⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #147
Diegetic Annals V / Something
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #146
Affairs Mk. 3 XXXVIII / Every Ersatz (In its Righteous Place)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #145
Nowhere/Nothing VII / My Casket Makers Had Made a Pact with the Farmers of Limbo (Unbeknownst)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #144
For Matt Elliott III / I Name This Ship "The Tragedy", Bless Her and All Those Who Sail with Her
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #143
Melancholia Mk. 2 XXX / Duidelijk
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #142
Animal Affirm X / Libredawg
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #141
Cotarded Mk. 3 III / A Fine Day to Die III (Rückenfigur)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #140
Out of Cold Storage X / Nostalgia of Rape
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #139
In memoriam Clayton Counts & For Neil Keener Mk. 2 IX / Ex Umbra in Solem
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #138
Mysterious Semblance Mk. 2 I / শশিà¦ূষণ II
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 21, 2026
Junktitled #137
Ontopology XXXIV / Banded Glissandi
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #136
Quantisation Gestures I / Chamber Symphony for Herpes Cineplex (Abridged)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #135
In memoriam Bryn Jones II / Narcotic
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Domination of Black
Wallace Stevens
At night, by the fire,
The colors of the bushes
And of the fallen leaves,
Repeating themselves,
Turned in the room,
Like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind.
Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks
Came striding.
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.
The colors of their tails
Were like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind,
In the twilight wind.
They swept over the room,
Just as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks
Down to the ground.
I heard them cry —the peacocks.
Was it a cry against the twilight
Or against the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind,
Turning as the flames
Turned in the fire,
Turning as the tails of the peacocks
Turned in the loud fire,
Loud as the hemlocks
Full of the cry of the peacocks?
Or was it a cry against the hemlocks?
Out of the window,
I saw how the planets gathered
Like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind.
I saw how the night came,
Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks
I felt afraid.
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.
Junktitled #134
Cupid's Embezzlement II / Portmanteau
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #133
Ontopology XXXIII / Mnemonic Recall (Falling in Place)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #131
Melancholia Mk. 2 XXIX / Austere
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #130
Melancholia Mk. 2 XXVIII / Kärlek II
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
মনোসরণি (Meditations)
Jibanananda Das
Personal Transaltion (Circa 2023)
Feeling as if we are mustered in some inky chamber;—
The bees around the corner know stationarily:
That these people lost their fate dinted of a starcrossed rug;
Underneath of the sediment under a roof of feet five, the crestfallen have set their heads by the dark.
And maybe Chengish still roams the earth, in lust of forlorn blood,
Confucius with his countless advices, down laid formations and went on—
But what a wicked wind that followed, hoisting a crackle within its cuffs.
The wind brings the bell to churches, ringing, so, ringing— slow ring.
At the jetty of sunbays, in ringing of acute humanities.
Oh! how long must serve the black mothers, in blood— and in scorn;
But yet come sons for those warm bosoms, in a new juvenile adorn.
The sun's obtuse beams, crystal wings of hornets,
Lumping about in some desert, giving oases foliages.
Our drama bows its sullen head, swollen shut in the midst
Yet feels the twicebuckled, feels the soils in their brisks.
Begriefed upon that couple of herons, like acute stillness of rivers.
Bequeathed in a lapsing gash, fleeting
Fleeting, withsupine the fleeting dictum.
Or maybe dropped the whole of creation, losing its oath
In an air that plays all day, among the colours of the trees' berth
Losing, losing
Finding, bemusing— the trees and the forester.
And those who erect the pillars of man— broken, broken, broken again;
Maybe from the jolts of brilliance, mistakenly skewing— effacing— in love.
By the river of creation, before the sun's crystalised beams can be erased,
Those seeds that find love, find it in the jolly of soil.
And those who, forever ago, taught man the ropes of laying
Those ancient amoeba now effaced of tide and time's long guilt.
At the jetty of sunbay, those who will find whose mother, calling whom or whim?
