Linh Dinh: Union End Postcards

by Borderless Bodies

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An Alex Schaffer assemblage

Reterritorializations of work by Vietnam-born, South Philly-based writer, photographer, and concerned citizen Linh Dinh

Listening while reading the lyrics is recommended


released January 1, 2014

Thanks to Linh for doing what he does every day, and for graciously letting me use this material

Thanks to Brenna Markey, Ted Schneider, Sam Greens and Jeff Hall for musical contributions



all rights reserved


Borderless Bodies Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

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Track Name: Bardic C.V.
Barber slash shrink
Nurse slash butcher
Surgeon slash chef;
He sang not of breasts
but of breast bones

Plumber slash philosopher
Slasher slash slasher;
He sang not of oceans
or the open road but
the pale sun rising on each thumb nail
Track Name: State of the Union
It's not about me, it's about God;
Christians stand with Israel.

You can afford a warm home!;
Heaven is here if you want it.

Blowout clearance closing sale;
there's a correlation between ice cream sales and murders.

These chatting jackals tranquilize the populace,
kicking the can down the road.

Got injuries? What's up with the stick?
One end is for today, one end is yesterday.

No means no!
Sell your ugly house for cash NOW!

Apartment burnt down due to defective microwave;
we are bankrupt in every sense.

This too is the new normal.
Track Name: Sliding Semiotics
Heavy dancing, dental mistakes,
sperming and styling,
low-down down payments.

Oriental spider veins specialist,
always open.

Recesses probed, colons routed,
forks angled.

Hungry? Suicidal?
We swap books.

Lessons in cemetery lettering.
Se habla Español.

Prompt and discreet, gargantuan,
we'll come to you to get rid of it.

Birth and death stains removal,
leaking beds and ceilings.
Track Name: Carnal Variations
Struck on the left, I grab my right side.
Black-faced guerilla hidden in
crevice fuzzy with hair.

My right I can never espy
what my left is up to.

Diagram of uterus
flooded with the blood
of a tiger.

Fiery channels concealed
inside a small town's
pair of jeans.

Solomonic, an impartial baby,
Neither breast preferred.

A great mind must wait a thousand years
to be squirted from the top
of the meat tower.

An objective observer, a face with no sides.
Crawl, son.
Crawl to me.
Track Name: Biblical Haikus
Again, the short straw
Squatting inside a fish, then
Speaking engagement

More fortunate than
The dead and the living, these
who will be aborted.

First man, then woman
Then man, woman, and golden
Delicious apple.

I know you. You are
Said to be alive, though you
Are deader than dead.

Chewing in darkness,
Men, women and animals
Could scent each other.

The first three men rolled
With the first woman, to launch
A nation of ants.

If only the door
To my mother's womb were shut
No whoredom later

Beneath her bruised heel,
A garrulous serpent's head.
No trophy virgin.

The male addendum
Made no sense whatsoever
Before the spare rib.

Steal from the ants, slugs!
They got gas but no weapons
Of mass destruction.
Track Name: Camden
On the day this country was born,
I would not be in its birthplace but its prototypical morgue.

Two bookstores in a city where
Walt Whitman spent nineteen years and is buried.

The very stern barkeep had this T-shirt on:
"Practice safe sex, go fuck yourself."

It does get lonely out here.
You speak syphilis?

Look, these are dentures.
Her veins have collapsed.

You're my husband!
I saw you in a dream.

American clothes are popular
in Senegal.
Track Name: Chester
What Chester makes, makes Chester.
Come on, sign our guess book!
I'd love to spend money on both of y'all.

Skull as pelvic girdle,
dead head as live bottom.
From my booty death
will rise, sugar-sucker.

Let's get back to progress,
careful calculation.
O I've always known they had to kill him.
Track Name: Borderless Body
Before, I was a miserly person
dried up, stiff, stuck, completely
wrung, stuttering, fanatical;
but this morning my skin felt unusually
cool and conscious.
My body tingled.
Suddenly I could speak and understand 2,000 languages.

My soul blossomed, my breasts budded.
I peeled back my foreskin to scrape clean
all of my obsolete
and labored presumptions.

I could see very far away.
I could sympathize with each strand of hair
stranded on the skin of each person.

Shuddering, I ejaculated for the first time
in my life, into life.
I just wanted to leap up to kiss everyone right away
and be sucked by everyone on this Earth.

I was willing to forgive and apologize to
each toe joint on each person.

Naked, I walk through the street
as the very first human.
Track Name: Brand New Products
A vigilant gun that always hits the right target,
no matter what you're aiming at.

A (base/foot)ball game
that never ends.

A computer that listens
and blows you.

Meat that cleans your teeth
as you're masticating it.

A truck so awesome, only
the President of the United States of
America's allowed to careen it.

An airplane
that never lands.

Landmines made with dough,
topped with mozzarella
and all your favorite toppings.

A sex doll with a mirror for a face.
A sex doll with a Ph.D.
A sex doll with adjustable skin tone.
A sensitive sex doll that just wants to be friends.
Track Name: Cold Hands / Post-Mortem
She always feels cold hands all over
her body, on her neck and belly,
on the inside and the outside of her thighs,
on her burning face.

"Don't ever think of yourself as old!"
The old man advised before expiring
on the carpet of the living room.

An insistence of icy palms and fingers
spreading, walking alone down a
bright, familiar street
Track Name: America the Blind
The continuity of the mass murder looting project.
Corporate and eternal war candidates;
The Persian Gulf is our bloody bath tub

Wringing oil from rocks and brewing it from maize
we are are blind to corpses,
even ones draped with our own flag.

Every four years, boiling pots of possum brains,
say 'I do' to your own rapist.
Try the ass!
Try the pachyderm!
They're both a toxic bloody mess.
Bon appétit!
Track Name: Three Sided Song
Newly born, breath taking, sick of living.
Cold drops of water exploding.

High heat, trembling beads, smoke and fire.
Lips lumber day after day.

Eyes, ashes, luxuries.
Hair, sand and dust poofed.

Bulging veins, leave-taking bones;
bloody the body, always rhythmic.

Skin the soul bohemian;
dogs making love excruciating.

Humans always near humiliation.

Breasts singly all over;
frozen happiness spread thin

Memento mori on a mountainside without legs.

Pillow I crave bit by bit.

Male junk regalia;
female, the last day of summer.

Dead sticky rice stuck.