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| © 2012 Sylvia Liu |
Steam Engine
How to build an internal combustion engine
I. Fire
Combustion is a form of amnesia,
one forgotten moment exploding into the next.
Memory is either residue or cave painting,
either accident or intention,
decompression or antelope,
always a fire globing before
curling into wall shadow.
II. The piston and the
cylinder
We are inefficient vessels.
Improvements would include:
A slowed heart,
eye socket dimmers,
morning breath incinerators,
colorless workplace lunches warmed
with heat siphoned from unused loins.
Oh but look how we hang our heartstrings
out the window at the wrong times
and catch the wind.
Only the dying are fuel efficient.
We burn everything we have
for what?
III. Petroleum
Blood glows below our fingernails,
even at night so we don’t go numb.
We cannot sustain these bodies
without spilling our glowing all over.
IV. The engine
Yet if we don’t idle a while
our eyes will never adjust
to all this gleaming.
We build engines in our image
before we combust and forget them.
Any Machinery
Sip. Sit. Squat. Sigh.
Sip. Sit. Squat. Sigh.
Sip. Sit. Squat. Sigh
Sip.Sit.Squat.Sigh.
Internal Combustion
In the
interest of interpolating, I can carry you, not for
giveness,
but for gifts in the arc, high almighty,
I give
you the slither around my belts, whir-whir,
somnambulate
a thousand miles, gasps,
I can
carry you as far as my insides will fall out
I’m
exploding here, with mahogany blasts, you wrenched
of the
earth, my curve, a slice between trees,
I can
carry you so too far giving, though I turn one little wheel
over
and over and over and over and over
whole ecosystems
are crumbling around me
yet I go
on, worrying my wheel, trying to carry you
on
passed the over pass, the wavingly serene
and their
faces, accomplished faces dipping
in their
measuring rods to see how far the fix is,
inside,
I am exploding everywhere, bits left
over
every surface which is a road, which is teeth
upon my
gears, weeping gears, the face-plate press
a
face-plate press a plate, here, eat this, delicate distance
I am
chewing up inside all over again, boom, churn
chewing
up all over, miles and heads popping,
gravel
gurgle, my piston’s diminish to a rattle.
HOw to bUild a HeArt
Assignment One
By Kelly Lydick
How to Build a Heart:
1)
Opening the tool case is the first feat.
Old, rickety, plastic with wood handle, the scuffed outer
shell is like a treasure tome that has been unearthed after hundreds of years. What does it hold? Will it still have
value?
Creaking hinges are a sign of lack of use. No matter. What is contained inside can provide
the keys to constructing and deconstructing a variety of materials, wishes,
robots and autobots, televisions and pre-recorded videos, marathons and endless
stories, among others.
Consciousness not included.
2)
Tools remain greasy until wiped clean. A jack is a must;
hydraulics optional, likely more helpful. Like a child, moving the hydraulics
up-and-down, up-and-down, is amusing, passes the time, reminds everyone of
simplicity.
Grease is black as night, but leaves nothing to ponder,
wonder, scrutinize. It absorbs.
3)
Now for the build.
The ego is involved in the construction for it only creates
lines and wires, memories and fires, starters and mis-fires, squeaks and
flowering geometrics.
Wherewithal not standing, the lines and wires are like key
lime pie: tart and smooth, limelight and whipped cream. Aerodynamic bodylines
reverse wrinkles.
Remind the ego that what it loves grows in proportion to
what it builds.
Remind the ego that what it builds has the capability of
taking a life of its own; breath, oil, grease. A golem? An angel.
Since when did any mechanic go into the shop without
coveralls? Everything splatters.
Remind the ego that this construction site is a paranormal
experiment, bushings and bearings, valves and whistles, axles moving and
marking and revolving and revolutionizing its own car, its own engine, a
platform for larger pies.
What moves in the night is not invisible, a haunting from
other cars, past loves, disassembled transmissions. Tune in and tune up for the
best mileage.
5K RPM in second gear is a leap forward from first. Here
w-ego!
Spinning more quickly requires more gas. Turn the key lime
and let her roar.
The greasy ego gets the wheel.
4)
Connect ego to brain.
A three-step process:
First, rewire windows to respond to lights and whistles,
bells and headlights.
Second, adjust intake valve and ensure vacuum is
sealed. The proper mixture of
gasoline and air is imperative.
Third, wire spark plugs to consciousness, adjust flywheel.
Stand back.
5)
W-ego forward trusting there are no potholes in the earth,
no loose gravel spun up, kicked out, mussed up and dished out. Would you like another slice of
pie? We also have banana crème.
I also noticed your hands are clean now. Thanks for wiping
the grease on the white doilies in the bathroom. I’ll feed them to the chickens
now.
Remind the ego that what goes around becomes circular; what
goes in squares always adds up to the highest grossing film of all time. Have you chosen a title?
Set it in motion.
E-motion. Emotion. Evolving movement and square wheels. Anything that
can be created can be destroyed. This
ego will gross higher than Star Wars, although it may be more brilliant, like a
dying supernova.
Remind the ego that every one needs a tune up every
year.
Remind the ego that w-ego, we start, we stop, we take up
arms, we fold arms, we cross arms, we shake hands, we make deals, we break
bones. We’re fragile.
In motion, everything rises, but not all will converge. Take aim at the intake valve to ensure
a smooth ride, good digestion, better pie.
6)
Piston’s pumping, chambers and valves flopping, intakes and
outtakes guzzling, the tune up has attuned to the motion of the grooves in the
record of time. The record of all existence is part of the experiment.
Paranormal recordings are in session.
Which page are you on?
Turn to the letter “I” for Internal. You won’t find this entry under combustion or engine.
Directions are only provided to those that ask. Many do not
have the need.
Remind the ego of the need for grease.
Remind the ego that Wikipedia is only an article.
Remind the ego that all that can be contained will be
combusted.
Remind the ego that all that can be burned, roasted, sparked
and set aflame can return to the hearth, return to the earth, return to the
heart.
7)
He was the gasoline flowing through the engine of my heart.
8)
Now for the fanning.
Piston’s pumping, chambers and valves flopping, intakes and
outtakes guzzling, RPMs near red-line, the engine is on fire.
Would you want it any other way?
A distinguished engine doesn’t move. No fire, no motion.
A heart not filled with passion dies.
A pie that is not baked is simply not a pie.
A heart that is infinite is on fire.
Engine of the Car by domdeen, freedigitalphtos.net
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