Junktitled #129
For Tsai Ming-liang I / I Don't Want to Sleep Alone
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #128
In memoriam Akifumi Nakajima V / Sigh in Depressive Blue II
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #127
In memoriam Theo Angelopoulos II / Eternity and a Day II (αναζητώντας)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #126
Affairs Mk. 3 XXXVII / Concurrent Affairs III (Recent Concerns / Promenade)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #125
In memoriam Willem de Kooning I / Tremorless (Almost)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 19, 2026
Junktitled #124
Out of Cold Storage IX / Le froid et le cruel
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
হাওয়ার রাত (A Windy Night)
Jibanananda Das
Personal Translation (Circa 2024)
Last night was of a lucid wind— an uncountably starry night;
All night they played— jockey on my canopy;
It was swelling like a monsoon bay,
And on some cases,
It went on to sever a long count to the sky;
And on one or two cases,
I felt as if the canopy was being— in stations of my sublimed sleep—
The canopy was not over my head but,
Spangled to the sky:
There was no canopy over my head, on a local star it was smoothing like a white heron;
Flying!
Such splendid was the sky of last night.
All the dead stars woke up last night— with uncompensated space below them;
And I saw all the dead dear faces of the world, on it and beyond then.
On the summit of the dark sky, on figs of the trees, lover kites abound—
And like the tears of the kites,
The sky was glittering,
And all the dead stars.
Under and yonder moonshine, like the warm leopardquilt around Babylon's queen, stars were bustling on the sky.
It was such stunning— the sky of last night.
The stars which died eons ago, they too brought their dead skies there—
Into and about my window's calibre.
The beauties I saw dying in Assyria, Egypt—
Dying on a hopeless deed,
They too arose and assembled on the sky;
In the fastened bore of it, in the hassly fogs of it, carrying harpoons and flailings.
To trample over death?
To express the deep joys of being?
To erect the ghastly faces of being in love?
I became frozen into a standstill,
The deaf, blue torture of the sky severed me as if.
On the restlessness of the sky: sets of gallant wings;
Like earthworms, they effaced all along it.
And the wind with all its tallying intensities
Came down upon, through in,
And about my windowpane.
Shiye! Shiye!—
Galloping like lion's steady roars upon the jets of zebras' reach.
My heart swelled from the smells of broad green leaves,
Horzionscaped from the brave odour of days.
Like sexual roars of tigresses,
Finding satisfaction from the earth's broad braveness;
In the debauched cries of lifenesses.
There— then—
My heartstrings came undone! And my heartballoons,
Severed from the soil,
Sailed beyond the night's brunts.
Bringing its blue sail,
And then tethered to a far star,
Like a fierce vulture—
Slipping it around and about.
Junktitled #122
In memoriam Jibanananda Das III / নির্জন স্বাক্ষর
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #121
Smoketrails V / Manchester Blue
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #120
In memoriam Thomas Bernhard I / Auslöschung (Heimtückisch)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #119
Melancholia Mk. 2 XXVII / Dynamo
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #118
Animal Affirm IX / Decentralised Formation
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #117
Souvenirs du temps passé V / Fishbone
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #116
Affairs Mk. 3 XXXVI / Different and Similar Tastes
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #115
Nowhere/Nothing VI / Ghostsortie
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #114
Affairs Mk. 3 XXXV / Markdown
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 18, 2026
Junktitled #113
Melancholia Mk. 2 XXVI / Szabo
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 15, 2026
Junktitled #112
For Matt Elliott II / Cotard's Syndrome
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 15, 2026
Junktitled #111
Affairs Mk. 3 XXXIV / Les étrennes des orphelins
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 15, 2026
Junktitled #110
Affairs Mk. 3 XXXIII / Kalis Abschied (Left of the Tracks)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 15, 2026
Junktitled #109
Buona Sera VI / Phantoms of Bhakti
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 15, 2026
Junktitled #108
In memoriam Clayton Counts & For Neil Keener Mk. 2 VIII / At One with Their Antagonist II
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 14, 2026
Melodies Unheard
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
Musicians wrestle everywhere:
All day, among the crowded air,
I hear the silver strife;
And -- waking long before the dawn --
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that "new life!"
