Unlitxquisite Corpse - Canto 1

Adam David & I for a while now have been reeling over the surplus of unimaginative renga being produced of late, our dissatisfaction stemming mainly from the disregard of formal possibility the contemporary renga makes available. A recent example, however, opened an interesting vista for form - the SMS renga - but we thought this vista should further be explored to even make sense being entered.


The project

Put together an SMS work that exhausts Globe's Unlitxt promo.


The formal constraint

One after another, Adam & I are to text each other a line as fast as we can, whose length approaches but does not exceed the number of characters a single text message affords. The lines should also be consistently acronymic, the initial letters spelling out UNLITXT.

The Unlitxt promo comes in 3 editions--Unlitxt20 (1 day), Unlitxt40 (2 days), Unlitxt80 (5 days)--& w/ every edition of the promo must come 1 canto. Every canto must be composed w/in--& strictly w/in--the time allotted by the concerned edition of the Unlitxt promo: canto 1 in a day, canto 2 in 2 days, canto 3 in 5 days. The 1st canto snowballs into the 2nd, & the 2nd canto snowballs into the 3rd, that is, all the lines of the 1st canto must be present thence rearranged & augmented in the 2nd, & all the lines of the 2nd must be present thence rearranged & augmented in the 3rd, subtly anagramming the initial letters of lines from 1 canto to another.

Given the mildly Surrealist trajectory of the text & the collaborative nature of the renga, Adam & I have titled the project


UNLITXTQUISITE CORPSE


Because the work is still in progress, we present to you for now UNLITXTQUISITE CORPSE's 1st canto.


Unlitxt20

Urgent messages whose urgency is softened by technique, by form: umbrellas
opened late at the end of a light drizzle, unnecessary & wrinkled like foreskin.

Nata de coco from your brimming cup of gummy pearls enriched w/ uranium
& cobalt-60 now on the table gathering ants & flies & longing looks
from choosy beggars;

Latex of muck on their fingers they finger their noses, each nostril a cunt that hides
moist pearls that unfurl wet & sticky gray, gummy gum gum little Gamera

In his shell, retreating, like my penis retracting its proud uninhibited innuendoes
& impositions of positioning your end's O over my end's I, oh, you & I could

Tarnish each other's teats w/ tar & tartar, rifled Tartars rifling rat-tat-tat at this
or that ratty tweener's two tattoos, her cervix a goose gliding on the ruse

Xanthic xyloid xiphoid, as it were, that perplexing perturbing protuberance,
that Wednesday wigwam where we kneel. Guard sees you garishly crawling
on your knees

Tired like sausages skinned in Vigan, limp like the cocks of faggots in Vigan.
Fanged goats, be gone! Big guns are in, your disease is gout, the wheelchair

Unused, traded for a harelip, the crutch for an electric guitar, the girl for a Pentium 4
as true men are wont to do, won't do work nobody won't do, as true men

Never lactate after giving birth. Shirtless, a man punches his wife while his wife
cooks: such are their obligations to each other. But to God, their obligation

Lords over everything, like lahar pouring downriver sweeping houses, calves, trucks,
food, your topless father tumblingly fornicating w/ the pull & swell & roll

Inherent in tumbling fornication. He porks like a fork, stainless, a cock made in
China charging yellowly toward multiple entry visas

To opulent bone voyage vistas I'm thankful to have gone w/ the wind beneath
my wings, the tale between my legs, whining & deigning & feigning
ignorance like her

Xocerisms, childlike despite the veins. Despite the vain attempts at finishing college,
he found education to be as much a collage as Villa's cut-up texts

Turning them two poems: “Nothing quite like death like a horse’s skull / Or maybe
like a fluttering butter / Fly in Cubao / Is actually a wrapper of Halls Lemon

Unnecessarily sweet / Instead of sour like your armpits / Moist & soft like the mouth
of an infant / Giving me a blowjob.” What kind of slob would write such

Nasty words? Certainly not an Atenista, an Atenista wouldn’t write about blowjobs,
or maybe he would, but not as the blowjobee, instead the blowjobber as that’s

Lovingly the shade of their pathos, blue like their balls, always giving but never
at the receiving end of pleasure unless pleasure were grace, men for others

Impotent & befuddled lactating udders of a creep you sonorously notice, blew
like a peacock’s tailfeather to your gallbladder or spleen they had to take out

Tragically instead of dine in. Day in & out we scout for the white dregs of priests,
cum-stains on concrete, the road paved w/ semen & good intentions. Melons

X-rayed & xeroxed litter the streets, pasted on lampposts & corners & walls,
a new slang neologized for a distinctly 21st Century postcapitalist malaise that we

Turn static in the annals of the dictionary. Anal go the dicks of visionary communists
whose belief in the base crumbles under the weight of the superstructure

Under the science of Newton’s apple pi, rather, rhyme shifts from foot to foot
& mouth this ease w/ w/c we find our utter anxieties on urban beauty past compare.

Nookie be the hook of playing hooky in the nook where crooks croon the lyrics
that fill physics books thru the jukebox all boxing mystics miss w/ every hiss

Looking jizzed by bookies fluent in accountanese where Y is never answered
only implied w/ dry heaves, ho, I need some companionship, shit baby,
gimme a blowjob

In lieu of blow. Jab to the brain: w/c the hemisphere w/ penguins, w/c the helm
w/ spear-carrying Aetas on a train, harvesting grains off the rails, their nails

Tearing down stereotypes by tearing up diplomas & pissing on strawberries
that they export to Manila in styro snugness this lumad smugness caught
on miniDV, oh,

X-rated they are, not because they’re merely g-stringed but because they’re Aetas—
& what good are our natives if we can’t be ashamed of them? Niggers unite!

They have nothing to lose but their claims to their lands & properties & cultural
heritage & the native oral tradition is alive & well, oh baby, gimme a blowjob!

Uncouth haphazard roughshod slapdash violent blowjob! Extraterrestrial blowjob!
A job for every finger, a job for every elbow, a job for every knee: Blowjob!

Needledick bastard askin to get a headbobbin load off only gets some gigglin
from the dribblin bitch w/ the curlin bob w/ the hoover hoosegow
louse-lined mouth

Limp tongue lean lazy tongue lateral laryngeal lather a lavish lay the tongue
a languid lasso lengthening leaving lesions licentious little licks lilt & lift

It illicitly, inspiring incessantly impolite inchoate insistences indicating illustrious
indulging in indecent impulses: “Ingest it! It is immense! I’m imbuing!

Teeth to testicles we tease & teeter on tightrope, tough tusk taut, timber throbbing
toward throat, thrill tilts & thumps to threshold of tickle: titanic tip!

Xanadu! Shangri-La! Valhalla! Albion! Babylon!” bad-breathed bandido babbles,
butt bumpin-buckin bossanova beats before blowin bulbous balls’ buko juice,

Terrible tattered texticulations! Tangible torrents of turgid thought! Turkeys tumble
in tunnels of turmoil: turbo turbine turbid text! Tyranny of type! O text!