard science” adolescent juvie sci-fi “Sense of Wonder” stuff. Whatever that is?

Maybe Lem is right. Otherness is beyond human comprehension? Perhaps it’s up to the Others—to find their own way of contacting us? Perhaps they already have. Not through—vast SETI radar dishes spread out in the deserts like ogling eyeballs or ears listening to the static of the universe.

But rather more subtly human—in less intensely electromagnetically hypersensitive ways? Something more like what we already are—“all too human” naked apes constantly fighting with each other on this tiny blue marble planet?

Perhaps we are a “stricken species” as Paul Davies suggests in his “The Eerie Silence: Renewing Our Search for Alien Intelligence.” As we circle our lonely star—out here seemingly in the middle of a vast cosmic nihilistic Nothingness?




Dead Planet XLI



.
“What to do with these multiple
permutations, in which the return
of the same is always different?
The pseudo-couple, to be sure,
traces an august (if ridiculous
lineage) all the way back (via
Flaubert) to Don Quixote…”
—Frederik Jameson, “Pseudo-Couples”
LRB 20 November 2003

This jump we’ve made between James and SETI—what kind of “Otherness” is happening here? What are the dimensions and limits—of such a Phenomenon?

Is it the kind of otherness George Clooney experiences in “Solaris” (2002)—with Natascha McElhone his supposedly dead wife in her various guilt-inducing Solarian klones? Is this the same kind of Otherness we’re talking about—as far as SETI is concerned?

If Alien-ness is beyond human comprehension—how can human/alien contact actually happen? Surely James is pretty close to the truth—it’s done supernaturally through another dimension?

The same with Tourneau—and the contact with the Voodoo Zombie Land of the Dead? Is it approximated or partially accomplished by means of a human analog to the alien Other—as with Tourneur and his ancient Afro-Haitian-Caribbean voodoo version that flows through his black & white, neo-noir plot of a Zombie world embedded in a Western sugar plantation decadent analog world?

The same with “Solaris”—the Phenomenon interfaces with Clooney the psychologist temporally through something familiar and erotically simpatico? Cloning itself as Natascha his suicidal, born-again, over-and-over-again wife—returning again and again to him until he finally gets it? His guilty consciousness assuaged somehow—aided by Solaris like some celestial alien counselor? Just as perhaps Kidman, Sandra Dee and Deborah Kerr eventually get it—the fact that the Other has entered their lives?

Dead Planet XL



“a galloping and comic nightmare
more reminiscent of Lem’s Futurological
Congress than anything in Philip K. Dick.
The father and son actually change places,
the former becoming a teenager while
the latter assumes the advanced age of
the father [Kenzaburo Oe's Somersault].”
—Frederik Jameson, “Pseudo-Couples”
LRB 20 November 2003

This is the kind of cat & mouse game—
that Alejandro Amenábar plays with the movie audience of “The Others” (2001). It’s a much more sophisticated, surreal approach to James’ ghost story—and the earlier screen adaptation “The Innocents”
(1961) directed by Jack Clayton.

In this earlier movie version—Deborah Kerr plays Miss Giddens the governess to the seemingly precocious children of another huge haunted estate. Miles and Flora, as well as Mrs. Grose and the shadowy Peter Quint—these characters interface with Governess Kerr in much the same way as the servants in Amenábar’s “The Others” interact with Kidman the mother of the children.

Except that the level of awareness of Otherness—is more heightened by Alejandro Amenábar. So that the servants and the clairvoyante conducting the séance in the second movie—are all more aware and much more a part of the plausible deniability of the Other than in the first movie.

In fact, Amenábar creates a film noir version of James’ ghost story—very much like Jacques Tourneur creates a similar scenario with “I Walked With a Zombie” (1943). Tourneur, Amenábar, Clayton and James—these directors-writers-magicians play their audiences like a finely-tuned Stradivarius violin. They develop the idea of “Contact” awareness like Stanislaw Lem in “Solaris.” The actors and plots with their various and sundry encounters of the third kind—perform a Contact sport.

“I Walked With a Zombie” is a tragic zombie romance story—out of Inez Wallace’s novel using Curt Siodmak’s screenplay. Francis Dee the naïve nurse, like Deborah Kerr and Nicole Kidman, gradually realizes—that everybody is in on the act except herself. That’s when her contact awareness begins.

It happens through a series of ghostly encounters, journeys through unearthly nightscapes and gradual revelations in regard to the intricacies of voodoo witchcraft and human possession—so that indeed Kidman is a “ghost” or “alien” or “voodoo zombie” just as much as all the others. Otherness opens up like a deadly rose or putrid orchid—such that alien self-awareness happens through the human point of view rather than through a schmaltzy, crummy, Grade-B horror flick kind of direct confrontation with little green men.


Dead Planet XXXIX



Dead Planet XXXIX

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5Qw9ANrbIg&feature=related

“The conceptual limitation
then confirms Lem’s ultimate
message—namely that in
imagining ourselves to be
attempting contact with the
radically Other, we are in
reality merely looking in a
mirror and searching for an
ideal image of our own world.”
—Fredric Jameson,
Archaeologies of the Future:
The Desire Called Utopia
and Other Science Fictions

Fredric Jameson calls it “The Unknowability Thesis” in his “Archaeologies of the Future: The Desire Called Utopia and Other Science Fictions.” Stanislaw Lem the author of “Solaris”—simply shakes his head. There can be no contact—between mankind and any non-human civilization.

Not only that but—“Solaris” is negative proof about writing science fiction itself. For there is no SF writing, no message—and the oceanic Other is merely activating traces within our own brains and projecting them back to us. We become lost like Stilitano—in our own House of Mirrors, nicht wahr?

The servants in Amenábar’s huge mansion know—the psychics in the séance know. Even the piano that plays mysteriously in the middle of the night in the empty room behind locked doors—it knows the awful truth as well. The absence of evidence—isn’t the same as evidence of absence.

In other words, if we may briefly divagate from James into the eerie silence of the SETI soiree (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence)—the absence of any evidence to Nicole Kidman that she is a ghost is indeed very different than the kind of evidence that would prove or disprove the existence of ghosts themselves. That Kidman is herself—a ghost.

Kidman must go through her own journey of suspicion—that the huge mansion that she and her two photo-sensitive children are living in is haunted, But surely she and her children are alive and well—and not ghosts themselves? She and her kids are surely doing the ghost hunting—the ghosts are surely the “others” and that’s the real problem?

Gradually, slowly as the plot develops, though—hints are dropped by the servants who appear out of nowhere. Surely there’s something amiss—surely something is not what it appears to be. The wise, solicitous man & wife servant couple—they’re not actually who they appear to be are they? Whoever they are—they’re actually doing more than just taking care of the house, the grounds and doing the domestica Americana sort of things that normal household help does. The day-to-day tasks, chores, cleaning, yard-work, things like that.

In fact, one of the revealing/concealing scenes has the male servant working the yard—raking up leaves. Sounds innocent enough, doesn’t it? Except he’s raking the leaves over some tombstones—with his wife nodding knowingly about something they themselves know, but which Kidman is clueless. Do the gravestones belong to—the already deceased Kidman and children? Are the servants trying to protect Kidman—or gradually ease her into the realization that she’s already dead and a ghost like them?