It is not bird, it has no nest;
Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,
Nor tambourine, nor man;
It is not hymn from pulpit read, --
The morning stars the treble led
On time's first afternoon!
Some say it is the spheres at play!
Some say that bright majority
Of vanished dames and men!
Some think it service in the place
Where we, with late, celestial face,
Please God, shall ascertain!
Junktitled #107
Portraits VIII / Smile!
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 14, 2026
Peter Quince at the Clavier
Wallace Stevens
I
Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the selfsame sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,
Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna:
Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt
The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.
II
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.
Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.
She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.
A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned—
A cymbal crashed,
And roaring horns.
III
Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.
They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;
And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.
Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.
And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.
IV
Beauty is momentary in the mind—
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.
The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.
Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.
Junktitled #106
Passengers in the Twilight V / Les plaines et les étoiles
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 14, 2026
Ephemera
William Butler Yeats
'Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning.'
And then She:
'Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!'
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
'Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.'
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.
'Ah, do not mourn,' he said,
'That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell.'
Junktitled #105
Affairs Mk. 3 XXXII / Au hasard, car le soleil
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 14, 2026
Those Various Scalpels
Marianne Moore
Those various scalpels
Those
various sounds, consistently indistinct, like intermingled echoes
struck from thin glasses successively at random—
the inflection disguised: your hair, the tails of two
fighting-cocks head to head in stone—
like sculptured scimitars repeating the curve of your
ears in reverse order:
your eyes,
flowers of ice and snow
sown by tearing winds on the cordage of disabled ships: your
raised hand
an ambiguous signature: your cheeks, those rosettes
of blood on the stone floors of French châteaux,
with regard to which the guides are so affirmative—
your other hand
a bundle of lances all alike, partly hid by emeralds from Persia
and the fractional magnificence of Florentine
goldwork—a collection of little objects—
sapphires set with emeralds, and pearls with a moonstone, made fine
with enamel in gray, yellow, and dragonfly blue;
a lemon, a pear
and three bunches of grapes, tied with silver: your dress, a magnificent square
cathedral tower of uniform
and at the same time diverse appearance—a
species of vertical vineyard, rustling in the storm
of conventional opinion—are they weapons or scalpels?
Whetted to brilliance
by the hard majesty of that sophistication which is superior to opportunity,
these things are rich instruments with which to experiment.
But why dissect destiny with instruments
more highly specialized than the components of destiny
itself?
Junktitled #104
Melancholia Mk. 2 XXV / Amazona
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 14, 2026
Sølvsekvens
A Poem
We have not landed our last breath, though yet, the sceneries spring:
Upon the simulacrum of November, the Great Ones' horses graze meekly;
These stretches of Stone Age, as if— by the lure of soil, gyrate
Around and across its distressed coil.
The reek of the stables descends from the night's hearth;
Depressed leaves oscillate and fall upon the steel's clutch;
The round of this cup like kittens— asleep within the nulls of dogs barking.
But spills in a frozen tilt,
And paraffin lanterns went out in that roundness of the stables;
Across the street,
Compensated for by the sublimity which that time brings:
Amidst the stillness of these horses, and their shine: Neolithic.
Junktitled #103
Melancholia Mk. 2 XXIV / Brennt?
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 13, 2026
Junktitled #102
Nachtstücke Mk. 2 X / Stiller Sponsor
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 13, 2026
Junktitled #101
In memoriam Satyajit Ray III / Feluda III (কৈলাসে কেলেংকারি)
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 12, 2026
Junktitled #100
Nachtstücke Mk. 2 IX / Ohne Titel II
✦
⚝ Intercepted At March 12, 2026
Junktitled #99
Farmakon XVI / Dry Petting (Hurtcore)